I've mentioned in the past that, because I am reading The New Yorker back issues chronologically, I am anxious to see historical events unfold. Now, in the November 2, 1929 issue, I've finally come to the Wall Street Crash of 1929.The magazine treats the issue in a flippant way, which is frustrating; I can't wait for The New Yorker to graduate from the goofy humour rag of its early years! Maybe the crash (and depression) will inspire a more serious tone, but the first indications on page sixteen do not suggest such things.
The collapse of the market, over and above the pain, couldn't help but be amusing. It is amusing to see a fat land quivering in paunchy fright. The quake, furthermore, verified our suspicion that our wise and talky friends hadn't known for months what they were talking about when they were discussing stocks. Forcing us to breakfast on copper and oil, dine on sugar and food products, and sleep with rails and motors, they had succeeded in boring us to the breaking point.Then they talk about the arrival of a rodeo. Oh well, I guess things can't change TOO quickly.
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