Judge, 1916-05-13 · page 9 of 28
Judge — May 13, 1916 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humor piece about two Jewish immigrant businessmen—Max Markowitz (a skirt/clothing manufacturer) and his brother-in-law Henry Shapiro (his bookkeeper). The satire exploits their working-class New York accents and Yiddish expressions ("meshuge"—crazy, "Nu"—an exclamation) for comedic effect. The joke: Markowitz abruptly demands an umbrella and cotton spool, then improvises a golf club to hit the spool across the factory as a makeshift game. When Henry hits it back, Markowitz angrily orders him to "fire the feller that fired that spool"—missing the obvious fact that *he himself* started this game during work hours, then complains workers waste time and demand raises. The humor lies in his obliviousness and working-class irony: the boss complains about worker productivity while playing games at work. The title "The Game of Silence" suggests their competitive wordless exchange. This reflects early 20th-century American stereotypes about Jewish immigrant businessmen.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Pater—I'm glad you like your new school, son. How many boys are in your class? Young Hopeful—Let's see—one, two, three, four—and twelve I've still got to lick makes sixteen. MARKOWITZ AND HENRY-—Tnhey Discuss Golf, the Game of Silence By LOU RAB SNRY, get me your umbreller!” suddenly requested Max Markowitz, the skirt manufacturer, of Henry Shapiro, his bookkeeper and brother-in-law, who was busily engaged at his ledger. “An umbreller! What do you want an umbreller for?” demanded “The sun is shining so nice street that even Belasco ¢ it nicer on the stage, and you want an umbreller! What's the matter with you to-day? You sit around like a poctte with a head full of boids instead of next season’s skoits, and all at oncet you ask me for an umbreller. Ain’ you feeling well, Max?” “Stop asking me a bundle of questions like a doctor!” angrily retorted Markowitz, ‘‘and get me the umbreller! Also a spool from cotton. I'll show you something you can’t do in a million years.”” Henry shrugged his shoulders, mumbled “‘meshuge’ under his breath and walked into the factory, which separated from the office by a low partition. He soon emerged with a spool of cotton in his hand and walking over to a closet, took out an um- brella which he handed to his brother-in-law. Markowitz impatiently grabbed the cotton out of the bewildered Henry’s hand and threw it down. Then planting himself firmly in front of it he took hold of the bottom of the umbrella, placing its handle against the spool. He swung his improvised club over his head, and after several futile attempts finally sent the spool swiftly across the room, over the partition and into the factory. “Nu!” he exclaimed, while a look of triumph suffused his features, flushed from exertion. ‘Can you ” But before Markowitz could say another word, he was com- pelled to duck his head on account of the swift return of the spool, which had mysteriously retraced its course with increased speed. “Henry, shouted Markowitz at the top of his lungs. “Go right in the factory and fire the feller that fired that spool! That’s all they got to do during woiking hours and ask raises yet! While “TICKLED WITH A STRAW” comicbooks.com