by Elaine Weiss
One was called That Deadly Parallel, using facing columns to compare the provisions of the Fifteenth and Nineteenth Amendments, pinpointing their similarities and warning of renewed federal oversight of Tennessee elections and punitive enforcement measures, hearkening back to Reconstruction days. This theme was continued by an advertisement labeled “Shall History Repeat Itself?,” displaying a photograph of white women speaking with uniformed black policemen and warning that “Negro policemen may be appointed from Washington and sent to Tennessee to enforce the Federal Amendment.”
An equally dire tone was taken by The Dark and Dangerous Side of Woman Suffrage, a pamphlet expounding the detrimental effects of political equality upon marriage and the family. And this was amplified by perhaps Pearson’s favorite piece, titled “America When Feminized.” This poster featured a cartoon drawing of a hen, wearing a “Votes for Women” sash across her breast, walking out the door, abandoning her nest and eggs. Her mate, the rooster, calls after her: “Why, Ma, these eggs will get all cold!” She replies dismissively: “Set on them yourself, old man. MY COUNTRY CALLS ME!” The caption announces: “The More a Politician Allows Himself to be Henpecked, The More Henpecking We Will Have in Politics. A Vote for Federal Suffrage is a Vote for Organized Female Nagging Forever.”
The Antis knew how to tap into the anger and confusion of southern white American men at this nervous moment in 1920. Perhaps he’d returned from the war to find his job taken over by a black or immigrant man—or, worse, a woman—or maybe a machine was doing his job, making his skills obsolete. Even if he kept his job, his pay didn’t provide for his family as it once did, as inflation eroded the dollar. Maybe his wife had donned coveralls and taken a paying job in a munitions factory during the war, learned to type and gone to work in a government office, or buttoned up a snappy uniform to become a streetcar conductor. She wasn’t keen on coming home. Now she wanted to vote, even wanted to smoke, wanted everything a man had; after the vote, who knew what else she’d demand. The comfortable world he’d known was fast disappearing, and his sense of manhood was under siege. The Antis seemed to understand him.
Laura Clay and Kate Gordon were working hard: handing out the provocative Anti literature in the Hermitage lobby and Capitol corridors, while also buttonholing legislators sympathetic to their states’ rights and southern solidarity doctrines. The women’s long experience as lobbyists served them well now and made them particularly effective Anti advocates. Harriet Upton, who’d worked with both Clay and Gordon for years in NAWSA, felt a wave of sadness to see them wear the red rose uniform. When Clay and Gordon passed their erstwhile suffrage colleagues in the Hermitage hallways, they made no acknowledgment, pretending their former sisters in the Cause simply weren’t there.
While Nashville was preparing for the evening debate, the mood at Woman’s Party headquarters in Washington was tense and glum. “Tennessee rests as a heavy load on our minds,” Alice Paul’s secretary, Emma Wold, wrote to a staff member on Thursday. “Anita Pollitzer telegraphs that the vote will be taken tomorrow . . . and she has very little hope of a favorable result. We have been hoping that Cox would go [to Tennessee] but Baker wires this morning that Roberts still insists that ratification is safe and tells Cox it is not necessary for him to come. It is needless for me to say how stupid they all are, or how perfidious.”
* * *
The public committee hearing and debate was the hottest ticket in town on Thursday night. The house floor was jammed with legislators and officeholders, judges and dignitaries, while the balcony was bursting with hundreds of Suffs and Antis decked out in their team’s floral colors. Hundreds more people stuffed into the aisles and stood behind the railings and out the door. Governor Roberts sat near the front; Luke Lea and Edward Stahlman were separated by a careful distance. The boisterous atmosphere was more akin to a baseball game played before rowdy fans than any staid legislative proceeding, and when Senator Lambert Estes Gwinn and delegate Thomas Riddick, chairmen of their respective constitutional committees, called the hearing to order at eight p.m., they warned that no spectator outbursts or demonstrations would be tolerated.
