Judge, 1920-08-21 · page 9 of 36
Judge — August 21, 1920 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "The Campaign" by Walt Mason (1920) This page satirizes political apathy during what appears to be the 1920 presidential election (references to Cox and Harding). The cartoon illustrates Mason's poem about a cheerfully indifferent everyman who refuses to join campaign fervor despite pressure from politically agitated friends. The caricatured figures on the left—two thin, gaunt men in formal wear—represent typical campaign activists, depicted as skeletal and intense. The round-faced man on the right embodies the narrator: content, well-fed, and unmoved by political urgency. Mason's satire targets both sides: activists ranting about "profiteers" and national disaster, yet the poem suggests their own desperation and worn appearance undermine their righteousness. The narrator prefers circuses and baseball to political speeches. The joke is that material comfort and personal contentment trump civic engagement—a critique of American materialism masquerading as lighthearted apathy.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
/ -Faenae “LT WAVE MY SHARE OF WHOLESOME PIE, NO BLESSING AM I LACKING.” The Ca mpaign By Watt Mason Illustration by Y friends are all worked up again, they’re prancing round, excited; if we don’t vote for cer- tain men, our wrongs will ne’er be righted. Alas, I haven't any wrongs, I simply can’t get frantic; I sit here punching out my songs, and wear a smile gigantic. The world seems pretty smooth and nice, and I ’t bawl or blubber, so long as I can earn the price to buy my gas and rubber. And well I know it is a shame that I can’t whoop with others, and play the ancient, weary game, and wrangle with my brothers. But I'm so built that I enjoy the world in which I’m dwelling, and I can’t emulate the boy who spends the summer yelling. I've noticed that some things are wrong, as through the town I ambled; the profiteers are going strong, and should be fried or scrambled. “But what’s the diff?” I gently sigh, as to my home I’m tracking: “I have my share of wholesome pie, no blessing am I lacking. And all the ranting gents I know, who talk of dire demnition, wear gaudy rags from neck to toe, and they’re in fat condition.” I hear that black disaster walks abroad and soon will vex us; unless we rise and vote for Cox, twill jar our solar plexus. The perils that confront this land much talk I hear regarding; but all those perils will be canned if we should vote for Harding. It may be true, but why should I go forth and join the rant- ing? I have three kinds of helpful pie, and doughnuts most en- chanting. I have no grouch, I make no kicks, the world is bright Stuart Hay and sunny; I would not argue politics for marbles, chalk or nd those who rant come round and say’, “You lack the prop- when there’s a bogie grim and gray, you ought to quake and fear it. The man who grins and never knocks, our progress is retarding; you ought to rise and whoop for Cox, or root a while for Harding.” . I cannot help the way I'm made; I do things that I'd ortn’t, and campaign fury and parade to me don’t seem important. The circus soon will come to town, and that excites me greatly; for there will be a dippy clown, and lions large and stately. And gifted girls will jump through hoops, or hang from high trapezes, and acrobats will loop the loops, and barkers spring old wheezes. And that is better, better far than hearing statesmen thunder, with sweating brows and mouths ajar, and lungs all blown asunder. I really think the world’s a scream, of which Iam a tenant; it looks as though our baseball team would win the bush league pennant. I have this always on my mind—such themes are all that matter—and naught engaging do I find in all the cam- paign clatter. I do not say that I am right in taking things so easy; but life to me is a delight, and not a nightmare cheesey. And since I love the good old globe, in which I chirp and twitter, why should I rise and tear my robe for any statesman critter?