Housewives left the breakfast dishes in the sink. Clerks called in sick to work. Farmers gave the cows an early milking, then hopped into their trucks for the bumpy ride to the city. Whole families arrived, carrying picnic baskets.
On Wednesday morning, August 18, the citizens of Nashville and Davidson County came to the statehouse. They were hoping to see a historic moment firsthand. They arrived early, while the limestone statehouse glowed pink in the morning sun and the air was still blessedly cool. They perched themselves on the outdoor porticoes and spread out on the sloping lawns. From Carrie Catt’s window, the scene looked like a giant carnival.
The Hotel Hermitage was no carnival, though. Certainly not on the floors where the Suffs were staying. Carrie and her comrades had barely slept. They were edgy and sad. The amendment didn’t have enough votes to win ratification, and they knew it.
Nevertheless, they put on their white dresses and their yellow sashes. Sue and Betty attached their prison pins. Anita stuck a fresh yellow flower onto the brim of her hat. They found their assigned legislators and brought them to the capitol. Dozens of other suffragists were doing the same, masking their anxiety with bright smiles.
Meanwhile, the legislators were sick of being badgered by women and their party leaders. They were cranky. They wanted to go home. No matter which way the vote went, they hoped it would go quickly.
Governor Albert Roberts steered clear of the crowds that morning. Instead, he hung back in his office. He needed to catch up with his lieutenants before today’s session began. He’d already dodged a couple of nervous phone calls from James Cox, who wouldn’t leave him alone. The presidential candidate was demanding that Albert push the amendment through. As if it were all up to him! Albert didn’t have a clue what to tell Cox. Things weren’t looking good. And now Cox was calling again.
It’s simple, Cox barked into Albert’s ear: If Tennessee ratifies, women will vote Democratic. They’ll vote for me. They’ll vote for you. We need them on our side. Now get it done, he warned before hanging up.
Albert clicked his phone back into place and groaned in frustration. That moment, he spotted Banks Turner, a young legislator, passing by his office. Banks, a thirty-year-old farmer from West Tennessee, had sided with the Antis on every vote. Albert had tried for weeks to convince him to switch, with no success. Banks Turner was stubborn as a mule.
The governor gave it one more shot.
Please, Banks, Albert pleaded with him, a burning look in his eyes. Think about the long view. Suffrage will be good for Tennessee—for America!
The young man didn’t reply.
Banks, I’m asking you! Don’t listen to what Seth Walker and his cronies are saying. We need to pass this amendment. There’ll be trouble if we don’t. Understand? Albert was frantic. His face was seized by panic as he waited for Banks Turner to say something, anything.
Banks looked at Albert thoughtfully. Then he looked away. He gathered himself up and walked away without another word.
Albert sighed despairingly. The time had come. He had no choice but to gear himself up for the day ahead. It was time to enter the chamber.
For decades, the suffrage fight—if reported at all—had been squeezed onto the “women’s page” of newspapers, right next to the recipes and the housecleaning tips. Now the battle for the thirty-sixth state was being treated as breaking news. Front-page news, even. The kind of story that could rock the nation. There was no doubt: this was a big deal. The front of the house chamber was jammed with reporters.
Joe Hanover circled the room, shaking hands and patting backs. Anita Pollitzer and Betty Gram watched through narrowed eyes as the delegates trudged down the corridor and into the chamber. Harry Burn was on his way in, too, again wearing a red rose. “We really trusted you, Mr. Burn,” they hissed at him, “when you said that you would never hurt us.”
He turned toward them. “I mean that,” he mumbled, making his way to his place in the third row.
Just then, a messenger brought an envelope to Harry’s desk.
Speaker Seth Walker banged his gavel and brought the house to order at ten thirty-five a.m. The debate on the motion to ratify the amendment—the very last chance for Tennessee to nail down the vote for women—could finally begin.
Speeches droned on for most of an hour, and the chamber seemed to slip into a stupor. The day was growing warmer, and heat seeped into the assembly hall. Women in the galleries fanned themselves with quick flicks of the wrist. Joe Hanover jumped from one man to another, whispering into their ears.
L. D. Miller demanded that the legislators free themselves from the grip of special interest lobbies. These lobbies had controlled the state legislature for years, he cried. It was time to start doing what was right for people, not for businesses!
The Suffs applauded enthusiastically.
Meanwhile, Harry Burn, over in desk forty-four, read the letter that had been delivered to him. Quietly he refolded it, pushed it back into its envelope, and tucked it into his pocket.
