Life, 1925-01-08 · page 12 of 37
Life — January 8, 1925 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents humorous poems about the lives of used cars, each personified as having a distinct history. The poems describe cars that experienced various misfortunes—repossession, abandonment, mechanical failure, and resale through multiple owners. The satire targets the used car market itself: the installment-payment system that enabled working-class people to buy cars but often led to default; unscrupulous dealers; and the degrading conditions cars endured between owners. Each poem's voice—whether a Ford, Buick, Pierce-Arrow, Nash, or Dodge—emphasizes the car's perspective as a mistreated object passed between owners who couldn't afford new vehicles. The accompanying cartoons show humorous situations: nighttime driving and a collision, reinforcing the chaos of used-car ownership. The satire critiques both the economic system making car ownership precarious and buyers' carelessness with secondhand vehicles.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Al Ford WAS bought on the instalment plan By a man who kept a little corner grocery. His wife had asthma, And her breathing would almost drown The noise of my engine. Along came a big, clean grocery store Operated by some chain system. Then my mastér failed to pay My sixth instalment. I was sent here. Gosh! how that woman And those four kids Used to enjoy The summer breezes. al Pierce-Arrow HE man who boug! Owned a shoe factory He had a son. When spring came around And birds returned again, The boy used to take A wide-eyed, brown-haired Factory girl out riding. He would tell her Of the blue sky at Marseilles And the immortality of the soul, And she would listen. The ound Limited, Shuddering and trembling, Came around a curve— Some smart mechanic put me together. And here I am! He and she Were smashed—killed! And both their names Were smirched Until Eternity With evil, black gossip. I wish I might testify In their behalf Al Buick FARMER out in Towa Owned me One night, After he had plowed Since sun-up, He drove me to the village. He went to the movies And parked me outside The fellow who stole me, He and his pal, Changed my license plate And drove me hard Until they burned out My bearings. Then— They abandoned me! If I could have talked And made the police Understand, They could have sent me Back to Iowa, Where I was happy—happy— ven though some of the roads Were not paved. A Dodge THOUGHT I was as good as the best When old Doc Stover Used to fight A long black cigar, Turn the key, And step on the gas, And together we two Would scour the town For the sick. Sometimes I would find myself parked In front of Banker Jones’ And sometimes I'd go through mud Up to the hubs of my wheels To Nigger Brooks’. I liked it. But he sold me and bought A 1925 Model. I hated to leave him. T hated it like the dickens, A Nash IS father and mother Were proud of him. He was sixteen, With blond, shiny hair Combed straight back. His eyes were brown And honest and eager To help solve Some of the riddles of life. He was president Of his class at High. His father had just bought me. It was the night of The Inter-Scholastic Debate. He was driving up Front Street. New rain glistened On the pavements, He was on the affirmative. He had just thought of A corking argument— CRASH! The lights then danced Like a merry-go-round. I had skidded. His parents would never Look at me again. They hated me. L. H. Hayum. comicbooks.com