The Archivist

My Grandfather Swore People Were Kinder in the 1970s — But When I Put His Claim to the Test, What I Discovered Shocked My Entire Family

Were People Kinder in the 1970s Than They Are Today? The Stories That Answer Everything

It’s the question that sparks heated debates at dinner tables across America: Were people genuinely kinder in the 1970s, or are we just romanticizing the past through rose-colored glasses? Social media is full of people claiming that neighbors used to help each other more, strangers were more polite, and common courtesy wasn’t so uncommon. Others argue that we’re selectively remembering the good while forgetting the bad, and that kindness today is just as real—it’s simply documented differently. The truth, as you’ll discover through these stories, might surprise you about both eras.
The Great Kindness Debate: On one side, you have people who swear that the 1970s were a golden age of neighborliness—when people left their doors unlocked, children played safely in neighborhoods where everyone looked out for each other, and strangers would stop to help without expecting anything in return. On the other side, skeptics argue that this nostalgia ignores the very real social tensions, discrimination, and community divisions that also existed in that era. So who’s right? Let’s examine the evidence through actual stories that reveal the complex truth about human decency across the decades.

The Case for 1970s Kindness: Stories That Built the Legend

To understand why so many people believe the 1970s were a kinder era, we need to look at the stories that shaped this perception. These aren’t myths—they’re documented examples of how communities functioned in ways that feel almost foreign today.

The Neighborhood Watch That Actually Watched

Margaret Chen, now 78, grew up in Cleveland Heights during the 1970s. Her story illustrates what many consider the defining characteristic of that decade’s kindness—genuine community investment.

“In 1974, my mother had a nervous breakdown,” Margaret recalls. “Dad was working two jobs to keep us afloat, and Mom just… couldn’t function. I was fifteen, trying to take care of my two younger brothers while keeping up with school.” What happened next would be unthinkable in many neighborhoods today. “Mrs. Patterson from next door just started showing up. Every morning at 7 AM with breakfast for all of us. Mrs. Rodriguez across the street began doing our laundry—just picked it up and brought it back folded. Mr. and Mrs. Kim from two houses down took my brothers to school and picked them up every day for three months.” The most remarkable part? “Nobody asked them to help. Nobody organized it. They just saw a family in crisis and handled it.”

Margaret’s story isn’t unique. Archives from community newspapers in the 1970s are filled with similar accounts—neighbors organizing food chains for struggling families, informal babysitting networks that functioned like extended families, and communities that rallied around members facing hardship without the need for formal charity organizations.

The key difference wasn’t that people were inherently more moral, but that community structures made kindness more visible and more expected. In an era before air conditioning was universal, people spent evenings on front porches, talking to neighbors. Before cable television offered hundreds of entertainment options, families were more likely to know the people living around them.

The Stranger Who Stayed

Robert Martinez tells a story that captures another element of 1970s kindness—the willingness of strangers to invest significant time in helping others.

In 1977, Robert was driving from Phoenix to Los Angeles when his car broke down in the middle of the Mojave Desert. This was before cell phones, before GPS, in an era when a breakdown could genuinely be life-threatening. “A guy in a pickup truck stopped,” Robert remembers. “His name was Frank. He didn’t just offer a ride to the nearest town—he spent the entire day helping me.” Frank drove Robert to a parts store, waited while they ordered the necessary repair components, drove back to the stranded car, and helped install the new alternator. “The whole thing took eight hours. Frank missed work, used his own tools, wouldn’t take any money. When I asked why he was doing all this for a complete stranger, he just said, ‘Because someone helped me once when I needed it.'”

Stories like Robert’s appear frequently in oral histories from the 1970s—strangers going far beyond minimal assistance to provide genuine help. The cultural expectation seemed to be that if you could help, you should help, and that helping meant seeing a problem through to resolution, not just offering token assistance.

The Dark Side: What 1970s Nostalgia Conveniently Forgets

However, focusing only on these heartwarming stories creates an incomplete picture. The 1970s also had significant blind spots when it came to kindness and respect.

The Kindness That Had Conditions

Dr. Patricia Williams, a retired sociology professor, points out the uncomfortable truth about 1970s community kindness: it was often conditional on conformity.

“The neighborhood support systems that people remember so fondly often excluded anyone who didn’t fit the community norm,” Dr. Williams explains. “Single mothers were gossiped about rather than supported. Interracial couples faced ostracism. Families dealing with mental illness or addiction were avoided rather than helped. The kindness was real, but it came with unspoken requirements about who deserved it.” She cites research showing that while community support was strong within established social groups, it was often absent for anyone considered an outsider. “The same neighbors who would organize a food chain for a ‘deserving’ family might cross the street to avoid helping someone they judged as different or troublesome.”

Church records and community organization minutes from the 1970s support this analysis. Help was frequently organized through religious and social groups that had clear ideas about who belonged and who didn’t. The kindness was genuine, but it wasn’t universal.

