Judge, 1921-04-23 · page 11 of 32
Judge — April 23, 1921 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Our Blessings" - Social Commentary on Wealth Inequality This is a humorous essay with accompanying cartoon, not a political cartoon per se. The piece satirizes American attitudes toward wealth and complaint during the early automotive age. **The Setup:** The protagonist encounters "Old Jasper Jinx," a chronically pessimistic man who constantly complains about hardship despite having abundant chickens and a productive cow. Later, the narrator himself envies a wealthy driver's fancy automobile while riding in his own cheap "tin lizzie" (Model T Ford). **The Satire:** When the fancy car breaks down and its occupants become frustrated, the narrator experiences schadenfreude—joy at the rich man's misfortune. The irony is pointed: both rich and poor complain, yet the narrator's "blessings" (his functioning flivver, his health) go unappreciated until he sees worse circumstances. **The Message:** Mason argues Americans are ungrateful, constantly fixating on what others possess rather than appreciating their own modest comforts. The cartoon visualizes this theme: the envious narrator in his jalopy versus the stranded plutocrat—a reversal of expected fortune.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“'Tuey LookED WITH ENVY ON MY FLIVVER, MY POOK OLD HENRY CART” Our Blessings By Waut Mason Illustration by Raven Barton LD Jasper Jinx was always saying that hard luck came his way, and all the time his hens were laying some fourteen eggs a day. He talked about the cost of living. a scream; and all the time his cow was giving all and said it was kinds of milk and cream And as he talked poor sickly creatures went by on wobbly legs, starvation written on their features, because they had no eggs. They felt discouraged as they rambled along the rocky road; no henfruit, poached or boiled or scrambled upon them were bestowed. . Sometimes life’s grievous ills confound me and make my soul distressed; but when I pause and look around me I see that Lam blessed. This morning I was sadly riding in my cheap car of tin, and as it went, the wind dividing, it made an awful din. The fenders shook, the windshield rattled, the doors were swinging loose, the bolts complained as though they tattled some tale of sore abuse. And then a gorgeous car went past me, with people rich and fat, and I remarked, “Oh, chee, dodgast me, had I a boat like that! It must have cost ten thousand dollars, it’s strictly up to date; no wonder that the poor man hollers at his unhappy fate! He has to push a cheap tin lizzie and do tne oest he can, the while the plutocrat gets busy and buys a noble van. This blamed old boat is squawking, squeaking, I hear it groan and hiss, and all the cylinders are leaking, and all the sparkplugs miss. And those blamed plutes ahead are driving, exulting in their power, and look with scorn on henrys striving to make eight miles an hou And then I turned a corner neatly, and cast aside my frown and presently was smiling sweetly—that car had broken down! An axle and a wheel were busted—such things are quite a bore; and all those plutes stood round disgusted, and swore, and swore, and swore. They looked with envy on my flivver, my poor old henry cart; and joy went soaking through my liver, my wishbone and my heart. As up the highway 1 went drilling, along the sunlit slope, my friends and neighbors heard me trill song of faith and hope It’s sometimes true that circumstances will knock a fellow flat; and then some modern instance chances, to show him where he’s at. We are too fond of watching, gazing, for ills, our goose to cook and so our blessings great, amazing, we're prone to overlook I sometimes do some tall complaining because I have a corn; and sorrow in my soul is reigning, I wish I'd not been born. And then some fellow with a tumor comes chirruping along, and he is full of pep and humor, and vim and prunes and song. I sometimes tell of grief I’m havin’, by that affliction lamed; and then some fellow with a spavin comes by, and I am shamed. Oh, nearly all our woes are bubbles, to nurse them we are mad; so let us not go hunting troubles, but chortle and be glad. comicbooks.com