Part 1

Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, Vol. II. No. 24, September, 1921

Going Back to Paris, Soldier?

Would you like to take another trip to France, visit the old fighting sectors and spend a few weeks in Paris? You can keep in touch with the overseas days and with your comrades everywhere through The Stars and Stripes, the weekly publication for all ex-service men. Gives you a joy ride every week through the land of memories.

HAVE THE BOOK OF WALLY’S CARTOONS! Send Two Dollars and we will enter your subscription for The Stars and Stripes for six months and send you a complete collection, well bound, of all the overseas cartoons of Wally, the famous Stars and Stripes cartoonist. The greatest memory book of the World War. Just Two Dollars for The Stars and Stripes and the Book of Wally’s Overseas Cartoons Complete! Send today!

The Stars and Stripes Publishing Co. 205 Bond Building WASHINGTON, D. C.

* * * * *

BATHING BEAUTIES!

Real Photographs of the famous California Bathing Girls. Just the thing for your den! Sizes. 3½ × 5½ Positively the best on the market.

ASSORTMENT OF 6 for 25c or 25 for $1.00

Send Money Order or Stamps. Foreign money not accepted unless exchange is included.

EGBERT BROTHERS

Dept. W. B. 303 Buena Vista St., LOS ANGELES, CAL.

_Wholesale agents wanted everywhere in U.S. Write for wholesale terms._

* * * * *

_Subscribe Now_

+------------------------------- If you like our Farmyard / Capt. Billy’s Whiz Bang, Filosophy and Foolishness, / R.R.2, Robbinsdale, Minn. fill in this coupon. / Enclosed is money order (or / check) for subscription commencing $2.50 per / with .................. issue year. / MONTH / / Name ............................ / Street ........................... / City & State ......................

_Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang_

_America’s Magazine of Wit, Humor and Filosophy_

SEPTEMBER, 1921 Vol. II. No. 24

Published Monthly W. H. Fawcett, Rural Route No. 2 at Robbinsdale, Minnesota

Entered as second-class matter May, 1, 1920, at the postoffice at Robbinsdale, Minnesota, under the Act of March 3, 1879.

Price 25 cents $2.50 per year

Contents of this magazine are copyrighted. Republication of any part permitted when properly credited to Capt. Billy’s Whiz Bang.

“We have room for but one soul loyalty and that is loyalty to the American people.”—Theodore Roosevelt.

Copyright 1921 By W. H. Fawcett

Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang employs no solicitors. Subscriptions may be received only at authorized news stands or by direct mail to Robbinsdale. We join in no clubbing offers, nor do we give premiums. Two-fifty a year in advance.

Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated to the fighting forces of the United States

_Drippings From the Fawcett_

The modern city can be likened to that grim monster of old dreams to whom a tribute of maidens was offered. The main difference between them lies in the fact that his appetite for girl-flesh had its limitations, but the appetite of the city had none. From this vast charnel house of hopes, beliefs and ideals files upward a steady stream of damned souls that once belonged to women-children, pure in thought and deed. The crushing of one or a thousand of these “wee modest crimson-tipped flowers” beneath the ploughshares of city life and temptation excites only passing remark.

The girl of the city has much more actual animation than her sister of the country. This is due to the food that is eaten and the social conditions of excitement that surround her. The country girl lives upon plain food and has normal hours of rest and relaxation. She does not encounter the sights or sounds that would tend to divert her attention from high thoughts to matters forbidden.

Such sights and sounds are never absent from the city girl. She cannot go into the business part of the city and walk two blocks without being reminded of her sex. Men eye her with glances of suggestion and invitation.

* * * * *

You don’t have to go to West Point for strategy. A negro preacher in his pulpit one Sunday said he had a few remarks to make before the collection basket made its peregrination.

“Now, brethren and sisters,” he began, “there is just one brethren here that is untrue to his church, untrue to his Lord—and worst of all, untrue to his wife. Unless he puts a five dollar bill into the contribution box I will be compelled to call his name out.”

