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| The Camoufleurs (1918) |
Above Cover of an issue of
The Literary Digest on January 12, 1918. It shows the land-based camouflage of artillery by
French artists (called
camoufleurs), a practice they themselves initiated in 1914. The signature of the illustrator is at the bottom left, but the name is unclear.
•••
Kin Hubbard was the pseudonym of an Ohio-born cartoonist, humorist, and journalist named
Frank McKinney Hubbard (1868-1930).
Will Rogers, America's greatest humorist, called Hubbard "America's greatest humorist." A few years before he died of a heart attack at age 62, he had this to say about the efforts to conceal one's age through camouflage.
Kin Hubbard,
ON AGE CAMOUFLAGIN'.
Red River County Review (Clarksville TX), April 8, 1926—
One o’ the’ first things a feller notices after he reaches fifty is how swiftly Saturday night rolls around. He no sooner takes a bath till he begins t’ lay out his underwear for another one. He no sooner shaves th’ snow from his chin till it’s white agin. Th’ weeks an’ months an’ years dart by like a one-reel comedy. He no sooner gits used t’ a straw hat with a polka dot band till it’s time t’ look around for a rakish green hat. Th’ day’s gone ferever when he could git by with a youthful face an’ sparklin’ eyes, an’ th’ time t’ camouflage has arrived. Th’ never endin’ battle agin relentless old age is on. Th’ barber, th’ messeur, th’ tailor, th’ presser, an’ cleaner, th’ shoemaker, th’ osteopath an’ th’ toupee maker must all be drafted int’ his service an’ he starts forth t’ conquer an unseen foe. But why should a feller try t’ hide th’ fact that he’s fifty? Surely ther’s room enough on this earth for people o’ fifty. Who’s he tryin’ t’ fool? What’s he tryin t’ put over? He has started over th’ top an’ a talcumed face an’ tan spats won’t hold him back! A polka dot hat band an’ gray hair won’t mix! A peeled gray head an’ a green hat only excite comment! I don’t mean t’ say that a feller should begin t’ unravel and wither at fifty. If there’s anything I hate t’ see worse’n a peeled gray badger in a pinch-back suit, it’s a reconciled feller o’ sixty sittin’ around fumblin’ a two-column board when he ought t’ be [unreadable]. A feller ought t’ be tickled t’ death t’ reach fifty! He ought t’ be proud of it! What I’m drivin’ at is that a feller ought to stay in his class. A toupeed feller kin never look like anything but a restorer ad! Bright colors only emphasize ole age. If you’re spared till fifty, take advantage o’ ever’ moment from then on, but do it leisurely an’ gracefully. Don’t try t’ look like you’ve been born agin. You kin be youthful in spirit without shavein’ all th’ time an’ smellin’ like Florida water! Talk about th’ golden days o’ youth! What’s th’ matter with th’ diamond-studded years beyond fifty? At fifty we should quietly apply th’ brakes an’ leisurely descend the slope with seasoned muscles, ripe judgment, shorn of illusions, rich in experience, filled with sweet memories, grateful fer havin’ successfully weathered th’ adventurous years o’ youth, with a keen appreciation o’ ever’ precious hour an’ with th’ knowledge that ther’s no new sensations. Let’s stop camouflagin’ an’ leave th’ pinch-back clothes an’ zebra shirts t’ youth. Let’s bathe ever’ Saturday as usual, but let’s not worry about our chins bein’ white. We’ve had our fling at lady killin’ so let’s sober down an’ resolve not t’ drain our reserve tanks chasin’ after a procession that’s only headed fer where we already are.
