Life, 1918-01-10 · page 9 of 40
Life — January 10, 1918 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This humorous poem by Bangs recounts a chaotic train-station shave. The barber carelessly nicks the narrator repeatedly—his razor is dull, his technique reckless—causing blood, pain, and comic indignity. The narrator loses part of his mustache and nearly his ear. The accompanying illustrations show the barber's wild movements and the narrator's suffering. Below, smaller cartoons mock fashion ("For the Well Dressed Man") and show contrasting domestic scenes—one of a well-dressed man, and another of dogs begging at a dinner table. The satire targets incompetent service workers and the indignities of travel itself—a common theme in early 20th-century humor magazines mocking modern inconveniences and poorly-trained service providers.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
*~LIFE: 49 Lyrics of Travel By John Kendrick Bangs GETTING SHAVED ON A PULLMAN REGARDLESS of danger and fearless of pain, I thought I'd get shaved on a Limited Train. I seated myself in the ample plush chair, So broad and capacious, so restful and fair, And called for the chap In the white canvas cap Who gallantly barbered the passengers there. He had me strapped in in a minute or two, And brandished his brush like old Brian Boru, He lathered my jaw, and my brow, and my studs; rf He speckled and spattered me as to my duds, { And when with a swerve \ The train took a curve, He filled up my mouth with a brushful of suds. His razor he stropped till its edge was as keen As the blade of a premium mowing- machine, Then poising himself on the tip of his toes, For the base of my chin made a couple of throws, When the car with a twitch Jangled over a switch, And up in the air flew the end of my nose. FOR THE WELL DRESSED MAN b VLACID PAJAMAS FOR THE MAN SMART DINNER JACKET WHO SLEEPS, SOCIETY SATIN YOKE OF BROADCLOTH WITH WITH SLEEVES OF GEOKGETTE CREPE =A PNEUMATIC GIKDLE XUM Undaunted, his razor held fast in his fist, His elbow thrust deep in the midst “o’ me chi: He gave seven swoops—it may have been more One furrowed my forehead, the others the door— When a signal ahead Stopped the Limited dead, And the lobe of my ear slithered off to the floor. + © Please leave me my cheek,” I observed with a grin “My business calls for much cheek, and my chin—"" And the engine ahead gave a toot and a crash, And we started again with a bang and a smash, And the chap with the knife Gave the whoop of his life, And swish went a half of my treas- ured mustache. 1 soon sank unconscious deep down in the chair, And lay for two hours unknowingly there. What happened in detail is shadowed in doubt, Ere I rose from the chair at the end of the rout; But this much is true— When at last I came to, While I n't been shaved, my appen- dix was out! MOKE KULTUS comicbooks.com