Judge, 1929-12-07 · page 12 of 36
Judge — December 7, 1929 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis: "Dropping the Pilot" This cartoon satirizes bureaucratic incompetence and mismanagement during economic crisis. The central figure appears to be a government or corporate official labeled with various failed policies ("Ridgewood County Fly Prevention," "Arms Parcel," "Dry Law Snobbery," "Roll Weevil Evil," "Lascivious Platitudes"). A businessman at the bottom tries to push him aside, captioned "The Talkies." The title "Dropping the Pilot" references the famous Tenniel cartoon of Bismarck's dismissal, suggesting removal of a failed leader. The joke, per the caption, involves a bookkeeper who manipulates figures—the cartoon critiques how officials cook numbers while real workers suffer. The accompanying story about "Big-Hearted Hartman," a factory owner who keeps unemployed workers on payroll only to have them strike, appears to mock sentimental paternalism as equally impractical as government bungling. The satire targets early 1930s Depression-era responses: both bloated, ineffective bureaucracy and well-intentioned but economically naive management.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE aipenae | “DROPPING THE PILOT” Just send me some Valspar and your pay-envelope, boys, and I'll show you how to varnishee your salary. “I’ve added up these figures ten times, sir,” reported Double- Entry Jenks, the head bookkeeper. “Good for you, Jake, you're a faithful employee,” praised the boss. “And here’s the ten answers, sir,” added Jenks, throwing away his 1. C. S. course. Hey, big movie shots, why haven't you ever given us a film version of “Seven Keys to Baldpate”? 10 Big-Hearted Hartman At nine o'clock Tuesday morning Hartman dashed into my ‘office with tears streaming down his cheeks. “I'm unfaithful to their trust in me,” he wailed. “Over six hundred honest toilers look to me and I’m failing them. I'm more than their employer. I'm their commercial father, their indus trial guardian.” Maybe I had better explain here that Hartman runs a huge shoe factory that employs nearly seven hundred men, Ever since the crash in’ the stock market, things haven't been so rosy at the Hartman plant. Orders dribbled in’ for a while but finally they petered out entirely. “There isn’t an order in the files,” wept Hartman, “Anybody else would lay them off, I guess, but I can’t get myself to do it. I'm going to ketp them on the pay-roll doing something or other. My 1 staff won't suf- fer. I'll pay them their weekly wages even if it wrecks me. I'll put them to painting, cleaning and fixing up. 1 can't take the bread out of their chil- dren's mouths, I can’t!" With a final fountain of genuine tears Hartman dashed out. I turned around and blotted little salt pools on my desk. He's a funny fellow that ; A little old-fashioned, ine! to sobs, sorrow and sentiment. ned Much to my surprise, at three that afternoon he stalked in again, a fat cigar in his mouth emitting clouds of fragrant smoke. A complete meta- morphosis had come over the man. A blithe, cheerful, all’s-right-with-the- world grin illuminated his face. “Well,” I said, “looks as if you landed some pretty big orders today.” “No, didn’t get a thing,” said still grinning. “But lis appened. I left you at nine- thirty this morning and got back to the plant at a quarter of eleven, And what do you think I found “I'll bite,” I said. “What did you find?” “My staff, my loyal, loving staff,” id Hartman as he blew a salvo of scented smoke » “had gone on strike at ten o'cloc! —Antiuve L, Lippmann Knock-proot So live, that when thy summons comes, No mortal, sane or daffy, Will read the praises on thy tomb And call them cpitaffy. comicbooks.com