Editor’s note: In conjunction with Black History Month, today’s column, and those that will run on Feb. 20 and 27, are focusing on the history, and experiences, of Nashua’s African-American residents, mainly in the second half of the 20th century.

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Anyone paying even fleeting attention to the housing market over the past year or so, especially in the more desirable places to live – such as Greater Nashua – know how quickly homes, and in many cases commercial, properties can disappear from the listings literally hours, sometimes even minutes, after they are posted.

The dizzying speed of a process that not long ago took weeks, in many cases months, is certainly unprecedented, even in a region where the business of purchasing, leasing or renting real estate properties has historically been considered comparatively brisk.

You probably have family members or friends – I know a few people myself – who spotted “the perfect” house or apartment, immediately phoned the agent or seller or landlord and celebrated when told their “perfect” abode was, at the moment, still available, but while they were speeding across town with the deposit, a young couple saw the sign, pulled over, stepped out, asked how much, and peeled tens of thousands of dollars off a bankroll to cover the deposit and then some.

All that was left for the seller to do was break the news to the would-be buyer or renter and, assuming the seller was of the decent sort, toss in a heartfelt “I’m sorry.”

Well, a version of that very scenario used to play out right here in Nashua back in the 1950s and 60s, but it had nothing to do with a sizzling hot housing market or some people’s habit of carrying around tens of thousands of bucks in cash – just in case they came upon a sweet deal and needed to act fast.

That version is best illustrated through the experiences of a handful of Nashuans who spent much of their free time apartment-hunting, and way too often came home empty-handed.

The story was always the same: The apartment-seeker collects phone numbers of landlords advertising apartments for rent, then, starting with the ones that seem like the best fit for them and their family, begin dialing the numbers.

A landlord answers. “Can I see the apartment?” the seeker asks. The landlord, eager to fill the empty apartment and start collecting rent again, enthusiastically invites the seeker and his family over.

The family arrives. Suddenly, the landlord is no longer eager. “Um … “ he stammers. “Um, I’m sorry, we just rented the apartment five minutes ago.”

The apartment-seeker shakes his head. He’s heard the same response over and over.

The story is always the same.

I don’t know this gentleman’s name, but I do know he was a retired U.S. Army master sergeant who earned a Silver Star – which is awarded for “gallantry in action.”

Including his Army pension and his and his wife’s salaries, his household income was roughly $6,000 per month in today’s dollars.

Surely, the landlord knew nothing of the apartment-seeker’s most commendable background and reputation.

The brief discussion never got to that point. The landlord knew all he needed to know the minute he set eyes on the apartment-seeker and his family: They were African-American.

Nashua was then, and still is, a long way, both geographically and, thankfully, culturally, from the Southern states, where overt racism and discrimination and segregation and almost daily battles to retain civil rights are much more prevalent than up here in the northern climes.

I know something about the retired Army sergeant thanks to former fellow Telegraph scribe Barry Palmer, whose work graced the pages of our predecessor in name The Nashua Telegraph back in the mid-1960s.

Palmer, now long retired and enjoying a life of leisure, was a Telegraph staffer for just four years, but he was often the go-to reporter for the more in-depth type of journalism, stories that went beyond day-to-day reporting and, editors came to realize, complemented the news of the day quite well.

Palmer’s story, which appeared in the Telegraph in July 1967, might initially take the reader aback for its liberal use of the term “Negro” in referring to African Americans. Taken in the context of the era, however, the term was as widely accepted as African-American, or Black, is today.

The story offers a good look through the portal of recent Nashua history at an era when overt racism was rare, but subtle prejudice – the suddenly unavailable apartment, for instance – was either accepted or tolerated.

As one African American man quoted in Palmer’s story put it: “Everyone tells me that Nashua is a fine town for the Negro. No one bothers him. Sure, no one bothers him as long as he knows his place. As long as he stays down in the Myrtle Street slums and doesn’t open his mouth.

“As long as he doesn’t try to rent a home around me … .”

Next week: How city officials’ condemnation of a neighborhood called “Shantytown” unwittingly fueled the housing discrimination problem.

Dean Shalhoup’s column appears weekly in The Sunday Telegraph. He may be reached at 594-1256 or dshalhoup@nashuatelegraph.com.