Judge, 1915-06-26 · page 8 of 25
Judge — June 26, 1915 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three pieces by Walt Mason and others from *Judge* magazine: **"The Grandstand Play"** is a nostalgic lament about aging and cynicism. The speaker contrasts his youthful enthusiasm for rousing oratory (invoking Patrick Henry's famous speech) with his current jaded dismissal of all passionate rhetoric as mere "grandstand play"—performative shows rather than genuine conviction. The point is that growing old hardens the heart and kills faith in noble words. **"My Friend"** is a sentimental poem praising a loyal companion who understood the speaker's moods and kept confidences—ending with the reveal that this friend was a dog, a humorous twist on what initially reads as a eulogy for a human relationship. **"Hens in Revolt"** is a brief joke mocking both feminism (framed as "propaganda") and fashion-obsessed women. The humor rests on the rooster now doing his own scratching for food, and the gag that women will wear anything if it's fashionable—even unsuitable hats.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
By WALT MASON HE ORATOR talks of the higher things; the thoughts he hands us have golden wings— they shine like the orb of day. ‘*He is a won- der!’ the young men cry; but the old men say, with a weary sigh, ‘It’s naught but a grandstand play."’ And that is the trouble with being old; your heart is calloused, your blood is cold, your faith in all things is dead. You've fallen oft for the green-goods tricks, you've bought so many gold- coated bricks, you think that all gold is lead. When I was young, I would sit and hear the golden speech of an orateer, and his words would never cloy; the thrills would travel along my spine, my eyes would sprinkle four kinds of brine, and my heart would swell with joy. he said he would bleed and die to keep our ban- ner a-floating high, I thought he was speaking ; my soul would yearn for the hero's life, tru tor the battlefield and the blood and strife, and I'd want to per- ish, 190. It was yesterday when a speaker spoke of the cannon’s roar and the saber stroke, en- larged on the fiery fray; Bill Wax sat next, and I said to him, ‘‘He skoots his words with exceeding vim, but it’s only a grandstand play."’ In the olden days when a statesman rose and taiked three hours through his Romar .0se concerning the people’s ng I really thought that this able gent was saying things that he truly meant, was putting up earnest fights; his long oratiwas I learned by heart and reeled them off in the busy mart, a. gems of the purest ray. But now reformers don't cut much grass; I hear their spielings anc say, ‘‘Alas! It’s only a grandstand play! The noble words of the he- ro's tongue, they thrilled my bosom when I was young and kept me awake at night; the ringing challenge Pat Henry gave to royal ty- rant across the wave inflated me with delight. If Patrick Henry were speak- ing now, with virtue shining upon his brow, I'd listen to all he'd say, and then I'd whisper to some one near, **His words sound big in the patient ear, but they're only a grandstand play!"’ Ah, that is the trouble with being old! You can't believe that the gold is gold, you think that all things are clay; and still you sigh, with your latest breath—referring then to the bluff of death—'‘It’s only a grandstand play!"" My Friend } E WAS my friend. He understood All the vagaries of my mood. Say I was joyous, he was gay; If sad, he felt the selfsame way. He held, with trusty common sense, All that I told, in confidence. He died. And now I look around, But such a friend is seldom found. I miss his kindly presence, yet A dog like that is hard to get! Eldredge Denison. Hens in Revolt **Must be a feminist propaganda go- ing on in the barnyard."” “*What makes you think that?” “I notice the rooster is scratching for himself these days."’ If it’s in style, anything looks like a hat to a woman. Girl—Goodness ! I wonder if I'll ever look like that?