Life, 1914-07-02 · page 16 of 44
Life — July 2, 1914 — page 16: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical piece mocks war correspondents covering the Mexican Revolution (circa 1911-1920s) by adopting the persona of a bumbling Japanese observer writing broken English. The humor relies on: **The Satire:** The correspondent claims to represent Life magazine documenting warfare, but proves utterly incompetent—forgetting an umbrella in a firefight, unable to identify which Mexican faction he's dealing with, and nearly executed as a spy. **The Cartoon:** Shows a man at a typewriter amid gunfire and chaos, captioned "When I arrive it were raining bullets and I forget umburella"—visualizing the correspondent's absurd helplessness. **The Point:** Life magazine ridicules war correspondents as pretentious, clueless performers more concerned with appearing brave than understanding actual conflict. The broken English and exaggerated accent stereotype Japanese speech to intensify the buffoonery, suggesting correspondents like Richard Harding Davis (named in text) were self-aggrandizing frauds playing war tourists while real soldiers faced danger.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LDPE Letters of a Japanese School-boy The Hellishness of War C a Cer Porta Banana, Near Mexico, To Editor “ Life Review” who arrive like Mexican revolutionists once per R SIR:— D Since you send me down to this God-cespised nationality for purpose of making war for your val. readers I have done what best I could and e: pect to get Mexico pacified by Satday p.m. If before I shall telegraph by wire or some other way. By enclosed photo I show portrait of me & Hon. Rich Harding Davis being shot at sunrise. I tell you how this trajedy occur up, so your readers can know how to be horrified. When I arrive to Porta Banana it were quite dishagreeable weather can- dition because it were raining bullets and I forget umburella. Hon. War Correspondent cannot remember every- \hing when he must include typewriter, Spanish-American dictionary, airships cte in his kitten of supplies. So there I stood alonesome in Mexico where every thme I attemp to run away something sharp prickled me. Once it were a cacti, once it were a species of poisoned angleworm and lastly it were a baynut-gun jabbed at me by Huerta- looking gentleman who wore nearly all his clothes on his hat. This cross individuality seemed to surround me entirely with his anger while consid- erable ammunition singed past. “Are you Gringo, Jingo, Huertista, Zapatista, Carranzista or plain Idio- tista?” he require nationalguardfully. xcuse, Yes, Sir!” I acknowledge his salute. “Hal” he make handsome tecth to me while poking me to lung. “Come this way and be executed.” “Could I not be executed in some other direction?” I regard while mak- ing leaps. Yet he prod such discomfort into me that I go. Pretty soonly we arrive up to muddy looking house which smell very Aztec. “When I arrive it were raining | bullets and T forget umburella ” In befront of this place 12 Generals sat in sunshade awaiting for lunch while drinking Jamaica ginger cock- tail. At respectable distance stood 12 sharpshooting peonies looking quite pleased when I approach upwards. While seeing me they took one con- gratulation-drink pulk-water and began borrowing cartridges. One oldy General without shoes arose uply and came forwards amid considerable discourtesy. “Jesus Maria San Diego Alcatraz,” he reproach to that soldier who had captivated me, “what you mean by bringing prisoners to be shot before lunch.” “This personality may be of con- Correspondents siderable importance,” negotiate Hon. J. M. S. D. Alcatraz amidst salutes. “What business here?” holla Hon, General at me. “If convenient, Sire,” “T were sent here.” “Hall a spy!!!t” erals in unicorn, . “Who send you?” snarrel Hon. Gen. (Mr. Editor, I did not yearn for acknowledge I were sent by, Life Paper, because it seemed too laughing. So I reply by deceptive.) “Please excuse, Hon. Greatness,” I divuldge, “Hon. Kamo Makenzeki, editor Hari Kari Ladies Magazine, Tokyo, send me here for War Corre- spondent.” “So ho!” snib Hon. Gen disgustly. “T£ you are correspondent where are your bullet-proof pockets amidst osten- tation of riding clothes? Let it no matter! Pedro!” he holla to humble peony, “take him and give him usual tortures enjoyed by War Correspond- I quavver, quote 11 Gen- Hon. Peony lead me off by neck. While we approached up nearby to prison-jail I could hear noises familiar to Indiana. Considerable clicketty- click sounds ensued from those cruel walls, “ Are typewriting committed here?” 1 require. “Seldom anything else,” that native personality. With noise of large turnkey he popp me inside to door. I look. I stand gast for that phenomenal i saw. For right befront of me, setting on row of ammunition boxes, I observed faces resembling advertisements for monthly magazine. Yes it was! Hon. Rich Harding Davis sat next by Hon. Jack London while next to was assembled Hon. John Reed, Hon. Ella Wheeler Wilcox and Hon. Robt W. Chambers. Nothing but typewriting could be heard to greet my approach up. negotiate comichooks,