Life — July 5, 1923 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LIFE State Supervision for Family Picnics By Don Herold Heyou folks thing (Tent believe they) you can agree on ) will be any trouble bs ) pisces, we might 26 amon$ us row, _ 5 ; / } 4 cably, It is only during the picnic months that we come near getting our pictures in the Hearst news- papers, as the result of internal strife. Last year we almost completely broke up. I myself left the family for good en four different occasions, “My own notion of a picnic is to drive out in the country somewhere and _ picnic. But my wife and children and some of our friends do have some of the damnedest ideas of what constitutes a good place to picnic. As spring approached, this year, we decided to face the picnic problem frankly, to see if we could not hit upon some pacifistic picnic plan which would get us through the summer without disruption. And we did hit upon a plan that is working beautifully. One week before we start out on a picnic I sit down and write to Governor Smith. “Dear Governor,” I write, “the Herold family expects to have a little picnic on next Thursday evening (the maid’s night off). There is apt to be a fight. We would appreciate it if you would have a couple of state police- men meet us at North White Plains at 5:30 p. m. and look after us until we get settled.” This scheme has been successful. We put the policemen in ihe tonneau of the car, sort of between the front seat and the back seat, and we talk to them instead of to each other, I say: “Ask Mrs. Herold what she thinks about THAT as a picnic spot.” “She thinks that spot is a little damp,” one of the policemen may say. “She suggests that you drive about a half-mile farther.” We usually end by stopping the car just anywhere and letting the policemen get out and walk up and down the road until they find a spot they think will do for a picnic. In short, we picnic under state supervision. And it looks as if we would get through the summer without the suffering and the separations and the heart- aches that we used to have. Here is a sample of some of the talk we used to have on our picnic hunts: “How's that place?” “Too much poison ivy.” O: family gets through the winters rather ami- I would drive on and suggest other places, Objections like these were mere routine: “It’s too damp....It’s too dry; we might start a forest fire....It’s too shady....It’s too sunny....Too near that farm house. . . .Too near the road. . . .Too far from the’ road; too far to carry the baskets. . . .Not high enough; no view from there. , . .Too near that precipice; the chil- dren might fall off... .I don't like that... .That's rotten ....Too stubbly. . . .Too stony. . There’s a sign up: ‘No trespassing’....Too windy....No breeze there....No place to sit there....Awful. The irritation was, of course, always increased by grow- ing hunger, and the picnic party was always in a state of cannibalism by the time it unloaded. How different now. The presence of the police changes everything. We know quite well that we can use no strong language, strike no blows, hurl no skillets. We have what might be termed company manners, Our picnics are almost enjoyable. We would not think of having a picnic now without writing to Governor Smith. You can write to your governor too, whatever your state is. If necessary, the governor of your state can send you the state militia for your family picnics, Of course we always give cach policeman a hard-boiled egg and a banana, to show our appreciation, a in “DID YOU GIVE THE TAXI DRIVER A SATISFACTORY TIP?” “L DID, BUT IT WASN'T.” comicbooks.com