During Pope John Paul's U.S. pastoral trip in 1987, a number of commemorative products sprung up.  Coffee mugs, ceramic tiles, and barbeque aprons were everywhere featuring images of the Pontiff.  Ace Hardware had a sale on animated lawn sprinklers inscribed with "Let us spray."  There were molded cleansing agents made from the salts of vegetable fats ("Pope Soap").   My favorite included a nylon cord to be conveniently suspended on a showerhead: "Pope Soap on a Rope." 

Now the story...

A late-night fuel-stop in Cardinal 34914 at a remote field in Nevada found the flightline closed and the FBO (fixed-base operator) unavailable until morning, which necessitated an unplanned RON (remain overnight).  At the closest motel, a toothless codger with a scruffy beard handed me the room-key and a fresh towel. 

"Do you have any Pope Soap on a Rope?" asked I with a grin. 

The old fellow shrugged as if he had been responding to the question all week.  "Nope." 

That personal memory has been vivid enough to deprive one century-old word of its usefulness.