Life, 1919-10-23 · page 22 of 36
Life — October 23, 1919 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical piece mocks the early 20th-century craze for questionnaires and surveys—likely referring to census-taking, psychological questionnaires, or opinion polls becoming fashionable. Jack Larric's text humorously describes the "Questionnaire" as an invasive, relentless person who interrogates others about every detail of their lives: ancestry, occupation, politics, appearance, morality, and habits. The comparison to being trapped in an electric chair or forced bathing reflects the violation of privacy people felt. The accompanying cartoons illustrate consequences of this questionnaire obsession: a man receives a mysterious package addressed to his wife, and another shows a couple frantically soaking/decontaminating it—suggesting questionnaires arrive unsolicited like dangerous parcels requiring cautious handling. The satire targets both the questionnaire-givers' nosiness and the public's anxiety about having their personal information collected and scrutinized by anonymous institutions—a surprisingly modern concern for this era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
\\ SAA \ \ \ “A PACKAGE, SIR.” “We Have with Us Tonight” Questionnaires VE was the first Questionnaire. She knew the agony of perpetual happiness, and so escaped by the road of asking questions. And some of her progeny have inherited her census-habit to such a degree that an intro- duction to one of them is equivalent to a seat in an elec- tric-chair or a sight of Isadora Duncan dancing. To mect a genuine Questionnaire is like having a tea party break into your bathroom while all the lights are on and you are standing in the tub applying the stream. Without delicacy or mercy he tears your autobiography out of your lacerated bosom And he leaves you to curse your own weakness and to regret that homicide is not listed among the fine arts. The Questionnaire usually has a mild eye, a gurgling voice and an ingratiating exterior. If a man, he is bald and benevolent looking with a habit of rubbing his hands piously and softly together and beaming upon you like a curate. He leads you to two chairs and a corner, invites you to sit down, and then: Where were you born, and why? Who was your mother, if any? Was your father pink, olive or drab? What do you do, how do you do it, and why do you do it? Do you write poetry or suffer from any other ailment? Is the mole on your left cheek acquired or inherited? If inherited, from whom, and how remote, and at what hour? Are you a Democrat or sane? If neither, what is your opinion of the Darwinian theory? Do you believe in co- ordination, and if not, give five good reasons without stopping for breath. State your objections serially in large, bold outlines, not omitting your middle name, if any. If no middle name, and you belong to the lower classes, declare so plainly in the space provided for it to the left. Do you smoke, drink or play cards? If you have none of these vices, do you read Marie Corelli? And so on until O-death-where-is-thy-sting-and-O-grave-where-is-thy-vic- tory, Jack Larric, “HELLO! YES, IT CAME THIS MORNING—ADDRESSED To My wire!” “YES, YES, SOAK IT WELL—ONE CAN’T BE TOO CAREFUL!” comicbooks.c@ IRA)