Part 2
At present, partly owing to what is very modestly called “barefoot” dancing, a severe season of clothelessness prevails; and the aforementioned exercises afford the public quite a fair idea of “the most admirable spectacle in nature”--that is to say, bowlegs, knock-knees, thick ankles, spray feet, shoulders scraggy or pudgy, knees bony or lumpy, and weirdly shaped legs.
The modernist poets also have been seized by the mania for nudity--but let us hope that with them it is rather theory than practice; for the average literator is not usually “a dream of form in days of thought.” One mocking rhymester thus makes game of such poetic aspirations:
All the poets have been stripping, Quaintly into moonbeams slipping, Running out like wild Bacchantes, Minus lingerie and panties. Never knew of such a frantic Belvederean, corybantic, Highty-tighty Aphrodite, Stepping out without a nightie.
One of these modernist bards puts her own fancies into the brain of an old-time lady, stiff in pink and silver brocade, as she walks in a prim garden awaiting the coming of her suitor. She would like to leave “all that pink and silver crumpled on the ground”; for,
Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin.
Thus divested of raiment, “I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,” and her lover, seeing her, would pursue “till he caught me in the shade.” A writer of free verse is more candid; it is herself she would disrobe. “Since the earliest days I have dressed myself in fanciful clothes,” she says, trying to express herself in this manner; but now she is weary of putting “romance and fantasy into my raiment.” She realizes that “my clothes are not me, myself”; hence the stern resolve:
I think I shall go naked into the streets, And wander unclothed into people’s parlors. The incredulous eyes of the bewildered world Might give me back my true image ... Maybe in the glances of others I would find out what I really am.
Doubtless she would; but perhaps not exactly as she means it. Wandering “unclothed into people’s parlors,” if police vigilance could be eluded, might be a way of seeing ourselves as others see us, since the owners of the parlors would probably be startled into candid comment, instead of, as usual, waiting until the unclad back of the visitant was turned. It would be a happy arrangement if only the truly symmetrical would indulge in semi-nudity. Such exhibitions are a form of female vanity; but if the average woman will but realize it, she owes any admiration she may excite to the saving graces of clothes. If she is wise she will foster the illusion. As a poet of another era expressed it, “Oh, the little less, and what worlds away!”
_In the Grip of a Dream_
The dreamer is with us. From early youth there comes anon a time when the sense of great loneliness and mysticism leads one out to the wilderness of the Dream God. Conceptions of dreams and of love are two difficult tasks, but Robert W. Chambers seems to have made greater headway than other authors. In his book, “The Danger Mark,” he thus describes the feelings that passed over poor, troubled Geraldine:
“We’re pretty young yet, Geraldine.... I never saw a girl I cared for as I might have cared for you. It’s true, no matter what I have done, or may do.... But you’re quite right, a man of that sort isn’t to be considered,” he laughed and pulled on one glove, “only--I knew as soon as I saw you that it was to be you or--everybody. First, it was anybody; then it was you--now it’s everybody. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” she managed to say. The dizzy waves swayed her; she rested her cheeks between both hands and, leaning there heavily, closed her eyes to fight against it. She had been seated on the side of a lounge; and now, feeling blindly behind her, she moved the cushions aside, turned and dropped among them, burying her blazing face. Over her the scorching vertigo swept, subsided, rose, and swept again. Oh, the horror of it!--the shame, the agonized surprise. What was this dreadful thing that, for the second time, she had unwittingly done? And this time it was so much more terrible. How could such an accident have happened to her? How could she face her own soul in the disgrace of it?
Fear, loathing, frightened incredulity that this could really be herself, stiffened her body, and clinched her hands under her parted lips. On them her hot breath fell irregularly.
Rigid, motionless, she lay, breathing faster and more feverishly. Tears came after a long while, and with them relaxation and lassitude. She felt that the dreadful thing which had seized and held her was letting go its hold, was freeing her body and mind; and as it slowly released her and passed on its terrible silent way, she awoke and sat up with a frightened cry, to find herself lying on her own bed in utter darkness.
* * * * *
In France, we are told, the English officers stepped about as though they owned the whole d----d country, whereas
The Americans walked about as though they didn’t give a d----n who owned the country.
* * * * *
New York liquor spotters have discovered liquor in baby dolls. That’s nothing new. Lots of baldheads have been buying wine for baby dolls in New York for generations!
