Life, 1929-02-15 · page 25 of 44
Life — February 15, 1929 — page 25: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This illustrated story satirizes the absurd congestion and bureaucratic confusion of modern city life. The protagonist and his friends attempt a simple task—following someone home—but encounter escalating obstacles: pedestrian traffic so dense they must "hold onto" each other's coats like a train; a "walking license" requirement; a "pedocycle cop" (a police officer on a children's vehicle); and a loose child on a "Department kiddie car" causing a multi-vehicle pileup. The humor lies in exaggerating real 1920s urban problems—overcrowded streets, traffic regulations, and gridlock—to absurd extremes. The "Florida license plate on his hat" suggests tourists adding to congestion. The story mocks how mechanized and rule-bound city life has become, where even simple pedestrian movement requires documentation and coordination. The final image (bottom) shows a woman promising her husband "Sunday off" if he wins a tournament—reinforcing themes of modern life's regimentation and lack of leisure.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Traffic in Soles the door of the club Jack was with but I didn’t see Frank, Well, let's walk to his house,” said} ck. ; can't do that,” I told him, ‘t got my walking license.” You can be a trailer, then,” said Jack. ust hold onto the back of my coat and sep step with me, and nobody'll say a ord.” He held out his left hand and we | :pped onto the down-town sidewalk of tth Avenue. Tugging at his belt, I shouted, “If ank is behind us we could wait for him d follow him home “We can’t park here,” he said over his oulder, “but we can get on a bus and | ait till he comes by. I'll find one near corner.” We took a seat on top and looked down t the massed blocks of people, the front lnks now breasting the cross-street bar- ers, marking time in cadence, their tail | ghts bobbing restlessly. Then the green | ght flashed, a whistle shrilled, the barrier hisked aloft, and the crowd moved for- ard as one man. “Here comes Frank.” I pointed and houted, but Frank didn’t hear. Slow- poving, he was properly keeping to the | ght. apparently being towed by a page py from the club. I knew it was Frank y the Florida license plate on his hat. “I av “Buddy, did you wipe your “Yes'm, mamma, ‘course I did! and he put on all the speed he dared. | My pedometer showed four miles an hour, but, fortunately, there wasn’t a cop in sight. We had almost caught up with Frank when Jack spied a narrow space ahead between two big touring women, and ringing his bell he darted for it. Alas, right across the gap there dangled Wire: If I win this tournament, George, you can have Sunday off. des wfa\laxt 4 feet before you came Come on, Mookin’ ol’ timer!” a loose child. There was no time to stop. Jack and I were piled up in a heap, ‘and a pedocycle cop burst, straddling, through the crowd. “Pull over to the side there.” He leaned his kiddie car against a rail- ing and took out his book. “Let's see your license,” he barked. Just then a shout went up, and the policeman turned to see the loose child dash away on the Department kiddie car, west on an east-bound street. He com- mandeered a pogo stick and gave chase, and Jack swung around. “We can catch Frank if we take a bus,” he shouted. “Are you drunk?” I asked. Yes,” said Jack, and clambered on tcp of the nearest one. Running lightly be- tween the seats, he skipped to the bus ahead, then to the next and the next, ; while I panted after him. “Wait,” I the: shouted. things shoulé mov ot a chance,” said Jack. “There's Frank's car,” he cried. And there it unmistakably was, its front axle swinging from the crane of a wrecking truck driven by two policemen, Frank sat alone in the back seat. “Where are you going?” said Jack, flinging open the door. “That’s what I’m jolly well going to find out,” Frank rapped. “You come too.” “And so, settling back in the deep cushions of corduroy velour, we fell asleep. Suppose one of Luke Thomas. comicbooks.com