Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, Vol. 2, No. 21, June, 1921 America's Magazine of Wit, Humor and Filosophy
Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, Vol. II. No. 21, June, 1921
A Laugh, a Sigh; a Smile, a Tear; a Giggle,a Sob; and full-page reproductions ofthe greatest collection of Art—The WhizBang Girls, in Sepia Colors.
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“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
Oh, for a modern James Whitcomb Riley! Couldthe incomparable Hoosier poet be with us today,what a masterpiece he could make out of theordinary news of the day. With such material at handas this from the columns of the Chicago Herald-Examiner,he could bring tears to the eyes of those withfond reminiscences. Under a heading, “LAST ONEIN CHICAGO DESTROYED BY FIRE,” the newspaperstates:
The last one in Chicago burned down last night.The fire engine got around to the back yard of1102 Hastings st., too late.
Truly, brevity is the soul of wit!
A news article in the daily papers say a Chicagowoman has filed suit against her husband on theground that he refused to pare her toe nails, andthe husband comes back with the counter-charge thatshe smeared her face with cold cream to such an extentthat he’d get it tangled up in his hair during the night.
To our mind, this suit opens up some wonderfulpossibilities, especially, as Mr. Stillman would say,when the supply of Indian guides gives out. Supposing,as our London co-scribe says, a woman wedded toa highlander discovered after the nuptials that herhusband refused to shave the hair off his calves, mightshe not be able to file her divorce with reasonable hopeof success?
Again, we have the man who, when taking a bath,within earshot of his wife’s bedroom, insists on singingunbearable songs of the type the Yanks sang inFrance—
“She’s Mademoiselle from Armentieres, whohasn’t been kissed for forty years. Hinky PinkyParley Vouz.”
Surely a Chicago court would grant her a splitfrom her spouse. And a husband who would bite hiswife’s mole also might be in danger of being divorcedby a woman who believed she was entitled to a lessemotional husband.
Twice, by urgent requests from ardent defendersof the fair sex, Whiz Bang has reproduced “Thepedigreed Persian Cat” from its issue of May,last year. You’ll remember it—the story prose of theperfumed kitty who wandered out the back door forair and was lured away by an alley tom cat, and who,upon her return later, told her kittens their Pa was atraveling man.
We’ve been waiting patiently for some travelingman to register his protest and step up with straightdope to refute intimation that a feline member of thefraternity enticed the perfumed pussy over the primrosepath. And now we have it—a poem in answer,from the pen of one who signs “Josh M. Allong.”
“I resent the intimation that a member of my professionwas to blame,” he writes. “The original poemis propaganda to whitewash the reputation of a looseand unprincipled female, even if she is only a cat.Therefore, I am writing the following true version.”
After reading the accounts in the Saturday Bladeof the Stillman divorce case, our hired man, Gus, asksme if he can have the job as “Indian” guide at myPequot, Minnesota, cabin resort this summer and fall.Gus, however, is doomed to disappointment, because Ihave engaged a real half breed Indian for the job.
Although, as Gus, our hired man, says, DeaconMiller, my neighbor, doesn’t like my Whiz Bangand claims he tears it up outside his door andlets the wind scatter the pieces of paper all over hiswheat field, we’ll have to give the Deacon credit forrearing a bunch of ladylike cows. One of the Deacon’sbossies broke through the barbed-wire fence whichseparates his pasture from mine, while I was at Pequot.The cow unceremoniously walked into my housethrough the open door, looked at the pictures on thewall and then walked up to the mirror to see if herhorns were on straight.
Not finding anyone at home, the cow, as is the custom,left her card and departed.
Johnny Beaton, noted Minnesota Bohemian, told arather good story the other day while he and I wereshopping for schnapps in Minneapolis. During theinspection of our purchases, Johnny, who hails fromRanier, Minn., on the Canadian boundary, said he hadrecently engaged in a rip-roaring poker game. In thisgame were two Englishmen from the Canuck side ofthe line. The Englishmen always referred to a five-dollarbill as “a pound.” “I’ll raise you two pounds,”said the first Englishman. “I’ll make it five bloodymore pounds,” replied the second. About this time alocal bootlegger, who had been testing his own product,blurted out as he pushed in his wad of money in thecenter of the table: “I’ll raise you three tons.” Thebootlegger hauled in the pot.
Our Movie Gossips
Elinor Glyn is pursued by the ghost of “ThreeWeeks” and the gossips are trying to catch her flirting!Mary and Doug aid Bennie Ziedman in courtshipfor Marjorie Daw! Rudolph Valentino turns thetables of his separation-wife, Jane Acker! Bill Hartand Jane Novak may get married and live in Spanish“duplex”! My, my, what morsels of gossip we hearfrom our bevy of Hollywood and Los Angeles correspondents!
