Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, Vol. 2, No. 20, May, 1921 America's Magazine of Wit, Humor and Filosophy
Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, Vol. II. No. 20, May, 1921
STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT, CIRCULATION,ETC., REQUIRED BY THE ACT OF CONGRESSOF AUGUST 24, 1912.
Of Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, published monthly at Robbinsdale,Minnesota, for April 1, 1921.
State of Minnesota, County of Hennepin—ss.
Before me, a notary public in and for the State and County aforesaid,personally appeared Harvey Fawcett, who, having been dulysworn according to law, deposes and says that he is the businessmanager of Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, and that the following is, tothe best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of the ownership,management (and if a daily paper, the circulation), etc., of theaforesaid publication for the date shown in the above caption,required by the Act of August 24, 1912, embodied in Section 443, PostalLaws and Regulations, printed on the reverse of this form, to-wit:
1. That the names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managingeditor, and business managers are: Publisher, W. H. Fawcett,Robbinsdale, Minn.; editor, W. H. Fawcett, Robbinsdale, Minn.;managing editor, none; business manager, Harvey Fawcett, Robbinsdale,Minn.
2. That the owners are: (Give names and addresses of individualowners, or, if a corporation, give its name and the names andaddresses of stockholders owning or holding 1 per cent or more ofthe total amount of stock.) W. H. Fawcett, Robbinsdale, Minn.
3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and other securityholders owning or holding 1 per cent or more of total amount ofbonds, mortgages, or other securities are: (If there are none, sostate.) None.
4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving the names of theowners, stockholders, and security holders, if any, contain not onlythe list of stockholders and security holders as they appear upon thebooks of the company but also, in cases where the stockholder orsecurity holder appears upon the books of the company as trusteeor in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporationfor whom such trustee is acting, is given; also that the said twoparagraphs contain statements embracing affiant’s full knowledgeand belief as to the circumstances and conditions under which stockholdersand security holders who do not appear upon the books ofthe company as trustees, hold stock and securities in a capacityother than that of a bona fide owner; and this affiant has no reasonto believe that any other person, association, or corporation has anyinterest direct or indirect in the said stock, bonds, other securitiesthan as so stated by him.
5. That the average number of copies of each issue of this publicationsold or distributed, through the mails or otherwise, to paidsubscribers during the six months preceding the date shown aboveis: (This information is required from daily publications only.)
(Signed) HARVEY FAWCETT.
Sworn to and subscribed before me this 11th day of March, 1921.
ROBERT P. KIRBY.
[SEAL.] (My commission expires December 1, 1927.)
“We have room for but one soul loyalty and that isloyalty to the American People.”—Theodore Roosevelt.
By W. H. Fawcett
Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran anddedicated to the fighting forces of the United States.
Drippings From the Fawcett
Out on Rural Route No. 2 we haven’t much class,as the saying goes, but we have a lot of fun. Wehaven’t any bright lights, although the folksabout the country have thought so liberally of my littlebundle of bunk lately that I have been able to put ina small farm lighting plant in the Whiz Bang house,barn and yard.
Not many Minnesota farmers can afford, in theselow-wheat-price days, such a luxury as an electric lightingplant, and so the one put in at the Whiz Bang farmcreated quite an interest.
Gus, our hired man, thought it would be a goodidea to have a sort of celebration over the new electriclights. The idea met with instant approval from Mrs.Bill and the kids. The next question was how to celebratethe great event. Gus suggested a “snoose”party, but as not all of my neighbors chew the Copenhagenbreakfast food, his suggestion received a coolreception, particularly from Mrs. Bill, who dislikes thehabit. It was left to my twelve-year-old daughter tosolve the problem, later in the day, when I discoveredher in the loft of the old red barn practicing toe dancing.This suggested to my mind a dancing party.
And so we gave the party. I wired the hay loftwith electric lights and dumped a pail full of oatmealon the floor to make it slippery. We picked Gus asthe dance master, and here was his predominatingaction for the evening:
The only fault we had to find with Gus’ musicalattainments was that he didn’t say anything about thedingbusted lighting plant going on the blink duringthe dance. Something went wrong and the lights wentout, and when we came to again, I was horrified. Mrs.Bill says we can’t give any more dances; not if thosegirls from Sugar Creek are allowed to attend.
Here it is Spring, the poets are with us and theThursday musicales can now render “The Comingof Spring” by a scanty Aphrodite girlie intrue aesthetic rhythm, but I hearken naught to theirartificial atmosphere. I crave Mother Nature in all itsruggedness.
