Posts Tagged ‘1938’

Chickens Come Home to Roost

June 25, 2012

Bela Lanan

Decision in the Strange Case of  “THE LITTLE CHICK-A-DEES.”

“_____ GUILTY!” This bizarre case proved a difficult one for the court to decide, not because of any great legal problem, but for the incessant laughter and disorder among the crowded spectators who attended the trial.

Charlie Crowe’s defense was not very convincing to the jury. In fact, these twelve men seemed to think more of the “chickens’ evidence” than the story told by the prisoner.

After the trial in the lower court, Crowe, not satisfied with the verdict, took his case to the Court of Appeals, but this body too found the action of the chickens to be damaging evidence and affirmed the verdict.

In closing, the court made this humorous comment:

“It is said of old, that the shepherd knew his flock by name, the ox knew his owner, and the ass the master’s crib! Figuratively and literally, ‘chickens come home to roost’! The human being often speaks falsely, but the lower animals, not possessing that attribute to deceive, disclose the truth by obedience to an inherent nature and instinct.”

At any rate, Justice seemed to find a willing help-mate in the evidence of “The Little Chick-A-Dees”!

This is a true case. Reference of citation may be had by sending a stamped, self-addressed envelope to “Bela Lanan — Court Reporter.”

(Copyright, 1938, By Carlisle Crutchez. World Right Reserved.)

Abilene Reporter News (Abilene, Texas) Aug 20, 1938






Abilene Reporter (Abilene, Texas) Aug 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20, 1938

Russ Westover: Creator of ‘Tillie the Toiler’

May 7, 2012


We knocked timidly on a door, bearing the legend “Russ Westover” — and waited.

“Come in,” the voice had a note of friendliness. So we went in and stood in the room adorned with four bare walls, save that on the wall directly before the cartoonist were two pictures; one in which he was shaking hands with Gloria Swanson, and the other, a picture of Marion Davies as “Tillie.” On a drawing board “Tillie the Toiler” was being shaped into a new escapade by Russ Westover. He is a medium-sized man, between thirty-five and forty, with a quiet amusing personality which impresses one immediately. And (for the special benefit of the “Tillie Sisterhood”) he’s quite handsome.

“Sit down,” said he.

“Mr. Westover,” we said, “we want to know all about you and Tillie.”

“Sounds like a scandal,” said he, a smile playing over his face, and then more seriously, “well, you’ll just have to ask questions —-.”

“Agreed,” we assented, for we like to ask questions. “Now, Mr. Westover, how long have you been cartooning?”

Mr. Westover reflected. Then answered: “For about twenty years, but most of that time I wasn’t really in earnest about it.”

“Not in earnest?” we asked. “What made you take it up earnestly?”

“You should have asked ‘who made you take it up earnestly?’ It was easy. I got married,” and he looked very pleased with himself.

“Oh,” we ejaculated softly, for the answer was a complete explanation to us.

“Well, now,” he said, warming up to the subject, “how did you happen to start cartooning? How long have you been doing ‘Tillie the Toiler’? Do you like your work? Where do you get your ideas? Where were you born? How much do you g—–?”


We stopped.

“All right,” said the humorist. “You win. I’ll talk.”

He settled back in his chair and began, “I came from a race of merchants. IT seems that our family had an especial gift for organized selling, and so my father put me in one of his stores as cash boy. Well, I used to wrap parcels and I’d draw pictures on them. The customers liked it, but father didn’t. In fact, he scorned it, so we talked it over, and came to a very suitable agreement — I went into the railroad business. I liked that job fine.”

Here Mr. Westover gazed into space with a blissful smile of reminiscence, “I was certainly getting on splendidly, and you’d be surprised how much easier it is to cartoon on the backs of railroad pay vouchers than on wrapping paper, but I guess my boss had somehow neglected to develop an aesthetic regard for superior merits of pay vouchers as art panels; and besides that he pointed out among other things (and not without emphasis) that drawing pay on vouchers for drawing cartoons on pay vouchers is not comme il faut — in the railroad business.