_Questions and Answers_
=Dear Captain Billy=--I am 15 years old and have a sweetheart who is just 18. He owns a flivver and wants me to go riding with him. Should I?--=Lizzie.=
Walking is healthier.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--I have a girl friend who insists on writing to me and demanding an answer. What shall I do?--=Charlie.=
Tell her to enclose a stamp.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--My husband is going out with another woman all the time. What can I do to keep him home nights.--=Mrs. Brown.=
Take the other woman in as a boarder.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--I am a young lady attending a church college. Do you think it would be all right for me to wear skirts 15 inches from the ground.--=Marie.=
That depends on your height. If you are six feet tall it would be all right, but if you are only 29 inches “tall,” Not Yet Marie.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--What would you call the unoccupied side of an old maid’s bed?--=Simple Susan.=
No Man’s Land.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--My daughter has a sweetheart who just got back from France. He talks to her in French and says: “Villa vouz promenade,” or something like that, and then they go to some park. What does that mean?--=Anxious Father.=
That’s all right, old man. Your daughter’s sweetheart was only asking her to take a walk.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--What’s good for cooties?--=Returned Soldier.=
Bread crumbs.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--Please explain the uses of salpeter.--=Tommy.=
You are hereby referred to any soldier who will tell you its principal usage is in the manufacture of high explosives.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--What’s worse than a cow with the cooties?--=Hi Ball.=
A horse with a buggy behind.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--We are organizing a new lodge in ’Frisco to be known as the “Ancient Order of Modern Cavemen.” Will you kindly suggest a motto for our lodge? Yours truly--=Rough on Cats.=
My suggestion is: “Catch ’em young; treat ’em rough, and tell ’em nothin’.”
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--Why do they use castor oil in racing automobiles and aeroplanes?--=Eunice.=
To make them run, of course, Eunice.
* * * * *
=Dear Bilious Billy=--What would you write about if the country went wet again and you didn’t have the dry reformers to poke fun at and kid about?--=Reginald Pewter.=
We cannot tell a lie--we wouldn’t be able to write during the first few weeks.
* * * * *
=Dear Whiz Bang=--My husband, a returned soldier, did not get home until 3 o’clock this morning. He said he was at the Fort all night playing golf. Do soldiers play golf in the middle of the night?--=Worried War Bride.=
Yes, Worried Wifie, they do. One of the favorite sports of the naughty doughboy is the game known as African golf. Two galloping dominoes are used in place of a small ball. Instead of the greens, the latrine floor is usually garnished with greenbacks and set off in silver. “Big Dick” and “Little Joe” act as caddies and there is more cussing at a “flock of box cars” than a minister foozling a putt. I indulged in a friendly game of dancing dominoes last night with my old buddy, Mr. “Eighter from Decatur.” “Jimmy Hicks” and “Long Legged Liz” were there, but before I got through I had “fever in the South” and “crapped” out several points under par.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--Please tell me what is golf?--=Ignoramus.=
Well, Ig., golf is a game where old men chase little balls around when they are too old to chase anything else.
* * * * *
=Dearest Billy=--What’s the difference between a bachelor and a worm?--=Andy Gump.=
Somebody told me there was no difference--the chickens get them both.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--I have been married a year and am the mother of triplets who are now three months old. My husband has asked me to take dancing lessons this winter because he says he cannot afford to have any more children and that dancing will keep one’s mind off maternal cares. What do you think about it?--=Triple Trixy.=
Dancing’s all right, Trixy, providing you tango in the morning, fox trot in the afternoon and hesitate at night. Fine exercise, I say.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--I am struggling with myself to keep from falling in love with a handsome football player because I heard that football players were so terribly rough.--=Troubled Tillie.=
Move to the South Sea islands where it’s too hot to play football, or else to Norway where the summer sport is fishing and in winter it’s too cold to fish.
* * * * *
=Dear William=--I recently met a cute little second lieutenant on the train and am very anxious to get in touch with him. He said his name was Joe Latrino and that he was in the Sanitary Corps. How may I find him?--=Winsome Winnifred.=
Write to him in care of the Captain of the Head, U. S. Navy.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--What is the difference between Spanish Flu and Spanish Fly?--=Swede Harriet.=
Spanish Flu is a disease. Spanish Fly is a drug, technically known as cantharides and is used as a plaster to cure rheumatism.
* * * * *
=Dear Billy=--I am infatuated with a handsome young man from Akron, Ohio, but when he comes to visit me in a neighboring village he acts so embarrassed and appears always to be in a mood of deep thought. Do you suppose he wants to pop the question but hasn’t the nerve?--=Hellenic Helen.=
Now, Hellenic Helen, how in Hell’s Gate or Helena do I know? Overlook his seeming taciturnity and remember that “deep rivers move with silent majesty; small brooks are noisy as hell, and actions speak louder than words.”
* * * * *
=Dear Doctor Billy=--Please give me the definition of the spinal column.--=Slippery Lizz.=
It’s a long disjointed bone, covered with knots--your head sits on one end and you sit on the other.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--What is meant by “bigamy?” =Dandy Dillon.=
Bigamy is a form of insanity which causes a man to pay three board bills instead of two.
