Life, 1923-04-26 · page 22 of 36
Life — April 26, 1923 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains early 1920s radio satire and labor commentary. **"The Pure Night Air"** mocks early radio's terrible reception and interference—the narrator's friend struggles to tune stations WJZ and WGY, receiving only incomprehensible animal noises. The joke plays on radio's novelty and technical unreliability; Colonel Schwartzkopf (New Jersey's police superintendent) becomes indistinguishable from barnyard sounds. The author finds the static-filled broadcast so unbearable he flees the apartment. **The bottom cartoon** satirizes labor strikes and worker demands. A strike leader confronts a factory owner, essentially saying: "You keep running the plant, providing capital and decisions—just hand the profits to us." It mocks what the cartoonist sees as workers' unrealistic expectations, presenting the strike leader as someone wanting management's benefits without responsibility. Both pieces reflect 1920s anxieties: new technology's growing pains and tensions between labor and capital during an era of increasing unionization.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
20 The Pure Night Air “(UINEA PIGS?” _ I ventured to my friend who was enter- taining me with his radio set. “No, I’m getting WJZ. I think that that noise is Colonel Schwaytz- kopf, superintendent of the New Jer- sey State Police.” “Rox! Rox! Rox! Whe-e-e-e e-e-e-e-e-e-e! Tuck! T-t-t-t-tuck! tuck! BROG! Flup,” came over the radio. The set was connected with a phonograph for amplification, and these pleasant noises completely filled the apartment. "Aza sx Z10= Hee! “What was that?” I asked, with, I confess, dilated pupils. “Schenectady, WGY,” said my friend. “Maybe I can get them.” He began frantically to whirl dials. “Will it involve a complete change in tactics?” I asked. I rather felt that since we had spent most of the evening on the trail of WJZ it was poor strategy to tackle WGY. “Bish, bish! Bish, bish! Bish, <QuiLX “I know that!” I exclaimed, de- lighted to hear something intelligible at last.:Fhat's the big bird cage at | dan apteryx, | the Bronx Zoo. I h or perhaps it was the poker-party cry of the jabiru. And just before that loud one I heard some godwits. They make that bish, bish, bish.” “I’m right!” I cried gleefully. “It IS the Bronx bird cage. Those last were yaffles.” “That fellow ought to be arrest- ed!” exclaimed) my radio friend. “Some darned amateur.” He really hated him. And J thought they were yaffles. “It was_a careful journey Opossum made into the King’s Palace and ‘all of the forest folk stood breathless, watching him. Even Major Pole Cat and Jerry Jay Bird could not understand why it was——” * LIFE “Bed-time story,” said my friend. “Can you hear it? Pretty good, isn’t it.” He is fifty-five; hates children. “WJZ. One minute intermission.” a ee “T guess THAT must be Colonel Schwartzkopf now,” said my radio friend. “I am afraid I won't have time to stay to listen,” I said, with great re- straint, looking at my watch wrong side up. I rushed from the house. I had no idea there was so much suf- fering in the world. Now I know why they call the broadcasting stations XYGETC. Don Herold. A Yard of Illusion (Rose-colored) E used to call it “tulle,” dears, When I was young and gay; By night it swathed bare shoulders, It veiled bright eyes by day; Like sunset mists it shimmered, All rose, and gold, and blue, Or frosty-sparkling glimmered Like moonlight spangling dew. They’ve changed the old French name, dears, It’s called “illusion” now, And still it wreathes white shoulders, Or binds a girlish brow,— Recalling all the dreams we wove Behind its veils in youth, I often think illusion A better name in truth. Florence A. Vicars. The Owner: As I get it, you want to run this plant yourself. Strike Leader: No, sir; you do it—you furnish the brains and money, and turn them over to us, and we'll do the rest. comicbooks.com