Paramount Pep-O-Grams (1927)

FAMOUS PEPSTERS ENDORSE NATIONALLY ADVERTISED COMMODITIES AND INSTITUTIONS (Illustrated evidence on the opposite page) John D. Clark, seen invoking the earth in the top right picture, says: “For many years the lettuces in my garden would not grow, but after a little treatment with your NonSlice Hoe I find that they now allow me a little time for a drive once in a while.” Revealed in the circle is Eugene J. Zukor. “Where would a sailor be without his Waterman’s Fountain Pen?” asks Mr. Zukor, and pauses anxiously for some sort of a reply. Revealed nautically in the scene below is Melville A. Shauer, who vouchsafes this information: “I would not be without my Music from a Buzz saw outfit for the world. However, I am not authorized to speak for my friends.” “I wish simply to state that my Babee Ruthee Cap gives every satisfaction,” writes Charles E. McCarthy, who enclosed characteristic snapshot for evidence. “Campbell’s Soup is seven cents a can, and twelve cents west of the Rockies,” writes Palmer Hall Stilson. His photograph (reproduced) does not say whether he is a customer of Campbell’s, or whether he regularly goes west of the Rockies. The group of three contains the first published photo of Tessie Klausner (center) of Rhode Island, the 1927 winner of the Saturday afternoon section of the Saturday Evening Post subscription collection campaign. “The tonal reproduction of the new Orthophonic Victrola is something beyond belief,” writes John B. Nathan, always a stickler for the truth. (John is the one with the hat on). “We owe the secret of our youth to Barbasol: the minutes a day it has saved us in years has been incalculable,” write Messrs. Ralph Kohn, Emanuel Stern, Joseph Seidelman, Albert Kaufman, Eugene J. Zukor and Melville A. Shauer. “Lucky Strikes soothe the wind and sharpen the eye,” is portion of a tribute paid to a luscious leaf much toasted by American celebrities, and here endorsed at the Polo Grounds by Eugene Zukor, Dr. Stern, and another gentleman. Modestly posing, with the instruments of his trade un FRIENDSHIP By Richard G. Engel Most wonderful gift of God — Stronger than Atlas — Welded together not with steel— Bound by our heartstrings — • Broken by envious untruths — Mended by faith — Strengthened by love — Carried to the last breath — Then to the mansion of our Great Maker. der his arm, Vincent Trotta wrote as follows: “They laughed when the waiter spoke to me in Bulgarian — but because they were my friends they lapsed into shame when they found I couldn’t reply.” In the lower left corner, with a police whistle in his mouth, is Tom Walsh. “Up to the time of eating Fleischmann Yeast,” writes Mr. Walsh, “I had always depended upon Socony Gasoline to drive my car. Your yeast was so invigorating that I find I can now dispense with Socony altogether and secure practically the same mileage.” Harry A. Nadel writes: “In all my experience of dealing with the Siberian Chamber of Commerce, I have never known a cap to give such utter satisfaction as the one I am here shown wearing. I would gladly endorse it further, but I have forgotten the name of the maker of it.” “When I consented to pose for this picture of overcoats,” writes the gentleman in the second last scene, “it was understood that my name was to be kept out of it.” It was — and so was the overcoat. “Gotham Gold Stripe now has fifteen service stations where runs may be checked,” writes Miss Sadie Spitzer, one of the original Gold Stripe Girls. (Note: There will be more of these series — but not for a very long while) “I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THAT!” It really ought to be set to music, or woven into an epic poem — this rebuke that the editor has encountered for the past year and a half. “I’ll never forgive you for publishing that picture of me!” — “I’ll never forgive you for that article in which I was mentioned!” — “I’ll never forgive you for misspelling my name!” — and so on and on, far into the day, and next day. But the editor is hard-boiled. He had to be — that was the first qualification of being an editor. So the rebukes became rhymes and the snootiness became transformed into sonnets : and now that the year and a half of bluepencilling has come to an end the editor passes out of the picture, a smile perchance playing around his left ear — and a vast wave of unforgiveness forever racing at his heels. Oh, well — isn’t life like that! PEP-O-GRAMS Page Forty-six