Judge, 1918-03-09 · page 15 of 36
Judge — March 9, 1918 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous poem by Howard Dietz (with decorative illustrations by Noëmi Pernessís) celebrating the phenomenon of enthusiastic bathroom singing. The joke hinges on a common, relatable experience: people sing beautifully and confidently while bathing alone, but sound terrible when attempting the same songs clothed and in company. The poem references real performers and composers—Enrico Caruso (famous opera singer), Bill Bailey (likely the vaudeville performer), and Gilbert (W.S. Gilbert of Gilbert & Sullivan)—to humorously exaggerate the narrator's imagined operatic talent. The ironic payoff: the narrator possesses "operatic skill" only when naked in the bathtub, and loses all musical ability upon getting dressed. The satire gently mocks human vanity and self-delusion—our tendency to overestimate our talents in private while craving public validation.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The Song of the Morning Wash By Howarp Dietz Decorations by Nomi Pernesstn N mornings when I shave myself, and subsequently lave myself, I raise my voice, my dainty voice, above its normal strain. I marvel at the trill I have, and marvel more until I have Completely rubbed my visage and removed its every stain. My music has a ring to it, a catchy swing to it— Its value and its volume swell with every mighty scrub. Can such a voice melodious be classified as odious? What operatic skill I have when I am in the tub! 1 warble ukelele songs and rollicking Bill Bailey songs That send my boyish spirit far away to Waikiki, I gargle French and Russian tunes, “He might have -been a Prussian” tunes, And other songs that Gilbert wrote to thumping melody. I bellow Labor’s treble chants, disordered, flaming revel chants, A wilder rigadoon I cry with every vicious scrub. And still they call Caruso good! [| wonder could he do so good A solo unaccompanied as | when in the tub. But mercy when I dare to sing a lyric that | care to sing, Unhampered by the marbled walls that decorate my bath, ‘The sounds my throat will utter'll be nothing more than guttural To aggravate the company (and even me) to wrath. My solos all are out o’ tune—I cannot bawl or shout a tune When lam not ungarmented, and—hangit—there’s the rub! + I wish that I could always sing—in parlor or in hallways sing ‘The beautiful refrains | loose when | am in the tub