The lineups for both teams were being shuffled until the last minute. The leaders of both sides had initially planned that only men speak, so as not to ruffle the sensibilities of the more conservative lawmakers, but Charlotte Rowe had demanded a speaking spot, and the Anti men reluctantly acquiesced. Then a woman should speak for the ratificationists, too, and Anne Dudley was selected by the Tennessee Suffs, while Sue White insisted that the Woman’s Party be represented, so White’s name was penciled in on the agenda. In the end, it was a more neutral Charl Williams who appeared as the envoy for the Suffs, but just in the role of introducing the program.
“The women of this country have been fighting for suffrage for sixty years,” Williams began in a strong voice laced with her smooth, oval West Tennessee vowels. The veteran schoolteacher continued with a brief history lesson of the suffrage struggle in her home state and concluded not with an argument, but with a plea pitched to fall softly on the ears of the southern gentlemen in her audience.
“We have asked the men of Tennessee to take the matter of ratification and solve it for us,” she declared, using language that must have made Sue White wince. “We feel perfectly safe to place it in the hands of our own men. The eyes of the United States are upon Tennessee in this fight, and the women of the state and nation stretch out eager hands to our men in this fight.” Williams’s “damsel in distress” trope was irritating to some Suffs, and probably maddening to Anita Pollitzer and Betty Gram, but in this event of political theater it was the safest role for Tennessee Suffs to play.
Now began the debate, with each side allotted five speakers and ninety minutes to make its case. The tenacity of the nettlesome—or, as the Suffs would say, trumped-up—oath issue was obvious in the number of lawyers and judges tapped to argue the legal questions haunting ratification. For the Antis, this was the ideal forum for presenting a scenario of disgraced honor and impending chaos; for the Suffs, it was an opportunity to shoot down those canards once and for all.
The political realities were covered by Senator McKellar for the Suffs, hammering home the obligation of Democrats to follow their party platform and leaders—President Wilson and Governor Cox—to ratify. Tennessee congressman Finis Garrett, speaking for the Antis, did his best to strike electoral fear into the hearts of all present by conjuring a disputed election in the fall. If Tennessee illegally ratified the Susan B. Anthony Amendment and the nation’s women were allowed to vote, it would throw the election into another Tilden-Hayes affair, he warned, referring to the 1876 debacle during which the results of the presidential election remained undecided for months. “You will place the election of our president, our congressmen, our governor, our legislature and every other election in jeopardy if you pass this Amendment,” Garrett prophesied, and the Antis cheered. But Garrett’s apocalyptic scenario paled in comparison with the one evoked by Charlotte Rowe.
“Under the pretense of political expediency and the fond dream of woman’s emancipation from the laws of nature, suffrage leaders are working to destroy the states and enslave the American people,” Rowe declared in her customary take-no-prisoners style. “The Federal suffrage amendment is a deliberate conspiracy to crush the will of the American public.” The Antis in the audience bolted to their feet and clapped. “If the present legislature ratifies it will be due to the bolshevik and socialist influences at work on them,” she insisted, and launched into a bitter tirade against Mrs. Catt and the Tennessee suffrage women. Though they were tempted to boo, the Suffs in the galleries just stuck their tongues out or made ugly faces at Rowe, silently expressing their displeasure. The legislators would be wise “to keep the counsels of honor and not the counsel of these women of Tennessee,” Rowe advised rather flippantly.
“We are living in perilous times,” Rowe warned. “The destroyers are at work. The wreckers are at our homes. T
he Bolshevists are at your door and seeking the centralization of power. Tennessee has the opportunity to immortalize itself as the savior of the republic,” Rowe declared, “and redeem the principle of true representation and our union of states, without which American democracy must perish from the earth.”
The Antis’ delight in Rowe’s fire-and-brimstone oration was curbed just a moment later when General Charles Cates of Knoxville, who’d served as Tennessee’s attorney general for more than a decade, stood to speak on behalf of ratification. Cates immediately took the lady from New York to task for her slur on Tennessee women.
