Lessons from the Delmar Divide: Why the Past is the Key to Our Present

Joining author Ellen Barker to explore 1970s St. Louis, the architecture of inequality, and why biographical fiction is a masterclass in hope.

Kate Sheppard Memorial in Christchurch, New Zealand—Photo by Dudlajzov

People often ask why I spend so much time in the past. The truth? It’s because I’m deeply passionate—and occasionally terrified—by the present.

Here’s an illustration: This week I’ll be interviewing sister author Ellen Barker to launch her new evocative novel, Nothing North of Delmar, for her St. Louis book launch.

Barker’s historical fiction takes place in St. Louis during a pivotal moment in our nation’s history, the 1976 “Bicentennial Summer” yes, I know: the ‘70's are now “historical!”) Through the eyes of Novelle, a Wash U. grad student, Barker explores the Delmar Divide—the boulevard that serves as a stark, invisible architecture of racial and economic disparity.

Novelle’s outsider perspective catches what locals might miss: that 'post-Sixties' progress can feel incredibly flimsy when written in stone and policy.

The phrase “nothing north of Delmar” relates to St. Louis’ Delmar Boulevard, an east-west throughway spanning the length of the city. As a newcomer with an interest in urban planning, Novelle notices the invisible architecture of economics and policy behind Delmar’s north/south sharp contrast—and questions it.

As I interview Ellen my hope is to join with other St. Louisians (open to the public!) to explore the book, its characters, her observations and exchange ideas on how past decisions can have present-day consequences we’re left to grapple with, especially since values have changed in fifty years.

This is 2026, not 1976 after all.

Novelle’s antenna for the invisible architecture of economics reminds me that we have always been unnerved by the new ways we connect—or divide—ourselves.

Issues that keep me up at night—climate, AI, harmful social media, Ukraine and on and on—cause me anxiety.

I am scared, hopeful, heartbroken and grateful—usually about fourteen zillion times a day—living this grand life. This chaotic, overwhelming, heart-on-my-sleeve precious, anxious life.

It can feel like a challenge to show up. To moment by moment by moment hold space for hope. For me, true stories about real events and real people act as lifebuoys. 

It’s as though historical accounts assure us: Humanity has been here before. People got through it.

We can too.

Trains Freaked People Out

Let me give you an example with a story about opposition in the 1800’s to train travel. This may sound a little quaint but hear me out.

Prior to steam locomotives, the fastest speed an individual could go when traveling long distance was 4–6 mph by horse or canal boat (the automobile didn’t appear until the end of the century). Compared to 6 mph, a 30-mph speeding train was mind-blowing. Shocking even.

Opposition erupted.

• Medical Experts warned that the “tremendous” speeds would cause immediate suffocation or, more bizarrely, cause a passenger’s internal organs to physically shift.

  
  

• Newspapers sensationalized “Railway Madness,” reporting that the velocity caused men to lose their minds, attack fellow passengers, and—in fits of erratic frenzy—tear off their clothes.

  
  

• Farmers protested that the thundering locomotives would terrify cows and sheep, stopping milk production and turning wool black.

  
  

• Religious Leaders thundered from pulpits that any invention moving faster than God’s own creatures was a direct affront to the Creator and surely the work of the devil.

  
  

Confusion, fear, misinformation ruled. Never mind that train travel broke through geographic restrictions on time and space, opening new markets and enabling new connections.

In the confusing face of change, only a few saw the opportunities. Anxiety overshadowed the technological advancement. The new paradigm tore away at how people thought the world worked, and where they fit in. Unmoored, people succumbed to fear and the future looked dire.

Fast forward a few centuries to today’s vantage point and we know what happened: Railway expansion had good and bad consequences. Greater connection across the country = good. Exploitation of immigrants to build the railroads = bad. Looking back through history’s rearview mirror, the fuss over railways feels a little naive. But to those in the middle of it, the uncertainty was unnerving.

Considering the uncertainties we grapple with today it gives me breathing room to know we’ve been through existential crises before.

Knowing this doesn’t point to answers necessarily, but it can lift my head above the fray. Give me perspective and reason to hope. It spurs me to ask: What am I resisting and what is the resistance telling me? When was the last time I changed my mind? What am I holding onto that I’ve outgrown?

For as Kierkegaard said, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” There are lessons from the past—from our own lives and in the world—ripe for the picking. 

I want to pay those historical lessons forward in my own writing.

But that’s not all…

The Power of the Real Name

Among all the fiction genre categories out there— romance, suspense, fantasy, thriller, science fiction, and more—I chose biographical historical fiction to write.

Biographical histfic is a historical story about a real person brought to life through imagined dialogue and other story components. In my writing, I give a face to the opposition. I fictionalized a 'bad guy' to personify the art elite who dismissed Jo van Gogh. She didn't just inherit a basement full of paintings; she inherited a legacy that required a masterclass in marketing to save.

The Accountability of Fact.

When I chose that story to write, first of all, I had no idea of the amount of research involved. Writing about a real person carries the expectation and accountability to do your best at getting the facts straight. Because if you’re like me, you read historical fiction to learn something. Lots of people Google as they read to learn a little more.

Finding Courage in the Underdog.

Secondly, biographical histfic can carry a double impact because the stories are about a real person—oftentimes heroic and courageous, acting against all odds and as an underdog—persisting. My problems tend to pale when I know the obstacles she faced.

Rescuing the Erased Voice.

And last, I write in the biographical histfic genre because I believe it’s important to acknowledge untold stories, especially about women and marginalized people who have been overlooked in history.

There is so much more beyond the official historical record. So often, it simply regurgitates the status quo for that time, leaving out and even erasing voices outside those in power. Among these are stories of brave women’s actions.

We don't study history to become buffs; we study it to gather hope. We look back to see that we’ve been unmoored before and survived. The past isn't just back there—it's in the present, offering us the lifebuoys we need to stand firm today.

Whether it’s Ellen Barker uncovering the 'invisible architecture' of 1970s St. Louis or my own journey with Jo van Gogh, we write to find the lifebuoys that kept our predecessors afloat. We look back so we can stand firm today.

Warmly,