Life, 1913-04-10 · page 17 of 48
Life — April 10, 1913 — page 17: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**Top Cartoon:** A man and woman demonstrate the "hygiene" excuse—she refuses to kiss him but offers her hand instead. This satirizes the post-WWI obsession with germ theory and social hygiene as reasons to avoid physical contact. **"Aids" Article:** Mocks President Wilson for employing twelve presidential aides. Life sarcastically suggests Wilson "cannot help himself" and needs these aids, playing on the double meaning—the aides are necessary because the president is helpless, not because the work is truly demanding. The satire criticizes both Wilson's administration bloat and the public's acceptance of executive inefficiency. **Bottom Comics:** Two brief jokes about social roles and relationships. The first depicts children playing "killing people" with various occupations. The second shows a rejected suitor told "I'll be a sister to you," with him responding he wanted a mother, not a sister—mocking sentimental Victorian romantic excuses. The page collectively ridicules post-war social pretenses, government inefficiency, and outdated relationship conventions.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
dh ae “ AREN'T YOU GOING TO GIVE ME A KISS, MY DEAR?” “No, IT ISN'T HYGIENIC; BUT YOU MAY KISS MY HAND” Aids ORD comes out from Washington that President Wilson is astounded to find how many aids he has, there being no fewer than twelve of these, not counting first aid to the injured. It is intimated that Mr. Wilson contemplates cutting down the number to a peace footing, but the sober second thought will hardly suffer him to fly so rashly in the face of the inevitable. The fact of the matter is that aids to the President are so called because the President cannot help himself. The sentiment which clamors for super- dreadnoughts and a bold front generally will tolerate no tampering with the arrangement whereby a merely civic executive is made to feel his unimportance of great oc- casions, IRST SMALL BOY: Let’s play at killing people. Stconp Smart Boy: All right. What’ll we be? Gun- men, Indian chiefs, statesmen or surgeons? “NO, I'M SORRY, BUT I'LL RE A SISTER TO YOU.” PARDON ME, I HAVE PLENTY OF SISTERS. WANTED WAS A MOTHER.” WHAT I comicbooks.com