Life, 1883-01-11 · page 12 of 18
Life — January 11, 1883 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This page from *Life* magazine satirizes New York City's Sunday laws (codes regulating commercial activity on Sundays). The top cartoon shows a child asking Uncle Fred whether New York has "high latitude"—a pun: he means geographical latitude, but Uncle Fred responds with "latitude" meaning leniency/freedom, suggesting New York allows rule-breaking. Below are two monologues from working-class New Yorkers criticizing the inconsistent enforcement of Sunday codes. Isaac Rosenshimmer (a German-Jewish immigrant, indicated by dialect) complains he must follow rules strictly while customers evade them. Patrolman John Smith argues that selective enforcement is worse than useless—the wealthy uptown can buy ice cream on Sunday while poor East Siders risk arrest for letting snow sit on steps or carrying milk. He sarcastically suggests corrupt officials should be sent to Bloomingdale (an asylum). The satire targets class hypocrisy: laws enforced selectively against the poor while the wealthy ignore them with impunity.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A DISTINCTION. Lucy : UNCLE Fre, 1s NEW YORK A HIGH LATITUDE? Uncle Fred. : No, SHOULD SAY NOT, ALTHOUGH IT IS A HIGH OLD PLACE AND THERE IS LOTS OF LATI- TUDE THERE. must not on de Saturday mein good gustomers disap- point, so I sell him de goat und de drowsers ven he him vant. Und I dell mein pardner yust vot de leetel poys in de Powery say, dot itvas a varm day ven I get cold. Isaac ROSENSHIMMER, No. —— Chatham Street. Iv. I ain’t much on the write, but I haven't been ‘round the streets of New York ten years for nothing, and what I don’t know about Codes ain’t worth knowing. This ere code’s just ridi- culous, anyhow. Lots of men would like to shut up or not work Sundays, but if any one does it, all of ‘em in that line must, or they get left. You've got to treat ‘em all alike. Then what in thunder’s the sense ina man up-town getting his ice cream easy on Sunday, and a poor devil on the East side having to skulk home dodging the cop with a drink of milk for a sick baby? Such foolish- ness can’t last. People pitch into the police, as if they’d anything to do but mind the cap’s orders. Isee a man sweeping the snow off his steps last Sunday, and I told him I'd run him in, and he up and tells me he'd been warned that he'd be took up for letting the snow stay. “Young feller,” says I, “ You're too fresh and I'll run you in for that too.” I ain’t judge and jury and assembly- man and all. As the soldier told the officer who was sitting on him for getting drunk, “you can’t expect all the cardinal virtues for thirteen dollars a month.” Now I've got one more word to say. A code that ain’t enforced all ‘round is worse than no code atall ; and for them that’s responsible for things as_ they are now, there’s just one plan that’s fit, and that’s Bloom- ingdale—and don't you forget it!” Joun Smitu, Patrolman — Precinct. comicbooks.com