Except for one part. A car repairman named Sam Carlani was good friends with Doan. Carlani owned a shop in nearby Florence, New Jersey.

Carlani needed a toilet. There was a working one on the Grille. And so—according to the Burlington County Times, the local paper—it came that Hitler’s seafaring toilet came to live in a New Jersey auto shop.

That toilet is still there. It worked for more than half a century. Day in, day out, flush, flush, flush. When Greg Kohfeldt bought the shop from Carlani in 1994, he didn’t remove the still-functioning commode. Kohfeldt didn’t care about the toilet’s origin.

“I kept it because I needed a working toilet,” he told the BCT in 2013. “Why spend $100 on a new one when I had one that worked?”

Anyway, the toilet had become famous. People came to see it.

Then, in the fall of 2011, a British TV company got in touch with Kohfeldt, asking if they could spotlight it on a show. The toilet—and Kohfeldt—were removed from New Jersey, flown to the United Kingdom.

The show, alas, never aired. Both potty and possessor were flown back to New Jersey. The toilet now resides in the basement of the repair shop it once so faithfully served. Earlier this month, Kohfeldt said that he’s still looking for a buyer.

But until then, it rests. In Norway and New Jersey, it did what it was built to do.

***

Except the story of the toilet never really rests. From time to time, the Internet's viral vacuumers stumble upon the tale of the toilet. A roadside guide to America has long noted the throne as a worthwhile attraction. In 2010, TIME ranked it among the world’s 10 most famous toilets. (Also on the list: Duchamp’s Fountain.) In early 2013, there was another flurry, when Tablet discovered it.

So the toilet’s tale splashed across the web: Gothamist covered it, as did Boing Boing, NJ.com, and TIME, again. A celebrity gossip site distinguished itself by its use of the phrase “the Turd Reich.” Already, in 2014, the Daily Mail covered it again, revealing Kohfeldt’s desire to sell. That news prompted posts at Hypervocal and Haaretz.

But interest in the toilet isn’t inscribed only in the web’s attentional sine wave. According to a column written during last year’s flurry of attention, Kohfeldt has long known the press’s peaks and valleys. Says Phil Gianficaro in that Burlington County Times story (the paper where—full disclosure—my mom works):

Years would pass without a hint of interest. Then someone would talk about it, and a newspaper, radio or online reporter would catch wind of it and do a story. And before long, interest in the toilet would spread.

“People are more interested in the history of the toilet than I am,” Kohfeldt tells Gianficaro.

He almost sighs: “I never contact the media about it.” They come to me.”