Life, 1920-02-19 · page 38 of 48
Life — February 19, 1920 — page 38: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page features a poem by Berton Braley about a demobilized WWI aviator struggling with peacetime. The soldier initially resolves to embrace safe, ordinary civilian life—trolleys, poker, insurance—after the trauma of combat flying. However, he grows restless in "humdrum" routine and fantasizes about returning to his wartime pursuit: piloting a fighter plane ("Spad"). The satire captures a genuine post-WWI anxiety: soldiers trained for danger and excitement found civilian life dull and constraining. His romanticization of aerial combat (despite earlier claims of exhaustion) reflects how wartime experiences warped veterans' sense of normalcy. The poem suggests that even those desperate to escape war's trauma couldn't fully readjust—the adrenaline and purpose of military service proved psychologically addictive compared to ordinary work and domesticity. The page also includes period advertisements (Stetson hats, Milo Violets), typical of *Life* magazine's format.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ro} HE STETSONIAN—presented as the Stetson Feature Hat for Spring 1920 because of its smart, authentic style and assured Stetson Quality. JOHN B. STETSON COMPANY Philadelphia, U.S. A. “KITTY, I'LL TAKE YER GUM AWAY FROM YE IF YE CAN LIKE A LADY Past and Future HEN I was through with war and strife and finished with he army, T said, “Henceforth my style of life is one that cannot harm me; No, not for me the speedy plane I used to pot the Hun w A second-handed little Ford will do to have my fun with This thing of dodging through the skies has made me tense and nervous. Til make my tours in Pullman trains when Tam throvch the service, And bump to work in trolley cars like other city dwell And thank my stars I'm not behind the blast of air-propellers. “That's me when T Don't have to fly With army aviators; The only time TH ever climb Will be in elevators.” For, oh, how sick T was of war! how weary of the a! T thought that always I'd abhor whatever might alarm me. T said, “I'm done with split-tail stunts and wild and reckless chances ; It’s me to play things safe and sane in placid circumstances I'll take my risks in auction bridge and penny-ante poker Where there's no German Fokker bus to be the little joker Let others gamble in the games of danger and endurance. My family'll be old and gray when they get my insurance! “TM never take The jobs that make A fellow’s frame grow thinner: T plan to plod, Acquire a pod, And nod each night at dinner.” But now—I'm thinking of the bus I used to roam the sky in, ‘That roaring, darting combat Spad that once was mine to fly in For she was swift and sure and true, a lulu and a darling, And in my dreams I zoom aloft, I hear the motor snarling. Ah, that was living like a man! a game of zest and « While here, in all this humdrum round I feel myself a nger. Does someone seek the rainbow’s end—the gold that lurks below there? If I can have a plane to drive, I'll take the chance and go there! A plane that’s trim And swift and slim As through the clouds I weave her, And till T crash In one last smash You won't get me to leave her! Berton Braley. replies a pass wp ou five v one p =W Profi St ward. silent. “W be, I" here prices comicbooks.com