Life, 1925-11-05 · page 23 of 50
Life — November 5, 1925 — page 23: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains a humorous narrative poem about a criminal mastermind named "Brainy" Blintz who removes his own fingerprints to evade identification. The satire works on two levels: **The Main Joke:** Blintz's elaborate scheme—literally obliterating his fingerprints through chemical and surgical means—backfires when a "Correspondence School Detective" deduces that the *absence* of fingerprints at unsolved crime scenes actually identifies him. He's convicted and sentenced to over 1,400 years in prison. **The Social Reference:** This mocks the then-emerging science of fingerprint identification as a forensic tool. The poem suggests that even attempting to outwit modern detective methods is futile—the very absence of evidence becomes incriminating. The accompanying cartoons on the page offer lighter social humor about domestic life and media cynicism, unrelated to the fingerprint story.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The Missing Fingerprints “RRAINY” BLINTZ was a cracksman keen; He rode to his jobs in a limousine, And subscribed for all of the monthly sheets Dilating of Science's latest feats. He blew his safes with a new H. E., Card-catalogued each skeleton key; But a constant problem to “Brainy” Blintz Was the little matter of fingerprints. Gloves, of course, he had always worn, But gloves may be split or lost or torn! And at last he announced, after cogitation, “The perfect way is obliteration.” He softened the skin with unguents sweet; He applied a nicely computed heat; He scaled his cuticle, peel by peel; He seared with acid, and sliced with steel, Till his fingertips, when they healed and shrank, Were a total, perfect and absolute blank, At last his peace was without alloy; He cracked his safes with insouciant joy, And, taken up on a stool-pigeon’s tale, He laughed at threats of a term in jail. When they tried to check up on his fingerprints, “I haven't any!” sneered “Brainy” Blintz. The sergeants hemmed and the captains hawed, The district attorneys pished and pshawed, And they all agreed reluctantly That they'd have to let this Blintz go free, When there rose a mysterious man in court, Commanded, “Halt!” and they all stopped short. His eye was calm and introspective— A Correspondence School Detective! “I see at once, with a clear precision, The gist of this criminal’s plain admission. For years have crimes been daily news That were never solved, for lack of clues; Never a print to mark the man! Cannot your wits this riddle span, Or must I speak in plainer hints? Here is the man without fingerprints!” With cries of glee they rushed about, Dragging the musty records -out, And every crime without fingerprints They laid to the credit of “Brainy” Blintz. Murders, burglaries, thefts and arsons, Confidence games on country parsons, Highway robberies, bank defaults, Unlawful entries and plain assaults. They plied the charges thick and fast; Verdicts were entered and sentence passed, Falling on Blintz’s deafened ears: “Fourteen hundred and forty years, Eleven months—in a single cell; With a century off for behaving well.” * © @ He's serving it now, is “Brainy” Blintz, The man who murdered his fingerprints. Jerome B. Barry. Homecoming Husband: sway, oLp Top! Lt OPEN THE DOOR IF YOU'LL GO IN FIRST! Business as Usual 'HE OPTIMIST: Well, at any rate, the crime waves never get so bad that they drive the advertisements out of the newspapers. “ANY new wrinkles in jazz this season?” “Well, Paul Whiteman may have another chin,” FAR ASTRAY Prison Guard: CHIEF, TH’ GUY IN CELL FORTY-FIVE WANTS TO CONFESS. Warden: He DOES, EH? WHAT DOES HE THINK I AM, A BLOOMIN’ MAGAZINE EDITOR? comicbooks.com