Life, 1923-06-28 · page 7 of 37
Life — June 28, 1923 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous poem with illustrations about a French-Canadian driver named Henri Ledoux who recklessly drives a Ford automobile at high speed from Lake St. Pierre to Montreal and beyond, heading toward New York. The satire mocks: - **Henri's reckless driving** — he refuses to stop despite passengers' pleas, driving through the night at dangerous speeds - **Early automobile culture** — presenting the Ford as a wild, uncontrollable machine - **French-Canadian dialect humor** — the poem uses exaggerated patois ("bootleggaire," "haw-haw") - **Prohibition-era bootlegging** — Henri is apparently transporting alcohol The accompanying illustrations show the Ford speeding chaotically. The humor derives from treating automobile driving as a dangerous, almost supernatural feat, while the dialect and bootlegging references ground it in contemporary 1920s North American concerns.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LIFE The RIDE of HENRI LEDOUX With Due Apologies: 10 W. H.Drummona. Woon-cuTs By john held jr *A VE you evair ‘ear me tell habout Henri of Lac St. Pierre? Dat was de boy w’at mak de Scotch, Dat was de bootleggaire! On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre De win’ she’s blow lak squall, He load hees Ford for all she’s wort’ Weet Scotch for Montreal. Dees Scotch he ‘ave was somet'ing fierce, I know eet—me who spik, He's made from lye, grain alcohol And acide carbolique. De night was dark like wan black hat, De win’ she blow, blow, blow, But Henri geeve hees Ford de gun, By gar! He's mak’ her go! To Montreal hees almos’ dere When Henri ‘ave de quail; He's hear “put-put” along de road, De hagents on hees trail! Henri ees brave, I tell you those, But hice-cold run hees blood, De Ford she’s cough, slow down and stop, She’s stuck right een de mud. de hegenty ms hoes trail. Henri he curse, he cry “Mon Dieu, Now ees theese not cocasse! The hagents goin’ to peench me sure, De Ford she's hout of gas!” “Put-put, put-put,”-he’s mak priére; So near as half a mile, And nearer yet dey come, and den Henri was start to smile. “By gar!” he say, “mebbe she'll do!” Hees jambe he’s geeve a spank, Den queek he hopen hup some Scotch And pour heem een de tank. ad pour heem cen de tenk: Weet wan beeg roar de Ford she’s hoff, De hagents hall cry “Stop!” But Henri cry, “I stop, jamais I drive on ‘til I drop!” He’s go like hal, like canon ball, Like from champagne de cork; Was pass along t’rough Montreal, Han’ drive right to New-York. So now Henri was wan reech man, Who leeve just like a Lord, Because he find hees recipe Ees better yet for Ford. De Standard Hoil dey buy hees stuff, Heet ees witheen de law; To dose probishun hagents, yas, He's giving loud haw-haw. Moral Now hall you petits bootleggaires Dat weesh for Henri’s class, Be sure you mak’ de home-made Scotch Wat's good sometam’ for gas. Henry William Hanemann comicbooks.com