Life, 1929-07-19 · page 13 of 36
Life — July 19, 1929 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two cartoons satirizing early 20th-century American society: **"Life's Little Ironies"** (text piece by Robert Lord): Mocks the hollow courtesy of traffic enforcement—a motorist ticketed for speeding receives polite explanations and assurances he's "working on it," yet faces real consequences (fines, jail threat). The irony critiques performative politeness masking actual punishment. **Top cartoon** ("It's a Missouri pippin!"): Shows a blindfold test where people identify vegetables. The joke appears to be about foolish gullibility or misidentification. **Bottom cartoon** ("Semi-Horizontal Battle"): Depicts boxers fighting, with one asking if others "mind if we sit this one out?"—mocking either lazy fighters or the absurdity of boxing itself. Both cartoons target human hypocrisy and foolishness through exaggeration.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LiFe’s Little Ironies The broad, smooth boulevard. The exhilarating surge of power displayed by your car as you pass an antique sedan. The disinclination of the an- tique sedan to be passed. Your ges- ture of smiling contempt at leaving it half a block behind. The motor- cycle cop. His cheerful patter about “Barney Oldfield,” “fire departments,” “race tracks,” etc. The ticket. That sunk feeling. The cheerful thought that this is Anti-Reckless Driving Week and that speeders are regularly being sent to jail. The friend with political influence who is positive he can fix it for you. His assurance that he is “working on it” and his repeated commands to quit worrying. His re- quest for twenty bucks to buy a few boxes of cigars and distribute them where they'll do the most good. Your eager compliance with the request. His triumphant grin as he tells you to tear up the ticket and forget it— it’s all fixed. Your pathetic gratitude and insistence on taking him to dinner and a show. Your profuse thanks and the hope that he won’t get in wrong on your account. Your delight at getting off so painlessly. Your firm resolution never to enter the criminal class again. The complete erasure of the entire matter from your mind ... two weeks later, the bench warrant. The five- dollar fine for speeding and the hun- dred-dollar fine for failing to appear in court two weeks ago. —Robert Lord. The first blindfold test. It’s getting so we don’t dare to open a can of sardines for fear we'll find either Clarence Terhune or Arthur Schreiber inside. Semt-Horizontat Battier: re | Do you mind if we sit this one out? comicbooks.com