Judge, 1921-02-19 · page 13 of 32
Judge — February 19, 1921 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "The Public Library" by Walt Mason (Judge Magazine) This humorous poem satirizes both public library culture and the librarian's thankless job. The illustration shows a stern, disapproving female librarian (Mrs. Gong) confronting a patron in a library filled with books. The satire works on two levels: First, it mocks library patrons—people who sit quietly reading "tommyrot" (nonsense), who read cheap popular fiction like Bertha Clay novels instead of serious literature, and who generally annoy the librarian. Second, it sympathizes with Mrs. Gong's frustration: despite the library's excellent collection of classical works (Thomas Browne, Bacon, Greek dramas), patrons ignore them in favor of lowbrow mysteries and romance. The poem's message is gently ironic: the librarian's sourness is justified because people waste access to great literature. The public library, meant as a democratic institution for cultural elevation, instead serves those seeking mere entertainment.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“Tir DAME IN CHARGE IS COLD AND BLEAK, HER EYES ARE DARK WITH GLOOM.” The Public Library By Watt Mason Illustration by Raven Barton O this resort of many books all kinds of people trot; they sit around in quiet nooks and read much tommyrot A solemn hush pervades the a tion’s banned, suggesting that a corpse is there, a funeral on hand. When I go there I oft forget, and whistle “London Town,” and then a hircling in a sweat comes up and grasps me by the pantaloons and shoves This is no place for ribald tunes,” he says, r, all conversa turns me down. H me to the street “so help me, Pete.” The dame in charge is somewhat old and like a ghost she walks; her face is sad, her eyes are cold, she wears back-number frocks. Her garments make no silken swish, they silent are as death; she seems afraid that some poor fish will speak above his breath. And when, anon, I have to cough, her glare would knock me flat; it seems to say, “Come off! Come off! This is no place for that!" I often wonder how the gents who sit around in chairs can read a book, worth fourteen cents, beneath her frozen star Oh, I'm afraid to scratch my head in this dim, ghastly room; it seems to me that some one’s dead, and ready for the tomb. Outside the building's gay and bright, there’s nothing there that chills; a bust of Andy is in sight—the man who paid the bills. He gave the outfit to the town, and doubtless thought, gadzooks, that weary people there might drown their grief in helpful books. The dame in charge is cold and bleak, her eyes are dark with gloom, and there is pallor on her check, where roses ought to bloom. One day I met her out of doors, and said, “Oh, Mrs. Gong, do you find human people bores? Are all things going wrong? You wear a most forbidding frown that’s jarred me many times, when in the library I sat down, to read a work on Crimes.” aid Mrs. Gong, “‘When you have held for years a job like mine, your cheerful smiles will be dispelled, and you'll be shedding brine. “We have in stock the grandest tomes that ever mortals writ, the product of the noblest domes that ever made a hit. Oh, we have there the scroll and screed, from bards of many lands; and we have books no man can read and say he under- stands. And there they stand throughout the r, unread, these splendid tomes; and people at my desk appear and call for Sherlock Holmes. “We have the works of Thomas Browne and Bacon’s hottest stuff; is there a seer of high renown? We have his choicest guff. The dramas of the ancient Greeks, untouched day after day; and to my desk come modern freaks and call for Bertha Clay. I try to boost good books in vain, in Andy ornate shack; and it gives me a convex pain that runs clear down my back.” Alas for helpful ancient lore, for books of force and power! I do not wonder any more that Mrs. Gong looks sour. comicbooks.com