Judge, 1915-01-09 · page 10 of 24
Judge — January 9, 1915 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two distinct pieces of social commentary: **Main Article**: Mason's essay criticizes men who blame society for their failures as "misfits." He argues the world offers opportunity to those who work hard, citing Lincoln and James Garfield as self-made success stories. The piece dismisses complaints about unfair circumstances as "feeble, futile whine," asserting that lazy men who claim the world is "too bad" are simply making excuses. It reflects early 20th-century American bootstrap mythology. **Two Cartoons**: 1. A college dialogue where Percy admits he's "trying awfully hard to get ahead," and his mother sarcastically responds he needs the effort, mocking privileged incompetence. 2. "Fore!" depicts Mr. Duffer, a golfer so preoccupied with reading war news (likely WWI coverage) that he's become dangerously distracted during play—a light joke about war's cultural obsession.
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T VE KNOWN a thousand misfit men who could not gather in the yen or nail the nimble shil- ling; while others gained the shining swag, they sat around and chewed the rag, the air with grumbles filling. You meet the mis- fits everywhere; they bone you on the office stair, waylay you in the hallways. You stake them for the cornbeef hash or lend them fifteen cents in cash, that they may trim their galways. Mabel—How are you getting on at college, Percy? Percy—Ob, all right. ahead, you know. Mabel-~Well, heaven knows you need one! I'm trying awfully bard to get WN ar |aensoy The misfits sing the same old tunes; they sleep outdoors and live on prunes, because misfortune fenced ‘em. They're down and out, their name is Pance, be- cause they never had a chance; the world is dead against "em. How often have we heard that wail? A million times. It's growing stale, it jars a man to hear it; for this old world on which we stay is out of sight, superb, o. k., all right or pretty near it. In this old world where misfits fail, the hustling boys take in the kale, their bank accounts are humming; the lad obscure who plays the game goes right ahead and conquers fame and has no kick a-coming. It is the same old world, you know, that Lincoln lived in long ago and split his rails of cedar. He founditall a mancould ask; he went ahead, from task to task, and got there, gentle read- er. It is the same old world, I wist, in which Jim Garfield sprained his wrist, bewhacking towpath donkeys. You know how high he made his perch; he left the knockers in the lurch and made them look like monkeys. It is a world in which, I swow, the farmer boy who guides the plow may rise to any sta- tion; he may acquire much good long green or edit some large magazine or rule a mighty nation. It makes me tired to hear the jays who can't accompiish win- ning plays abuse this good old planet; itisa feeble, futile whine, and if they'd take advice of mine, the cops would promptly can it. I'd like to meet a misfit lad, who'd say, ‘‘This world is not too bad; in fact, itisadaisy. I think the world is good and nice; I do not cut my share of ice, because I'm too darned lazy."” I'd buy an overcoat and hat for such a candid youth as that; I'd feed him pie and chickens. But with his kind I'm not in touch; he'd be a freak, resembling much some character of Dickens. FORE! ‘The effect war has had on Mr. Duffer, the golfer, who has been reading nothing but war news in the dailies.