Judge, 1916-08-19 · page 15 of 28
Judge — August 19, 1916 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical poem by F. Gregory Hartswick mocks the archetypal "persistent duffer"—a golfer of poor skill who refuses to accept defeat or improve. The accompanying photograph shows a man in formal attire (vest and tie) at a barn or farm setting with animals, establishing the rural, working-class context that contrasts with his golfing pretensions. The eight-stanza narrative follows this stubborn golfer's disastrous day: his ball lands in a bunker, he plays miserably, loses his composure, and ultimately must be removed by a "keeper" (suggesting mental instability). The satire targets not merely bad golf, but masculine pride—his refusal to quit despite clear incompetence, his ragged appearance, and his obsessive determination to "play on" despite being a public embarrassment. The humor lies in the contrast between the gentleman's sport of golf and this man's desperate, futile struggle.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LOVER ARODIES OF THE FAIR GR THE SAD FATE OF THE PERSISTENT DUFFER By FL GREGORY I N” a shout was heard, not a jubilant note, As his ball to the bunker hurrict! his farewell shot thad been buried I He played oa grimly at at, ‘The sod with his « Ry the stru And his pipe ch ployer disch And the day's Last sly light, veri tly by ney mM «him. er doing his best, No useless jacked e And he With his broken lads sroand him IV Few and short were the words he said, Rut we heard those words in sorrow; ht he should chance to be dead, to-morrow UARTSWICK Ne We thought, as we left the club-he And went down the hill to the ferry, That the stran Would think " Ss acemetery! VL Lightly they'll talk of his temper that's gone, Of his trousers ragged and dirty; tittle he'll reck, if they'll let him play on, gets to the green in thirty Vu. of his heavy task w When we herd the clocks of the town strike Bat he still kept sullealy whanging. vil Slowly and sadly we watched him putt, And then, fest he dig the course deeper, We called up the nearest Resort for the Nut, And we left him alone with the keeper. EE ho played on the course next day ne; comicbooks.com