Those Times and These — Key Ideas to Explore

Narrative Distance and Generational Labels

The collection's opening paragraph immediately establishes a layered sense of time and authority. The narrator notes that Judge Priest was called "Billy" by fellow veterans, "William" by older men, and simply "Judge Priest" by the younger generation—including the narrator himself. This hierarchy of naming reflects not just age but shared experience, particularly the bond of having served together in "the Big War" (the Civil War). The narrator positions himself as a "fairly sizable young person" learning this history secondhand, creating a frame that distances the reader from the war while keeping its influence present. Cobb uses this device to suggest that the past is always being reinterpreted through the lens of those who came after.

Weather as Social Stage

In the excerpt from a later story, a rainstorm becomes the setting for a charged encounter between Olcott and Miss Van Nicht. Cobb describes the umbrella as "decrepit," with water seeping through "open seams along the rusted ribs," and notes the woman's "cheap dark skirt" and worn shoes. The storm forces proximity and gallantry—Olcott lies about liking rain walks—while the sudden clearing, with "wide patches of blue," mirrors a shift in their relationship. Weather here is not mere atmosphere but a mechanism that exposes class differences and creates intimacy. The detail of the umbrella's ruin is typical of Cobb's method: a physical object carries social meaning.

Voice and Vernacular in Dialogue

Cobb's dialogue often carries the story's emotional weight through regional speech patterns and indirect revelation. In the opening, Sergeant Bagby's casual remarks about the boat landing are delivered in a vernacular that feels both specific and unforced. Later, Miss Van Nicht's polite self-deprecation—"I'm afraid it is leaky"—reveals her circumstances without direct complaint. Cobb avoids melodrama; instead, characters reveal themselves through understatement and the rhythms of Southern conversation. The narrator's own voice, educated but colloquial, mediates between the reader and the characters, creating a tone that is observant without being condescending. This attention to spoken language gives the collection a documentary quality.

Because the excerpts represent only a fraction of the collection's ten stories, readers should expect the remaining pieces to continue exploring the tension between past and present, often through the same recurring characters. Cobb's method rewards attention to small details—a name, a piece of clothing, a change in the weather—that carry larger social implications. The stories are best read as a mosaic rather than a linear narrative, with each adding a facet to the portrait of a community in transition.

Cobb’s Judge Priest, with his unhurried drawl and quiet reckonings, always makes me think of the boys in Red Head and Whistle Breeches — Text and Context — not because the stories match, but because both feel like light through a dusty window, catching the same particular way we half-remember our own grandfathers’ silences.