Judge — December 5, 1931 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

‘Name: JUDGE George Jean Nathan and Graham McNamee Trade Jobs This is the old Maestro George witnessing the exhibition termed by the managers a “grid clas- sic” between Salem College and the Marines, now on tap at Sailors’ Field, and a very dull affair it is, too. Sev- eral confréres seem profoundly inter- ested in the spectacle, but the lines are weak and your patient observer is pretty sore he was hornswoggled into ting an afternoon on it. Butch McCarthy has just broken through the Salem line for five yards and the spe re howling for more. Nothing, however, has come of it. The M. McCarthy is addicted to torso twisting and no doubt makes yardage for the Marines, but the play was an ocularly painful piece of deli- catessen not worth the wind necessary na velous ] I've ever seen! How about it, Phil? Absolutely! Yes, sir, this Dick Marshall—no, it Ralph Baldwin. Which was it, Ph Yes, Ralph Baldwin plays the lead, and how! There must have been 700 peo- ple there, folks, and the theatre was beautifully decorated. So were some of the members of the audience. Ha, ha! And now I'm going to describe that play to you. This Ralph Bald- win is a gangster named Tom—no, he’s a bootlegger, in love with Daisy, a millionaire’s daughter. But she doesn’t know n’s a bootlegger. Oh, boy, what a situation! The second act gets off to a good start. Tom tells Daisy he loves her. She comes back with a kiss. Sam comes in—he's one of Tom's enemies. They argue over [setcar yasay CHICKER PIE | ALA moe | “A little mustard, pleash!” to award it the well-known razzberry. Your sage is compelled to report that the end run by Salem, now on iew on their own twenty-three-yard c, is a labored mess of tripe and nothing more. My program informs me that the individual who received the ball, fumbled it and forthwith sat down heavily on his ample rear is one Joe Schmelski. The passing attack, just opened by the Marines, turned out to be the worst sort of trash, and if I am ever again asked to review such schni: for my followers I am going to reach quickly for my hat and depart for South Africa, where even the native track meets are presented with some degree of intelligence. ° oe © cNamee (writing): What a show —what a show! Folks, this new show at the Liberty is the most mar- Rerenee—This is the last time I work in the ring with a near-sighted fighter! in a corner. They get into a fight! Tom leads with his right to Sam's jaw. Sam ducks and comes back with a left hoo! They clinch. They're down! They're up! Sally—I mean } ams! Tam, I mean hits Som, I mean Tom, with a cl i Oh! oh! It’s a woxxxgurb oof gop- sz to mffqw: It looks—wait! Yes—no—yes! Folks, listen! At this point the cops break in!! Oh, boy, what a SHOW! Wow!! My fingers are all worn out now, folks, so I'm go- ing to turn the typewriter over to Phil, who will tell you something about the players. Phil... —Gurney Wittiams ° comicbooks.com