* * * * *
=Dear Billy=--What’s the definition of a “humdinger?”--=Iva Hangover.=
A man who can make a deaf and dumb girl say: “O, daddy.”
* * * * *
=Dear Bilious Billy=--I was married last June and my wife wants me to obtain some polish in my manners so suggests that I take music lessons. What do you think about it?--=Silas Hopkins.=
It’s a very good idea, Si. You’ll soon gain a musical education by playing second fiddle. But beware of the jazz.
* * * * *
=Dear Skipper=--Why is a certain specie of beans called Navy Beans?--=Battle-Axe Liz.=
I dunno, Liz. You might as well ask me why I labelled The Whiz Bang an “Explosion of Pedigreed Bull.” No reason at all.
* * * * *
=Dear Bill=--They say there are germs on money. Do you think, then, it is safe for a poor working girl to carry her salary home in her stocking?--=Sadie Woolworth.=
Perfectly safe, I’d say. A germ couldn’t live on a working girl’s salary.
* * * * *
Betty’s Better Batter
Betty Botter bought some butter, “But,” she said, “this butter’s bitter. If I put it in my batter, It will make my batter bitter. But a bit of better butter Will make my batter better.” So she bought a bit o’ butter Better than the bitter butter, And made her bitter batter better. So ’twas better Betty Botter Bought a bit of better butter.
_Seeing Los Angeles_
By JACK ANDREWS
Rubbernecking via the bally-ho wagons has received a terrible set-back in the beautiful city of the Angels. No more will the gossip-hungry tourists be fed on the scandal of the movie colony from a megaphone in the hands of a husky-voiced “spieler.” An edict has gone forth forbidding these caterers to wet the appetites of the unlearned and seeking visitors of Los Angeles to exploit the “affairs” of the celebrities in press agent fashion.
Los Angeles officials contend that it is no nice way to entertain their guests where skeletons are said to exist in every closet in Hollywood.
There is no question but what the moving picture business has a lot of deserving people in it, and some of the most admirable characters to be found are of the cinema crowd, but we have recently had a few stellar lights before the international eye in roles that were disgusting.
Here are some of the utterances the city fathers say should be dispensed with:
=“To your right, folks, is the home of Charlie, now used exclusively by Mildred and her mother, who is also her business manager.”=
=“On your left is the home of Lottie, sister of Mary, who has a standing offer to fight any woman in the business.”=
=“Jack, who is also one of the family, was living in the bungalow on yonder hill before his wife came back from New York. He left for Arkansas on the advice of his doctor the day before she arrived. He was also in the service during the war.”=
=“Now folks this beautiful chateau on the right covering ten acres is the possession of an illiterate cow-puncher, whose salary is greater than the President’s.”=
=“To your left is the former home of Mable, when she wasn’t at Vernon, and who is credited with staging a “come-back” after the star of Sennett passed below her horizon.”=
=“The one who was once called “America’s Sweetheart” used to live in sweet simplicity in the white bungalow on the right. She used to be the idol of all children, but the page of her book is closed that the youth should learn aright.”=
Is it any wonder that these “rubberneck” wagons did a thriving business in Los Angeles? It is said that each “spieler” tried to outrival his competitor and from all reports the tourists were well supplied with scandal.
* * * * *
Girls should remember that when they confide in a married woman they are probably confiding in her husband also.
_Whiz Bang Bunk_
As you show so shall we peep.
* * * * *
A shimmy dancer has to struggle for a living.
* * * * *
Many a rough neck is hidden by a silk collar.
* * * * *
Be it ever so homely there’s no face like your own.
* * * * *
You can’t feather your nest running after chickens.
* * * * *
Keeping whisky in your home is no crime--it’s an art.
* * * * *
Never slap children on the face; Nature provides a more suitable place.
* * * * *
Close the saloon and save the boys; close the garage and save the girls.
* * * * *
Sign in dry goods store: “Our woolen underwear will tickle you to death.”
* * * * *
A Shorthorn Bull
A man called for hair restorer at the drug store. The new clerk gave him something to apply. In the course of time the man returned with a complaint. He declared the stuff powerful enough for some purpose but not to grow hair. His head was as bald as ever but he was getting two big lumps like cocoanuts on the top. The clerk looked at the empty bottle and turned ghastly pale as he exclaimed “My Gawd, man, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I gave you bust developer.”
* * * * *
Gosh All Hemlocks!
Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of a bucket of beer; Up the street and down the line, I’ve got the bucket; who’s got the dime?
* * * * *
“What’s Sauce for the Goose”
A colored woman and her husband were conversing together when the latter happened to express curiosity as to the meaning of the word “propaganda” which he was constantly running across in the newspapers.