“When the men of Tennessee want to take lessons in honor they will take them from the women of Tennessee,” Cates chastised to thunderous applause from the Suffs. “Let me say further to these distinguished ladies from outside the state who come here to preach against the women of Tennessee receiving the ballot—you can come here and preach to us for a thousand years before you could make us believe the women of Tennessee had lost their grip on womanhood!
“There is no socialism or bolshevism among Tennessee women,” Cates thundered, and the Suffs roared. “The men of Tennessee trust their honor to their women,” Cates rebuked Rowe as the galleries shook with more Suff applause, “and they should not hesitate to trust them with the ballot.”
There were two shocking moments for the Suffs during the evening’s jousting match. The unpleasant surprises weren’t delivered by the abrasive insinuations of Miss Rowe or by the legal jujitsu of the Anti lawyers, but by a leaf of folded paper and the rap of a cane.
When Judge G. N. Tillman of Nashville rose to speak for the Antis, he slipped a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and began reading it aloud. It was a letter from Warren Harding, replying to a request from Tillman for clarification of Harding’s position on ratification. The presidential candidate provided a startling reply: “I quite agree with you that members of the general assembly cannot ignore the state constitution,” Harding wrote to Tillman. Eyebrows were lifted all around the chamber.
“I should be very unfair to you,” Harding continued, “and should very much misrepresent my own convictions, if I urged you to vote for ratification when you hold to a very conscientious belief that there is a constitutional inhibition which prevents your doing so until after an election has been held.” At this a few Anti legislators grinned, a few reporters looked quizzical, and all suffragists appeared extremely alarmed. Harding was giving credence, and approval, to the Antis’ legally dubious and discredited constitutional objections.
“I do not want you to have any doubt about my belief in the desirability of completing the ratification, but I am just as earnest about expressing myself in favor of fidelity to conscience in the performance of a public service. Under these circumstances, please say to Republican members that I cannot ask them to vote for ratification.”
Gasps of delight (the Antis) and disbelief (the Suffs) filled the chamber. The standard-bearer of the Republican Party had just given Tennessee GOP lawmakers permission to oppose ratification. More than permission, he seemed to be condoning rejection. The Tennessee Republican leaders, Hooper and Houk, felt a sudden chill and could only shake their heads in dismay. The morning papers would later describe Harding’s letter as a “body blow” to the suffragists.
The Suffs in the chamber had barely regained their composure from this jolt when they were knocked off balance by another tremor, announced by the tap of Edward Stahlman’s cane hitting the floor as he rose to speak. For the Antis.
Stahlman looked the part of a successful man, with his still powerful frame dressed in a finely tailored suit, his silver hair well cut and carefully combed, his expensive cuff links catching the light. His large head and firm features, together with the intensity of his blue eyes, projected the image of a man in control. He demanded attention, and every eye in the chamber was upon him.
“If you listen to these lawyers you will still be in doubt when they get through,” Stahlman began with a smile, saying he decided to speak because the people wanted a little common sense. “It is easy for them to construe the oath which you took as members of the legislature. They didn’t take that oath, you took it.”
Color drained from the faces of suffrage women in the galleries. The man who was a charter member of the Men’s Ratification Committee, who had repeatedly assured Mrs. Catt and all the Tennessee Suffs of his support for ratification, was suddenly changing his tune. “I am in favor of giving the women the ballot,” Stahlman maintained in what had become a familiar Anti refrain, “but I am not in favor of giving them this power through any doubtful action by the Tennessee legislature.” Suffs in the galleries held back tears. They were being betrayed again.
“We fought for democracy in Europe, but now we are apparently attempting to take it away from ourselves at home,” Stahlman fumed in a rant against the federal amendment’s centralization of power. “The most sensible expression I heard this evening was from Senator Harding,” Stahlman said, lauding Harding’s “good faith, good taste, and justice” while giving the Democrats in the room a shiver. “I hope Governor Cox will do the same thing Senator Harding did. The truth is neither one had any business meddling in our affairs.”
