Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, February 1922 · page 41 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #30 — page 41: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Captain Billy's Whiz Bang* (a humor magazine) contains two pieces about working-class urban life. **Top section** announces an upcoming boxing poem, "The Kid's Last Fight," with sample verses depicting a fixed fight where the boxer throws a match despite crowd pressure—referencing the era's widespread boxing corruption concerns. **Main poem** by J. Eugene Chrisman depicts a hobos' perspective on a destitute widow, "Chi Slim," living near Chicago's stockyards. The crude vernacular verse romanticizes poverty and transience: the speaker describes Sarah Lukens as unattractive, toothless, and destitute, yet affectionately recalls her loyalty and companionship during hard times. The poem celebrates working-class camaraderie and rough survival, with references to "hand-outs," cheap beer ("growler"), and petty crime associates like "Dutch" Ryan. The satire targets sentimental nostalgia for vagrant life while depicting Depression-era desperation as almost quaintly romantic—typical of *Whiz Bang's* irreverent working-class humor.
📄 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 39 Smokehouse Poetry The greatest poem of the squared circle ever brought to light is in store for March Whiz Bang readers, “The Kid’s Last Fight.” That noted recitation of years ago has been obtained by the Whiz Bang, reset to verse, and will hold the boards in the March issue. The way he staggered made me sick, I stalled, McGee yelled “cop him quick!” The crowd was wise and yellin’ “fake,” They’d seen the chance I wouldn’t take. * * * “Chi Slim” Twangs ’is Bloomin’ Lyre By J. Eugene Chrisman. Author of “Poppies,” written exclusively for Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang. By the lake-front near Chicago with her elbows on her knee There’s a widder-woman waiting and I know she waits for me; When the wind is from the stock-yards every odor seems to say “Come you back you lost star-boarder, come you back you skunk and pay!” Her apron it was greasy and her hair it hung in strings, And her name was Sarah Lukens but it had been lots o’ things! When I saw her first a’diggin’ up the makin’s for a stew And she wasn’t wastin’ nothing that a dog could chaw in two. Blinkin’ rough for me to lead, tooth-less, sallow and knock-knee’d Wasn’t carin’ much for class tho—what I needed was a feed. When the bunch had grabbed their hand-out and we had ’em on the go, Then she’d start me for “Dutch” Ryan’s with a two-bit piece to throw. With her head upon my shoulder at the second growler full, She was lonesome bo, that widder with the rough-stuff that she’d pull!