Judge — February 1937 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

REASONS FOR ANGER BY KYLE CRICHTON IF THERE ARE no protests from the multitude, I should like to be reborn a hundred years hence as an archacolo- gist. Nothing would please me more than prodding around in the ruins of Manhattan with my fellow scientists who had merely been born. With my usual feeling that I somehow constitute Posterity, I know rather well what the reaction of the innocents of a century to come are likely to be. Just as if I were there now, I can see the enthusi- astic figure of the leading archaeologist bounding among the rocks and ruins and coming forth with a great shout. “Gentlemen,” he will cry. “I have the key to the whole matter. It is plain that the years 1936-37 were under the guidance of a great goddess. I even have her name—Gypsy Rose Lee!” From that he will be able to recon. struct the whole epoch. He will find that in a time of strikes, civil wars, revolutions and abdications, the cultural life of New York City was centered about the lovely lady who held court amid the adulation cf the artists and seers and prophets. “Sappho, Cleopatra, Madame Pompa- dour and Gypsy Rose Lee!”” would cry the good man, who might as well be known here as Professor Ipswich. Prof. Ipswich finally had the whole thing doped out. “The Supreme Goddess of the Cult of Striptease, a native and highly devel- oped American art There stands No, there she sits No, stands. Slowly she divests herself of her garments in a sacred cere- mony attended by the prophets and less- er gods. And, here Do you know what this is—it's a salon and Madame Lee is holding court. The great men sit at her feet . . . . She is reading. It is a great sensation. Democ- racy is fighting for its very existence, but the men of America are so enthralled in their goddess that they refuse to defend their own liberties. The great poets look up at her with adoration is reading . . . . The words fall lilt. ; ingly from her lips .. . . ‘I saw the cat «+. The cat is big . . . The cat eats 13 the mouse.’ What beauty! What erudi- tion! The men of America are enthralled. The guns boom without. Airplanes roar overhead. The world is in a state of col. lapse but Gypsy Rose Lee reads on ‘See the pretty tree . . . . It is an app-ull tree.’ Nothing like this has ever been seen in the great democracy.” At this point in his disclosure, Pro- fessor Ipswich stopped to utter a sigh. “The Age of Gypsy Rose Lee,” he said softly. “What a superb period in the history of the universe. One can only look back at those great days with longing.” By this time his colleagues would be up to their collar buttons in research, discovering new wonders by the minute. A young gentleman, named Armenen- trout, dashed up with the newest find. “Not only have we discovered the Goddess,” he yelled, “but also her Chief Prophet. An Oriental deity named Min- sky . .. . One of the Great Visionaries.” Things came fast after that. “The great episode of the career of Queen Gypsy Rose Lee came in the third year of her reign,” another re- search fellow reported. “It was the . Great Robbery of the Crown Jewels. Some quite ordinary man removed them from her person. I think his name was Guy Fawkes.” “Research proves,” stated this reborn individual, “that the device of a jewel robbery was often utilized by monarchs to keep them suitably in the public eye.” “A queen like Gypsy Rose Lee!” cried the assembled group. “You insult the memory of the most loved monarch of ancient times, you secondhand pig!" As he fled the reborn one stopped long enough to shout over his shoulder: “It would have been better for what was then known as civilization if the Wise Men of America had paid more attention to their thinking. The world might have been saved!" But by this time the scientists were back on the hunt. As the shades fell over the ruins of Manhattan, eager men were to be seen burrowing among the debris. From various parts of the little island shouts could be heard. “Happy birthday, Rosie, but don't wear it outside of the house!” comicbooks.com