Judge, 1929-09-21 · page 7 of 36
Judge — September 21, 1929 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Judge Magazine Page The top cartoon satirizes material excess during economic hardship. Two figures stand amid enormous piles of hats, with one remarking about acquiring a fur coat. The caption "Amnesia Victim" suggests someone has forgotten their previous poverty or wartime rationing, now wastefully accumulating luxury goods. Below, "The Outcast" poem by Carroll Carroll personifies a social pariah—someone cast out and isolated, traveling alone while others enjoy community. References to "monoxide gases" and riding "in the rumble" suggest Depression-era homelessness or vagrancy. The bottom item jokes about recycling: a man who previously discarded old razor blades now searches for empty ginger-ale bottles, implying economic desperation has forced people to salvage trash for resale or reuse. The page overall critiques 1920s-30s economic inequality and waste.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Things You Must Know There's no reverse on a motor- cycle. Two -aply as one, but not as ple Men sometimes used to save ladies’ garters for souvenirs, and now ladies are doing the same thing. If the doctor's orders aren't carried out, the patient is. There's no use in locking the barn door after the horse is stolen, ss you are going to make a out of it. —R. C. O'Brien *s version: As ye sue, so shall ye reap. JUDGE Amyrsta Victim—It was aiwfully siceet of you to show me all these hats but I think the thing I came out for is a fur coat. The Outcast A pariah I, with a heart that is hollow; Where others may lead, I but nay follow; I am forced to con- tinually swallow, My self-esteem’s taken a tumble, Though journey I may, I know no conversation ; For one in my sadly unique situ- ation There's nothing, it seems, but complete isolation; My lot's cast with that of the humble. The rain soaks my soul as I ravel the highway Or sun burns me up as I go along my way; I envy some wayfarer’s shaded and dry way, But never dare let out a grumble, I'm laughed at by all of the world as it passes; I'm butt for the jibes of “the few” and the masses; They give me the air—full of monoxic I'm the fellow who rides in the rumble, —Carnort Cannor. The man who used to wonder ypened to all the old used happens to all the empty ginger-ale bottles,