D'öh!

Homer Simpson in a 1921 Swedish cartoon:

"Adamson and the Bachelor's Button" in Söndags-Nisse, Stockholm, 1921

This Week's Sneak Peek

Lycklig Tjugondedag Knut, everyone!

Time to take that Christmas tree out to the curb, or the farm, or the bayou, or whatever the ecologically responsible thing to do with them is in your neck of the woods.

But do check with the local authorities before hauling your tree out to the neck of somebody else's woods.

Raemaekers in America

In the summer of 1917, the famed Dutch cartoonist Louis Raemaekers took up temporary residence on Long Island, New York. As part of his tour of America, he granted an interview to Harold M. Harvey, who wrote a feature article in the September issue of Cartoons Magazine.

"Three years ago, Louis Raemaekers was practically unknown, a painter of portraits and landscapes like his illustrious forefathers and a contributor of an occasional cartoon to an Amsterdam newspaper. Today he is hailed as the greatest cartoonist of the world war. Millions of women have wept over his vivid pictures of devastated Belgium's sufferings; millions of men, fired by his graphic tirades against German cruelty, have sprung to arms with vengeance in their hearts."

"How I Deal with the Small Fry" by Louis Raemaekers, distributed by Land and Water, London, 1917.

There is nothing subtle about Raemaekers's work. Kaiser Wilhelm was typically depicted as the murderer of children in their beds, strangler of Belgian girls, and slaughterer of martyrs. At first, these shocking images were too much for his editors in the officially neutral Netherlands, but they proved immensely popular, and were republished in international newspapers and sold on post cards. "I would not be held in check by an editor," Raemaekers told Harvey. "I will not now. I draw what appeals to me. I will not draw what another man tells me I must draw if I do not believe the idea will bring results."

Because of his inflammatory cartoons, the German government is said to have put a price on his head, prompting him to leave Amsterdam for Paris, and thence to New York.

"This Is For the Hospitals" by Louis Raemaekers in Chicago Examiner, August 24, 1917

Raemaekers resorted again and again to cartoons of skeletons representing Germany, as with the above cartoon drawn to amplify reports that German planes over Verdun had bombed a hospital, then strafed doctors, nurses, and patients as they fled the burning building.

"The German Tango" by Raemaekers, in the Chicago Examiner September 5, 1917

Religious imagery and derisive references to German "Kultur" were two more leitmotifs, coming together in this example.

"Kultur at Wittenburg," by Louis Raemaekers, distributed by Land and Water, London

America favorably impressed Raemaekers, who marveled at the powerful lines of New York City architecture. He found Woodrow Wilson and Teddy Roosevelt eager to meet with him, and shared this observation of the incumbent president with Mr. Harvey:

"Mr. Wilson, your president, is a remarkable man. A year and a half ago, I did not admire him. I could not understand his delay in entering the war. Today, I admire him all the more for his hesitancy. He was studying his people. He was acting for their best interests. When the psychological moment came, when he knew that the people would support him, he seized the sword and the nation followed. Only the greatest of men could do a thing like that in the face of world-wide criticism."

"Wait and See" by Louis Raemaekers in Chicago Examiner,  August 13, 1917

The promotional cut line below Raemaekers's cartoon of Kaiser Wilhelm and Woodrow Wilson may give the false impression that the Dutch cartoonist came to work in Chicago; he had contracted with William Randolph Hearst's International News Service out of New York — in spite of, or even because of Hearst's reputation as having pro-German sympathies. But as Raemaekers told it, he considered Hearst's subscribers to be "the most important target group because the readers are poisoned daily by tendentious articles."

Whatever Hearst's leanings, his Chicago newspaper proudly displayed Raemaekers's cartoons on its front page, while its own cartoonist, Harry Murphy, remained on his customary spot on the editorial — that is, the back — page.

"A Fair Return" by Louis Raemaekers in Chicago Examiner, August 15, 1917

One issue Raemaekers took on in September came right to Chicago. There were still Americans against the war, even though they risked arrest for taking what had become a very unpopular stand. The International Workers of the World trade union, which reached a peak of 150,000 members in August of 1917, declared that it would fight against, not for, American capitalism. In response, the Department of Justice raided their headquarters in several cities, and a Chicago federal Grand Jury indicted 166 I.W.W. members for conspiring to hinder the draft and encourage desertion.

Another officially suspect organization was the "People's Council of America for Democracy and Terms of Peace."

"As Thou Sowest" by Louis Raemaekers in Chicago Examiner, September 16, 1917

When Chicago Mayor William "Big Bill" Thompson allowed the People's Council to hold a convention in the Windy City, the Examiner's headlines joined Raemaekers in condemnation. The People's Council  had been denied permission to hold its convention in several other cities, states, and the District of Columbia. Milwaukee's Socialist Mayor Daniel Hoan had put out the welcome mat only to have it revoked by Republican Wisconsin Governor Emanuel Philipp.

