Sara Bader: Historians seek notices that Google could send to electronic oblivion
[Sara Bader is the author of "Strange Red Cow: And Other Curious Classified Ads from the Past."]
Google's latest venture, Google Base, offers free space on the Internet to anyone with information to upload. Google will happily post family recipes, camp photographs, homeopathic remedies, poems you wrote to your girlfriend in high school - and classified ads about almost anything.
Analysts predict that, with its finely tuned search engine, Google's new service will draw significant revenue from online classified listing sites that charge a fee, as well as newspaper classified columns.
This has me worried. But not for the same reason that the newspaper industry is on edge. I'm worried about the fate of these digital messages: Will they be stored so future generations can read them?
You see, I'm obsessed with the classifieds. These small, simple notices leave behind a trail of overlooked history, a chronicle of our needs and wants - petty and profound - day in and day out. I've spent the last several years browsing American want ads from the last three centuries and have found enough odd, tragic, sometimes beautiful postings to fill a book, and more.
The earliest classifieds appeared in the colonies in 1704 in the Boston News-Letter, the first regularly published newspaper in America. The first real-estate listing ran in the third issue of that paper, offering property for sale or lease on Long Island's Oyster Bay.
Ever since, classifieds have served an important role in the pursuits of daily living: the job hunt, or the search for romance, housing or a lost pet. But the format also has proven essential in times of widespread panic and destruction.
Take, for example, the Civil War. We know that roughly 620,000 Union and Confederate troops died, but one simple classified ad, posted by a soldier's desperate parent, communicates the chaos and emotional fallout that must have accompanied each battle.
LOST SON - My son, J.J. Foster, was wounded in the battle of Saturday, and it is said that he was brought with other wounded to this city. I have, however, thus far failed to find him. Any information of his whereabouts will be most thankfully received. Address Dr. E.H. Smith, Surgeon No. 3 Chimborazo Hospital. W.H. FOSTER.
- Richmond Daily Dispatch,
June 18, 1862
Or, we can listen to the soldier's side of the story:
An officer, who is suffering from a wound, and who has recently been released from Richmond, is desirous of forming a correspondence with some lady for the purpose of cheering his drooping spirits. Address Lieut. H.V.A., Fortress Monroe, Va....
How will some future historian know that of the thousands of Gulf Coast residents reported missing after Hurricane Katrina, one was an 85-year-old woman who wore a simple gold wedding ring, visited her husband every day at his New Orleans nursing home and "was called 'Freddie' by her close friends"? The ad searching for her ran on www.nola.com, the Web site connected to the New Orleans Times-Picayune.
Classified advertisers do not set out to make history, and that's why their unfiltered voices are worth preserving. Their words humanize the past and connect us emotionally and physically to the people who lived it.
Google's latest venture, Google Base, offers free space on the Internet to anyone with information to upload. Google will happily post family recipes, camp photographs, homeopathic remedies, poems you wrote to your girlfriend in high school - and classified ads about almost anything.
Analysts predict that, with its finely tuned search engine, Google's new service will draw significant revenue from online classified listing sites that charge a fee, as well as newspaper classified columns.
This has me worried. But not for the same reason that the newspaper industry is on edge. I'm worried about the fate of these digital messages: Will they be stored so future generations can read them?
You see, I'm obsessed with the classifieds. These small, simple notices leave behind a trail of overlooked history, a chronicle of our needs and wants - petty and profound - day in and day out. I've spent the last several years browsing American want ads from the last three centuries and have found enough odd, tragic, sometimes beautiful postings to fill a book, and more.
The earliest classifieds appeared in the colonies in 1704 in the Boston News-Letter, the first regularly published newspaper in America. The first real-estate listing ran in the third issue of that paper, offering property for sale or lease on Long Island's Oyster Bay.
Ever since, classifieds have served an important role in the pursuits of daily living: the job hunt, or the search for romance, housing or a lost pet. But the format also has proven essential in times of widespread panic and destruction.
Take, for example, the Civil War. We know that roughly 620,000 Union and Confederate troops died, but one simple classified ad, posted by a soldier's desperate parent, communicates the chaos and emotional fallout that must have accompanied each battle.
LOST SON - My son, J.J. Foster, was wounded in the battle of Saturday, and it is said that he was brought with other wounded to this city. I have, however, thus far failed to find him. Any information of his whereabouts will be most thankfully received. Address Dr. E.H. Smith, Surgeon No. 3 Chimborazo Hospital. W.H. FOSTER.
- Richmond Daily Dispatch,
June 18, 1862
Or, we can listen to the soldier's side of the story:
An officer, who is suffering from a wound, and who has recently been released from Richmond, is desirous of forming a correspondence with some lady for the purpose of cheering his drooping spirits. Address Lieut. H.V.A., Fortress Monroe, Va....
How will some future historian know that of the thousands of Gulf Coast residents reported missing after Hurricane Katrina, one was an 85-year-old woman who wore a simple gold wedding ring, visited her husband every day at his New Orleans nursing home and "was called 'Freddie' by her close friends"? The ad searching for her ran on www.nola.com, the Web site connected to the New Orleans Times-Picayune.
Classified advertisers do not set out to make history, and that's why their unfiltered voices are worth preserving. Their words humanize the past and connect us emotionally and physically to the people who lived it.