Judge, 1921-07-09 · page 13 of 36
Judge — July 9, 1921 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Forgotten Grief This is a humorous essay-poem by Walt Mason (illustrated by Ralph Barton) about how human grief and worry are temporary and ultimately forgotten—yet we treat them as permanent tragedies while experiencing them. **The satire:** Mason mocks people's tendency to agonize intensely over problems that vanish from memory within weeks or months. The cartoon depicts a man dramatically weeping at a window, embodying this overwrought response. **The point:** Mason argues that almost all worries are self-inflicted and short-lived. He uses concrete examples (planting trees that died, failed nutmeg crops) to show that disappointments naturally fade and become replaced by new ones. His advice: stop dramatizing current sorrows, enjoy life ("throw our hats on high"), and recognize that even today's supposedly devastating "grief...has tassels on its horns"—is just another temporary affliction. **The message for Judge's readers:** This reflects early-20th-century popular philosophy promoting emotional resilience and acceptance of life's inevitable ups and downs, rather than wallowing in self-pity.
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ions were pan- my ise I eda eam vith ne’s en- ‘al, XUM “ALL NIGHT, LONG SINCE, 1 WALKED THE FLOOR, MY OUTCRY MADE THE WELKIN HUM’ Forgotten Grief KNOW that I have wailed in woe, and thought said woe could know no cure; I don’t recall why I did so— my memory has grown so poor. All night, long since, I walked the floor, my outcry made the welkin hum; I thought the night would ne’er be o’er, that blooming morn would never come. The grief I had was doubtless big, I thought I’d never smile again; and yet time’s well known whirligig has banished it from out my ken. The morning came, serene and fine, the birdlets warbled, brisk and gay; the tears I shed were wasted brine, and all my groans were thrown away. And it is ever thus with tears, ’twas ever thus since Adam slept; a few brief hours or days or years, and then you wonder why you wept. I walk along the village street, my coat- tails flapping in the air, and nearly every gent I meet has all the earmarks of despair. I see the deeply furrowed brow, the pallid lip and eye intense; and every grief that By Watt Mason Illustration by RatpH Barton bores men now will cut no ice a few weeks hence. There'll be a new grief in July, and August will its woe provide; so let us throw our hats on high, and let the present sorrow slide. Our trusty corkscrews let us take, and open flasks of ginger ale, for every mortal woe’s a fake, a smile is better than a wail. I planted trees and they all died, and so I raved and beat my breast; but there are trees on every side, and cordwood till you cannot rest. I planted nutmegs in the soil, and hoped to reap a crop galore; all unre- warded was my toil—but there are nutmegs at the store. The countless failyres we have made don’t matter in a little while; soon from our memories they fade, and all we have to do is smile. You worry over this and that, and never know a minute’s peace; but I, who worry not, am fat, and bask serenely in my grease. And once I had a bitter tongue, and cussed the luck in ringing words; but years 13 brought wisdom and I flung all idle sorrows to the birds. Where is the grief you had last year, the grief that seemed a beastly shame? One day you saw it disappear, and now you can’t recall its name. Today you havea brand new grief, a secret woe your soul adorns; of all sad things it is the chief, and it has tassels on its horns. You lead it with you, on a chain, expound its points to all your friends, and weep when you describe the strain and all the agony it lends. But if we meet a year from now, and I re- mark to you, “Well, well! Where is the grief that creased your brow?” You'll say, “T’m darned if I can tell.” There is no sense in any wight who all his lifetime fumes and frets; few woes would last us overnight if we refused to make them pets. Long years ago misfortune scowled, but all details are swept away; I can’t re- member why I howled and wept upon a bygone day.