Those Times and These

In Short

This collection of short stories captures a pivotal moment in American social history, standing at the threshold between the romanticized Old South and the encroaching modernity of the early twentieth century. Through a series of character-driven narratives, the book explores the decline of landed families, the endurance of regional identities, and the quiet, often humorous struggles of people caught in the machinery of change. It serves as a poignant portrait of a world where memories are as tangible as the buildings and elms that house them.

The Story

The collection moves between the small-town dynamics of the South and the satirical observations of urbanites venturing into the countryside. At the heart of the Southern tales is Judge Priest, a man defined by his Civil War past and his role as a local arbiter of justice. His world is populated by figures like Sergeant Jimmy Bagby and the remnants of the "Old Families," whose lives are increasingly defined by mortgages, decaying estates, and the slow erosion of their former status. These stories often center on the tension between the myth of the "good old days" and the harsh, mundane realities of financial ruin and familial stagnation.

One recurring thread is the displacement of the aristocracy. In one instance, a family clings to a towering, ancient elm tree as a symbol of their heritage, even as their home crumbles around them, held together only by debt and stubborn pride. In another, a woman’s desperate, manic pursuit of relief from internal turmoil highlights the isolation felt by those who cannot navigate the modern world’s demands for "rest" and adjustment.

The narrative voice often shifts to an observer who travels from the city into these rural pockets, finding that the rustic simplicity he expected has been replaced by the same commercialism he sought to escape. Whether it is a misunderstood encounter at an "abandoned" farm or the frantic efforts of a small university to gain relevance through football, the stories emphasize that history is rarely as noble as the stories told about it. The collection concludes with a sense of melancholic acceptance; the characters are left to reconcile the sweet, fading memories of their youth—the dances, the songs, and the youthful romances—with the reality of aging and the inevitable closing of the ballroom door.

How It Unfolds

The gatekeeper of memory The narrative introduces Judge Priest as a living relic whose authority is rooted in his past service. Through conversations on a boat-store porch, the reader learns that the history of the town is held in the memories of men like Sergeant Bagby.

The weight of inherited debt The focus shifts to the financial struggle of families whose land and status have dwindled over the generations. Direct confrontations between local merchants and impoverished landowners reveal the cold shift from communal relationships to transactional ones.

The collision with modernity An outside narrator attempts to document the quaintness of New England life, only to find the landscape populated by bus routes and garage mechanics. This disillusionment mirrors the broader theme of the "old ways" failing to survive contact with contemporary reality.

The performance of heritage The stories detail how individuals cling to symbols—a family elm, a war sword, or a university’s antique statue—to define their worth. These objects become burdens, pinning the characters to a past that no longer sustains them.

The final curtain The collection closes by looking back at the intensity of youth, framing the past as a fever dream of passion and promise. As the elderly characters toast their long-lost loves, the reader sees the quiet, inevitable conclusion of their journey.

The People

Judge Priest serves as the grounding force, an octogenarian who represents the bridge between the Civil War era and the twentieth century. He is a man of paternal authority, though his influence is increasingly confined to the porch. Contrasting him is the merchant Herman Felsburg, a man of commerce who holds the physical power—the mortgages—that the old guard can no longer maintain.

We also meet the Van Nicht siblings, who represent the tragic extremity of clinging to status. Their hostility toward the outside world and their refusal to prune a dangerous bough on their family tree demonstrate a fatal obsession with heritage. Finally, the "I" of the later travel stories acts as a foil to these figures; he is the modern, skeptical observer whose failure to find the "authentic" past underscores the disconnect between the contemporary world and the legends of the frontier.

In Its Own Voice

"Little wanton breezes that strayed across the river paid fluttering visits there before they struck inland to perish miserably of heat prostration."

This description of the intense humidity sets the atmospheric stage for the slow, lethargic rhythm of life in the town.

"The tall black-walnut bureau lacked a cover for its top; the mantel was littered with cigar boxes and old law reports; the dead asparagus ferns, banked in the grate, were faded to a musty yellow."

The inventory of Judge Priest’s room provides a stark, precise look at the lonely, unvarnished existence of an aging bachelor.

"When stirred by the breeze it creates the sound which you hear."

This explanation, given by a descendant of a once-wealthy family, captures the eerie, almost supernatural reliance the family has on their ancestral elm tree.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book examines the cost of nostalgia. It questions whether a society can survive when it anchors its identity to a rigid, decaying past rather than a changing future. The conflict is not between good and evil, but between the comfort of the "story" and the necessity of the "fact." The characters struggle with the isolation of their own perspectives—the judge in his lonely house, the woman in her cycle of anxiety, and the siblings in their tree-shrouded estate. It suggests that while the past is a source of dignity, it can just as easily become a tomb that prevents the living from engaging with the world as it truly is.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a deliberate, atmospheric prose style will find much to admire here. The writing is rich with sensory detail, and the author possesses a sharp eye for the absurdities of social interactions, particularly when the pride of the past meets the pragmatic indifference of the present.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the realities of the text’s era. The book reflects the period attitudes of the early twentieth century, including the use of outdated dialect and racial tropes common in literature of that time. These elements are woven into the fabric of the setting and are likely to prove difficult for contemporary audiences. Despite this, the book remains a valuable, if challenging, historical artifact for those interested in the transition of American identity. What stays with you is not the grand historical event, but the small, quiet images: the sound of a tree branch tapping against a windowpane, the sight of an old man’s room filled with the debris of a lifetime, and the universal, aching realization that the dances of our youth are destined to come to an end.