Life, 1920-02-19 · page 11 of 48
Life — February 19, 1920 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**Top Section:** The sketch "Late for Dinner: The Man Who Has Forgotten His Boyhood" shows a man arriving home to his family, apparently having neglected domestic responsibilities—a commentary on adult preoccupations causing men to lose youthful joy and family connection. **Middle Section:** "A Ballad of Railroad Folders" by George R. Stewart, Jr. laments the disappearance of colorful railroad promotional materials. The poem nostalgically references once-vibrant folders for lines like the Santa Fe, Burlington, and Great Northern—now reduced to plain black-and-white schedules under U.S. Railroad Administration standardization (likely WWI-era wartime controls). It's a whimsical critique of bureaucratic efficiency replacing commercial artistry and visual appeal. **Bottom Section:** The cartoon "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves" appears to be a political allegory using the classic tale, though specific identifications of the labeled figures remain unclear from this reproduction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
307 A Ballade of Railroad Folders (Under the U. S. Railroad Ad ministration all schedules are printed in black and white; there are no more colored folders.) 'O more they shine in colors gay, Folders that once our praises won! In somber black and white are they, And boast not even gray nor dun. By whom was this foul work begun? Who stripped away those hues sublime? Ah, they are gone, yea, every one Where are the folders of old time? Where is the dark blue Santa Fé? Where the bright yellow Burlington? Where the red keystone? (Who shall say?) Great Northern's green, surpassed by none? Where is the S. P.’s setting sun? Since when is color judged a crime, That we the dye so strictly shun? Where are the folders of old time? How often on some winter day I took them fondly, one by one, And whiled a pleasant hour away A-figuring miles to Eggleston, Or wondering whether Pullmans run On that jerk-water road to Thyme. With plain white schedules it’s no fun— Where are the folders of old time? Prince Hines, of this foul work have done! Lest poets have no heart to rhyme; There's lack of color ‘neath the sun— Where are the folders of old time? George R. Stewart, Ir. LATE FOR DINNER THE MAN WHO HAS FORGOTTEN HIS BOYHOOD ALI BABA AND THE FORTY THIEVES comicbooks.com