Up in the Speaker’s chair, Seth Walker had done the calculations; he knew he had the votes he needed. He stepped down onto the floor. He looked a little too smug for the Suffs’ comfort. They held their breath.
“The hour has come,” Seth shouted with a melodramatic flair. “The battle has been fought and it is won. The measure is defeated.” Some Suffs in the gallery began to sob. “I move that this measure goes where it rightfully belongs—to the table!”
The chamber exploded in shouts and cries. Tabling would kill the ratification resolution, knock it out of consideration. Joe Hanover and other Suff delegates jumped into the aisles, clamoring to be heard.
A chorus of Anti delegates yelled, “Second the motion!” from their desks. A suffragist in the gallery blew a siren horn in protest, adding to the ruckus.
Bang, bang, bang went the gavel, barely audible over the noise. Several chaotic minutes passed before a roll call could begin. Then the chamber quickly grew still.
By all counts, the Antis had the votes to defeat the amendment. They had forty-nine firm votes, the Suffs just forty-seven. The suffragists knew this was most likely the death of ratification in Nashville—and the United States of America.
The vote seesawed as the roll call progressed. The first set of names rejecting the tabling motion pleased the Suffs (“Anderson”—no; “Bell”—no). But the next set (Bond, Boyd, Boyer, Bratton, Burn), all voting “aye,” sent them into despair. Anita Pollitzer crossed off Harry Burn’s name with a grimace.
The Antis began to clap and cheer for every vote cast their way. The Suffs tried to keep pace. Back and forth it went, like a tennis game. But Seth Walker and Joe Hanover noticed one unexpected twist: Banks Turner, that stubborn young legislator who’d voted with the Antis all along, had actually just voted not to table. That is an extra vote for the Suffs! Joe realized.
The roll rushed on. The Antis seemed to own the end of the alphabet: “Weldon,” “Whitfield,” “Wilson,” “Wolfenbarger,” “Womack”—all voted aye. Women wearing yellow were weeping openly as Speaker Walker shouted the final “aye.”
The Antis burst into a wild ovation. Their tallies showed the vote as 49 to 47 for tabling the amendment. Victory! they cried. The amendment was dead in Tennessee!
Hang on, everybody, calm down! the clerk shouted with a furrowed brow. He had a different count: his tally was tied, 48 to 48. A tie was not a majority—which meant that the motion to kill the suffrage amendment hadn’t won.
The entire chamber erupted.
Delegates leapt from their chairs and rushed to the Speaker’s stand, shouting. Seth Walker ran up the center aisle, fuming. That clerk was mistaken, he insisted.
The clerk sighed, warily agreeing to call a second vote. The roll began again. “Anderson,” “Bell”—no. “Bond,” “Boyer,” “Bratton,” “Burn”—aye. On and on down the list. As the roll continued, Seth Walker walked down the aisle to the desk occupied by Banks Turner. Seth pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.
Banks had given a thumbs-down to ratification in every single meeting. What on earth was going on with him now? This was the final vote! Their last chance to destroy those Suffs!
Seth wrapped his arm around Turner’s shoulder, whispering urgently into his ear. Suffs watched with alarm: Was Seth threatening the one delegate who might save the ratification resolution from doom?
The roll call headed toward the tail end of the alphabet, the Ss and the Ts. “Travis”—aye. “Tucker”—no. “Turner…” There was a pause. Everyone held their breath. Suddenly Banks Turner shook off Seth Walker’s arm from his shoulders, bolted up from his chair, and declared: “Nay.”
“The second ballot is tied, 48 to 48,” the clerk reported, his voice firm. The Suffs shrieked joyfully before he could even finish his sentence. Seth stormed away from Turner’s desk. Fine, he fumed to himself. The tabling motion was lost, but the larger battle could still be won.
Then, finally, the vote to ratify the Nineteenth Amendment was called. It all came down to this vote, this moment.
Joe Hanover felt like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Now he could finally exhale. Banks Turner had saved the day on that last vote. Still, there was no knowing whether Banks was going to stick with the Suffs on this next one. And even if he did, it might not do the trick. If the vote was tied, ratification would die. Joe needed two more solid votes. And he had no hope of finding them this late in the game.
The sun blazed as the clock struck noon. The clerk shuffled the papers on his desk. Roll call began once again. The tension in the chamber was painful. Josephine Pearson felt a surge of excitement. Abby Milton and Catherine Kenny glanced at each other nervously. There was nothing else they could do. The decision was out of their hands.
