Judge, 1919-11-08 · page 13 of 36
Judge — November 8, 1919 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Back Home" Analysis This is a humorous narrative poem by Walt Mason, illustrated by Ralph Barton, satirizing the "self-made man" fantasy and small-town attitudes. The story depicts a poor, unknown young man who leaves his hometown vowing to return rich and famous, imagining the townspeople's admiration. The cartoon shows him—now wealthy and well-dressed (top hat, fine clothes)—confronting a rural townsperson, representing his imagined triumphant homecoming. The satire's point: despite achieving success and returning in "pomp and state," the hometown folks neither recognize nor respect him. Instead of awe, they assume he's a traveling salesman hawking dubious patent remedies (bunion cure, electric belt). The joke mocks both the protagonist's naive fantasy of vindication and the provincial indifference of small-town America. It satirizes the American dream's hollow promise—that leaving and returning wealthy guarantees respect—and the gap between ambition and reality.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Back Home By Watt Mason Illustration by Ratru Barton LAS for dreams men entertain! They all are empty, punk and vain. I left my heme when | was young, unknown, unhonored and unsung; and when the town saw me depart, I left behind no broken hesrt. No person cared a bale of hay if I came b or stayed away. Oh, I was pain- fully obscure, and I was most absurdly poor. It made me bitter, when I went; and [ thus mused, “I'l bet a cent, that I'll come back to this bum town, when I have harvested renown, and piled fip ingots rick on rick, and make these jays look pretty sick. Some day I'll come back to this grad, all loaded down with plunks and scad, my name emblazoned in ‘Who's Who,’ I'll be the biggest thing in view, and ther these hayseeds, who decline to take much stock in dreams of mine, will wilt and shrivel where they stand, and say ‘I swow!’ to beat the band.” I toiled along at many a game pursuing opulence and fame; round after round I climbed aloft, until the snap I had was soft; and ever always, as I wrought, I entertained this treasured thought: “Some day to that old musty town I'll journey back in high renown, and all the graybeards will arise, and brush the cobwebs from their eyes, and wag their jaws, and say, ‘By gum! 'i’s wonderful how he has clumb!’” And this reflection braced my soul when fortune put me in the hole; and it inspired me oft when F had soaked me roundly on the pate. Through many weary years I wrought; at last I gained the goal I sought. My name was known throughout the land, and I had jewels rich and grand, an auto with a gilded frame, a chauffeur with a for- eign name. “And now,” I said, “I'll pull my freight, and go back home in pomp and state. This is the hour, the triumph’s due! And I shall make my dreams come true.” And I went back, dolled up to kill, and ambled up the village hill, and shook the graybeards’ horny paws, reminding them just who I was. And not a jake in all the town had heard of me or my renown! I tried to tell them I’d made good; how high in men’s respect I stood. But not a bit did they enthuse; they sized me up, from hat to shoes, and-said I looked like one who dealt in bunion cure or ’lectric belt. They thought I'd come back to the grad to sell some patent liver pad. Concluded on page 15