Judge, 1921-03-26 · page 9 of 32
Judge — March 26, 1921 — page 9: what you’re looking at
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# "Always in Trouble" - Analysis This story by Walt Mason satirizes excessive government regulation and the proliferation of inspectors in early 20th-century America. The protagonist describes his troubles: he's jailed for making homemade herbal remedies (once-legal folk medicine that now violates food and drug laws), imprisoned for speeding to help a dying neighbor, and constantly harassed by authorities for minor infractions. The cartoon's imprisoned figure in striped clothing represents the common citizen trapped by bureaucratic overreach. Mason's complaint is that modern life has become impossible—even well-intentioned actions (healing neighbors, rushing to medical emergencies) now violate some statute. The refrain "I cannot write, I cannot draw...but that I violate a law, or knock a statute silly" captures the frustration that ordinary life itself has become criminalized. This reflects Progressive Era anxieties about government expansion, food safety regulations (following the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act), and traffic enforcement—seen here as intrusive rather than protective.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“TL CANNOT waite 1 CANNOT DRAW—BUT THAT I VioLaTe A LAW, KNOCK A STATUTE SILLY.” Always in Trouble By Wat Mason Illustration by Raveu Barton Y Grandma was a fine old dame, the sanest of all critters, and oft the merits she'd proclaim of Hop and Burdock Bitters. She left the formula with me, when she went home to glory, and oft I brewed that helpful tea, and felt quite hunkydory. [cured my neighbors of their ills and never charged a nickel; I did more good than doctors’ pills, with my hop-burdock pickle. When neighbors had the housemaid knee, or mumps or gout or tetter, I took around a tlask of tea and they at once telt better. I felt that I was doing good, in this punk world of sorrow; today I healed old Gaffer Wood, I'd cure old Grimes tomorrow. And people blessed me for the dope I sprung with hand un- sparing; it filled their darkened lives with hope when worn by burden-bearing. For years I made my wholesome brew, and planned to keep on brewing; alas, today a fine I drew, and there is nothing doing. Inspectors analyzed a paii of my life-giving potion, and now I’m sitting here in jail, filled up with sad emotion. What is the use of striving hard to make this world a winner? Inspectors catch you off your guard and say you are a sinner. The judge surveys you w.ih a gaze that makes your reason totter, and then he hands you sixty days in hock on bread and water. Inspectors watch you day by day, they watch you while you're sleep their keeping. Old Mrs. Jimpson came this morn, and said,“ My husband's dying! Please take your car for Dr. Horn, and bring him to us, flyin I backed my flivver from its shed—said flivver is a beauty and up the road I hotly sped, and thought high speed a duty For when a neighbor's lying prone such ardent haste’s de manded; a man can’t call his time his own, until the doc is landed. And so I sped by moor and fen, and wid me; and on his motorcycle then a trafiic cop pursued me. He would not harken to my shricks, a wooden head was his’n: he locked me up with other freaks, and here I sit in prison. I am in jail for many crimes; my spirit is dejected, and I bewail these bitter times, when all men are inspected. For me the sun no longer shines, life has no touch of beauty, for I am always paying fines, or doing chain-gang duty. I try so hard to live aright, but statutes jar and freeze me, and Iam always pinched on sight, when an inspector sees me. I cannot write, I cannot draw, I cannot paint a lily, but that I violate a law, or knock a statute silly. And more inspectors we shall have, more tyrants unforgiving; is there no healing dope or salve to make this life worth living? until you die or blow away, they have you in comicbooks.com