Judge, 1919-11-01 · page 13 of 38
Judge — November 1, 1919 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Political Satire in Judge Magazine This page satirizes **post-WWI economic hardship and class resentment** through mock "last words" of dying martyrs to poverty and food scarcity. The left column presents deathbed monologues from starving characters—Uriah Underfed, Annabelle Anemia, William Wildeye—whose names literalize their deprivation. They leave their children curses against "profiteers" (wealthy industrialists blamed for inflation and scarcity) rather than material wealth. The satire targets both the actual suffering of working-class Americans and the radical rhetoric blaming capitalists. The top cartoon shows an uncle performing for a child—likely satirizing adults performing artificial displays of prosperity or restraint ("pull in your horns") for appearance's sake during economic crisis. The right poem "Long, Long Ago" offers sentimental contrast: a romanticized past where courtship occurred without modern complications. The automobile illustration ("Latest Tire Tread") advertises consumer goods—ironic juxtaposition with the starvation narratives, suggesting magazine readers lived in a different economic reality than those depicted.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Drawn by Catvert Sati “Auntie said she made you ‘pull in your horns t em out again, uncle, | want to see you do it!” Last Words of Present Day Long, Long Ago By Frevexick D. Simpson Martyrs ie By Epmunp J. Nieres a maid so prim and stai She said she was a Quaker; She was so proud T laughed aloud RIAH UNDERFED: My children, I have And tried by storm to take her. nothing to leave you but a maddening hunger, a My ale i soulful curse for profiteers, and the thrilling My arm I placed about her waist. memory of a square meal I had ages ago. God bless , Ah me! so young and tender: the Administration! But sad, the maid was doubly st ANNABELLE ANEMIA: Bury me on SOUS ROP ENSINUER ICY the little knoll overlooking the local cold storage plant, where the rising WSs sun will show me the whereabouts Ay of some ten million eggs and_ the E>: morning breezes will waft me_ the sweet scent of bacon. Job, darling. here is the key to the bean safe Wittram Wivpeye: My son, swear by this empty sardine tin that if ever you have a chance to do a profiteer a good turn, you will make him pay for it with his very hide. Heaven knows, the end is easier for that I raised you to be a respectable yegg Kiss papa. Hyman HottowcneeK: Yetta, my faithful daughter, in the upper left- hand drawer of the bureau, next to my long unused silver toothpick, you will find a stain of butter. Treasure it for when you start housekeeping. . —I am coming to you, Rachel, I am Drawn by NonMaN ANTHONY c—coming !—Spread—the—feast ! Tne Latest Tree Treap.