Life, 1920-07-08 · page 22 of 40
Life — July 8, 1920 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This *Life* magazine page contains three distinct pieces of social satire: **"Young Potato Bug" Cartoon:** A joke mocking nouveau-riche pretension. A potato bug brags about aristocratic ancestry, claiming his forebears came on the Mayflower in a sack of potatoes. The humor targets people of humble origin who, upon gaining wealth or status, fabricate grand ancestries—a common American anxiety about social climbing. **"Touring the City of Mexico":** Dark political satire describing Mexico City institutions with cynical realism. The Mint makes "lunch money," the Treasury stores "machine guns of the party coming into power," and a "National Technical School for Bandits" exists. This mocks Mexican government instability, corruption, and frequent violent power transfers—reflecting early 20th-century perceptions of Mexico as politically chaotic. **"Not on Poets" (by Carolyn Wells):** Verse satirizing pretentious poets who produce obscure, message-laden work while lacking concrete ideas. The poem dismisses them as self-absorbed and cryptic, contrasting them favorably with more practical people. It's a dig at artistic pretension and modernist poetry's opacity.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
lot Warnisen (avy o- “WHAT'S YOUNG POTATO BUG SO PUFFED UP ABouT?” “WHY, HE SAYS HE'S JUST DISCOVERED THAT HIS ANCESTORS CAME OVER IN A SACK OF POTATOES ON THE MAYFLOWER.” Touring the City of Mexico 'O the left, the Mint, where the paper money for lunch-time is made, To the right, the Treasury, where the machine guns of the party coming into power are kept. That large, meadow in front is the training ground and rifle- range of presidential aspirants. The small building in back of the Lottery Headquarters is the National Morgue, where rela 's may identify the bodies of Presidents, Vice-Presidents and great generals. The large building with the statue of Francisco Villa in front is the National Technical School for Bandits. Curious Aztec temple that we are approaching is an ancient soap factory; it has not been worked for three hundred years. Reminiscent IFE: We must call on those new people across the way, dear. Don’t you remember the first year we lived here, how lonesome we were? Huspano: I remember how happy we were. Not on Poets T =RE is a certain sort of mind that likes to lilt around, Combining words with other words of sympathetic sound. Their output’s eagerly acclaimed, for geniuses they pass; But poets—well, of course, you see, they're in another class. These many hands that make light verse, though it be free or bound, Quite seldom have concrete ideas—they seem to flounder round, And from the mines and quarries some- times they dig a gem; But poets—well, as I remarked, we're not discussing them. These people that we speak of are wise to great excess; They've a sort of thing called “ message,” they’re striving to express. It's cryptic, though outspoken. (To me it is all Greek.) But poets—we don’t speak of them the same day of the week. The people I'm describing are weird as sprites or elves; They say their chiefest business is just to find themselves! And on this somewhat futile quest they scurry to and fro; But poets—pshaw! Why introduce a theme mal apropos? Carolyn Wells, * EARLY MORNING REVENGE ON THOSE ALL-NIGHT PHONOGRAPH BB ENIGHTED we stand, derided we fall.” PLAYERS comicbooksfcom