Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, July 1922 · page 43 of 67
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #35 — page 43: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two satirical poems from a WWI-era American humor magazine. **"The Shave Tails"** is a veteran's tribute to newly commissioned officers ("ninety day loots"—slang for lieutenants) in the American Expeditionary Forces during WWI. Initially mocked for their inexperience, fancy uniforms, and youth, these young officers proved their worth during the brutal Argonne Offensive. The poem's central irony: soldiers cursed these green officers but ultimately respected them because they led courageously ("blood plastered grin") and died alongside their men. "Shave-tail" itself meant an inexperienced officer. **"A Gobshite's Lament"** is a brief comic poem about losing money gambling—a common soldier's vice. The punchline relies on the phrase "Oh, Good Night, Nurse!" (a period exclamation of dismay) and rolling "craps" (losing dice rolls). The page reflects post-WWI American sentiment: nostalgic respect for soldiers' sacrifice mixed with crude humor typical of working-class soldiers' culture.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
42 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang The Shave Tails A belated tribute to that host of clear eyed youngsters who as the “second loots” of the A. E. F. fought and died “officers and gentlemen, sir!” By J. Eugene Chrisman “Shave-tails” we called ‘em, hell yes, and worse, Back in “replacement,” gad how we’d curse And damn every one of them, “ninety day loots” With their smart tailor-mades and their cordovan boots; Entertainin’ the mam’selles with their strut and their swell While we was mostly “delousing” and givin’ ‘em hell! In the thick of the Argonne when the big push was on; With our captain and half our effectives plumb gone, The “First” got a blighty and they hauls him away Leavin’ baby-face there in command o’ the day. Well—it wasn’t no picnic, we was using cold steel, Advancing by rushes at a cost we could feel, Still the “loot” led us on headin’ straight for Berlin With a jammed automatic and a blood plastered grin! Yes—we cussed ‘em and damned ‘em for their swaggerin’ style But the hardest boiled buddy took heart from their smile, In the Argonne and elsewhere we’d a never got by Except that our “loot” was a regular guy. Lookin’ back—well here’s to ‘em, them ninety day “loots” For they led us through hell and they died in their boots! * * * A Gobshite’s Lament By Jack Thompson. Not long ago I drew my pay, Then came a lucky hunch; I hustled up and right away I joined the gamblin’ bunch. Laid down my dough and rolled ‘em out, I didn’t care a rap, Them dice turned up— Oh, Good Night, Nurse!— A six’m-six’m crap. * * * As our Scotch friend would say: “The bag-pipe never utters a word until its belly’s full.”