When “Respect” Meant “Know Your Place”

Linda Thompson, an African American woman who grew up in rural Georgia during the 1970s, offers a different perspective on that era’s supposed kindness.

“People talk about how respectful everyone was back then,” Linda says. “But respectful to whom? White store clerks expected Black customers to wait until all white customers were served, no matter who arrived first. That was considered ‘respectful behavior.’ Teachers expected children to never question authority, even when that authority was wrong. Women were expected to be ‘respectful’ by not pursuing careers that might threaten male colleagues.”

Linda’s observations highlight how much of what’s remembered as 1970s “kindness” was actually enforced hierarchy disguised as courtesy. The social smoothness that many people remember fondly often came at the cost of suppressing legitimate grievances and maintaining unjust power structures.

Modern Kindness: Different But Not Necessarily Less

While nostalgia for the 1970s persists, stories from today reveal that kindness hasn’t disappeared—it’s evolved.

The GoFundMe Miracle

In 2023, Jessica Park’s six-year-old daughter was diagnosed with leukemia. As a single mother working as a school secretary in Portland, Oregon, Jessica faced the impossible choice between staying with her daughter during treatment and keeping her job to maintain health insurance.

“I posted about my situation on a local Facebook group,” Jessica recalls. “I wasn’t asking for money—I was just venting, looking for emotional support.” What happened next surprised her. “Within 48 hours, complete strangers had organized a GoFundMe campaign, a meal train, and a volunteer schedule to help with everything from dog walking to grocery shopping.” The campaign raised $47,000 in three weeks. More importantly, thirty-two people Jessica had never met became a support network that sustained her family through eight months of treatment. “The amazing thing wasn’t just the money,” Jessica says. “It was how people used technology to create the kind of community support that people say doesn’t exist anymore.”

Jessica’s story illustrates how modern kindness often operates—through digital networks that can mobilize resources more efficiently than the informal systems of the past. While the delivery method has changed, the underlying human impulse to help remains strong.

The Uber Driver’s Extra Mile

Michael Rodriguez drives for Uber in Chicago. His story demonstrates how kindness adapts to modern urban anonymity.

“I picked up this elderly woman, Mrs. Chen, going to a medical appointment,” Michael recalls. “During the ride, she mentioned that her son usually drove her, but he was deployed overseas.” When they arrived at the medical center, Mrs. Chen seemed confused about where to go for her appointment. “I could have just dropped her off, but something felt wrong about leaving her there alone.” Michael parked and walked her to the correct office, then waited during her two-hour appointment to drive her home. “She tried to tip me extra, but I refused. My grandmother lives alone too. I’d want someone to do the same for her.” Michael has since become Mrs. Chen’s regular driver for medical appointments, and she’s introduced him to other elderly residents who need reliable transportation.

Michael’s story shows how modern kindness often develops through brief encounters that become ongoing relationships. The initial interaction may be commercial, but human connection transforms it into something deeper.

The Technology Factor: Amplifier of Both Good and Bad

One crucial difference between the 1970s and today is how technology affects our perception and practice of kindness.

The Visibility Problem

Modern kindness faces a documentation challenge that didn’t exist in the 1970s. Positive interactions often go unrecorded, while negative ones are frequently filmed and shared. A viral video of someone being rude receives millions of views, while quiet acts of kindness happen unnoticed. This creates a perception that rudeness is more common than it actually is. Conversely, 1970s kindness benefits from selective memory—the good moments were remembered and retold, while routine rudeness was forgotten.

Dr. Sarah Kim, who studies social behavior at Northwestern University, explains: “We’re comparing documented rudeness from today with romanticized memories from the past. It’s not a fair comparison. If we had recorded every interaction from the 1970s, we’d probably find similar ratios of kindness to rudeness.”

The Scale Advantage

However, technology also enables kindness on a scale impossible in the 1970s. When Hurricane Harvey devastated Houston in 2017, social media enabled neighbors to coordinate rescue efforts in real-time. Strangers used apps to locate people trapped in flooding. Citizens organized supply drives through Facebook groups that reached thousands of volunteers.

The “Cajun Navy”—volunteer boat owners who rescued flood victims—coordinated primarily through social media. Their efforts saved hundreds of lives through a level of organization that would have been impossible with 1970s communication technology.

The Respect Question: Manners vs. Genuine Consideration

Much of the debate about 1970s kindness focuses on “respect”—the idea that people were more polite and considerate. But a closer examination reveals a complex picture.

Surface Politeness vs. Deep Respect

Tom Phillips, who worked as a bank teller in the 1970s and later as a customer service representative in the 2000s, offers a unique perspective on changing courtesy norms.

“In the 1970s, customers always said ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ called me ‘sir,’ and followed social scripts for polite interaction,” Tom observes. “But that surface politeness could mask deep disrespect. Customers would be unfailingly polite while making racist comments about other patrons, or while demanding that I break rules because they felt entitled to special treatment.” In contrast, Tom found modern customers more direct but often more genuinely respectful. “Today’s customers might skip the formal pleasantries, but they’re more likely to treat me as an equal human being. They don’t expect me to smile through discriminatory behavior just because they’re using polite language.”