“So we compromised, and I took a job on the San Francisco Post, and there followed out my bent for art work. I had gone to the Hopkins Art Institute of California, but in all my work the comic element crept in. I began discouraged with art and broke directly into the cartooning. While still in California I ran a strip called ‘Daffy Dan’. It was a baseball cartoon and the public liked it.”

Mr. Westover proffered a cigarette, took one himself and went on.

“Well, I had become somewhat heartened by this time and so decided on a career in New York. There isn’t much more to tell. I always had ‘Tillie the Toiler’ in the back of my mind — by the way, peopled who know my wife say that I get the features for ‘Tillie’ from my wife. I always wanted to create a pretty girl of the modern type and put a touch of philosophical fun to such a creation. The other characters ‘Mc’ and ‘Mr. Simpkins’ are also taken from people I know. Well, to put a long story into a nutshell, ‘Tillie the Toiler’ has been running over six years, and I’m still very enthusiastic about her.”

He paused a moment, gazing over Columbus Circle, wit hits throngs of hurrying New Yorkers. Then suddenly he called my attention to a Miss in a dainty blue coat. “Now there’s a rather neat wrap,” said Mr. Westover., ‘you see I get my ideas for “Tillie’s” clothes from actual creations that I see here from my window.”

At this point we couldn’t help but tell Mr. Westover that we considered “Tillie” one of the fairest of the fair in the Kingdom of Fun and he seemed frankly, boyishly pleased.

“What about your hobbies, Mr Westover?” we questioned next.

“Hobbies!” cam the response, “Hobbies? I doubt if I have any. ‘Tillie’ (he repeated the name as if she were his own daughter) — ‘Tillie’ is one of my greatest hobbies. I lie to work. But I do not like to play the piano — for my own amusement and not  other people’s of course.”

“Then, too, I’ve tried horseback riding, but I always seem to be hunting for matches and such things — on the ground. Nope I’m not much of a rider. Golf? Well, at that sport I spend most of my time looking for the ball. What I really enjoy is driving. I like to go on long motoring trips, and I like to stop at small towns and talk with the people. A fellow can get a lot of good information from people like that, and I never tire of engaging them in conversation.”

“One more question,” we asked, and then we’ll go. What do you think is the best plan to ‘get over to the public’?”

The response came immediately, “I don’t know any best plan but in my case I concentrate a lot on my work and I enjoy it. But, of course, the greatest thing is that I’m lucky.”

So we thanked Mr. Westover and left him, firmly convinced that he is not “lucky” but that a vast application of real humor, artistic skill and energetic concentration make him what he is today — one of the ablest and most popular of all comic artists.

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Sep 6, 1929

The Lincoln Star (Lincoln, Nebraska) May 31, 1934

Design a fancy dress and win a trip to the 1938 Beaux-Arts Ball in New York City — Cool prize!

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Nov 6, 1938

Wow! Fans could even make themselves a “Tillie” dress!

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Nov 6, 1938

What Will You Be Wearing Easter Sunday?

April 4, 2012

1920 — Neiman’s Easter Dress Selection

An Easter coat offered by Gordon’s in 1922

Wow! In 1924, Clark W. Thompson Co. was selling these pretty numbers.

Easter time in New Castle, PA must have been rather chilly in 1925. These outfits/coats were being sold by New Castle Dry Goods Co. — I bet the Dry Goods was THE place to shop for everything fashionable in those days!

For 1926, the “all-important” Easter Hat, take your pick!

Straw hats were all the rage in 1932 —  Or just a good bargain?

Stripes were trendy in 1934, at least at Johnson Hill’s.

Gotta have shoes to go with the Easter stripes. I bet the fashionistas rushed over to the Davis Shoe Co. to get themselves a pair of these.

A little something for the men in 1938.  After buying their wives’ outfits, they probably only had enough to spring for straw hats for themselves.

Fast forward to 1967. Hats (bonnets) — still an Easter must-have!

And flashback to 1907, when Silk and Mixture Walking  and Dress Skirts were on sale for Easter.

Spring’s Offering

April 3, 2012

The Dawn of Spring


There’s a swish, there’s a whirr —
A bright flashing of wings!
There’s a sweet woodland myrrh,
That caressingly clings,
and the oriole signals love’s tenderest call,
Delightfully increasing Spring’s charm over all.