“Well,” said his wife, “ah is not sure, but ah thinks ah know what propaganda is. F’r instance, wif mah fust husband ah had one chile, and two wif mah second. You’re mah third husband an’ we hain’t got none at all. Now, I’m the propah goose, but you ain’t the propahganda.”
_Whiz Bang Editorials_
“_The Bull is Mightier Than the Bullet_”
Is the theater becoming immoral? The majority of critics claim it is. The WHIZ BANG disagrees on this point. We claim the motion picture development has stopped the sporadic growth of suggestive plays on the legitimate stage.
The immoral, or at least suggestive plays made their first appearance in any large number twenty years ago. Witness “Three Weeks,” “Sappho,” “Du Barry,” and others, and still today you will find these plays in oblivion. Together with them, the women who starred in such plays are almost unheard of today. Most prominent among these is Olga Nethersole.
She was an English governess in the ’80’s and startled London with her portrayals of “The Transgressor,” “Magda” and other productions of like character.
Twenty years ago Miss Nethersole shocked two continents with her “Sappho Kiss.” She always maintained that playing the parts of these easy women would “make” her. Witness her interview of more than five years ago, in which she is quoted as having said:
“People have not understood that I chose to play prostitutes because I have felt it my work to aid the world by showing the suffering in it. If I felt that I had not been chosen for this task I should never have given my life to it.
“Do you know the story of Alexander Dumas, the younger? He was an illegitimate son, whose father refused to wed his mother. Thereupon the son gave up his life to the cause of woman and wrote his plays with the suffering of woman uppermost. ‘Camille’ will live forever.
“I have felt that if I could show the suffering and the misery that illicit passion causes I could do something for the world, could point a way toward removing the evil.”
And today, Olga Nethersole’s prediction has fallen flat. Her name, or the names of her mimics, no longer are blazoned on the electric signs of Broadway. Olga Nethersole, and the principle for which she stood, are in oblivion.
* * * * *
This is the era of keepers, too. Our collective national appetite has been entrusted to the keeping of four Bills. I refer to Bill Bryan, Billy Sunday, Bill Anderson of the Antisaloon League and Billy-Be-Damned. Those of us who once owned thirsts rapidly are becoming reconciled to the prospect of seeing about every other man in this country established in the role of his brother’s keeper--not his barkeeper, perish the thought--but the sort of keeper who keeps his charges locked up in an iron barred cage and whacks them across the nose with a steel rod of sumptuary discipline should they manifest a desire once in a while to indulge in a little personal liberty.
It has become the custom for many police departments to resort to underhanded methods in obtaining evidence wherewith to bring guilty persons to trial for certain offences, the plan adopted being the employment of what is commonly known as “stool pigeons”--go-betweens who act in direct conjunction with the police. Concerning those who allow themselves to be so employed there is little to be said other than that they are not fit for decent society. It is a sneaking way of securing a living and those who lend themselves to it ought to be ostracized by citizens who believe in conforming to the ordinary decencies of life.
* * * * *
Moral reformers are altogether too ambitious. They want to abolish vice but they cannot do it. Vice is not crime, although the two things are often confounded. The word “vice” literally means a fault or error. A crime is a deliberate violation of the law of God or man.
Why should we be so serious and so violent in our attitude toward human vice? The root of the evil is in the weakness or wickedness of human nature. What is needed is to invigorate humanity with that moral strength which resists the inroads of vice. There are periods in the history of every nation when certain forms of vice are particularly flagrant. This was so when civilized Greece had lost her pristine manliness. It was so when pagan Rome was near her fall. It was so, unhappily, in England in the nineties of the last century, which saw the popularity of such literary and artistic decadents as Oscar Wilde and Aubrey Beardsley. Wise reformers will not ever deceive themselves by thinking that they can eradicate vice. They will try to lessen vice by moral suasion and by removing the economic causes which are the promoters of evil living. To put wretched people into jail is not the best way to reform them. It is better to make them see that a life of virtue pays better than a life of vice. This may be a low utilitarian standard, but it will appeal to those who are altogether guided by considerations of profit or loss.
* * * * *
The alimentary canal of the business world needs a physic. It’s the same in business as with the human system, when things get clogged. We’ve been gorging the system of the business world until its tripe needs scraping. We’ve kept the hopper too full for a healthy elimination, and we need calomel and rhubarb for a change. Capital has allowed its cormorant-like propensities to assume the proportions of a boa constrictor in trying to swallow not only the calf but the whole herd. Labor, following closely in the wake of capital and profiting by its example, has pulled the bridle off of the horse and started it down the road of reason for a head-on collision with the captain of industry, who is stepping on the tail of his big Packard, and both will be injured. Cornering the earth and setting the price of all things required for man’s welfare has come home to roost in demands for wages double and treble what they used to be, and both capital and labor must be purged of this overload on the liver of righteousness or the undertaker will have an unusually thriving business very soon.