Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, Vol. II. No. 21, June, 1921

It’s Coming!

A Laugh, a Sigh; a Smile, a Tear; a Giggle, a Sob; and full-page reproductions of the greatest collection of Art—The Whiz Bang Girls, in Sepia Colors.

THE WINTER ANNUAL
of
Captain Billy’s
WHIZ BANG
“Pedigreed Follies of 1921-1922”
On Sale in October

All new jokes, jests and jingles; Captain Billy’s Advice to the Lovelorn; and Smokehouse Poetry comprising a collection of the best red-blooded poems in the world. Republication of “The Blue Velvet Band,” “The Face on the Barroom Floor,” “Toledo Slim,” “Lasca,” “Evolution,” and “Johnnie and Frankie.” Four times as large and four times as great. Only four months to wait.

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Captain Billy’s
Whiz Bang

America’s Magazine of
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June, 1921 Vol. II. No. 21

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

Entered as second-class matter May 1, 1920, at the post-office 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.

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

Drippings From the Fawcett

Oh, for a modern James Whitcomb Riley! Could the incomparable Hoosier poet be with us today, what a masterpiece he could make out of the ordinary news of the day. With such material at hand as this from the columns of the Chicago Herald-Examiner, he could bring tears to the eyes of those with fond reminiscences. Under a heading, “LAST ONE IN CHICAGO DESTROYED BY FIRE,” the newspaper states:

The last one in Chicago burned down last night. The fire engine got around to the back yard of 1102 Hastings st., too late.

Truly, brevity is the soul of wit!

* * *

A news article in the daily papers say a Chicago woman has filed suit against her husband on the ground that he refused to pare her toe nails, and the husband comes back with the counter-charge that she smeared her face with cold cream to such an extent that he’d get it tangled up in his hair during the night.

To our mind, this suit opens up some wonderful possibilities, especially, as Mr. Stillman would say, when the supply of Indian guides gives out. Supposing, as our London co-scribe says, a woman wedded to a highlander discovered after the nuptials that her husband refused to shave the hair off his calves, might she not be able to file her divorce with reasonable hope of success?

Again, we have the man who, when taking a bath, within earshot of his wife’s bedroom, insists on singing unbearable songs of the type the Yanks sang in France—

“She’s Mademoiselle from Armentieres, who hasn’t been kissed for forty years. Hinky Pinky Parley Vouz.”

Surely a Chicago court would grant her a split from her spouse. And a husband who would bite his wife’s mole also might be in danger of being divorced by a woman who believed she was entitled to a less emotional husband.

* * *

Twice, by urgent requests from ardent defenders of the fair sex, Whiz Bang has reproduced “The pedigreed Persian Cat” from its issue of May, last year. You’ll remember it—the story prose of the perfumed kitty who wandered out the back door for air and was lured away by an alley tom cat, and who, upon her return later, told her kittens their Pa was a traveling man.

We’ve been waiting patiently for some traveling man to register his protest and step up with straight dope to refute intimation that a feline member of the fraternity enticed the perfumed pussy over the primrose path. 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 profession was to blame,” he writes. “The original poem is propaganda to whitewash the reputation of a loose and unprincipled female, even if she is only a cat. Therefore, I am writing the following true version.”

This Persian Kitty, perfumed and fair,

Did not go out on the porch for air,

But she saw that tom cat taking a stroll

And she laid a plan to get his roll.

For she saw that he was a country swell

Who would fall for any tale she’d tell,

And, while acting so sweet and innocent,

She was full of guile and devilment.

Then she led him along to a quiet spot

Where they bring it along at a dollar a “Bot”

And, while he spent his hard earned tin,

She stole his watch and his diamond pin.

And, when she had him as clean as a bone,

Sneaked off with her lover and left him alone,

Hungry and footsore, to trod the way

Back to the farm and the new mown hay.

* * *

After reading the accounts in the Saturday Blade of the Stillman divorce case, our hired man, Gus, asks me if he can have the job as “Indian” guide at my Pequot, Minnesota, cabin resort this summer and fall. Gus, however, is doomed to disappointment, because I have engaged a real half breed Indian for the job.

* * *

Although, as Gus, our hired man, says, Deacon Miller, my neighbor, doesn’t like my Whiz Bang and claims he tears it up outside his door and lets the wind scatter the pieces of paper all over his wheat field, we’ll have to give the Deacon credit for rearing a bunch of ladylike cows. One of the Deacon’s bossies broke through the barbed-wire fence which separates his pasture from mine, while I was at Pequot. The cow unceremoniously walked into my house through the open door, looked at the pictures on the wall and then walked up to the mirror to see if her horns 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 a rather good story the other day while he and I were shopping for schnapps in Minneapolis. During the inspection of our purchases, Johnny, who hails from Ranier, Minn., on the Canadian boundary, said he had recently engaged in a rip-roaring poker game. In this game were two Englishmen from the Canuck side of the line. The Englishmen always referred to a five-dollar bill as “a pound.” “I’ll raise you two pounds,” said the first Englishman. “I’ll make it five bloody more pounds,” replied the second. About this time a local bootlegger, who had been testing his own product, blurted out as he pushed in his wad of money in the center of the table: “I’ll raise you three tons.” The bootlegger hauled in the pot.

