On Monday morning, the mood in Nashville was explosive.
The Hotel Hermitage looked like a battlefield. Men and women glared at each other suspiciously, flinging insults like confetti. The hotel—with its fancy lobby, its chandeliered dining rooms, its sunny verandas—had once been the perfect quiet place for afternoon tea, cake, and gossip. Now it was the scene of shouting matches, shoving, even fistfights.
At the start of the special session, the Suffs had sixty-two signed pledges for ratification from house members. The Antis said some of those men had pledged to them, too. Both sides tried to look relaxed. Both sides predicted victory. But everyone felt a cloud of uncertainty was hanging over the city of Nashville.
The newspaper headlines called it “Suffrage Armageddon.”
Governor Albert Roberts hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. It wasn’t just nerves keeping him up. He’d had a few surprise visitors come knocking at his door. A powerful group of newspaper publishers had shown up with a warning: Unless he changed his mind about ratifying, his political career was over. Edward Stahlman’s Banner and other papers would all turn their editorial pages against him in the November election. Albert swallowed hard. Losing the next election was his greatest fear.
Joe Hanover had also been awakened that night. Threatening phone calls kept interrupting his sleep. The voices on the line were gruff and menacing: if he knew what was good for his health, they said, he’d back off from ratification.
More pro-Suff legislators received similar messages. Strange, anonymous voices called them late at night, threatening them if they didn’t drop the suffrage cause.
If these sneaky techniques didn’t work, the Antis had another trick up their sleeve. Perhaps suffrage-supporting legislators could be stopped from voting altogether. Legislators started getting phony telegrams claiming their wives were ill, their children were injured, their houses were on fire. Anything to get them to flee Nashville.
The Suffs could see right through these phony messages. They made it their duty to see that as many men as possible would make roll call.
That evening, hundreds of people gathered in the Hermitage lobby. The hallways and public rooms were packed with ladies in hats and men in summer suits. Everyone was in suspense. They were waiting for the House Committee on Constitutional Affairs and Amendments—a group of eighteen delegates, including Seth Walker and Joe Hanover—to finish their private meeting. The men were to come to a final decision: Would they recommend the ratification vote to the house or not?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the men emerged to reveal their final decision: the house would finally vote on ratification.
On the surface, this seemed like a good thing. But the Suffs knew they had good reason to worry.
Clearly, Seth Walker had a strategy. The quicker he could herd his Anti-supporting men to a full house vote, the better. The Antis were poised to beat the Suffs by just a few votes. So it made sense that he would agree to vote on ratification—only for the sake of voting no.
When Seth Walker strode out of the committee meeting, he told reporters: “We’ve got ’em whipped to a frazzle. We have ratification beaten, that is all there is to it.”
As the house convened the next morning, the floor and galleries were once again crowded with red- and yellow-rosed men and women. This was the day of the vote. The halls were buzzing with urgent whispers, last-minute scheming, and latecomers trying to squeeze in before the proceedings began. Suff and Anti women fought over the seats and benches, elbowing one another for a standing-room spot. Squads of Suff decorators had been busy since dawn, tacking up bunting and banners, hanging flags. Some daredevil suffragist had even hung a big yellow sunflower above the Speaker’s chair.
Waves of people surged toward the statehouse. A car filled with women factory workers had just pulled up in front; they were wearing red roses their boss had handed out—they’d been given the day off to swell the Anti ranks. Women who’d been in the suffrage fight for years came to watch history unfold before their eyes. Mothers brought their daughters.
Josephine Pearson settled into her seat and smoothed out her dress. She wanted to look her best for this historic occasion. That morning she had pinned three fresh red roses over her heart before leaving the hotel. These past weeks had been so exciting for her. The anti-ratification effort had been a huge success. And now it all came down to the statehouse. She was confident that the men of Tennessee would do their part to defend their white, southern heritage.
At half past ten, Seth Walker, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep, approached the Speaker’s stand. He rapped his gavel firmly. The roll was called.
Tom Riddick kicked off the debate of the day. He put his dramatic skills to good use and opened with a bang—and a threat to the Antis:
“I have here the pledges of 62 members of this House to ratify the 19th Amendment, right here in black and white,” he announced, “which the people of Tennessee will have the opportunity to read.” A few legislators looked queasy. “You speak of your conscience?” Tom demanded. “What about your conscientious objections to violating your pledge?” More cheers from the yellow-rosed men and women. Flushed and quivering, Tom sat down.
For the next three and a half hours, the friends and enemies of ratification addressed the house. Almost every pro- and anti-suffrage argument ever voiced over the past seventy years came up.
Each time a speaker made a good point, fans cheered, whistled, and stomped. Others booed. Nice manners were a thing of the past. Each speaker was trying to outdo the other to win the crowd’s approval.
Creed Boyer, an elderly Republican, went for a folksy approach: “Women are the best thing God ever made, and I honor women above all humankind. But I would not pollute them by allowing them to wade through the filthy waters of politics.”
Catherine Kenny grimaced from her seat. She remembered Boyer. He’d pledged to ratify “until the cows come home.” Now he was voting Anti! The Suffs’ boos were drowned out by the Antis’ applause.
“Taxation without representation should no longer apply to the women of the United States,” cried a speaker for the Suffs.
“I would be ashamed to admit that my wife, my mother, or my sisters were not as capable of exercising the ballot as I am.”
“The so-called elevation of woman in politics means instead her degradation.”
“Tennessee must place the capstone on the temple of justice by becoming the 36th state.”