When the basket had returned and a recount had been made, the books showed forty-two five dollar bills and a two dollar bill with a note pinned to it saying, “I will hand you the other three in the morning. Please don’t give me away.”

* * * * *

“Only a Mother Could Love a Prohibitionist’s Face.” That is the inscription which appeared on one of the banners in the Anti-Dry parade which I had the pleasure of witnessing in New York City while en-route back from the big fight which ye editor attended.

* * * * *

Around Robbinsdale they get up early. Two farmers, jealous of their rising records, became boastful and one allowed as how he got up before three o’clock. The other rose at two the next morning and called at his neighbor’s house, hoping to find him in bed. The farmer’s wife came to the door.

“Where is your husband?” inquired the sleuth.

“Why, he was around here early this morning, but I don’t know where he is now.”

* * * * *

Gus, our hired man, insists that Deacon Kingdon is a good shot.

“He is so good with his gun that he hit the bull’s-eye the first time,” Gus exclaimed.

“Very good,” exclaimed Maggie, our cook.

“Yes, but he had to pay for the bull.”

* * * * *

Pinkham’s Home Broo

Pursue a wild bull frog thirteen miles, carefully gathering the hops. Then add:

Ten gallons pickle brine

Two quarts shellac

One bar home-made soap

One pint sweet spirits of nitre.

Boil mixture three weeks, then strain through an I. W. W. sock to prevent mixture from working. Bottle and add one jackass to each pint to give it the proper kick.

* * * * *

This Is For Railroaders

Casey, a section boss on the Great Northern railway, in making his report to the superintendent, used considerable profanity, so the superintendent said: “Casey, I have lady stenographers here and if you must use that profanity, after this you must write your own reports.” “A train from Duluth came lickety skoot and passed me hand car by. Some son of a gun left open a switch and it piled them ten cars high.”

* * * * *

Georges Carpenter lost a battle last July, but he won a greater prize than the golden purse and the coveted belt offered at Jersey City. The handsome Frenchman showed America the smile of Napoleon; the stoical smile of defeat.

As one of the multitude witnessing the brief clash of France and America at Boyle’s Thirty Acres, permit me to remark that Carpentier =_did not_= live up to his reputation as great pugilistic champion, but he more than met his reputation as a great red-blooded gentleman.

The American won, but the applause usually due the winner was lost in the outburst of surprise of the multitude. Carpentier, instead of hanging his head at the defeat of his hopes and aspirations for the title, hid his sorrow behind a great big boyish smile. He wore that smile through the blood-stained rounds, and it radiated as the gong clanged.

The soul of fighting France was behind that smile; the same as the smile of Napoleon as he handed over his army to Wellington at Waterloo, and the likeness of Joffre at the first battle of the Marne. It puzzled his primitive opponent. Dempsey was bewildered—his face revealed his knowledge that behind that smile was a superior intellectual being.

* * * * *

=_What good is alimony on a cold night?_=

* * * * *

Many who “kiss and make up” don’t like the taste of the “make-up.”

_Doug’s Peacock Walk_

BY RICHMOND

What are the personal peculiarities of film people? In view of the fact that it is our bounden duty to torment, dilate and comment upon ye people of the screen, it behooves us to stop now and then to observe what they are and how they become that way, aside from being good looking, drawing big money and getting divorced.

Let’s get right down to business. Take Allan Dwan, a well known director. Dwan doesn’t hate himself any more than the law provides for. In fact, there is no reason Dwan should despise himself. He was a good electrical engineer; became interested in pictures and makes various flurries of coin according to the Angels who can be dug up to back his ventures.

Dwan formerly was a good athlete. He is powerfully constructed but noticeably short. About the studios it is well understood that one of the few faults Dwan finds with himself is that he isn’t just up to his own personal idea of tallness. If he has a tender spot, it hinges upon this item of feet up and down. Someone conceived the idea that in order to tab him “Napoleon.” But that line of bull has been overdone and so another gag had to be hatched up. “The Big Little Man,” that is what those in close touch with Dwan call him when they desire to make a favorable impression. “The Big Little Man,” that’s a good title—better than some of the ones that appear on Dwan’s pictures and a lot of other pictures.

