Life, 1904-07-07 · page 22 of 40
Life — July 7, 1904 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents a humorous first-person account mocking the early automobile. The elaborate illustration titled "A Blind Corner" depicts a chaotic street scene with early cars colliding or careening dangerously, establishing the comedic tone. The text is a sarcastic complaint from an auto owner describing his vehicle as a barely-functional contraption assembled from "acetylene, kerosene, gasoline, scrap-iron and red paint." He sardonically catalogs its failures: engines that won't start, radiators that overheat, spark plugs that misfire, clutches that don't engage, and magnetized wheel rims that attract nails. The satire targets early automobiles as unreliable, dangerous, and expensive nuisances—a sharp contrast to their promotion as modern marvels. The owner's mock-heroic tone ("dead-game sport," constant prayer and swearing) emphasizes the frustration and humiliation of owning such problematic machines. This reflects genuine public skepticism about automobiles in the early 1900s, before they became reliable or affordable for average Americans.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Havre recently purchased an auto- mobile from a man whom I have al- ways con- sidered my friend, I am prepared to give the world the re- sult of my experience. My machine is a low, stylish, well- bred and rakish-looking affair, fully capable of going forty miles an hour, having averaged three since I have had it. It consists of equal parts of acetylene, kerosene, gasoline, scrap-iron and red paint. The acetylene and kerosene are used to run the fashionable drug store Icarry in front. The gasoline is used to furnish the power I am popularly A BLIND CORNER. supposed to carry in the rear. The scrap-iron is used to enable the man who relieves me in my repairs to keep his family in all the luxuries of a modern house, And the red paint is to reveal the fact that I am a dead-game sport. My machine also has many other in- ternal arrangements, so adjusted that at any moment I can fall on my knees and swear at them with all the pious fervor they are constantly in need of. It has several cylinders, so prepared by the loving hands of the maker, that in case one of them doesn't work, none of the others witl, It has a complete set of open-work radiators, to keep me from having cold feet. It has one of the thirstiest water-tanks I have ever met outside of the theatrical profession. It has four rubber tires, with a set of magnetized inner tubes that scientific- ally attract all the homeless nails on the road. It has a hill climber with the motto, ‘If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, even if you have to go back to the bottom of the hill and begin all over.” Aside from the fact that the spark plug doesn’t spark at the right mo- ment, when your admirers are gathered ina crowd waiting to see you dash off ; that the motor doesn’t mote, that the batteries get limp and languid when the atmosphere is not up to the scratch, that the clutch doesn’t clutch, and the engine is constantly sobbing itself to sleep instead of getting a proper move on, this all odds one of the best machines t! is. Allit needs is a well- lardered picnic basket, and a hair mat- tress to lie on when peering upward through the wilderness of nuts and bolts that constantly greet the eye of the tired traveler. During the short time I have owned my auto, I have been greatly attached - to it—sometimes for hours at a time, in comicbooks.com