Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, December 1921 · page 13 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #28 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous essay (not a cartoon) from *Captain Billy's Whiz Bang*, a satirical magazine popular in the 1920s. The author describes a formal dinner party where he was supposed to give a toast but failed to do so. The humor relies on name-dropping: the piece mentions real sports figures (Frank Chance, a famous Cubs manager; Tod Sloan, a celebrated jockey) and entertainment personalities (Julian Eltinge, a renowned female impersonator actor) to establish the event's prestige. The narrator's self-deprecating joke is that he couldn't perform his toastmaster duties because he was intimidated by these luminaries and/or distracted by drinking. The opening metaphor—a "rube farmer" spreading fertilizer in a brewery basement—mocks the absurdity of his situation: an ordinary person (the author) placed among celebrities. The piece's charm comes from its rambling, tipsy tone and admission that alcohol prevented him from fulfilling his duties.
📄 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 11 Bobby Dunn of the Fox studio, the right hon- orable toastmaster called on “Captain Billy Whiz Bang” to recite. Imagine a rube farmer trying to spread the fertilizer over the raths- keller of an up-to-date Loz Onglaz brewery. Impossible, I’ll say. Here I had been trying all evening to “put on the dog” with Frank Chance of Cub fame next to me, Julian Eltinge, world renowned actor, to my right, Dick Ferris, best known privateer in the public eye in front of me, not to mention such luminaries as Bill Essick, Wade Killifer, Larry McGraw and Jack Mil- ligan all around. Then there was “Shine” Scott doing the honors back of the “near” beer bar, and “Shine” is well known to every ball player on the Pacific Coast. Oh, by the way, I certainly cannot overlook the immortal Tod Sloan. Either I followed Tod or he followed me because it was my good fortune to drink Manhattans with him in the Sunset Inn at Tia Juana and near beer near here. Now, readers, to tell the truth, it’s quite trying to write about this wonderful party while the writer has a perfectly good Scotch highball on the desk beside him. (Here goes another “Happy Day.”) One must, as one says, review one’s bunk to see where one’s left off. Talk about South- ern hospitality, well, give me the Coast. Any- way, I never made the speech. How could I