Life, 1922-02-09 · page 4 of 34
Life — February 9, 1922 — page 4: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**"Sanctum Talk"** depicts a conversation between Mayor Hylan and "Life" (personified) about Emma Goldman. The dialogue satirizes Hylan's heavy-handed approach to managing the city's "enemies"—suggesting his solutions are crude and ineffective. The joke implies that inviting Goldman to Society events would be a more sophisticated (if ironic) way to neutralize her radical threat than crude suppression. **"Overflowing Quotas"** is a humorous list proposing immigration quotas for various national and ethnic groups deemed problematic: Hungarian immigrants, British/French propagandists, Italian musicians, Greek workers, Irish laborers, and others. The satire mocks nativist anxiety about foreign "types" disrupting American society during the immigration debates of this era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Sanctum Talk “T OOK here, Lire, I want to have a talk with you.” “Hello, Mayor Hylan, how did you manage to get away from your strenu- ous job long enough to—” “Quit your kidding. This is serious. I've been persecuted and maligned and—” “But Hearst is on your side; why bother with unimportant people? “Wait a minute, Lire. I may be a trifle stupid, but at least—” “Well, Mr. Hylan, as Mayor of our largest city there is a well-defined im- pression that—” “I know. That’s the work of en- emies. You can’t expect me—” Overflowing Quotas LOT of Hungarian immigrants are being deported because the “Hungarian quota” in this country is full. Not a bad idea, this quota busi- ness. Among other immigration quotas which must surely be full by now, we would specify the following: British novelists (quota exceeded long ago). French propagandists, bent on mak- ing trouble with England. English propagandists, bent on mak- ing trouble with France. Italian hurdy-gurdy players who play “Go Feather Your Nest” with three notes flat in the middle of the chorus. Italian barbers who rub in your ears with a dry towel which squeaks. Greek boot-blacks who insult you in Greek to their co-workers. Professional Irishmen. Professional Americans. Spanish and Japanese dancers. All foreigners who don’t know their way about town. “But, Mr. Hylan, how about those— “Wait a moment. I can explain— “That's all right, but then again, there is—” “T know. But, Lire, you wouldn’t—” “Of course I wouldn't, unless—” Ah, but—” “You admit it, then?” “T admit nothing. I am just—” “Exactly !” “Lire! You're worse than any of them, ” “Now, now. Mr. Hylan, you know—” good-by, Lire.” -by, Y’r Honor. And maybe, after all, it is you who have done all the kidding.” Our Emma UMOR hath’it that Emma Goldman wishes, and intends, to return to our palpitating midst. Russia is ap- parently, not what she fought for As our Murgatroydian mind dwelt on this momentous point, we began to won- der just what our Emma had always been fighting against. One of our so. cialistic friends told us it was Society And so we evolved a magnificent scheme. When Emma comes home, why not introduce her to Society? Let her meet the people she is fighting, and then maybe she'll cease to fight them, Let her be a dulcet débutante, going to teas and giving them. Then, insteai of tossing a bomb in Madam \ ander- sneezer’s window, if she doesn’t like her, she'll merely cut her at the Ritz. And we are sure that she'll find lots of con- genial people in Society. Certainly ev so splendid an iconoclast as {im should be enthralled to meet some of our smartest divorcees, and she might also be privileged to meet a few women who had murdered their husbands. Oh, we know she will be very happy. And her rather hostile-looking hair ought to cause quite a splash in the social whirl- pool. A splash? Ye Gods, a perma- nent wave! So let us welcome our Emma give her a friendly shove into the r of Society. We are sure she'll find that splitting hairs is infinitely more amus- ing than splitting rocks. FeeD Gribbins: Are you sure I won't frighten the baby? Nurse: Dear me, no, sir. I had him to the Zoo yesterday and he laffed like anythink. comicbooks.com