Judge, 1920-07-03 · page 11 of 36
Judge — July 3, 1920 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis for Modern Readers This Judge magazine page contains three separate satirical pieces: **"The Friendly Few"** is a sentimental poem celebrating intimate friendships over shallow social crowds—straightforward social commentary with no specific topical reference. **"Dated Up" and "Have You Noticed This?"** are brief jokes about post-WWI paper shortages (which affected magazine and newspaper distribution) and price controls on coconuts, likely referencing wartime/postwar economic disruptions. **"Jazz"** is the page's main satirical piece. The author condemns jazz music using hyperbolic, contemptuous language—describing it as "gone Bolsheviki" (referencing communist/radical associations), comparing it to "tin cans on cobblestones," and predicting it will replace church organs. The piece reflects 1920s establishment anxiety about jazz as morally corrupting, racially transgressive (noting "negro orchestras"), and destructive to social order. The satire appears to mock this panic rather than endorse it, though the text's tone remains ambiguous.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Drawn by Pact Remy Rossers’ Dexs Past and The Friendly Few By Cuartes Haxsox Towse I? rather have the friendly few Around me any day Than crowds that shut true comrades out, And put the soul at bay. There’s nothing like the friendly few Present To help us on our way. I like the few who really last, Far more, as I grow older. There's nothing in this ‘Hello, John!” With loud slaps on the shoulder. I'd turn and glare at such-like fools If only I were bolder. The friendly few make life worth while As twilight comes apace. You can’t expect a big return From every fetlow’s face. And when the evening settles down, How few are in the race! The friendly few! Keep them with you As years rush on, my lad! Be thankful for one faithful chum To make your old heart glad. And, when | think of it, that’s all That any man has had! Dated Up “No, I cannot accept your invitation. I'll be too busy for the next two months.” “Why?’’ “T’'ve got to catch up on those con- tinued stories in the magazines which were delayed by the paper shortage.”” Have You Noticed This? Jones—I see where the price on cocoa- nuts has been fixed at thirty-eight cents. Smith—That’s too bad! I hate to pay $1.25 for cocoanuts. Drawn by Noumax Axtuoxt Jazz By H. M. Sutuertax Ji is music gone Bolsheviki and sadly in need of the ser- vices of an eminent alienist before it breaks up all of the musical ii struments in the world. It is played by nervous, double-jointed long-winded musicians who wiggle like a scared bowl of jelly in a vol- canic eruption, and who jump on the ivories and strings with the same joyous avidity as an old maid ona matinee idol. Jazz appeals to and charms the sole and causes both of them to forget all family responsibilities and duties. Lovers of music should enjoy jazz because it has the same notes and tunes, only it turns all of them loose at once. Itsounds like across between awagon-load of tincans ona cobble- stone alley, and a raw decision at the crucial game of a World Series, and its only redeeming feature is its speed, which makes it" an utter impossibility for some faded illusion with a voice like a despondent side-show barker, who thinks she can sing and can’t sing, and ought to be in Sing-Sing, to send a message of woe and suffering to the planet Mars. But so fast is the jazzy contagion spreading that even the baby’s nightly wails have a “shimmy” minor chord, and there is hardly a doubt that a negro orchestra will soon be substituted for the imposing pipe organ in church, and the old sacred hymns take on such a rakish air that the sedate deacons will do an approved Terpsichorean ‘check-to- cheek” with the collection plates while the sermon will be de- livered by an interpretive dancer who depicts the joys of Val- halla and the tortures of Gehenna with supple spinal chord, and abandoned delirium. Let her go Charlie! A Sufficient Excuse “Meicy sakes, my boy!” chided the Presiding Elder. “Why are you striking your little brother with your fists?” “B’cuz if I stop to hunt the ax he'll get away, gosh-blast him to thunder!” yelled young Bearcat Johnson, of Rumpus Ridge, Ark. Wuen Ovr Interior Decorators Go tx ror Avtomosite Desicninc comicbooks.com