Reading through the comments I have received recently, it seems to me that some recent subscribers do not realized how extensive my website is. Maybe, you have neglected to visit my home page. If you go to Longleafjournal.com, there is a list of categories that will lead you to dozens of other stories, some dating back three or four years. Its a safe zone. I avoid commentaries and stories on today’s politics. So what I write is a break from the often controversial matters that flood our airways. I am least of all interested in celebrities and our contemporary cultural allegiance to them. I try to find inspiration nearer home, among family and friends.

Of late, my stories are about smalltown Georgia in the 1920’s. This decade-so critical to the lives of those with deep roots in Georgia-has been largely ignored (except for racial conflict, the KKK and the antics of Georgia politicians of that era) by both professional historians and popular writers as well.

I am drawn to the twenties because it is the era when my grandparents were in their prime and my parents were children. My family was a rural, middling family of small businessmen, country doctors and their wives who shared their fate in what proved to be the worst decade since the Civil War and Reconstruction. Along with farmers, an emerging smalltown middle class was devastated by what happened in the years following the First World War.

You might have noticed that many of my stories are set in the longleaf pine region-the coastal plain and wiregrass of Georgia. That’s where my memories lie.

Ferreting out the forces that crushed my grandparent’s hopes opened a window of understanding into the lives, beliefs and ambitions that shape my own world view. Our affectionate feelings about our parents (and their parents) can leave us with no real understanding of who they actually were. In the details we find the defining experiences that characterize every life. It may seem disrespectful to delve much into their failures and mistakes. Still, we know from our own lives that they were surely like us in having sometimes fallen into despair and hopelessness, indulged in unrealistic ambitions, and likely ignored realities long enough to find brief enjoyment in those things they could actually afford -a fishing trip, a vacation on the cheap to a beach, a newer used car. Maybe they tested the law out of desperation. Alcohol addiction may explain many tragedies. People sought ways to dull the pain of exiting in a hostile world. To lose sight of their struggles and even mistakes leaves us with only myths and generalizations about our parents. And, it leaves us emotionally and spiritually incomplete in some ways.

These are just a few reasons I am “lost in the Twenties.” If you love the study of history as I do. you know that the past is not dead and is always with us whether we wish to understand it or not. I hope you will find a little time to ramble around in some of my earlier writing and let me know if they awaken the strains of memory that continue to enrich our lives.

If you have a true -or mostly true- story to share that relates to those I tell, I hope you will pass it along. Such stories inspire me and awaken new memories. Maybe you will allow me to publish some or all of what you share. I am the sole editor and promise to respond to your comments.