Now down where rushes grow,
Thrilling blackbirds are heard;
And soft, while the winds blow,
An overture is allured,
Till our troubles vanish, when the song sparrow sings,
As we gather violets like the blue-bird’s wings.

In the morning or noon,
Where the bushes swing low,
Pretty pictures are strewn
On the brook’s mirrored flow,
If, dreamily, we wander in love’s tender plight,
Through the thorn-bushes blossoming, of pink and white.

Over here, over there,
The rivalry is keen,
Though the bidding seems fair,
There is beauty unseen.
Low ‘neath the brambles, near the sweet smelling sod,
Are beauties we may liken to the smile of God.

Far away, far away,
Through a dim, purpled haze,
Taunting clouds are at play,
With the sun’s warming rays,
Ah! what seems as pleasant as the years that are gone,
When the charms of Springtime we are gazing upon?

Life is dear, life is queer,
Life is stubbornly wrong;
Life is sere, life is drear,
When it might be a song!
Ah! who paints the flowers, and the beautiful skies?
Who causes the dead, in new glory to rise?

Morning Herald (Uniontown, Pennsylvania) Feb 28, 1936

Old Sol the Magician.

When April’s tears turn into snow
And nip spring in the bud,
Old Sol is anything but slow,
And soon its name is mud.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 3, 1912

Springs’s Offering.

We sweetly sing
The new laid egg.
Your fond attention
We would beg
As in a lay
Of praise we greet
The finest thing
On earth to eat.

Behold the modest
Little hen
That’s getting in
Its work again,
And making up
For what we lost
In days of laziness
And frost.

The days when all
There was on hand
Was the suspicious
Storage brand,
That, in responding
To our call,
Came scrambled if they came at all.

Now, wholesome, fresh
And at our taste,
We have them on
The table placed.
The number that
We eat unnamed,
So many, though
We are ashamed.

— Duncan M. Smith.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 6, 1909

It’s Curious!

It’s curious kind o’ weather when you come to make it out;
One minute winds is blowin’ all the blossoms roundabout,
An’ sunshine’s jes’ a-streamin’ from the blue and bendin’ skies,
An’ dreamin’ — jes’ a-dreamin’, like the light in woman’s eyes!

But jes’ when all is lovely, an’ the wind with music floats;
When the birds is makin’ merry an’ a-strainin’ of their throats;
An’ the sunshine’s like a picnic in the blossmes, pink an’ white,
A cyclone strikes the country an’ jes’ swallers all in sight!

It’s curious kind o’ weather — jes’ the worst you ever felt;
You don’t half git through freezin’ ‘fore the orler comes to melt!
An’ you can’t quite say it’s winter, an’ you ain’t half sure it’s spring;
So’ keep on with the whistlin’ an’ thank God for everything!

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 13, 1893

Spring Fever.

The time of year
Again is here
When wifey aims to make home neater,
And hubby knows,
When home he goes,
He’ll have to wield the carpet-beater.
With leaden feet

Along the street
He plods his way, sad-hearted, weary.
Well he doth know
That tale of woe
With wife’s n. g. — of such she’s leary.
Useless for him

A yarn to spin,
Pretending illness — can’t deceive her.
To him she’ll say,
In heartless way,
“Come off — it’s nothing but spring fever.”

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Mar 13, 1908

No Doubt About It Now.

Sunshine on the river —
Bird songs in the air!
Green leaves all a-quiver —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Reckless roses springing —
Brown bees here and there;
Lazy plowboy singing —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Easy to detect her —
Stormy skies or clear;
Easter bill collector —
(Certain spring is near!)

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 9, 1895

The Spring Affliction.

Oh, that blessed tired feeling
Which about the first of May
O’er the soul of man comes stealing
Like a burglar in a play,
Making him so fine and laze,
Kin almost to pure delight,
Calling up a vision hazy
Of a lake where fishes bite.