Our Movie Gossips

Elinor Glyn is pursued by the ghost of “Three Weeks” and the gossips are trying to catch her flirting! Mary and Doug aid Bennie Ziedman in courtship for Marjorie Daw! Rudolph Valentino turns the tables of his separation-wife, Jane Acker! Bill Hart and Jane Novak may get married and live in Spanish “duplex”! My, my, what morsels of gossip we hear from our bevy of Hollywood and Los Angeles correspondents!

Pity Poor Elinor Glyn! Screen folk, suspicious because England’s titian-haired authoress wrote “Three Weeks,” are reported sleuthing around the Los Angeles hotels and cafes and the Lasky studio, trying to catch Mrs. Glyn flirting! Leastwise, the gossips are busy, and the dainty morsel upon which they are chewing is none other than Mrs. Glyn’s purported fondness for dancing.

“Where’s Mrs. Glyn?” they ask around the Lasky studio.

“Oh, somewhere dancing, I suppose,” comes a reply in much the same tone as was used during the war when the ladies danced while friend husband dodged Whiz Bangs in France.

Mrs. Glyn’s famous novel, “Three Weeks,” might have been her worst personal faux pas. At the great Navy ball in the Ambassador hotel, she remained for the most part of the evening on the balcony overlooking the ball-room floor, accompanied by one of her youthful actor admirers, and as her gaze passed over the heads of mere ensigns, four-stripers looked up, but feared to tread, maybe. At least, Mrs. Glyn did not dance with many, according to the correspondent of this great family journal.

Mrs. Glyn is writing a new story for the Lasky company. Of course the Lasky people aren’t telling around just yet what the story is to be about, but the gossips whisper that it’s to be like this:

A girl, born of a Russian dancer mother, and a staid American 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 of female. But she never does, until, way out west, she is bitten by a snake. Then she becomes so, so wild! Just what form her wildness takes, has not yet been ascertained. At any rate, the hero is right there at the climax wishing she wasn’t wild (?) so he heroically sucks the poison from her wound and quiets her nerves again! It’s called “The Great Moment.”

* * *

It seems that since “Mary” and “Doug.” have been married, they have turned into regular old match-makers. They are working on all their friends. Can it be they are just now concentrating on sweet, blonde Marjorie Daw, who is one of Mary Pickford’s most intimate friends?

Marcel De Sano, the dark, handsome and entirely morose Universal director is believed infatuated with the fair Marjorie just now. He recently attended an informal little house dance in Hollywood and lurked in a shadowy corner all evening because Marjorie was not with him. Mary and Doug. are quietly and intensively working overtime to interest Marjorie in Bennie Ziedman, business manager for “Doug.” Now, Bennie is entirely cheerful, he’s a nice unaffected little chap whom everyone likes and they say Doug. pays him some fat salary! Bennie hasn’t his supposed rival’s mysterious South-of-Europe eyes and hair, but he’s an enterprising, live-wire Yankee. Now, Mary and Doug. are a couple of sly, old match-makers. Maybe they know they will spoil everything if they urge Marjorie to choose Bennie, or if they knock any of her other suitors, so they adroitly throw Bennie and Marjorie together on many occasions. Whether Bennie and Marjorie are aware of this or not is a mystery.

Quite recently, Doug. was frightfully interested in purchasing a home at Santa Barbara. Of course, it being a business matter, Ziedman, the business manager, must needs go along to inspect the property. I think they even kidded several hopeful real estate dealers into believing that Mr. Fairbanks was really intending removing his famous family to Santa Barbara. At any rate, it made it possible for them to take Marjorie and Bennie to Santa Barbara for a week-end trip and throw them together for three complete days.

Nothing has developed yet, but all know Bennie’s blush and his chronic suffering from shyness. Perhaps he hasn’t yet roused his courage, or is handsome De Sano getting in his quiet, intense deep stuff? All Hollywood wonders!

* * *

Rudolph Valentino, the handsome young Italian actor who plays the lead in “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” is the husband of Jane Acker, who also plays leads in pictures. Valentino, it will be remembered, once was Joan Sawyer’s dancing partner in vaudeville.

Well, anyhow, the Valentino family separated about a year ago. For a time, Rudolph was heartbroken over the separation and urged his mutual friends to help him make up the difference. Just then, Jane had offers galore from film companies and she was believed upstage and independent, and to have refused to consider Valentino for a second session. Now, lately, the tables have turned. Valentino has made a great hit in the Metro photoplay taken from the biggest seller of last year. He can just about command his own salary in filmdom from now on. And, wife Janie hasn’t had such an easy winner. With dozens of companies ceasing to produce, offers haven’t come bounding in at an alarming rate. Or perhaps Jane didn’t know husband was such a capable actor and could make such a hit? Can it be she at last realizes what a precious jewel she has lost, and that now it is Jane’s turn to hope they make up, and Valentino’s to assert manly indifference toward the fair sex entirely? Hollywood wonders how it will come out.

* * *

Close friends of Bill Hart say he is to marry beautiful Jane Novak, who has played so many leads in Hart pictures. All the evidence seems to point that way. Bill declared through the press that April 2 last, was his final day in motion pictures.

Jane will receive her final decree of divorce within a few weeks now. Bill is building on to his lovely home in Hacienda Park. The Spanish mansion now is divided into two sections with a long roofed corridor running between. The new wing of rooms has lately been added to the lovely mansion. Is Bill going to be a truly modern husband and keep his own sanctum sanctorum at one end of the mansion for himself and allow his wife to have a number of rooms in which she, of her own free will, may roam as she pleases? Most wives would never be bored with the sort of Bill who planned his romantic nest with such nicety!

* * *