Life, 1922-08-10 · page 21 of 36
Life — August 10, 1922 — page 21: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This *Life* magazine page (page 19) contains two satirical pieces and an illustration. **"The Power of the Eye"** is a humorous essay mocking the literary trope of piercing stares that intimidate villains. The author describes attempting this technique on a rude stranger after a street collision, only to get beaten up—satirizing the gap between fiction and reality. **"Radiolatry"** is a poem satirizing the obsessive early radio enthusiasts of the 1920s-30s. It mocks people ("radiolaters") who ignore their families to listen to radio broadcasts for hours, treating mediocre content as sacred. The poem ridicules their fascination with distant stations and their demand for silence during broadcasts—capturing the cultural moment when radio was a novelty that captivated audiences. **The cartoon** below, titled "Intimate Glimpses of American Generals of Industry," depicts a wealthy industrialist (likely Dr. Brush) milking cows at his farm, contrasting his public image of business success with pastoral leisure activities—likely mocking the pretensions of wealthy industrialists.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The Power of the Eye "M one of those gullible persons who believe a great deal they see in print. Even if I don’t actually be- lieve it, I don’t disbelieve it until I give it a trial. One of the things which has im- pressed me most in fiction and on the screen is the “power of the eye.” I of men causing wild beasts to k off by a single, fearless, steady look. What is more remarkable, | have read of the same results pro- duced in dealing with men, You don’t dare press that trig- ger, you yellow cur,” I remember the ero saying in one of my favorite wks; “drop that gun.” And as if nerized the villain dropped the to his own great discomfiture the corresponding pleasure of vitnesses to the episode. ‘or is the psychology of all this to believe. We all know that courage, determination and aggres- siveness can be displayed as much by a glance as by a long speech on the subject. experimented with my own eyes the other day. hile walking down the street and cing into a store window I acci- ally collided with a person of more bulk than brains. He should have been looking where he was go- ing. Like most ill-bred persons of his sort he attempted to make a scence. He stopped short in his tracks, glar- ing at me menacingly. Watch where yer goin’, fish face,” he exclaimed rudely. | remembered the power of the eye, and shot a stern glance at him. Who yuh lookin’ at?” was his \t_ impertinence. Move on, fellow,” I said, much in the same tone that the hero of my hook must have used when he directed the villain to drop the gun. I've a good mind to knock yer block off,” he responded. “You don’t dare, you yellow cur,” | replied fearlessly, and added a little more horsepower to my glance. ! don’t remember very clearly What happened next. He must have moved on because when I picked my- self up from the sidewalk he was nowhere to be seen. However, one of my eyes is in such condition that I do not think I shall try the experiment again in the very near future. I wonder whether authors practice what they preach? TL: Radiolatry HE worst of all idolators Are zealous radiolaters Who wreck the peace of erstwhile happy homes With drool of variometers, Detectors, galvanometers, Antenne, switches, batteries and ohms. Their eyes devoutly glistening, They'll sit for ages listening With clumsy rubber muffs upon their ears, And hail the shrieking mordancies Of far-away discordancies As though they were the music of the spheres. They'll stand for prosy summaries And monologues and mummeries Of folks you couldn’t wheedie them to see, The rant of revolutionists And awful elocutionists, Because they come from Newark, XYZ. They'll take the driest serial So long as it’s aerial; They'll take the saddest sentimental gush The ambient may squeak to them; But if you dare to speak to them The only sound you get from them is, “Shush !” In Nome or sweet Lafcadio There's no escape from Radio! Then, since you cannot dodge the atmosphere, My songs shall cheer or trouble you From Station PKW, Because, at least, I’d rather talk than hear ! A. G. — TIMATE GLIMPSES OF AMERICAN GENERALS OF INDUSTRY No. 40. Milking time at Dr. Brush’s Kumyss Farm comicbooks.com