Life, 1927-03-17 · page 8 of 43
Life — March 17, 1927 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes **Prohibition's unintended consequences**. The bottom cartoon, captioned "Add Evils of Prohibition," shows a speakeasy (illegal bar) operating openly behind a storefront labeled "Skeziks Family Orange." A well-dressed man asks McCarthy if this is "a hell of a way to be celebratin' saint patrick's day?" The joke: Prohibition, meant to eliminate alcohol and moral corruption, instead created underground drinking establishments that flourished openly. The irony is that illegal bars operated so brazenly that patrons could celebrate holidays in them without fear—demonstrating that the law's enforcement was toothless and the "cure" worse than the disease. The upper poem "Hyphenated" appears unrelated to this cartoon, expressing nostalgic homesickness.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE MAN WHO WENT BACK TO THAT TUMBLE-DOWN SIIACK IN ATHLONE. Overheard in the Lounge Room “H ELLO, Jim. ew are you? Say, did you 1 the big news? About me, [ mean. I’ve quit the bond game. Yes, quit it cold. Couldn't stand it. It was kind of dull. You know. Babbitt stuff. Selling and all that. I got fired. I've got a new line now. It’s great. But literary, kind of. It suits me fine. Ye vertising. How did you guess sh, it’s wonderful. The job, I mean. It’s kind of creative. I'm on towels now. I'm working on towels. Yes, sheets too. eee? It’s great stuff. But people don't Not as much as they should. Tha job. Make them buy it. I'll like it, I guess. I didn’t like Lond selling. I'm not a salesman, I guess. You know. I'm not the type. But this is different. It’s not like selling. It's more literary. And I’m like thet. Always was. You know. Different. Kind of creative.” W. W. Scott. “Ty O you believe in a third term?” “Not for a spokesman.” McCarthy: atn’r THIS A HELL UV A WAY TO BE CELYBRATIN’ SAINT PATHRICK’S DAY? Hyphenated M* heart is often filled with woe, I'm moved to many a briny tear in The plaints of them that yearn to go Back home to Erin. Sadly I sob, and deeply sigh, While down my cheek the tears go bubblin’. To hear some poct’s piteous cry For Dear Ould Dublin! And when they tell they’ve missed The moors, the bogs, the homely neighbors, Such pathos I cannot resist— I weep, bejabers ! how much Yet this I deem the least bit odd: That they who most devoutly pine To tread once more the Dear Ould Sod Have names like mine! D’Annunzio Cohen. Some Kid CHIcaco CARRIE: I'm quittin’ t’-night. Boston Bessie: Whatcha qunttin’ for, kid? C. C.: Goin’ to get married. B. B.: Who you goin’ to marry? C. C.: I got a peach of a fella this time. He's an experienced kid, be- lieve me. He used to run rum in from Canada but he quit that an’ joined up with the Ganna Gang. He's a hustler, that boy. He hangs around cabarets and makes quite a little money that way and he does a little second-story work for a side-li B. B.: You don’t say? some kid, all right. C. C.: You bet he’s some kid. He killed a policeman once. It was just after I got my last divorce. B. B.: You don’t say. Has he ever been married? C. C.: Three times. His last wife citched him for another guy, but be was goin’ with another girl at the time and didn’t mind. B. B.: Gee, I bet you two get along fine. C. C.: I do, too. all right. Gee, he's He's some kid, S. A.M. BEFORE the age of flappers what did boys wear around _ their necks ? comicbooks.com