The parade of speakers went on and on, hour after hour. The delegates got fidgety. The Suffs noticed and kicked into action; they’d already brought sandwiches and iced tea to feed the hungry legislators. It was a scheme to keep them from adjourning so that they could stay in the chamber longer for a vote. But security guards refused to let the Suffs distribute the food. Sandwiches sat uneaten. Hungry legislators grew grouchier.
Sue, Betty, and Anita stood together at the rear of the chamber. They were paying close attention to the delegates: who was listening, who was doodling, who was whispering to whom. Murmuring to one another, they kept note of the men they could trust—and especially the ones they couldn’t. For example, the infuriating Harry Burn, who was annoyingly wearing a red rosebud in his lapel this morning. They’d really expected more from him. He seemed willing to tell each side what they wanted to hear. Recently he’d declared himself “undecided.” But now here he was, voting against them!
Anita couldn’t help noticing that Harry looked a little down, his face lined with worry. She almost felt sorry for him. He was her age, and awfully cute. He wasn’t a smooth politician—he had a sweet, goofy awkwardness about him.
“I cannot pledge myself,” he’d whispered to her and Betty when they’d last confronted him. “But I will do nothing to hurt you.” What on earth did that mean? All they knew was that they couldn’t trust Harry Burn.
After more than two hours of bitter back-and-forth, tempers heating up and stomachs rumbling, it was Seth Walker’s turn to claim the floor. The chamber hushed as he approached the podium and launched into his speech.
Once again, he complained of the threat to Tennessee’s states’ rights and the “threat” of giving the vote to black women. “I am a Southerner from the bottom of my foot to the crown of my head!…We want this to remain a white man’s country!” he shouted. The applause from the red-rosed crowds was deafening. Suffs caught each other’s eyes and shook their heads in disgust.
Just then, Seth Walker pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket. It was the telegram President Woodrow Wilson had sent him, pushing for ratification. At the mention of the president, the galleries exploded again, but now it was the Suffs causing a ruckus. Carrie Catt’s close ally Anne Dudley climbed onto a bench behind the railing, where spectators were allowed to stand. “Wilson! Wilson! Wilson!” she cheered. Suffs echoed Anne’s cry with whoops, whistles, and foot stomps. They went on for minutes, drowning out Walker’s voice.
Seth paused, waiting impatiently for the rumpus to quiet. Finally, he read aloud his defiant reply to President Wilson. This time it was the Antis cheering rowdily.
But Seth Walker wasn’t done. He still had his reputation to look after. “I have been insulted right here in this city. It has been said that the Louisville and Nashville Railroad had something to do with dictating my attitude,” Seth added, brushing away the bribery claims. Anyone in the chamber who was paying close attention would have noticed that he never actually denied them, though.
Seth had spoken for almost an hour, mesmerizing the Antis with his passion and fury. As he finished his speech, he cried, “In good faith and good morals, we cannot ratify!”
It was Joe Hanover’s turn now. The pressure was on.
“Women from the East, West, North, and South are looking to us to give them political freedom,” Joe began. Suffs in the gallery nodded. “The entire world today has cast its eyes on Tennessee. This is a moral question, and that’s why I am here, voting for this amendment.” Applause.
Joe wanted to make a soaring oration for suffrage, but he couldn’t allow Seth Walker’s speech to go unchallenged. He wanted to tackle Seth head-on. Allowing his voice to rise, Joe said, “Certain interests have sent their lobbyists to ask members of this legislature to violate their pledges!” Suffs in the galleries rained down boos. “And their agents are down at the Hermitage Hotel right now!”
Joe peered at the crowd for a moment. He appreciated the Suffs’ enthusiasm. Overall, though, he could tell his colleagues had grown bored. It wasn’t his fault, he knew. They’d been cooped up for hours. Stomachs ached with hunger. He figured he’d better rush to finish.
Only when we have given votes to the women of America, he concluded, will our great state truly be a democracy.
Cheers rang out for Joe. But before he could even get back to his seat, Seth Walker leapt up. “I move this House adjourn until tomorrow morning,” Seth announced. The delegates would need more time to consider such a momentous decision.
Chaos broke over the chamber.
“No, no!” shouted Tom Riddick and Joe. “No, no!” Suffs echoed from the gallery. Further delay would play right into the Antis’ hands! It gave them more time for bribes, more time to intimidate men into voting Anti. Yes, waiting any longer would be disastrous for the Suffs. They needed to vote—today.
But Seth rapped his gavel over the protests. The house was adjourned. Josephine Pearson and her comrades were all smiles as they bustled their way outside. Sue, Betty, and Anita were silent and stunned. The hundreds of spectators still standing in the hallways looked confused.
Seth Walker couldn’t help chuckling to himself as he headed back to his office. The move to adjourn was a fantastic play, he thought proudly. He’d outmaneuvered the Suffs. At least for now. But if he was honest with himself, he was also dreading the vote. Putting it off might give him time to bring a few more men to his side.
The NAWSA suffragists gathered for a meeting in Carrie Catt’s room. The mood was bleak. Tearfully the women confessed their worries to one another. Even Carrie couldn’t muster her usual optimistic pep.
Firmly, she gave her orders: Find your delegates. Keep them in your sight. Take them to dinner. Take them for a walk or a drive. Guard the platforms at Union Station, so no cowardly delegate can leave town before the vote. Be prepared for another night without sleep.
The latest polls looked terrible, Carrie knew. The count predicted ratification to fall short by two votes. The amendment, the Cause, and her whole life’s work just might fall short and fail.