In the quest for the identity of my grandfather I’ve been using a service called Genealogy Bank. It’s a service filled with old, scanned newspapers from across the world. An astoundingly useful tool for genealogists, it makes it possible to search for your more infamous relatives.

It’s also a fascinating view into the culture and attitudes from another time.

One of my earliest memories is going with my father and older brother to visit the  public library. Some Saturday’s we’d notify the Librarian of our destination and head down into the basement of the H. Leslie Perry Memorial Library to read old issues of the Henderson Daily Dispatch. The books were massive, hard bound in dark leather or maybe that canvas covered hardboard, oversized due to the shape of the paper, and filled with fifty years of darkness, moisture, and neglect. I loved every minute of it. I’d even go by myself to the archives, no doubt both puzzling and pleasing the librarian.

I don’t remember why my father read these papers; perhaps he longed for another time. I suspect he felt tardy, born to the wrong time. He always struck me as mildly disappointed he wasn’t living in the world of his father, before the liberation of the 60s and the redistribution of male power. I just liked looking at the old photos, the funny fonts, and the advertisements. I don’t remember searching for anything, especially about my family. If I think about it long enough I realize I’ve always fantasized about living in the 30s and 40s.

While writing the book version of My Father’s Father I needed an understanding of the days leading up to his arrest. I had to chronicle the events as they unfolded, meaning I had to read every issue of almost 5 months of the Times-Picayune. Articles showed me a progression from graduation, petty encounters with the law, steady rise of wealth and prestige throughout the 20s, ending with his collapse and fall from grace in the summer of 1926. With only the knowledge he embezzled money, we stumbled upon an article detailing his flight from the city. That left a gap between his departure and sentencing. Many papers are poorly scanned, having come from microfilm. Microfilm is notorious for sudden, illegible pages. This meant the search features couldn’t always index a page leading to missed articles.

Forced now to read every single issue between the day he disappeared and the day he entered his first plea, my mind buckled under the task. Floods of crime, death, disease, poverty, racism, and misogyny washed over me. Perhaps quicksand is a more apt analogy as I sank deeper and deeper into a murky pit of political posturing, mountains of advice for the modern housewife, and a steady stream of events lost to time. Google Pig Woman Trial for a taste of what I mean. I also gained a genuine sense of appreciation for the effort that went into publishing a newspaper of this size every day.

I’d like to say it revealed a kinder, gentler time in our country. You’d think with so many aged citizens waxing poetic over these simpler times I’d find multiple examples. What I found was not much different from today. I found death, greed, happiness and joy. Sometimes the players are all switched up, like political parties. Sometimes you discover you’re reading a historical event as it happened. And some things just depressed me.

There are pages and pages on the comings and goings of society, no more pandering than the home magazines of today. There’s the sports page filled with the same metaphor and synonyms for victory and defeat. Every Sunday the paper runs a whole section on automobiles and how to do this or that with your buggy. Business was just as dry with stats and columns of numbers. The kids section every Sunday provided puzzles and pictures of puppies. It’s the perfect window into all things important from 1926.

And then there’s the stuff that makes you say out loud, “WTF?”

The Democrats and Republicans stood for different things. Science was just discovering evolution and the speed of light. New fangled concepts like electricity and natural gas in the home sometimes led to death by electrocution or gas fumes. And we forget the 18th Amendment to our Constitution was in full swing, with debate raging all over the world. Did you know we poisoned alcohol to discourage drinkers? If you died from drinking poisoned rum found by Prohibition Agents it was considered your fault. And while African Americans made up a significant amount of the population in New Orleans, they were treated in the press as second strata of person. For whatever reason whenever a story concerned an African American, the word Negro appeared in the headline. For example, you might see the two following headlines:

Man bitten by dog, taken to hospital by chum

Negro bitten by dog, condition grim

The man’s skin color is only important if he’s black. If he’s white his color is never mentioned. If he’s from any other country he’s described by his nationality. If he’s black he’s called by his race. That creates an us and them mentality. It says “you are not the same no matter how many stories we write about you.”

I tried to come up with reasons for this rule, some justification no matter how harsh it may be by today’s standard. It’s what you do when you try to discuss Huckleberry Finn. Maybe it allowed black readers to zero in on a story concerning their community. There wasn’t a section dedicated to news from the African and Creole communities; perhaps noting a story of interest in the headline sold more papers. More cynical, maybe it told white readers “this story isn’t important to you.”

It’s clear blacks are a second class group. No advertising targets them. No mentions of African American children winning a spelling contest. Few local black heros. Adding insult to injury, dark skinned men from other countries get more mention than local Americans who are of color.

I’m also horrified by the treatment of each other. People die from violence and simple stupidity. Sometimes it’s a kid who, with his own rifle, shoots a friend during an argument. He was 11! Sometimes it’s because they didn’t know how to drive those new fangled autos. Sometimes they didn’t understand basic hygiene or things like CPR. And apparently being constipated was the number one medical crisis. Unstopping someone promised to give them wings and the ability to melt icebergs with their eyes.

It’s always about this time I take a trip to imagine-land. What if I could go back in time. If I could would I choose 1926? Hell no! No one from the 80s onward should ever try to go back in time for any reason. Send a robot or a method actor because you are going to die quickly and horribly. You will surely get shot, early on, for breaking a local norm. Standing up for civil rights got people killed by the Klan. Speaking your mind even about the local religion, something we do without thinking today, could get you run out of town for blasphemy. And don’t get me started on things like basic cleanliness. Think no minty toothpaste.

And quite frankly, the past seems to be full of jerks and worse. Not much different than today, I guess. Maybe I’ll save the trouble and surf the internet some more.