Judge — October 1934 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

Intelligence Begins at 30 F I HAD my way I'd send my sons if I had any sons to college somewhere after their 30th year. It’s all very well to say that the formative years are the important years, but there are forma- tions and formations. The proof that we have been forming our educated minds badly lies in the fact that no sooner do we introduce, for practically the first time in our history, a few thinkers in public office, than there heaps down on our government the most vili- fied abuse in history since H. L Mencken laid off ex-President Hoover. Were the habit of sending educated, properly formed college minds to Wash- ington prevalent in the past, the laugh would be on the other foot. Then were someone to send a typical flannel- mouthed orator with a handshake like & wet mouse from Sauk City to Wash- ington to lead the country to Nirvana, there would be an immediate revolution with such blood spilling as hasn't been seen since they bled the French nobility. In other words, you know and I know that a man’s not a man till he rounds 30. Then cometh a bit of glimmer of intel- ligence into his effervescence and fool- hardiness, and he is ready to be edu- cated. His studies then become things of meaning. History, philosophy, phys ics, economics are not matters to be crammed evenings before exams and forgotten evenings after, but vital mat- ters of choice to influence his own and the lives of others. College becomes a serious place not just a spot near a stadium, a dance floor or a barroom. I do not think it would seriously inter- fere with these extra-curricular matters either. I think a man ought be able to die for his dear old University on the gridiron, the running track, the Plaza tea room or the Elbow Bender's Tavern just as prettily and handily at 30 as he would at 19. What would I do till they got to be 30? I'd beat the devil out of them and knock some sense into them. It’s Smart to Be Spendthrifty HERE is no doubt that money brings security but my blood boils time I pass a bank. I realize that banks are strong houses thru which passes the financial blood of the coun- try but somehow I cannot forget that banks incite the passion of thrift; the passion of cruelty; and the passion of robbery. They are strongholds which incite man to amass money and to with- hold money from others. They have the power of life and death over men. And I further believe that money breeds happiness. That is, however, kept in circulation and not in stagnation. I fully realize that all money kept in banks isn’t allowed to rest there and rot in peace at 4% but is reinvested in worthy enterprises. But in my old- fashioned way I cannot understand why so much of the money that is being printed and circulated by the govern- ment should be allowed to freeze in banks as hundreds of millions of it is Bankers these days are notorious in their refusals of loans to anybody except Mr. Morgan or other gilt-edged human securities. Witness the government hav- ing to go into the mortgage business. Well least no silk-hatted government official is going to appear and drive you and your little ones out into the street for failing to meet the interest on the loan. But what I'm getting at is that with 14 mone rue BENCH anywhere from 5 to 10 millions still being unemployed every cent that every- one has should be spent. Truly there is economy only in abun- dance. Money that lies frozen clots the circulation of the economic system. Spent money, honestly come by, breeds money, I realize that this may not be sound economics but it sounds to me like sound sense, Our traitor today is he who socks aw money the government has printed for him. Yes, I'd like to see the world arranged so that instead of everyone saying, “There goes J. Potfull; he’s got a bank account it takes eighteen big banks to hold,” people will point and say: “There goes Soandso. He hasn’t got a cent to his name. Spends everything he makes. Isn't he wonderful !” Remember it’s only the squirrel who saves for the winter. But who wants to be a squirrel? Love Thirty, Darling T IS beginning to look as if the Bow- ery’s opinion of tennis is coming true. For years the average Tender- loinite has made fun of tennis’ “Love” this and that; its Chesterfieldian court- liness which includes “throwing” points after doubtful decisions by the linesmen; its leapings over the net to congratulate the winnah; in short, its highly polished code of mannerisms, daintinesses and delicacies. It has been the game of well-pressed flannels and glaring blazers and the other paraphernalia of the Rich. It has had to be played on ex- clusive grounds to be played right. It has its own little social register and its own little exclusive snobbishness. (Page 22, please) ~~ comicbooks.com