Stahlman’s comments went on for only ten minutes, but it seemed an eternity to the Suffs in the chamber. Stahlman was, without doubt, a powerful man in Nashville, and the editorial pages of his Banner were influential. Now both were arrayed against them.
It was nearing midnight when, the debate concluded, members of the senate and house constitutional committees withdrew into executive session to deliberate upon ratification. The potential damage of Harding’s letter, and the infuriating betrayal of Stahlman, riled the pro-ratification members of the senate committee and spurred Senator Gwinn to move quickly. After some sparring, Gwinn emerged from the meeting to announce that the committee would return a favorable report, recommending ratification of the federal amendment, in the morning. Senate Speaker Todd said the senate would vote on ratification within an hour of receiving the committee’s recommendation.
Things did not go as smoothly in the house committee session, to the Suffs’ distress. Seth Walker, as Speaker, was an ex officio member of every house committee, and while he rarely availed himself of this privilege, he took good advantage of it now to attend the committee’s deliberations. His presence rattled Tom Riddick, the rookie committee chairman, and Walker was able to easily outmaneuver him. Walker leveraged his personal friendships and Speaker’s muscle to force the committee to postpone consideration of the ratification resolution, delaying any vote until the following week at the earliest. The committee had the right to hold the resolution for up to seven days, and there was some possibility it would. The ratificationists on the committee were furious with Walker’s interference and with Riddick’s inability to counter it. When they emerged from the conference, frustrated and tired, they rushed into a series of additional strategy sessions that ran far into the night.
Throughout the debate, and even while the committee deliberations were grinding on into the new day, Governor Roberts retained his posture of confidence. Senate ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment was assured, he said, “unless something miraculous occurs.” It was a strange way to put it.
Chapter 19
Petticoat Government
THE POSSIBILITY OF supernatural intervention was also on the minds of the Antis. It was, after all, Friday the thirteenth. The day will be a “hoodoo” for ratification, several Antis promised reporters, elevating superstition to political analysis. The Suffs managed a condescending smile and assured their opposition that “old-time beliefs, both as to woman suffrage and Friday the 13th, are going to meet their Waterloo.”
It was hard to tell what the fallout might be from Harding’s bungling. Harriet Upton was speechless with rage. Republican chairman Will Hays was being pummeled by complaints: How could Harding do this? He was inviting Tenness
ee legislators to kill the amendment; he was undermining the Republican record on woman suffrage. Hays was furious with Harding.
Democratic vice presidential candidate Franklin Roosevelt, on the stump in the Midwest, took gleeful potshots at Harding’s comic gyrations of opinion on Tennessee ratification and his flip-flopping on support for woman suffrage over the years. The GOP candidate’s position on woman suffrage, FDR said with a broad grin, “was as clear as mud.”
Neither Carrie Catt nor Alice Paul made any public comments on Harding’s letter to Judge Tillman, though they fumed in private. They thought it best not to bring more attention to the unfortunate reasoning of the man from Marion, just let it die. But based upon the many newspapers, in Tennessee and across the country, that reprinted Harding’s letter in their pages, it was not going to die.
The suffragists needed seventeen senators to vote their way today and another fifty votes in the house, whenever the ratification resolution managed to escape the clutches of Seth Walker within the Constitutional Amendments committee and make it to the floor. No one could predict when that might be. There was talk that Walker and his friends were trying to arrange for the resolution to be buried in the committee, never to emerge.
Tom Riddick’s failure to protect the resolution in that committee the previous night was the last straw for the pro-ratification house Democrats. Riddick might be a brilliant lawyer, but he was just too green a legislator, and his leadership, or lack thereof, was endangering the amendment, they contended. He didn’t know how to work the system, no member owed him any favors or loyalty, and he had been elected only to serve in the special session. Riddick’s somewhat arrogant, abrasive style rubbed many of the old-timers the wrong way, and the rural fellows found “Million Dollar” Riddick, the lawyer with a very lucrative practice, too rich for their blood. Early Friday morning, the house Democrats staged a mutiny, insisting on a new floor leader.