Hence I have fared to my log cabin settlement onthe shores of Big Pelican lake in northern Minnesota,accompanied by Mrs. Bill, the five kids, my dog Shep,our new perfumed Persian pussy and, last but not least,the good, old pedigreed bull, Pedro. Fred La Page,my French-Canadian friend and the lord and masterof the Pequot settlement, threw in a couple of cowsin the deal wherein I acquired title to the cabins andthe shore property and advised me to bring the pedigreedbull along to keep the cowlets company. Andso here we are at Pequot, and as I said before, it isSpring and the birdies are singing in the treelets.
We’ve hardly been here a week when into our wildand wooded midst enters, like an angel from Heaven,a pretty young miss, a graduate of Minneapolis aristocracyand unlearned in the ways of we simple countryfolk. She had never seen a real pumpkin sprout in thegarden of nature and her knowledge of the products ofthe soil was confined to what she had read in someseminary institution.
The first evening, Gus, our hired man, picked someof Brother La Page’s wild asparagus. We did it up inbutter, as was my wife’s custom, and served it in bighelpings on the old pine table.
Miss B⸺, our guest and new acquaintance,was guided by etiquette and started to eat her asparaguswith a knife and fork, but Gus changed her mind.Now Gus is a careless sort of fellow. When he surroundsa plate of grub he is like time and tide. Hewaits for no man. He simply surrounds his lips, arms,fingers and what-not in mad haste to consume everythingon the table. He is oblivious to anything or anyoneelse. So Gus grabbed the butt end of a big stockof asparagus and sipped the tip of the vegetable inmuch the same fashion as a steam suction hose cleanedthe streets of Paris in our soldier days. But Miss B⸺was game. In manner demure, she nervously graspeda luscious piece within her slender fingers. Blushingly,she placed the tender morsel between her pearlyteeth. She was a game little girlie, despite her embarrassment.The warm butter slobbered over her but, toher credit, may it be said, she went through the ordealmuch like a seasoned veteran.
At this writing, I am glad to say, our angel is rapidlybecoming accustomed to backwood etiquette andshe now can eat away at any size asparagus just as well—well,almost as efficiently as Gus. I said almost. Itwould be impossible, I believe, to equal his record.
At last, thank God, Mrs. Bill admits I have onegood quality—that of being tender-hearted. Ioverheard her telling Gus that I was so tenderof heart that I wouldn’t kill a poor, defenseless fly, oreven beat a carpet.
Pedro, famous pedigreed bull of the Whiz Bangfarm, has quite a reputation as a county fair prizewinner. Gus, the hired man, decided he’d makea few extra dollars one week while I was “tooting itup” in Minneapolis, so he started charging admissionto the many who came to view the noble animal.
A visitor approached Gus the first day of admissioncharges and inquired as to the cost for himself,wife and nine children, for viewing the bull.
“Not a cent,” promptly replied our faithful man.“Come right in; I want Pedro to see you.”
The girls of Texas, we judge from correspondents,are madly in love with the confection known asthe lollypop or all-day sucker. We’ve receivedseveral complaints from love-lorn swains requestingthat we ask the Texas girls to protect their tresses fromthe sticky lollypops.
So many Whiz Bang readers have requested thatwe send them the automobile seat left on our farmby a daring couple while they hiked to Robbinsdale,to report the theft of their motor car, that we havedecided to retain it. An auto seat, you know, is valuelesswithout the car.
Gus is a progressive hired man. He progressesfrom penny ante to nickel heart games to two-bitmoonshine. It’s a good thing he’s not verystrong for the ladies. He has plenty of bad habits now.
Gus is a great fellow to play pranks. Wheneverhe wants to chop wood around the smokehouse,he goes to the farm house, opens the back doorand rings the dinner bell. All the flies swarm insideand take their places in the dining room. Then Guscloses the doors behind the flies and goes to the wood-pileto work undisturbed. You have to hand it to Gusfor originality.
At a seance the other evening the spiritualists weretelling of their experiences with residents of otherworlds. One man told of conversing with a ghost,another had dined with one. A woman declared shehad shaken hands with a departed friend, and othersfollowed suit until it seemed they had exhausted thelist of possible activities with spirits.
“We have heard the testimonials of the circle,”said the medium, “but so far nobody has told of beingin love with a ghost. Is there anyone here who has hadthat interesting experience? Has anyone ever loved aghost?”
“I have, lady,” said an Irishman in the rear of theroom.
“Step right up in front, I