Life, 1923-08-02 · page 15 of 40
Life — August 2, 1923 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The page contains two distinct pieces: **"Regressional—1923"** is a poem satirizing post-WWI America's desire to forget the war and its costs. References to "Khaki clans" (veterans), melting armies, and scrapped ships mock national amnesia about sacrifice. The closing line urges "Forbearance for our people"—suggesting ironic criticism of this forgetting. **"The Cherry Chase"** is a humorous essay by Fairfax Downey about the futility of retrieving a maraschino cherry from a lemonade drink using straws. It's a lighthearted piece about a small domestic frustration, depicting the cherry as elusively "slip[ping] away." The accompanying illustrations show: one depicting a portrait viewing (related to the regrettable grandfather anecdote in the caption), and another showing two men in winter coats with the caption "Did you get home safe? So such luck. I woke up my wife."
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LIFE Regressional—1923 reading public has been fed up on the war. It is nguidly interested in rehabilitation. The Ameri- ttitude might be summed up in the phrase: ‘The is old stuff; let us forget it.”—Daily paper. Ge of our grafters, blown of gold, Lord of our star-flung sample line, Within whose lawful land we sold And sell wood alcohol and wine (!)— Lord God of Toasts (be with us wet), Let us forget—let us forget! The Khaki clans demobilize, lhe Congress and the Kings adjourn: Still stand our pacifistic guys Who did and do not give a durn. Ach Gott mit uns; alretty yet Let us forget—let us forget! ‘Tis well the armies melt away, The ships are scrapped, the forts are fired. Yet those who died but yesterday That we might live?... “Ya make me tired!”... For this, and for the wanton word— Forbearance for our people, Lord! Trowbridge Larned. Bop LO LE 7 CesT Oaegs~ “PORTRAIT OF MY GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER. HE GOT A BALL THROUGH THE HEAD AT BUNKER HILL.” “HIT BY ONE OF THOSE CARELESS GOLFERS THAT DIDN'T YELL ‘FORE,’ I SUPPOSE.” The Cherry Chase REALLY dressy lemonade, on which some former barkeeper has lavished all his pent-up artistry, is one of the noblest works of man. It is tall and frosted and stately and it is accompanied by two fully clothed straws. It is filled with ice of large displacement and a sample orchard, dominated by a ripe, red, round, luscious maras- chino cherry. The last-mentioned garnishment is seen bobbing in the lemonade surf. You disregard it at first, reserving it as an entremets, but by the time the level of the beverage is lowered, the cherry has sunk and is ice-bound in the glass’s antarctic circle. Making chopsticks of your straws, you fish for the cherry and clamp it cleverly. Just as you bring it to the surface, it slips away. You fish again and the straws crumple up—bent reeds. Thus baffled, you determine to eat the blame thing out of house and home. After consuming several slices of sour orange, a waterlogged strawberry, a tough and stringy segment of pineapple and three teeth-destroying hunks of ice, you give up. You turn to force, since strategy failed. You thrust your hand into the glass after that darn cherry. But the glass is small, the ice floes formidable and the sugar The cherry slips away. A kind lady at your table graciously offers aid. A quick movement of her dainty little hand, a pounce by her slim fingers and the elusive fruit is captured. “einGoG GER HOME SARE? Then she smiles roguishly at you and eats your cherry. “NO SUCH LUCK. I WOKE UP MY WIFE.” Fairfax Downey. comicbooks.com