Winter with its weather bracing
Gave him energy and vim,
But spring has no trouble chasing
All those notions out of him.
When the birds begin to twitter,
Then in chaste and classic slang
He desires to be a quitter
And to let the work go hang.

He has tugged away like fury,
Buckled to it every day.
Now he things the judge and jury
Would prescribe a spell of play,
Would encourage him in slipping
From the busy haunts of men
And across the fields go tripping
Feeling almost young again.

Trading off the tired feeling
For the springy step of youth,
Finding nature’s gentle healing
More than advertised in truth,
Giving him an added vigor,
Keyed just right, not overdone,
Like the delicate hair trigger
On a forty dollar gun.

— Duncan M. Smith

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) May 15, 1914


The merry waves dance up and down and play,
Sport is granted to the sea;
Birds are the quiristers of the empty air,
Sport is never wanting there;
The ground doth smile at the spring’s flowery birth.
Sport is granted to the earth;
The fire its cheering flame on high doth rear,
Sport is never wanting there.
If all the elements, the earth, the sea,
Air, and firs, so merry be,
Why is man’s mirth so seldom and so small,
Who is compounded of them all?

— Abraham Cowley

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 27, 1936


One cloud a hue of lazylite
Flanked by spray of misty white
Gave way to sublimate of gray
A storm cloud hovered on the way.

Springtime, blythe and very gay,
Her banner throws athwart the sky
That she will not her claim deny
Cold winter must vacate and fly.

— M.W. Beebe, Black Wolf Point.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 1, 1938

Woman Prospector Nurses Husband

March 27, 2012

Image from PopArtMachine


Mrs. Patrick O’Hara arrived in town yesterday from Witherspoon canyon in the Tule Canyon district, with the news that her husband, Pat O’Hara, a mining man well known in Southern Nevada, had on July 23 accidentally shot himself in the thigh. He was hunting rabbits and on stopping to adjust the hobbles on a horse his revolver was discharged, the bullet entering a point high up in the thigh. The nearest habitation to the O’Hara camp is at Lida, eight or nine miles distant and owing to the excessive heat on the desert his wife was afraid to risk the long drive over the desert to Goldfield for medical aid and has herself been treating the injured man, assisted only by the few Indians in the section.

Image from University of Texas LibrariesNevada Historical Topographical Maps

There is no doctor nearer than Goldfield and Mrs. O’Hara was unable to leave the wounded man until yesterday, when she drove over the scorching Ralston desert for supplies. She says that the patient is now getting on very well and there are no signs of blood poisoning. O’Hara is a member of the Knights of Pythias and has been in the section for some time engaged in mining. His wife says that they have a good prospect with some excellent ore exposed in a large vein. She was formerly Mrs. Casey, and was known as the “woman prospector,” having traveled far and wide over the desert and prospected alone in many parts of the southern part of the state.

— Goldfield Tribune.

Reno Evening Gazette (Reno, Nevada) Aug 8, 1910

CENSUS RECORDS showing Patrick O’Hara and wife, Syliva:


In 1920, they were listed as living in Lida, Patrick’s occupation listed as miner (gold and silver.) In 1910, they show up in the town of Goldfield, Patrick also listed as a (gold) miner, second marriage for both, Sylvia having had 2 children, but none living.


According to the 1930 census, Patrick was no longer working, but Sylvia was a tailoress, in her own shop.

By 1938, old Sylvia was back to propecting!

Reno Evening Gazette (Reno, Nevada) Dec 17, 1938

History of the Nivloc Mine – The Beginning

Spider Webs

March 8, 2012


Do you remember when we watched a tiny spider
As it spun a dainty cobweb all of gold;
When we marveled at the beauty of weaving
And we wondered how its tiny strands could hold?

Do you recall the intricacy of the pattern
And the iridescent radiance of the hue,
As the sun shone on the wispy lacy meshes
Enhancing unknown dreams for me and you.

How little did we know as we two stood there
That a spider’s thread so fragile, could entwine
The souls of earthly mortals so securely,
That all your dreams are now a part of mine!

— Gladys Ihde, Oshkosh

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 14, 1938


According to the 1930 census, Gladys was 23, single and a public school teacher living with her parents in Oshkosh.

