Life, 1922-08-03 · page 5 of 36
Life — August 3, 1922 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page features a poem celebrating rural and adventurous living, contrasting open-air freedom with urban constraints. The accompanying illustration depicts a diverse group of well-dressed urbanites (men and women in 1920s attire) who appear to be embarking on or discussing an excursion. The bottom caption contains a joke about transportation scarcity: a man complains about difficulty finding white horses for travel, and a "Red-Haired Girl" suggests white taxi-cabs as an alternative. This reflects post-WWI urban concerns about transportation options and horse shortages, while satirizing the growing prevalence of automobiles replacing traditional horse-drawn vehicles. The overall satire suggests tension between idealized rural escape fantasies and modern urban realities.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Life The Great Open Spaces PIN me a yarn of the bounding sea, Of stately ships that pass From Singapore to Brittany, From Guam to Gloucester, Mass. Tell me a tale of a wave-lashed coast Where the fog-horn’s drone is heard— And I'll sell your yarn to the Sat. Eve. Post For twenty-five cents a word. Sing me a song of the Great Outdoors, Of forest and moor and glen, Of beetling crags where the eagle soars— Where men, as they say, are men. Strum me a lyric of morning dews In a verdant woodland shrine— And I'll send it out through the Central News At three and a half a line. aN Weave me a story of desert sands With glimmering stars above, Of passionate Sheiks and Arab bands, And typical, tropical love. Paint me a picture of twilight tints On drifting dunes—and then I'll peddle your plot to Thomas Ince For fifteen thousand yen. So it’s ho! for a life in the open air Where the sky is always blue, Where souls are purged of a dark despair, Where hearts beat strong and true. You can talk of the champagne baths, and such, In the city’s gilded fount— But a man grows BIGGER ‘neath Nature's touch, And so does his bank account. R. E. S. He: It’s difficult to find enough white horses to go around these days, Red-Haired Girl: How about the white taxi-cabs? comicbooks.com