Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, February 1922 · page 8 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #30 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from **Captain Billy's Whiz Bang** (a humor magazine popular in the 1920s-30s) contains satirical anecdotes rather than political cartoons. The first piece references **"Pitchfork" Ben Tillman**, a real South Carolina politician known for inflammatory rhetoric, using his quip about Atlanta's character as a humorous springboard. The author then mocks automobile culture by describing a car crash in Jacksonville, sardonically linking it to mortality—a contemporary anxiety about the dangers of new automotive technology. The second anecdote is self-deprecating hunting humor: the author, claiming to be both a "good farmer" and deer hunter, admits spending ten days unsuccessfully hunting near "Breezy Point Lodge" before finally killing a "spike buck" on the last day. The joke emphasizes his incompetence and the animal's near-human resistance ("almost shook hands with me"). The guide "Panther Pete" (Arthur Foote) appears to be a local character known for trapping—suggesting regional frontier authenticity lending credibility to the tall tale. The humor targets urban/amateur outdoorsmen and emerging car culture.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
6 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman remark that the only family tree he could boast was that the women were virtuous and the men reasonably brave. From my cursory observations this description fairly fits Atlanta. From Atlanta our next stop was Jackson-ville. Went for a joyride here, which ended in a thrilling though harmless smashup. Upon picking myself from out the wreckage, I thanked the kindly doctor for a safe delivery. Which calls to mind these lines by Lincoln, or some other noted personage: Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud? As he rides in his swift-flying car like a cloud, A break in the axle, a bust in the tire, He passeth from life to the heavenly choir. * * * A S A DEER hunter, I’m a good farmer. Spent ten days tramping the windfalls in the neighborhood of Breezy Point Lodge without even seeing a deer. Saw plenty of pole-cats, bobcats and house cats, and nearly cap-tured a “porky.” I learned lots about the habits and habitations of the northern pine animals and finally managed to knock down a “spike buck” (whatever that means) on the last day of the hunting season. Must admit the buck almost shook hands with me before I was able to knock him over. However, I had a very good guide, Arthur Foote by name, but better known as “Panther Pete.” Pete has earned a regular living for twenty-five years as a trap-