Life, 1925-12-25 · page 9 of 37
Life — December 25, 1925 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The illustration depicts a barbershop scene labeled "The Gay Nineties," showing men in a leisurely social setting. The caption explains this represents an era when such establishments were "exclusively masculine institutions where anecdote and tobacco juice ran freely" — before safety razors democratized shaving and private shaving mugs became common among prominent citizens. The satire contrasts past exclusivity with modern accessibility: barbershops were once male-only social clubs where prominent men gathered, but technological advancement (the safety razor) eliminated the need for professional shaving services, making the institution less socially significant. The accompanying poem by Arthur L. Lippmann humorously addresses a Pullman porter, celebrating his casual, unrushed demeanor as preferable to modern efficiency culture.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE GAY NINETIES ‘SORIAL PARLOR” IN THE DAYS WHEN SUCH PLACES WERE EXCLUSI SCULINE INSTITUTIONS WHERE ANECDOTE AND TOBACCO JUICE RAN FR THAT WAS BEFORE THE RAZOR HAD MADE SAFE FOR DEMOCRACY, AND THE FLOWERY NAMES ON THE PRIVATE SHAVING MUGS FORMED A ROSTER OF THE TOWN’S MOST SUBSTANTIAL CITIZENS. To a Pullman Porter THIOPIAN custodian of Mister Pullman's cars, You're a conscientious shepherd and a rolling boniface, Recipient of largess and gratuitous cigars— An unpretentious warden of a restless, roving race— You beaming, visage-gleaming Aid to travelers, hear my plea— You pleasant, ever-present Bit of black benignity. I see your whisk-broom quiver, ‘Tis your gen of cleaning: You are ready to deliver An intensive local preening. I need no thorough grooming. On my suit there’s not a speck. It Is old and brisk whisk-brooming Would indubitably wreck it! A snoozing, kindness-oozing Soul who lessens travel's fag, Omniscient and proficient With the whisk-broom and the rag. My suit docs not need brushing And my shoes do not need shining. There's no use in your rushing, For you'll get your Silver Lining. I revel in the creases In this ancient suit that fits me— And I'll lug my own valises, 1f Your Majesty permits me! Arthur L. Lippmann. comicbooks.com