Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, May 1921 · page 5 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #20 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humor column describing a rural Minnesota farm acquiring an electric lighting plant—a rare luxury during Depression-era low wheat prices. The narrator celebrates this modern convenience by hosting a party in the hay loft. The satire targets rural/urban class divisions: the narrator self-deprecatingly notes his farm lacks "class" but has "fun," while neighbors have been generous with their thoughts about his "bundle of bunk" (exaggerated stories). The humor centers on conflicting rural customs: Gus proposes a "snoose party" (chewing Copenhagen snuff—a common farm habit), but Mrs. Bill rejects this as unrefined. The twelve-year-old's discovery practicing toe dancing in the barn inspires an alternative dancing party instead, blending rural simplicity with aspirational refinement via newfound electric lighting. The piece gently mocks both rustic manners and the pretensions that electricity inspires—electricity as a marker of modernity and status even on struggling farms.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang 3 Drippings From the Fawcett OUT on Rural Route No. 2 we haven't much class, as the saying goes, but we have a lot of fun. We haven't any bright lights, although the folks about the country have thought so liberally of my little bundle of bunk lately that I have been able to put in a small farm lighting plant in the Whiz Bang house, barn and yard. Not many Minnesota farmers can afford, in these low-wheat-price days, such a luxury as an electric light-ing plant, and so the one put in at the Whiz Bang farm created quite an interest. Gus, our hired man, thought it would be a good idea to have a sort of celebration over the new electric lights. The idea met with instant approval from Mrs. Bill and the kids. The next question was how to cele-brate the great event. Gus suggested a “snoose” party, but as not all of my neighbors chew the Copen-hagen breakfast food, his suggestion received a cool reception, particularly from Mrs. Bill, who dislikes the habit. It was left to my twelve-year-old daughter to solve the problem, later in the day, when I discovered her in the loft of the old red barn practicing toe danc-ing. This suggested to my mind a dancing party. And so we gave the party. I wired the hay loft with electric lights and dumped a pail full of oatmeal