Pity Poor Elinor Glyn! Screen folk, suspiciousbecause England’s titian-haired authoress wrote“Three Weeks,” are reported sleuthing aroundthe Los Angeles hotels and cafes and the Lasky studio,trying to catch Mrs. Glyn flirting! Leastwise, the gossipsare busy, and the dainty morsel upon which theyare chewing is none other than Mrs. Glyn’s purportedfondness for dancing.
“Where’s Mrs. Glyn?” they ask around the Laskystudio.
“Oh, somewhere dancing, I suppose,” comes areply in much the same tone as was used during thewar when the ladies danced while friend husbanddodged Whiz Bangs in France.
Mrs. Glyn’s famous novel, “Three Weeks,” mighthave been her worst personal faux pas. At the greatNavy ball in the Ambassador hotel, she remained forthe most part of the evening on the balcony overlookingthe ball-room floor, accompanied by one of heryouthful actor admirers, and as her gaze passed overthe heads of mere ensigns, four-stripers looked up, butfeared to tread, maybe. At least, Mrs. Glyn did notdance with many, according to the correspondent ofthis great family journal.
Mrs. Glyn is writing a new story for the Laskycompany. Of course the Lasky people aren’t tellingaround just yet what the story is to be about, but thegossips whisper that it’s to be like this:
A girl, born of a Russian dancer mother, and a staidAmerican father, grows up into a beautiful woman.However, everyone who knew of her mother’s wild,wild life, fear the girl will develop into the same sort offemale. But she never does, until, way out west, she isbitten by a snake. Then she becomes so, so wild! Justwhat form her wildness takes, has not yet been ascertained.At any rate, the hero is right there at the climaxwishing she wasn’t wild (?) so he heroically sucksthe poison from her wound and quiets her nerves again!It’s called “The Great Moment.”
It seems that since “Mary” and “Doug.” have beenmarried, they have turned into regular old match-makers.They are working on all their friends. Canit be they are just now concentrating on sweet, blondeMarjorie Daw, who is one of Mary Pickford’s mostintimate friends?
Marcel De Sano, the dark, handsome and entirelymorose Universal director is believed infatuated withthe fair Marjorie just now. He recently attended aninformal little house dance in Hollywood and lurkedin a shadowy corner all evening because Marjorie wasnot with him. Mary and Doug. are quietly and intensivelyworking overtime to interest Marjorie in BennieZiedman, business manager for “Doug.” Now, Bennieis entirely cheerful, he’s a nice unaffected little chapwhom everyone likes and they say Doug. pays him somefat salary! Bennie hasn’t his supposed rival’s mysteriousSouth-of-Europe eyes and hair, but he’s an enterprising,live-wire Yankee. Now, Mary and Doug. area couple of sly, old match-makers. Maybe they knowthey will spoil everything if they urge Marjorie tochoose Bennie, or if they knock any of her other suitors,so they adroitly throw Bennie and Marjorietogether on many occasions. Whether Bennie andMarjorie are aware of this or not is a mystery.
Quite recently, Doug. was frightfully interested inpurchasing a home at Santa Barbara. Of course, itbeing a business matter, Ziedman, the business manager,must needs go along to inspect the property. Ithink they even kidded several hopeful real estate dealersinto believing that Mr. Fairbanks was really intendingremoving his famous family to Santa Barbara. Atany rate, it made it possible for them to take Marjorieand Bennie to Santa Barbara for a week-end trip andthrow them together for three complete days.
Nothing has developed yet, but all know Bennie’sblush and his chronic suffering from shyness. Perhapshe hasn’t yet roused his courage, or is handsome DeSano getting in his quiet, intense deep stuff? AllHollywood wonders!
Rudolph Valentino, the handsome youngItalian actor who plays the lead in “The FourHorsemen of the Apocalypse,” is the husband ofJane Acker, who also plays leads in pictures. Valentino,it will be remembered, once was Joan Sawyer’sdancing partner in vaudeville.
Well, anyhow, the Valentino family separatedabout a year ago. For a time, Rudolph was heartbrokenover the separation and urged his mutualfriends to help him make up the difference. Just then,Jane had offers galore from film companies and she wasbelieved upstage and independent, and to have refusedto consider Valentino for a second session. Now,lately, the tables have turned. Valentino has made agreat hit in the Metro photoplay taken from the biggestseller of last year. He can just about command hisown salary in filmdom from now on. And, wife Janiehasn’t had such an easy winner. With dozens of companiesceasing to produce, offers haven’t come boundingin at an alarming rate. Or perhaps Jane didn’tknow husband was such a capable actor and could makesuch a hit? Can it