Illinois Governor Frank Lowden similarly ordered Chicago Police to prevent the convention; and when that failed, he sent in the state militia and troops at Fort Sheridan. But by then, the People's Council had wrapped up its meeting and departed.

"How Can They Think Anything Wrong of You, William?" by Louis Raemaekers in Chicago Examiner, September 14, 1917

In the aftermath, members of the city council demanded that Mayor Thompson resign or that the courts move toward his impeachment. Alderman Albert J. Fisher told the Chicago Examiner, "It is the duty of all those in authority — from the Governor down and from the Mayor up — to see that no aid or comfort is given to the common enemy. It was treasonable to allow the pacifist meeting to be held."

"There's no law against free speech here," said Mayor Thompson. "Thank the Lord some folks haven't the power to change the Constitution every half hour or so."

The Examiner blared triumphant banner headlines of a subsequent pro-war rally at the Coliseum, at which an estimated 18,000-20,000 heard Elihu Root brand peaceniks as "traitors," and American Federation of Labor president Samuel Gompers swore that "there can be no peace" while a single "Teuton" remained in France or Belgium. According to reports in the Examiner and Chicago Tribune, people in the crowd derided Thompson as "Yellow Bill."

And although Thompson would be reelected Mayor two years later, the incident undoubtedly doomed his planned run for the U.S. Senate in 1918 and thus his dreams of the Presidency.

Incidentally, while the Dutch Raemaekers saw fit to draw the above cartoon about the Chicago Mayor's role in this controversy, the Examiner's Murphy, who otherwise drew plenty of cartoons about state and local politics, left the topic alone.

"The Helping Hand" by Louis Raemaekers in Chicago Examiner, September 15, 1917

Also in the headlines in September, 1917 was the accusation that despite being officially neutral, Sweden was allowing Germany and its embassies in Latin America to communicate using Swedish code systems. Sweden had promised in 1915 to end the practice, but in September, Britain revealed that facilities of the Swedish foreign ministry had been used to send a telegram from the German embassy in Buenos Aires to Berlin proposing that certain Argentine ships be "sunk without trace."

I bring this story up because it allows me to close this post with one of the very, very few exercises in levity in Raemaekers's wartime cartoons:

"That Conference" by Louis Raemaekers in Chicago Examiner, September 17, 1917

Vi Är Alla Svenska

Ohhhhkaaayyyyy.... What is Donald Joffrey Trump trying to distract us from now?

We're So Glad We've Had This Time Together

Well, it's the first Saturday after Epiphany, and time to take down the Christmas lights, trees, wreaths, and stockings. At least at our house.

My Dad always made it a point to de-Christmasify the house on January 6, Epiphany. Back when we had live trees, they went out to the curb, until he started taking them back to the compost pile. Once we started using artificial trees, they went up to the attic.

My husband and I got the outside lights taken down today before the rain started and the bitter cold that is predicted to follow behind it. We were going to tackle the tree today, but only got as far as getting the empty boxes for the ornaments up from the basement.

This is not our tree, thank God.

One of the churches where I work is also "un-hanging the greens" today, but the other, with a largely Latino congregation, will leave Christmas up until February 2. The Anglo members were initially mystified by this practice, wondering if the Latinos were ever going to put their Christmas diorama away at all. The custom stems from a Mexican practice of leaving Christmas decorations up until Candelaria, Presentation of Our Lord, which is always on Ground Hog Day.

This custom obviously comes from people who don't try to keep a live tree in the house until eight days before Ash Wednesday.

Latinos are not the only ones who try to extend the Christmas season beyond the church-proscribed twelve days. The Scandinavian Lutheran Church tried to popularize having 20 days of Christmas in honor of the sainted Danish Prince Knut Lavard, Duke of Schleswig, who was martyred on January 7, 1169. Somewhere along the line, his Saint's Day got moved back a week from the seventh to the thirteenth.

Tjugondag Knut translates into “20th Day Knut,” which refers to the 20th day after Christmas Eve. This used to be the day when Swedes, Finns, and Norwegians would ransack the tree of the candy and cookies it had been adorned with before Christmas and then kick it to the curb, so to speak.

Happily, nobody has subjected the rest of us to songs of what their true love sent to them on twenty days of Christmas ... let alone the forty days from December 25 to February 2.

Happy St. Ansgar Day!

Today is the feast day of the patron saint of Denmark and Sweden, St. Ansgar. Legend has it that if the French-born archbishop of Hamburg and Bremen awoke on his feast day to see his shadow, there would be six more weeks of æbleskiver. Or until green beer would be on tap. Something like that.

From the web site of St. Ansgar Catholic Church of Hanover, Illinois:

"Deep in his heart, he carried the desire to give his life for his faith, to show his love through martyrdom. Contrary to his wish, Ansgar died peacefully in Bremen on February 3, 865, and was buried in the cathedral. After his death, Sweden again returned to paganism."

But all was not for naught: eventually, a crater on the moon was named for him.

Ansgar is also the patron saint of people whose life story wouldn't make a compelling movie.