Life, 1922-08-24 · page 22 of 36
Life — August 24, 1922 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a domestic comedy sketch satirizing both the *Life* magazine itself and middle-class American family dynamics. *Life* magazine ran a contest asking readers to title a picture (showing the letter "L" lifting the letter "E"), offering $800 in prizes. The satire mocks: 1. **The magazine's inefficiency**: Mr. Twitter sarcastically notes that giving away prize money is poor business practice. 2. **Gender stereotypes**: The women (Mrs. Twitter and her mother Mrs. Grinnell) supposedly "don't use any system," while Mr. Twitter confidently applies "logic"—yet arrives at a clumsy, vulgar title ("'Alf of Life behind 'im and still raising 'ell"). 3. **Family hierarchy**: Young Robert actually solves the puzzle correctly but is silenced and sent to bed for his crude language, only to demand credit for the prize money. The joke: systematic thinking and male authority produce worse results than the child's intuition, exposing the pretension of "proper" problem-solving.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LIFE The Twitters Have Trouble With LIFE’S Title Contest CENE: Sitting-room of Frederick Twitter’s home. Mrs. Twitter, her son, Robert, and her mother, Mrs. Grinnell, are looking into space with the evidences of much concentration on their countenances. On the lap of Mrs. Twitter is a copy of Lire. Mrs. Twitter (as her husband enters the doo.): Oh, red! I’m so glad you’ve come. Mrs, GRINNELL: Hmph! Mrs. Twitter: We've thought and thought, but can’t think of a thing for a title for this picture of Lire’s. Mr. Twitter: Well, what’s the matter with the one the artist gave it? Mrs. Twitter: Oh, but he didn’t give it any. And Lire’s going to give $800 in prizes for the best ones. Mr. Twitter: Don’t see how a magazine can make any money that way. Rotten efficiency, I call it. Let's see it. (He examines the picture for a few minutes.) Simple enough—if you go about it the right way. Trouble is you women don’t use any system. Mrs. GRINNELL (beginning to rock violently) : Hmph! Rogert (who has been waiting for a pause): I gotta title. Mr. Twitter (casting a reproving glance at his son) : Bobby, please don’t interrupt me. (Turning to his wife.) As I was saying, system is all that’s necessary. Now, of course, the artist must have been thinking of something when he drew this picture. Mrs, GRINNELL (her rocking ceases temporarily): No artists think! (That settled, she resumes her rocking.) Mr. Twitter: Therefore the problem is to discover just what he had in mind. Rosert: I know, Dad. Mrs. Twitter: Of course you don’t, Robert. be foolish. Listen to your father! Rosert: But I do! It’s “Raisin’ Hell for Life.” Mrs. Twitter (aghast): Why, Robert! What do Don't you mean by such language? (Despairingly.) I DON’T know where you pick up all those awful things. Mrs, GRINNELL (meaningly): Guess Fred knows, Mr. Twitter (with dignity): Robert, go upstairs to bed, right off. It’s long past your time. (Robert leaves protesting that the fault was in the picture, not himself.) Mrs. Twitter: Of course they wouldn’t have any- thing like that for a title! , Mr. Twitter: No, certainly not. Now let us ex- amine what we have here. Half of “Life” is up. The E is on the ground. He is lifting L and looking up at someone we cannot see. We are simplifying the problem, you see, by getting down to essentials. Mrs. GrRINNELL: Yes, you’re making it very simple We never noticed those things before! And you have the title all thought out, I suppose? Mr. Twitter: Certainly—in just a minute . . see now. The man’s not married, and— Mrs. Twitter (admiringly): Now how in the world can you tell that! Mr. Twitter: He looks too jovial! Mrs. GRINNELL (to her daughter) : a title, so he’s taking it out on you! for you! Mr. Twitter (severely): Certainly I can think of a title. It’s—er—‘“’Alf of Life behind ‘im and still raising ‘ell.” (Triumphantly.) That $500 is as good as spent. Mrs, GRINNELL: But not by you, Fred. Voice (from the top of the stairs): Say, Dad, don't I get half of it? It’s part my idea— Mr. Twitter: Robert, didn’t I tell you to go to bed? (To his wife and mother-in-law.) 1 knew all that was needed was a little system. They don’t make these con- tests hard enough. Mrs. GRINNELL (rocking more violently than ever): Hmph! T. HL. Let's He can’t think of That's his efficiency River Boats HE boats upon the river Speak ever to my heart, And whether they drag anchor, Impatient to depart, Or whether they ply inland, Or turn them to the sea, No two of them are calling In any selfsame key. For mighty ocean liners Let forth a slow, deep blast, While tugs, black-browed and stodgy, Pipe sharp and shrill and fast, Sj; LitTee ewpence @ oe Chorus of the Judges: We must make an example of somebody And it might as well be you, BO oTLEGGERWG And battered tropic steamers Vouchsafe a few hoarse notes: There’s magic in the whistle Of all the river boats. And yet although my pulses Acclaim each separate voice The ship above all others That leads me to rejoice Is one whose sails to breezes Are lithely, mutely flung— The brigantine, the schooner, The ship without a tongue. R. L,I. Merfom comicbooks.com