The Saturday Evening Post September/October 2017

What is it that makes us laugh? Admittedly, this is dangerous ground. As E.B. White observed, “Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested, and the frog dies.” This old joke about joke-telling doesn’t really answer the question (or does it?): Sammy is attending his first Comedian’s Convention. A famous comedian gets up and says “Number 64.” Everyone laughs uproariously. Sammy turns to the older comedian who brought him and says, “What’s so funny?” “These are all professional comedians,” says his friend. “They know the jokes so well, they’ve given every joke a number. To save time, they just say the number.” Another comic shouts out, “143!” and again, everyone cracks up. “Could I try it?” Sammy asks his friend. “Sure,” the friend says. So Sammy stands up and says, “15!” Nobody laughs. Sammy…

Jeanne Wolf “Ken Burns totally immersed himself in the war that tore the country apart,” says the Post’s West Coast editor, who interviewed the award-winning documentary filmmaker (page 32) about the new PBS series The Vietnam War, directed by Burns and Lynn Novick, that airs in September. “He ferociously pursued facts to get the epic story right,” says Wolf, adding that Burns didn’t flinch when asked if it was an anti-war film. “I assume every human being who is smart is anti-war. There’s not a mother out there that isn’t anti-war, and every soldier I’ve ever met is anti-war.” Mary Pilon For decades, the story of Monopoly’s creation was a warm and inspiring Horatio Alger tale — a down-on-his-luck salesman invents a game that saves his family and makes him rich. Problem is,…

Filled with Love! “Summer of Love” (July/Aug) was a delight to read — very meaty and filling! And although I was 10 at the time, it was fascinating to experience it through the eyes of many different writers. It takes great skill to weave the treasures of the past with the present, and you did a wonderful job! Karen Cormac-Jones, Oregon P.S. I stumbled across The Golden Age of Hollywood issue at the store and snapped it up. I loved every gorgeous page! Your 1967 flashback issue is really special and full of important information. You publish a tremendous magazine, and I look forward to the remarkable features in every issue. Robert L. Dilenschneider, New York, New York Reading “Slouching Towards Bethlehem” by Joan Didion (July/Aug) is like a tendril to the past and thoroughly nostalgic.…

I think that most people feel very good about their own lawyer — it’s the other lawyer they have a problem with. I’m a lawyer, and I’m a big fan of lawyers and the law. Lawyers work hard to keep society’s playing field level and achieve fair results on behalf of their clients. Yes, I’ve heard the lawyer jokes. Some are wickedly funny. But, as with blonde jokes or ethnic jokes, when they rely on a stereotype, the characterizations are bound to be inaccurate. To use a legal phrase, they’re not supported by the evidence. Let’s start with the fact that lawyers are held to rigorous standards. The rules governing attorney conduct require competence, diligence, confidentiality, honesty, and avoidance of conflicts of interest. They also concern, for example, a lawyer’s duties to…

It’s no secret that generations of students managed to stumble through school by cribbing their papers from encyclopedia entries. Encyclopedias. Remember them? A lot of people don’t, particularly kiddos. Check out a YouTube video titled “Teens React to Encyclopedias.” Presented with several volumes from a set of World Book, the fresh-faced youngsters are at first perplexed. Eventually they sort it out. “It was Google back in the day?” guesses one. “So sad,” says another. You can forgive these young’uns for missing a deeper observation: There was a time when you could practically size up an American family by the encyclopedia displayed in its living room. Collier’s, Book of Knowledge, Encyclopedia Americana — each had an audience. A full set of Britannica meant your family was well-heeled and probably brainy. World Book meant…

One cow snuck a stem of alfalfa, got bloated with gas, and exploded before our very eyes. In 1843, my wife’s family settled along Youngs Creek in Orange County, Indiana, and has been there ever since. We grow hay, which for years got cut, baled, and fed to our neighbors’ cattle. Then my son, in a burst of entrepreneurial spirit, decided to eliminate the customer and raise the cattle himself, so we fenced in the hay field, bought some cows, and turned them loose to dine al fresco. It’s good to have cattle back in the fields, to sit on the porch on a summer evening and watch cows gather under the trees by the creek. If everyone had a cow to look at, it would cut the rates of depression and…