Life, 1922-07-20 · page 9 of 36
Life — July 20, 1922 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two satirical pieces: **Main Story**: A golf narrative about "Fred" and "Old Bruin," depicting a competitive match where Fred's superior drive frustrates his chief. The humor mocks poor golfing ability, with references to "slicing" and amateur incompetence—suggesting Old Bruin is a bad golfer trying to maintain dignity despite failure. **Two Poems Below**: - "Futility" by J.K.M. satirizes how friends brag about car ownership and casual infidelity - "The Course of Love" by L.A.M. jokes about marital dynamics—a wife complaining her husband prioritizes golf over family time The accompanying illustration shows period-dressed figures at what appears to be a golf clubhouse. The satire targets early 20th-century masculine leisure culture, marital power dynamics, and status-seeking behavior among the upper-middle class.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Fred's drive, on the other hand, vent swishing through the air with the swift flight of an arrow and ichieved considerably more distance than might have been expected from any but an expert archer. Cards at the end of the first hole: Fred—4. Old Bruin—11. The deuce,” said Fred to himself, sceing his chief's glum look as they ivanced to the second. “This will ever do. I shall have to slice this one and let the old boy win.” But slicing is either a calamity an achievement. For Fred it could be only the former. He was too poor a golfer to be poor inten- ionally. So he got off the second tee in even better form than he did irom the first. Cards at the end of the second hole: Fred—4—3. Old Bruin—11—16. Still Fred kept trying. An at- tempted pull sailed gladly down the iairway. A proposed slice followed the same direct course. A_ sickly putt somehow managed to trickle into the cup. It was maddening, but it was golf. At the eleventh Old Bruin re- marked something about “Wolves in sport clothing.” At the fourteenth he commented bitterly on the amazing number of highwaymen who played golf. At the seventeenth: “Bah!” cried Old Bruin, and his driver plunked into the pond. “Bah!” shrieked Old Bruin, and his putter nestled in the quivering branches of an otherwise impassive oak. “Bah!” snarled Old Bruin, and $86.61 worth of golf implements, net, spread themselves over the land- scape. “Ba-ba,” shrilled the caddies when he had stalked out of hearing. “T did not mind the old fool mak- ing an ass of himself and forgetting to pay me the seventeen dollars he owed for losing every hole,” Fred Booth complained to his wife at breakfast the next morning. “I did not even care much about his leav- ing after dinner last night with that silly excuse about having business to attend to. I can even forget his old sales managership, but I never, never will forgive him for not finishing the round and for spoiling my card when I would have broken ninety- five easily.” J.K.M. “Oh, look, Dad!” Futility C like, when all my friends begin To lie about their cars like sin, And tell me how they never try To take the hills except on high; And how they make the mile posts play Like picket fences by the way— I say I'd like at that same time To tell them what a car is mine: But— Oh, Lord, Mine’s a Ford! The Course of Love Mistress: Nora, that wasn’t your Paddy I saw you talking to just now. Nora: No, mum; that’s a new one. Paddy’s away on his vacation. “But is that exactly fair, Nora?” “Ah, mum, ‘when the Pat's away, the Mike will play.’” “Is he boss in his own home?” “T should say he is. He plays golf on Sunday and makes his wife call up for starting time.” comicbooks.com