Tom’s observations suggest that while the forms of respect have changed, the substance may actually have improved in many ways.

The Community Structure Difference

Perhaps the most significant factor in the kindness debate isn’t individual character, but community structure.

1970s Built-in Accountability

In the 1970s, most people lived in communities where reputation mattered for practical reasons. The banker who approved your loan might be your neighbor. Your children’s teacher might attend your church. The mechanic who fixed your car might be married to your coworker.

This interconnectedness created natural incentives for kindness—but also natural pressures for conformity. People were kind partly because being known as unkind had real social and economic consequences.

Modern Anonymity: Freedom and Isolation

Today’s mobility and urban anonymity remove both the incentives and the constraints of small-community life. You can be rude to a cashier you’ll never see again, but you can also help a stranger without worrying about judgment from people who know you.

This creates both the best and worst of human behavior. Without social pressure to conform, some people become ruder—but others become more genuinely altruistic, helping simply because they want to help, not because the community expects it.

The Generational Perspective

Interestingly, young people today often demonstrate kindness in ways that older generations don’t recognize or value.

The Inclusion Revolution

Maya Patel, a high school teacher, has observed changes in how students treat differences:

“In the 1970s, being ‘kind’ often meant ignoring differences—pretending not to notice that someone was different,” Maya explains. “Today’s students practice active inclusion. They modify their language to be respectful of different identities, they actively seek out diverse perspectives, and they’re quick to call out discriminatory behavior.” She cites the example of how modern students interact with classmates who have disabilities. “Instead of the 1970s approach of polite avoidance, today’s kids naturally include everyone. They adapt their activities, learn sign language to communicate with deaf classmates, and treat accommodation as normal rather than special.”

This suggests that kindness hasn’t disappeared—it’s become more sophisticated and more inclusive.

The Verdict: Were People Kinder in the 1970s?

The answer is both yes and no.

Yes, people in the 1970s were more likely to engage in certain types of community support and formal courtesy. Neighborhood networks were stronger, social scripts for politeness were more universally followed, and the pace of life allowed for more sustained personal interaction.

No, people weren’t inherently more moral or more caring. Much of what we remember as 1970s kindness was actually social conformity enforced by community pressure. The same systems that created neighborhood support also excluded anyone who didn’t fit the dominant cultural norm.

The real difference isn’t in human nature—it’s in social structure. The 1970s provided more opportunities for sustained community interaction but less tolerance for diversity. Today provides more individual freedom and inclusive kindness but less structural support for community building.

Modern kindness is often more genuine because it’s more voluntary. When someone helps you today, it’s more likely because they want to help, not because social convention demands it. The challenge is creating systems that encourage this voluntary kindness to flourish.

The lesson: Instead of romanticizing the past, we should focus on combining the best of both eras—the community investment of the 1970s with the inclusive respect of today. The kindness is still there; we just need to build better structures to support and channel it.

What This Means for Today

Understanding the real story of 1970s vs. modern kindness offers important insights for building better communities today:

Community Matters: The 1970s show us that people are more likely to be kind when they have ongoing relationships with their neighbors. Modern communities can benefit from creating more opportunities for sustained interaction.

Inclusivity Matters More: Modern approaches to kindness that actively include diverse perspectives represent genuine progress that shouldn’t be sacrificed for nostalgic community models.

Structure Enables Kindness: Both eras show that individual goodwill needs institutional support to be effective. Whether it’s neighborhood organizations from the 1970s or crowdfunding platforms today, kindness works better with good systems.

Technology is a Tool: The same social media that can spread negativity can also organize remarkable acts of collective kindness. The difference is how we choose to use it.

The question isn’t whether people were kinder in the 1970s—it’s how we can build communities that encourage the best kinds of kindness from any era while avoiding the exclusions and limitations that made that kindness conditional.

After examining dozens of stories from both eras, one truth becomes clear: human kindness adapts to its environment, but it never disappears. Whether expressed through a neighbor bringing homemade soup in 1975 or a stranger organizing a crowdfunding campaign in 2024, the impulse to help others remains remarkably consistent.

The real challenge isn’t restoring some mythical golden age of kindness—it’s creating new structures that allow modern kindness to flourish while maintaining the inclusive progress we’ve made in respecting human dignity across all differences.

Perhaps the kindest thing we can do is stop romanticizing the past and start building the future—one thoughtful interaction at a time.

Categories: Stories
Adrian Hawthorne

Written by:Adrian Hawthorne All posts by the author

Adrian Hawthorne is a celebrated author and dedicated archivist who finds inspiration in the hidden stories of the past. Educated at Oxford, he now works at the National Archives, where preserving history fuels his evocative writing. Balancing archival precision with creative storytelling, Adrian founded the Hawthorne Institute of Literary Arts to mentor emerging writers and honor the timeless art of narrative.

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