Judge, 1929-07-13 · page 24 of 36
Judge — July 13, 1929 — page 24: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The top cartoon mocks travelers' embarrassment about shabby luggage. A well-dressed man with worn, patched baggage stands apart from three stylish gentlemen—the visual joke being that inferior luggage marks one's social status. The caption "Should Have Invested in a Goldiard Travel Trunk" advertises a solution to this class anxiety, satirizing consumer culture and the materialism of the era. Below are vignette jokes: one about a doctor's illogical breathing advice, another about a sergeant's poorly-fitting cartridge belt, and a boxing-ring setup to prevent fighters from escaping—all absurdist humor typical of Judge's style. The "Judging Books" section reviews John K. Winkler's biography of an oil magnate (appears to reference Rockefeller, termed "Vampire of Oil"), along with other contemporary books. The reviews employ irreverent, flowery prose characteristic of the magazine's literary criticism.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE DOES YOUR LUGGAGE SHAME YOU? 7 | SHOULD HAVE INVESTED IN A? LOLDIARB TRAVEL TRUNK THOUGHT ‘FRED WITH BURNING EARS: The next selection of the Feinberg Furriers will be “Doing the Raccoon—and the Customer.” (Note—There are no harps | in this orchestra.) “Deep breathing, you understand, kills mi- crobes,” chirped a chirurgeon. “But, Doctor, how can I compel them to breathe deeply?” fluttered Miss Ingalls. Aw, gee, sergeant, the darn cartridge-belt keeps sliding over my hips! Ring arrangement to keep the fighters from laying down or running away. Gives the fight follower his money’s worth. JUDGING BOOAS [> his early he gave of his pennies to God; later God returned them—with interest. Such is the parable for the good little business man underlying John K. Winkler’s tremendously absorbing biography, A Portrait in Oils. plete” book: lac pictures newspaperman’s vision, we're nevertheless thankful to Herr Winkler for what there is. He's let unholy, irreverent light through the gla do blur sur- rounding the silent, shrivelled Oc- topus of Pocantico Hills. His intentions are good; if his execu- tion is wanting. What a Rover Boy story the Vampire of Oil's would inake. Born to a beer-slogging, sharp- dealing quack doctor by a puritan mama, John the art of nny-pinching in the cradle. F poor, he mixed hymns and nickel-squeezing through his teens. Followed the feverish crescendo of the years of Napoleonic mil- ing, the rapacity of I've given even Attila Then the calm after this rape of business, with nt salving of conscience y mockery of scientific philanthropy. ‘Thus into old age, with its golf and numeri nn-shouting, dime-throwing: e in the assurance of a life I spent and in two descendants able to carry the billions far in the future Without dropping a cent. Surely a life that makes Arat Nights look as tame bedtime story. Unquestion a story to be engraved on a dime. We like Booth Tarkington's oung Mrs, Greeley,” a sharp, readable story of how a certain missus minded her breadwinner's p's and q's; Jessie L. Rickard’s “The at Club,” the week's best mystery thriller, done a la “One-a-Minute” Oppenheim Phillips Russell's “Red T a thousand and one adventures among the Mayas of Southern Mexi a thrilling evening for jous_ traveler, —Trp Suanr. comicbooks.com