Judge, 1924-12-13 · page 8 of 36
Judge — December 13, 1924 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Modern Letters to Santa Claus This satirical page mocks Prohibition-era society through humorous letters to Santa. The humor depends on understanding 1920s alcohol prohibition: **Key references:** - **"Flo Flapper"** seeks Scotch whiskey and "synthetic" (bootleg liquor), openly requesting "a dozen cases" for a party—openly flouting Prohibition laws - **"Rum Row Robert"** (a bootlegger) wants a motorboat to smuggle illegal alcohol across waters - **Mrs. Santa Claus** requests "flesh-colored hose" and reducing girdles—fashionable items for modern women - **Young Harry K. Thaw** writes an innocent child's wish list, contrasting sharply with the adult debauchery The satire targets how Prohibition created widespread lawbreaking: wealthy people openly seeking illegal alcohol, bootleggers as commonplace businessmen, and society's hypocrisy. The contrast between the innocent child's letter and adults' brazen alcohol requests emphasizes how normalized criminal behavior had become under Prohibition.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
First Enruvusitast—IWell, I’m afraid the tennis season is about over for this year, old man. Modern Letters to Santa Claus Dear Old Thing: It’s been a tough season for yours truly. The Scotch you dragged in last December 25 ran out right after Decoration Da A sympathetic lifeguard at Key West swam over for acase of the synthetic, which knocked this winsome wench for a row of tent- poles, partially destroying the sight in my good eye. You’ve always been such a good old bean and this year I’m counting on you for a dozen cases. Don't stand me up, Xmas daddie, as we're holding a little “get-together” at the family chateau on the eve and the racket would fliv without the hootch. Yours ’till H: freezes over, Fro Fraprer. Dear Saint Nick: I've been a good boy so far this year. Mother says that I deserve lots of nice things and so I’m writing to ask you for electric trains, a box of building blocks, a kiddie-car, a sol- dier suit and nice big set of stuffed rabbits. Inmately yours, Harry K. Tuaw. Dear Mr. Claus: Lam a poor, but honest and hard- working bootlegger. I cover the downtown office building trade and have a tough time to keep both ends apart. All I want this year is a good, fast motorboat! Yours for service, Rum Row Rosert. Mr. Santa Claus: You never bring me anything, and if it wasn't for the boarder, I would still be old-fashioned and unattrac- tive. This year I demand what every woman deserves. Unless you bring me six pairs of flesh-colored hose, one of those new, rubber reduc- ing girdles, a box of scented cigar- ettes, two barrels of facial mud, I will go home to mother immediately! Yours indignantly, Mrs. Santa Ciavs. A. L. Le soe Sometimes when the son goes to college, the father gets the education. “An organ in the home; how charming. “The decorator's suggestion, my dear; really a radiator, you know.” » comicbooks.com