The clerk started from the top again, in a slow, careful voice. “Anderson…Bell…”
Then Harry Burn heard his name called. He knew most of his constituents didn’t want woman’s suffrage. Other politicians had warned him that, for the sake of his career, he’d best vote against it. He was torn. Personally, he favored giving women the vote. It was only fair and right. Then again, he also wanted to be reelected in the fall. He wanted a career. He was supporting his widowed mother, making extra cash as an agent for the local railroad. The railroad company was against the amendment, too.
Rejection really was the safest course. But now…with Banks Turner possibly flipping, suddenly siding with the Suffs…there would be a tie. That meant ratification could hinge on a single vote. His. The sound of his name echoed in his ears.
In his jacket pocket sat the letter that had arrived earlier in the morning, written in a fine, very familiar hand: “Dear Son: Hurrah and vote for suffrage and don’t keep them in doubt….I’ve been waiting to see how you stood but have not seen anything yet. Don’t forget to be a good boy and help Mrs. Catt….With lots of love, Mama.”
“Aye,” said Harry Burn.
Sue White’s pencil froze on her tally sheet. The clerk moved on to call the next person. Harry’s reply was so unexpected, said so quickly, that few even noticed it. Then came a rumble of astonishment as it all sank in. Had Harry T. Burn just voted “aye” for ratification?
Suffs rose to their feet and roared, drowning out the clerk’s voice. It took several minutes to regain order. Seth Walker and the Anti delegates drilled their eyes into Harry’s back. They waved their hands in disgust. This fickle young man had betrayed them!
Anita Pollitzer and Betty Gram were overjoyed. “My vote will never hurt you,” Harry had told them. He’d given them no good reason to actually believe him. But in the end, he was right—he’d possibly saved them.
Of course, Harry brought them to a tie. Only if Banks Turner stuck with them could they win. Everyone hushed, waiting in agony.
That’s when they saw that Seth Walker was again whispering menacingly to Banks. The clerk called, “Tarrant”—aye. “Thronesbury”—no. “Travis”—no. “Tucker”—aye. “Turner…”
Silence. Banks Turner did not reply. “Mr. Turner,” the clerk called again. Suffs bit their lips. Joe Hanover froze at his desk. Harry Burn swiveled his head to see Turner. “Mr. Turner,” the clerk called once more. Banks remained silent. The clerk marked Banks Turner as not voting.
Soft whimpering could be heard in the balconies.
The roll call spiraled toward its conclusion with the Ws, and the Antis leaned forward in happy anticipation as the clerk called: “Speaker Walker.” Seth Walker shouted, “No.” The final tally was 48 to 48. It was over. The amendment was defeated. Josephine Pearson, Charlotte Rowe, and Nina Pinckard were on their feet, ready to cheer. But before a single sound could leave their throats, Banks Turner abruptly stood up from his chair.
Banks was a thin young man with a serious face. Everyone could see the beads of sweat on his forehead. He took a quick breath, then spoke.
“Mr. Speaker,” Banks called out, “I wish to be recorded as voting aye.”
There was a moment of silence. Silence and shock. Then an explosion. A roar erupted, the likes of which was never before heard in that old statehouse. The chamber shook with screams and cries, with thumping and whooping. Anne Dudley’s shriek pierced the chamber. Those who could dance in the jammed chamber did. Men and women wept. Joe Hanover was mobbed by delegates, like the winning pitcher of a ball game. Hundreds of tiny yellow flags and flower petals rained down from the balconies.
The clerk hadn’t even announced the tally, but the Suffs didn’t care. They could count. With Harry, and then Banks, it was 49 to 48.
While the Suffs celebrated, the Antis raged. They hurled insults and threats upon Harry Burn. Traitor! they cried. Through the uproar a loud voice rang out. It was Seth Walker’s. “I wish to change my vote from nay to aye.
“And,” Seth shouted over the din, “I wish to move for reconsideration.” It was a very devious move! By changing his vote to the winning side, the Speaker of the house could demand a do-over anytime within the next two days.
But none of that mattered at this moment. The Suffs were too busy celebrating to pay attention to his shenanigans.
From her hotel window, Carrie Catt could hear the wild commotion. In her bones, she knew. They’d done it. Women with yellow flowers in their hair ran down the hill toward the Hermitage. They were coming to bring her the news she’d been waiting a lifetime to hear. Harriet Upton’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the Suffs cascade down the hill, laughing and crying with joy.
Alice Paul, waiting in Washington, received a rush wire from Nashville. Calmly she rose and went to her worktable. Then, with a full heart, she stitched a thirty-sixth star onto a cloth banner: a flag to represent each state that had passed ratification.