Life, 1928-05-10 · page 18 of 50
Life — May 10, 1928 — page 18: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**Top Cartoon**: Shows a caveman-like figure in primitive dress at what appears to be a modern beach or pool scene. The caption reads "The Understudy's Prayer: 'Dear Lord, I don't wish the star any hard luck, *but—*'" This satirizes the common theater superstition about understudies hoping the lead performer will get sick or injured so they can perform. The primitive-dressed figure represents the understudy as someone "under" the star, making a hypocritical prayer—claiming not to wish harm while clearly wanting the opportunity. **Text Content**: The page contains Fannie Hurst's rewrite of "Little Jack Horner" and humor columns. These are satirical retellings and jokes typical of Life's comedic content during this era. The page demonstrates Life's use of visual humor to mock human nature and social conventions.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
16 SMOMING we OME WwInGs ee The Understudy’s Prayer “Dear Lord, I don't wish the star any hard luck, but——” Fannie Hurst Rewrites “Little Jack Horner” “THanks, Momma. Momma, thanks. Thanks, Momma,” said little Jack, and he went back to his corner, the precious Christmas pie in his arms. He sat down slowly on his stool while his mother wiped a tear away. Pie. Christmas pic. Christmas pie for Jackie, her little Jackie. Sitting on his stool there. Sitting and eating his Christmas pie. Her throat choked up inside and she went away. Jackie. Jackie eating pie on his little stool. Jackie eating his little pie while she— Jackie looked around. He knew some- thing was wrong. Mother was crying. Like when Father died. Like when the furniture collector came. Like when the dog died. Like when it was Christmas. But he had the pie. Almost as big as he was. And it was Christmas. Christmas, and a Christmas pie, and himself sitting on a stool in his corner. A tear dribbled down his nose, and he wiped it away. Tears. Tears on Christmas, with pies. The drop landed on the pie. He touched it. There was something soft under- neath, something soft. Soft and smelly. A nice smell, and he wrinkled up his nose. He wondered what Momma was doing. Maybe she would like what was under there. With his litle thumb he dug in. It was warm inside the pie, and the nice smell came out. Prunes. Grapes. Oranges. Raisins. Apples. All in his Christmas pie. He dug deeper. And then it came out. A plum. A fine dark plum. He ran into the next room where his mother sat, crying. “Momma,” he cried. “Don’t you know me, Momma? It’s me—Jack. Momma. Momma. I’m a good boy, Momma. Oh, what a good boy am I. And here’s a plum for you, Momma.” It grew a little darker outside. Samuel Grafton. Tue one whom two can live as cheaply as must have a real time. If Some Radio Manufacturers Talked Like Their Products “Good morning, Mr. Glug, squi-i-isssh; how are you this fine whoooiece-ce? And about that deal concerning loud speak- ers, I won't go a cent higher than glub glub-glub ickecickee. Will that satisly you or must I tell you again that I wil jamjam ooree erskerskiskoo? s “And about that other matter, that iisshhyheeboo, I will say that I will se you next cookookooyeeoo concerning the glugglug matter. Well, good day, Mr. Glug, squi-i-sssh erskybibaloo, good ¢ sssheeyoo 7 M. B. CONSISTENT Steek Inter: The world is my oyster, Dad. Dav: Well then, why don’t you gt busy on it? Steex Ipter: What for? There's 0 “R” in the summer months! comicbooks.com aq &.So >t > tT Se eT o>