Life, 1883-06-28 · page 12 of 17
Life — June 28, 1883 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Satire of Samuel Tilden's Political Ambitions This 1883 *Life* magazine piece mocks former presidential candidate Samuel Tilden through faux-earnest testimony. A correspondent claims to visit Tilden's farm and describes him performing superhuman feats—running miles without tiring, lifting 250-pound dumbbells, sprinting up 17 flights of stairs—all while insisting Tilden has "no political intentions." The satire works through ironic contradiction: every description of Tilden's vigorous vitality and youthful energy implicitly suggests he's physically capable of running for president again, directly contradicting the letter-writer's assurances otherwise. The cartoons above (a jumping figure, a muscular man with dumbbells) reinforce this theme visually. The joke targets rumors that the elderly Tilden might seek the 1884 presidential nomination despite his age and previous electoral losses in 1876. *Life* suggests his denials of political ambition are transparently false—his obvious vigor proves he *could* run, making his supposed disinterest unconvincing.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
310 ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. , Mr. Dude, LL.D. does not stand for Doctor of Lugs, nor does $.T.D. necessarily relate to Sam Tilden’s Dog. The degree of LL.D. is generally conferred on men who have distinguished themselves at the bar and is simply the abbreviated form of Doctor of Lungs; while S.T.D. is often conferred on men of your calibre, and is the playful way Faculties of Colleges have of calling a man a Thick-Skinned Dude. ARTIST.—No; the bronze sculpture, lately unveiled in the Central Park and named ‘* The Still Hunt,” is not an effigy of Samuel J. Tilden. It represents an internal revenue officer searching for an illicit whisky factory in the mountains of the Robber State. FINANCIER.—It cannot be readily ascertained whether the Secretary of the Interior is a paying teller, or a receiving teller. ‘Ask some railroad lawyer. AMATEUR Port.—(1.) Oh! yes! Certainty! Send it along! There is no class of matter so difficult to procure and so suited to our readers’ wants as the rhyming drivel you propose to fur- nish. (2.) What do we pay? Well, if we accept your poem, we will pay $10 a line. Dorsty, Washington.—{1.) Yes, as you say, the jurors did rather give the thing away by being too unanimous. @3 ls public confidence restored? Oh, yes—the public confides in you fully as much as it did a month ago. Brapy, Washkington.—Wish you hadn't, eh! So do the taxpayers. : Hayes, OAio.—(1.) Do not the kind people of the East think of you as much as they ever did? Yes, just about. 2. Will we please state you have no intention of being President in '84? Certainly ; with pleasure. ATTERSON ON TILDEN. Greystong, N. Y,, June 25th, 1883. To the Editor of Lire. Mr. TILpeN _ invited me to visit him a week ago to consult with me about a bullfrog nursery which he contemplates adding to his farm. Next to Stephen Dorsey and myself, I do not believe the country has produced a more zeal- ° ous or enthusiastic farmer than is my life-long friend, whom I found awaiting me at the station. I had been led to expect that I would find him decrepit, palsied, tottering and feeble-minded. Judge of my agreeable surprise when I saw him—his cheeks rosy as a girl's, his eye clear, bright and quick, his muscles firm, elastic and knotted, his form erect and his mind sinewy and active as that of a cat on a hot stove. He grasped my hand and the squeeze was actually painful. ‘To say that I was amazed would do my feelings but scant justice. I do not think, how- ever, that Mr. Tilden has any political intentions. It is two miles from the station to Greystone. The day was hot, and I hailed the presence of a hack at the station with delight. Mr. Tilden, however, refused *LIFE- to ride, and actually ran before the horses the “entire distance, leaping fences and throwing somersaults over bushes with boyish aéandon which delighted me. This shows how far removed from any political aspir- ation he is, At Greystone a breakfast was served. I am careful in diet and partook sparingly of one or two dozen hard boiled eggs and a mince-pie, but Mr. Tilden de- clared that his appetite was equal to anything, and ate enormously of every dish from crab apple jelly to fried crow, of which last delicacy he is very fond. I am convinced that he takes no interest whatever in the coming campaign. After breakfast I naturally desired to rest, but Mr. Tilden, with a silvery, light-hearted laugh grasped up a pair of 250 lb. dumbbells and ran merrily up 17 flights of stairs to the cupola, from which eminence he chuckled at my uncomfortable ef- forts to ascend. This convinces me he would never accept the nomi- nation if it were tendered. The cupola, I found, was Mr. Tilden’s _ private gymnasium. If his tremendous vital energy finds no other outlet, it expends itself on Indian clubs,oozes out on the flying trapeze, and bub- bles over the hori- - zontal bar. Strip- ping to the waist, he playfully called my attention to his biceps. It measured 39 inches. He picked up a , f comicbooks.com