Judge, 1932-11 · page 13 of 36
Judge — November 1932 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "I Want a Policeman!" - Satire on Urban Bureaucracy This story mocks the absurd inefficiency of urban police dispatch systems. The narrator, awakening to a burglary in progress at 3 a.m., calmly calls for help—only to encounter a stereotypically dim, pedantic desk officer more concerned with paperwork (initials, exact building numbers) than apprehending an active criminal escaping across rooftops. The humor lies in the contrast: while a thief flees overhead, the dispatcher demands trivial bureaucratic details, unable to grasp urgency. The final panel's caption—"Darn these tabloid readers!"—suggests the narrator's frustration with police incompetence has been publicized in the newspapers. This satirizes early 20th-century urban police dysfunction and the frustration of citizens dealing with unresponsive city services. The illustrations show the robber's dramatic escape while bureaucracy fumbles below.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Judge “T] Want a Policeman!” By Stanley Jones T must have been three a.m,— maybe four — when my slumber was shattered by a scream from somewhere out in the court. It was presently joined by another scream and a couple of hoarse masculine shouts. Lights jumped into yellow squares in the blankness of the oppo- site wall... windows slammed up and down, “There he goes! Up the fire escape!” Somehow, I kicked my wi through the furniture to the w dow, Sure enough, a tall, stooped figure with a felt hat pulled low over his eyes was taking the zigzag steps leading to the roof. Two at a time. While the addlepated inmates of the apartment shouted and pointed in such frenzy as is induced in a rabbit hutch at sight of a night- prowling python, the man of action sat calmy down and picked up the telephone. “I want a policeman,” I said, Just like that. No panic. No babbling incoherence. Just the way the tele- phone company tells you to do it. I imagined the quiet approval of the operator at my cool handling of the situatio’ drawled a casual voice. —Thoid Precink.” y I marshalled my facts. “This is the apartment house at Sast Ninety-Sixth. There’s a xty t Ninety-Sixth,” re- peated the thick voice. “What's that near—Madison or L ngton?” “Between Madison and Park,” 1 arly to the roof now better send someone over He's a tall, stooped—” “Who are you inquired the voice. “Who's callin’?” “My name is Earley,” I said, truthfully enough. “And I’m ing from my apartment. Please send a policeman, right away.” “‘Earley,’” repeated the voice. 1 could almost see the red, stubby fingers making notations on a ledger. “Initials, please?” “Listen,” I cried. “There's a robber about to make his escape up here on top of the building! Are you going to—” “What'd you say they were?” “E.H.”, I said, my voice trembling. “Now for God’s Sake send—” “What building is this mug climb- ing up on, Mr. ley?” “You can’t miss it,” I said. “It's directly behind my building—Sixty East Ninety-Sixth. A tall, yellow b building.” ‘Yair, but what's the number? We got to know the number. We can't go bashing in one building after another at this time of the (Page 28, please) “Darn these tabloid readers!” comicbooks.com