Life, 1923-12-20 · page 8 of 36
Life — December 20, 1923 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two distinct pieces: **Left side:** "The Commuters," a poem by George S. Chappell accompanying a woodcut illustration of Manhattan's skyline and commuter traffic. The poem celebrates the daily rush of workers flowing into the city from outlying areas via "tube and tram and train," describing them as vital to urban commerce. **Right side:** "My Husband Says," a humorous domestic essay by L. Blanche Simpson about Christmas gift-giving. Her husband longs for childhood toys (balloons, marbles, carnations) he never received as a boy, though he's too proud to admit such longing. The author humorously plans to indulge his unstated wishes. **Bottom illustration:** A domestic scene showing a woman confronting a man about moving a trunk downstairs alone—likely satirizing gender expectations or marital dynamics around household tasks. The page reflects early 20th-century middle-class concerns: urban commuting, nostalgia, consumer desires, and domestic life.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
My Husband Says of aoe the custom in some of our best families of writing lists of the gifts they want for Christmas simply takes the glamour right off Santa Claus. But he says he has gone some way through life with a longing for the things he wanted and didn’t get when jv was a small boy. He says that most men are like that but they haven't t courage to admit it. But I think it’s awfully sad that he has always want«:| those balloons and nobody ever knew it. He wants the red and yellow ones. The kind that con all blown up and stay that way until some day, in a spirit « reckless extravagance, you burst them and they collapse wit a loud report. And he wants two carnelians; he said that at one time | had a lot of the common marbles in all of the most want shades and some in smart striped effects. He also had one carnelian which was pinched on him by friend. I wanted to buy a number of them for him, but he sai that more than two would savor of riches; and that woul: remind him of the men who used to part their hair in middle at the back, never missed a day in Sunday school ani had other objectionable features But I shall get ever many stunning balloons for him he appreciates my generosity in gratifying hi He understands perfectly how much I want a mole cajx for Christmas. L. Blanche Simpson. The Commuters annsen WHEN dawn is gray and the rose of day Blooms in the rising steam, EVERTHELESS, Governor Pinchot is the best front- Manhattan thrills on her island-hills page governor Pennsylvania ever had. To the pulse of a hidden stream. With the muffled beat of a million feet From tube and tram and train, The morning tide through the sluice-gates wide Pours in to her farthest vein. They scurry and shift in a current swift That creeps with a rising swell Through the granite aisles of the steel-boned piles Where the Gods of Business dwell. On, on they rise to the curving skies With push and struggle and pull, Till the canyons grim to their very brim With the floods of Life are full. All day they sway in the restless play Of the surging city sea, Till a whispered word in their hearts is heard And they know that they are free. With a rush and roar they are loosed once more And the swirl of their ebbing foam Sweeps down, down; down through the towers of town To the gates that lead them home. George S. Chappell. “OH, GEORGE! YOU SAID YOU COULD BRING THAT TRUNK DOWN STAIRS ALONE!” “WELL, IT’S DOWN, AIN'T IT?” comicbooks.com