Judge — September 17, 1927 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LADIES’ HOME JOURNAL NUMBER «More Power to Your Elbows (A Harp-to-Harp Talk ) By Jutta Marcarwr-Anne O'SHaAuGHNEssY HEN I was but a tiny FZ thing, I can remember ff the first words I ever ¥ WW heard spoken by my Mother. “Pat,” said she to my ) | ! | ] in earnest. Pr: practise! Not sa’ and arpeggios and learning the gear shifts, I must learn to take my harp apart and assemble it blindfolded inside of four minutes. I suppose I should say I grew to loathe the sight and sound of my harp. But if I did, that would not | be true. I loved it. And then there always my elbows. I Ss ae father in her old-world patois, ' “will yez look at the elbows on | little Sheila!” And that is why I am today the harpist I am today if I am. i | ] Mother was a splendid harpist, i having from its onset subscribed regularly to Harper’s Bazaar. 1 owe all my early training to her; 1 she harped continuously on my el- bows. Of course, I had to look about soon enough for something to ={F loved them too. Weary from glissandos (a kind of native an- chovy), I would look at my elbows 1 in the mirror and rush back fever- ishly to my harp, to strive to make || myself worthy of them. And with | all my classical pieces and severe t || exercises (one-two, one-two), a | |] flood of wild music was forever in ||| my head—pookie music” I called it. I suppose it would sound strange to assert that it was the actual forerunner of modern “jazz.” My début at fifteen was an in- stantaneous succe: As was pre- } dicted, all the critics lost their i hearts, and I was called: “The Girl with the Golden Elbows.” Several crit said right out in | print that I would go far. Well— here I am, in your great big America, and not such a ter- rible flop, at that! { And I have been to other places. I was to one place the other evening, where they have the grandest beer... . By the way, beer, in moderation, is very good for the elbows. As this is just a little harp-to-harp talk, I shall not enter into my tri- umphs and despairs, my bad days or lucky numbers. Let me say, though, that a diet of fresh nuts has put me in the “AND THIS IS —the Champion SWALLOWED HES Harpist of Amer: harp on myself, as it is impossible to harp on one’s own elbows other a than one at a time. And that Ka isn’t harping—that’s just fooling |) 2round. I shall never forget my first harp. Playing one day in the alley, I found an old picture frame —the glass and back gone, but the sides still intact. Removing a ball of twine from the wide, good- natured mouth of my pet goat, I had a harp in no time. And oh, as I swept the strings, the joy that filled my childish heart. Right then and there I made a little song—I remember it to this day .. . “Made- moiselle from Ar- méntieres, parlez- vous, Mademoiselle from Arméntieres, parlez-vous. . . .” H believe the boys |i sang it later in the Great War. Well, I grew and grew and my elbows grew with me and soon two little dim- ia ples appeared. That \ settled it! I could become a_ profes- sional harpist. Father sent to Dub- lin for a child’s harp for a Harp’s child, and when it came, work began NIFICENT EK te) THE MAG to TH E PET comicbooks.com