Life, 1929-03-22 · page 26 of 36
Life — March 22, 1929 — page 26: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three satirical pieces from *Life* magazine: **"Mrs. Pep's Diary"** (top left): A humorous travel account depicting a wealthy woman's observations during a Southern trip, with period attitudes toward African Americans evident in the dated language. **"Marketitis"** (right): A poem satirizing the stock market craze of the 1920s. The joke is that household staff—nurse, gardener, cook, laundress, postman, coalman, newsboy, garbage man—are all distracted by stock speculation (holding shares in Chrysler, Baldwin, Goodrich, Packard, Kresge, Nash, and Hupp—actual auto and retail companies). They're neglecting their jobs because they're obsessed with the market. The punchline: "Oh Heaven send a crash!"—meaning a market crash might force them back to work. This reflects widespread anxiety about the speculative fever preceding the 1929 crash. **"Columnist" cartoon** (bottom): A joke about a book reviewer leaving a poker game with twelve books to review that night—implying he won't actually read them.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
New Mrs. Pep’s Diary (Continued from Page 12) an impossible number of yards to go, and I could not but mark how it is man’s nature to hear with respectful gravity from an outsider what he re- ceives with scornful amusement from his wife. So forth again through the balmy afternoon air, passing hundreds of the negro cabins about which North- erners sing so plaintively, and methinks that if the song writers could see a few of them, their words, if not their tune, would be different. Reached Aiken in time for a fine dinner of mushroom soup, beefsteak, grilled bananas, vege- tables, salad and frozen pudding, and afterwards our hostess asked her young son if he had telephoned to inquire how fared the youth whom he had knocked off his polo pony in the af- ternoon, whercupon G. H. quoth, “No, because he’s giving the party to- night, and if anything had happened to him, don’t you think they'd have let us know?” causing his sister to re- “Your picture doesn't flatter you @ bit, Mr, Thomashevsky.” mark that it would be a good thing, the next time he knocked anybody off a pony, at least to choose someone who was playing on the opposite side. To bed very weary, thanking God that I have worn my snow boots for the last time this season, that my new permanent bids fair not to vanish like the baseless fabric of a vision leaving not a ripple behind, and that the sheets were scented with exactly the proper gree of lavender. Work Life Marketitis Morale at home is slipping, It’s useless to deny In vain we try to raise it, And here's the reason why— Our nurse is playing Chrysler, Our gardener fancies steel Our cook is short of Baldwin, She’s late with every meal. Our laundress dreams of Goodrich Our postman’s short of Hupp, Our coalman’s hot on Packard, He's put his silk shirt up. Our newsboy’s holding Kresge Our garbage man owns Nash We're hungry for some service Oh Heaven send a crash! Francis W. Hatch Gent (telephoning theatre) Martin Beck? Voice: ul five. No, he won't be beck un- Cotumnist—I’'ve got to quit, Boys, I’ve twelve books to review tonight. comicbooks.com