Thus we dispose of Mr. Dwan, a cocky, brainy, peppy little fellow whose only regret is that he should be a little longer. Next we will consider Mr. Fairbanks, Mary’s present husband, barring every state in the Union but Nevada—and Nevada isn’t quite certain that Mary is still married to Owen Moore. Doug likes to tread about with his gang of retainers at his heels. Fairbanks cottons to the custom, styles and bequeathments of the English sporting gentlemen who stalked abroad with a company of idol worshippers.

Doug is not always the most distinguished looking of his company. At any event, he frequently is not the most noticeable. It was Fairbanks that discovered the now famous Bull Montana, who doubles for monkeys when one is required in the cast and whose ability to take punishment one time resulted in nine fire hoses being turned on him at once as he was swept down the gutter.

When Doug Fairbanks and Bull Montana walk down the street together the Bull “takes it away from him,” as they say in the pictures when a subservient character grabs the best of the scene from the star. Bull has a face, at once fearsome and fascinating. He is so ugly that crowds follow him around. It is a frequent spectacle in Los Angeles to see Fairbanks, Bull Montana, Spike Robinson, Crooked Nosed Murphy, Benny Zeidmann, the press agent de luxe, and Mark Larkin, Fairbanks’ special representative, beating it down the broad. Of course, Doug always struts in front, while the others in platoon formation tread proudly in the rear. The only place where Doug falls down is that some of his gang look funnier than Doug acts on the screen and the big star stands a chance of being overlooked in the “what the h—is coming here” attitude that rends the atmosphere as the Fairbanks battalion bears down upon the multitude. Yes, Doug likes to lead his gang into the big hotel corridors, where his cohorts then fade gracefully into the oblivion necessary to leave Doug alone in his solitude for the yokels to admire and wonder at. You gotta hand it to Doug for rushing in with his gang and then giving them the fade away sign at the psychological moment.

Lottie Pickford—we have thought out loud a time or two before in these columns about Lottie. Unlike the demure Mary, Lottie likes the jazz stuff, the bright lights and some good looking young dude hanging around her. We never saw Lottie chew tobacco, but she can stow away a lot of the “grape.”

If we had our decision to make as regards Lottie’s chief peculiarity we would say that her idea is to be thoroughly known as Mary’s sister by doing things that Mary doesn’t. Lottie isn’t the first contrary girl, though, who can claim to be of famous family. There was Miss Roosevelt and later Mrs. Longworth. Didn’t the colonel himself call long and loudly for commodious families? And did you ever read that his daughter attained any particular fame aside from smoking cigarettes and not rearing children?

If you are a sort of a junior member of a family and fear that you will be overshadowed by some relative, cast for a famous mold, one way to attract attention is to copy the other one—backwards.

We come to Fatty—Roscoe Arbuckle. Roscoe’s peculiarity just now is to have people try and forget that his name is Fatty. Roscoe is getting dignified. He has half a dozen cars, just because people came to know him as “Fatty Arbuckle” and paid a lot of dough to see him. Just where Fatty expects to promote himself by being Roscoe passeth understanding. Surely he doesn’t think that he could act seriously without being thought funny. Perhaps Fatty is subtle. He may have tired of drawing laughs as a result of acting natural and figures he may get as many more by trying not to appear natural.

Now we are down to Mr. Griffith. Mr. Griffith, to our notion, is a great director. But Mr. Griffith is more or less deftly endeavoring to implant the idea in the public mind that he is a poet. That is Mr. Griffith’s peculiarity. He would not be seen much in public; rather he seeks to attract attention by remaining in seclusion. His well organized staff and his actors and actresses, who like him much, never pass up an opportunity to breathe it about that “Mr. Griffith is a poet.”

We never read any of David’s verses, but if he is a poet, it devoutly is to be desired that there were more poets and fewer directors operating in pictures.

