Here’s a nugget I uncovered while researching my forthcoming novel, Lonely Are the Brave.
To soak up the historical background, I read several months’ worth of the Seattle Times from 1919 and learned about a parade in late April welcoming home some four hundred soldiers from Over There.
But it wasn’t just a parade. It was as though a phalanx of hopes, attitudes, prejudices, expectations, and flat-out misconceptions marched through Seattle that day, not just men from the 361st Infantry Regiment, 91st (“Wild West”) Division. And the pride, earnestness, gratitude, awkwardness, and ignorance on display provide a stew of conflict in which my protagonists, a man and a woman, have to swim.
The parade organizers mixed solemnity with “stunts,” a word typically applied then to party games or entertainments. The soldiers, supposedly the stars of the show, made up the rear. Next came white horses drawing a large gold star, to commemorate the fallen. Farther up, young women in white rode the running boards of cars and strewed white flower petals along the route.
Ahead of them walked Elk Lodge brothers dressed in feather headdresses and war paint, while leading the column were police officers wearing chaps who fired off blanks from their pistols. Cowboys and Indians; a Wild West “stunt.”
I tried beginning my novel with this scene and wound up cutting it. But my male protagonist is a soldier who thinks the hoopla insults his dead friends and wonders what country he’s come home to. That newspaper article was a gold mine.