O, March!

March 1, 2012


O, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!
Your ever-changing temper matches mine.
Today my mood in love is fearless, bold.
O, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!

What tender passions may tomorrow hold,
If winds blow warm and thus my thoughts incline?
Or, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!
Your ever-changing temper matches mine!

— Susan Doudican

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 14, 1936


Slayer of winter, are thou here again?
O welcome, thou that bring’st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle’s song,
Thou first redresser of the winter’s wrong!

Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing, “O joy! a new year is begun!
What happiness to look upon the sun!”

O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss,
But Death himself, who, crying solemnly,
Even from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us, “Rejoice! lest pleasure less ye die
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live,
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.”

— William Morris

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 26, 1936


The Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and the youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping-anon-anon,
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains,
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!

— William Wordsworth

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 12, 1937


Now are the winds about us in their glee,
Tossing the slender tree;
Whirling the sands about his furious car,
March cometh from afar;
Breaks the sealed magic of old Winter’s dreams,
And rends his glassy streams;
Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes
Their fetters from the lakes,
And, with a power by queenly Spring supplied,
Wakens the slumbering tide.

With a wild love he seeks young Summer’s charms
And clasps her to his arms;
Lifting his shield between, he drives away
Old Winter from his prey —
The ancient tyrant whom he boldly braves,
Goes howling to his caves;
And, to his northern realm compelled to fly,
Yields up the victory;
Melted are all his banks, o’er-thrown his towers,
And March comes bringing flowers.

— William Gilmore Simms.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Feb 25, 1938


The braggart March stood in the season’s door
With his broad shoulders blocking up the way,
Shaking the snow-flakes from the cloak he wore,
And from the fringes of his kirtle gray;
Near by him April stood with tearful face,
With violets in her hands, and in her hair
Pale, wild anemones; the fragrant lace
Half-parted from her breast which seemed like fair,
Dawn-tinted mountain snow, smooth-drifted there.

She on the blusterer’s arm laid one white hand,
But he would none of her soft blandishment,
Yet did she plead with tears none might withstand,
For even the fiercest hearts at last relent.
And he, at last, in ruffian tenderness,
With one swift, crushing kiss her lips did greet.
Ah, poor starved heart! — for that one rude caress,
She cast her violets underneath his feet.

— Robert Burns Wilson

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 1, 1938

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

February 29, 2012

Image from Kasey’s Korner


Familiarity breeds contempt,
I watched a bee and heard him hum
Above a large chrysanthemum.
I gently stroked him with my thumb,
and he stroked me with pointed tongue.
Now I am sore and very glum,
Wondering why I was so dumb.

— A.W. Bivins,
La Grange, Ill.

Image from Growing Greener


In future when you stroke a bee
Remember that familiarity
Oft times recoils upon the donor.
It very seldom brings much honor
Next time you pet a lively bee,
Please come and borrow gloves from me.
We are related, distantly.

— M.W. Beebe.
Black Wolf Point, Oshkosh, Wis.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 1, 1938

Git Out, and Never Darken My Door Again!

January 1, 2012

Hopeful New Year!

Cambridge City Tribune (Cambridge, Connecticut) Jan 5, 1939


November 22, 2011


Off we go to the market early!
“Get up, Lazy, it’s canning time!”
Looking for onions small and pearly,
Stopping to buy nutmeg and thyme.
There’s the recipe Grandma gave us —
It’s the luckiest one of all!
Let’s cut through! Here’s a path to save us!
We’ll have need of our strength this fall!

We must look for some small cucumbers,
And a big bunch of celery.
Well, they say there is luck in numbers!
Market’s crowded as you can see!
We are earlier than the farmers!
All the wagons have not come yet.
Some of those younger girls are charmers,
They’ll be married real soon, I’ll bet!

Now don’t bargain too much! The prices
Can’t be cut very much below
Last year’s market .  .  .  By fruits and spices
Merchants must live and die, you know!
.  .  .  Ask him to take a trifle less, Dear!
Add the basket for one more dime?

Appleton Post Crescent (Appleton, Wisconsin) Sep 10, 1938