After all, these little peculiarities or hobbies of the picture people are not harmful to any one in particular. We all like to strut and fluff and show our fine feathers. It’s human nature.

* * * * *

We’ll Say So!

While Al. Jolson, the black-face comedian, was touring the Pacific Coast with his latest starring vehicle, “Sinbad,” he visited the California insane asylum, at Napa. Passing through one of the wards he noticed a rather neat chap and asked the attendant the nature of the fellow’s trouble.

The attendant told the comedian that it was a new case. Had only arrived the previous day.

Jolson approached the patient and inquired “If you had only one wish in the world, and it would be granted, what would you wish for?”

The patient looked at Jolson and said, “I’d wish that Volstead was born with a thirst!”

With a smile Jolson replied, “You might have been crazy when they brought you here yesterday, brother, but you’re talking good sense today!”

* * * * *

Our Traffic Cop

Thomas Patrick Gallagher, typical Irish traffic copper, was stationed on Madison street in Chicago at the point intersected by the River.

One bustling Saturday afternoon, Gallagher held up his hand to halt traffic for the draw bridge. In front of him was a new handsome limousine motor car.

While waiting for the bridge to close, a runabout flivver crashed into the rear end of the handsome car.

Gallagher was on the job promptly and hustled over to the driver of the flivver.

“Phwat in hal does yez mane by smashing into this handsome car? Haven’t you got any eyes?” he bellowed at the meek and humble driver, “Are you crazy? I’ve a good mind to take you down to the headquarters, you blithering idiot. What’s your name?” continued Gallagher, as he extracted a pencil and notebook from his pocket, “What is the number of your car?”

The answer came back in typical Gaelic, “Me name is Clancy.”

“Clancy,” replied Gallagher. “Clancy, what part of Ireland are you from, what county?”

“I am from County Mayo.”

“County Mayo,” continued the traffic officer, “County Mayo, say Clancy, stay here just a minute till I go ahead to that big car and see why in the devil he backed into you.”

* * * * *

Ikey’s Recklessness

Ikey, eleven years of age and of unmistakable Hebrew persuasion, was taken out of school and put to work in a nearby store, where he was rewarded with the princely honorarium of a dollar and a half per week. For the first three weeks, Ikey brought home the pay envelope on Saturday night and turned it over to his mother. On the fourth Saturday, however, he was five cents short.

“Ikey,” said his mother, “where is that other nickel?”

“I need that nickel, ma,” replied Ikey.

For the next three weeks this dialogue was repeated when the week’s pay was turned in. The following Saturday Rachel had further cause for suspicion, for there was only $1.40 in the pay envelope.

“Ikey,” she said, “what have you done with that dime?”

“Ma,” said Ikey, “I had to have that dime myself.”

“Now, Ikey, tell your mother the truth; are you going with a woman?”

* * * * *

Overwhelmingly

A member of Congress recently became a parent. On announcing the news the doctor exclaimed gleefully: “I congratulate you, sir; you are the father of triplets.”

The congressman was astonished.

“No, no, no,” he replied, with more than parliamentary emphasis, “there must be some mistake in the returns. I demand a recount!”

* * * * *

Cassidy’s Routing

Employed in the Great Northern yards in Minneapolis is a switchman whom we will call Cassidy.

One day Cassidy entered the superintendent’s office without removing his cap or pipe.

“I want a pass to Duluth,” he said.

His evident show of disrespect peeved the superintendent. “Well, Mr. Cassidy, you haven’t approached me in quite the proper manner,” he answered gruffly. “Here you have your cap on your head and your clay pipe stuck in your mouth. Do you believe this is showing proper respect for your superior officer? If you desire a pass to Duluth, you must leave this office at once, walk around for an hour or two, and come back. As you step in my office, you will ask for the superintendent of the Great Northern; I will reply, ‘I am the superintendent of the Great Northern, what can I do for you?’”

Cassidy promptly departed. He had been gone about an hour, when he came back, pipe in his pocket and cap in his hand. He walked briskly into the superintendent’s office and inquired in a rather superior manner, “Are you the superintendent of the Great Northern?”

“I am, what can I do for you?” was the reply.

“You can go to hell, I’ve got a pass over the Northern Pacific.”

* * * * *

It is always good to be nice, but not always nice to be good.

_Limber Kicks_

Bow Wow

This is so the entire world through, You imagine a maiden loves yough— Like the wind bends the bough, You are bent by the rough, Then left and forsaken—bough-wough.

* * * * *

Before marriage, With wondrous care, She seeks the mirror And bangs her hair.

After marriage, With angry glare, She grabs her slipper And bangs her heir.

* * * * *

Ask Bob He Knows

A miss is as good as a mile, A kiss is as good as a smile, But four painted kings Are the beautiful things That are good for the other man’s pile.

* * * * *

The ballet’s not the drawing card That once it used to be. Ah! when it dies, may some good bard Indite its L. E. G.

* * * * *

“How do you like codfish balls?” I said to sister Jenny. “Well, really May, I couldn’t say, I have never been to any.”

* * * * *

Poor Lot’s wife turned to salt, alas! Her fate was most unkind. No doubt she only wished to see How hung her skirt behind.

* * * * *

The Power of the “Press”

“Now, girls,” warned the Sunday School teacher, “I want to caution you against making friends with the new barber who has just opened a shop in the village. A friend of mine who knew him in the town where he was reared tells me he tries to make love to every girl he calls on.”

“The girls in this burg are sure friendly,” confided the new barber to one of his patrons two days later. “Last night I took a stroll around the town and every girl I met smiled at me.”

* * * * *

The lightning flashed, the lightning crashed, The skies were rent asunder, With shriek and wail loud blew the gale, And then it rained like thunder.

* * * * *

Wall, I Calc’late!

“Well, Si,” asked the justice of the peace of the lone constable, “what is this man charged with?”

“Bigotry,” answered Si. “He’s got three wives.”

“By gosh, Si,” exclaimed his honor, “where’s your education? That ain’t bigotry, that’s trigonometry!”

* * * * *

We’d Say So

When a young man with his arm around a girl lets a lighted cigarette fall inside his sport shirt and it feels like a drop of ice water, it is time either to propose or go home.

* * * * *

Female detectives should be good lookers.

_Naughty New York!_

It looks like a pretty dreadful affair all the way ’round to me; here’s Mrs. Lydig Hoyt says that skirts gotta come down because the girls are wearing them to the ankles in Paris; but here’s little Betty Compson, the movie princess, says they are not to come down—not even to the ankles.

“It’s the movie girls and not Parisian professional models nor New York society women who make the fashions for America,” says Betty. Which, when you come to think about it, is a terrible slam for Mrs. Hoyt—an intimation that she is not considered a regular movie queen, in spite of the fact that she shook the pink teas of the Four Hundred for a part in Norma Talmadge’s company, and is now about to burst into the world of art with a company of her own.

The truth is, New York society women have apparently gone dippy over getting into the movies.

The other day I was out at the Griffith studio at Marmaroneck watching a starving mob in rags crying for bread in the streets of ancient Paris. Among the actors there was one who stood out. She was a shriveled old woman with thin hands and haggard eyes. Her clothes were torn half off, showing her shrunken breasts and bony shoulders. When “D. W.” gave the signal for the action to begin, she fairly made you feel the agony of her hunger.

When there came, at last, an interval in the work, she beckoned to a maid who stood near the set. “Go out to the yacht and get me my cigarette case,” she said.

It turned out that the old lady was a very rich woman with a garage filled with imported automobiles and a steam yacht. She just had the “itch” to act in the movies.

It’s a little secret that is giggled up and down Fifth avenue that one of the “extra girls” in the ball room scene in “Way Down East” was Evelyn Walsh, who is considered to be the richest unmarried woman in the world. Mrs. Morgan Belmont was also in the same picture.

Perhaps it was the movies that did it; but anyhow, times have changed in the old Four Hundred in New York. It is only the Texas oil millionairesses who continue to elevate the haughty nose in mid-air and give you a far-away stare.