Bryan, the star attraction, arrived three days before the trial began. A summer heat wave pushed temperatures into the nineties that day and throughout the trial—twenty degrees above normal. While waiting for Bryan’s noon train, a reporter asked a nearby bootblack, “Why all the crowd at the depot?” The reporter recorded the following response: “Des wait’n fur Willum Jennums Bryan, sir.... He’s a hard-shell preacher, ... a stand-patter, ... a non-skidder, and de’s no movin’ uu’m when de thinks um right.” 103 The Royal Palm limited from Miami finally arrived at 1:30 P.M. and made its first stop ever in the small town that it usually passed through at full throttle. “As Mr. Bryan stepped from the rear platform,” one reporter observed, “he was greeted with applause and flutters of handkerchiefs. He was met by at least half the normal population of the town, and the temporary increase composed of newspaper people and photographers.” Bryan wore a tropical pith helmet to protect his balding head from the sun and heat, and doffed it frequently to the crowd. “Just say that I am here,” he declared with a broad smile. “I am going right to work, and I am ready for anything that is to be done.” 104 This work consisted of a series of antievolution speeches around town.
Once the prosecution decided to oppose the admission of expert testimony at trial and narrowly limit the legal issue to majoritarian control over public education, out-of-court speeches and statements became the only sure way for Bryan to proclaim his message in Dayton. By arriving early, he now had the stage (and scores of news-hungry reporters) to himself. Bryan made the most of this opportunity. He strolled around town in his shirtsleeves greeting well-wishers and talking with reporters. He posed for pictures at Robinson’s drugstore and lectured the school board on the dangers of teaching evolution. Bryan gave two public addresses before the trial began, one at a Progressive Dayton Club banquet in his honor and another in a dramatic mountaintop setting near the Morgan Springs Hotel. “The contest between evolution and Christianity is a duel to the death,” Bryan said in explaining his view of the trial’s significance to the Progressive Club. “The atheists, agnostics and all other opponents of Christianity understand the character of the struggle, hence their interest in this case. From this time forth Christians will understand the character of the struggle also.” 105 On the mountaintop, he added, “Evolutionists, though admittedly in a minority, are intolerant enough to demand that the school teach their views, and their views really constitute their religion.” 106
The Commoner professed his faith in the judgment of the people, once the public was informed of the significance of the issue. “I have been quoted as saying that I think the decision of this case will be of importance,” Bryan told reporters. “It is not the decision but the discussion which will follow that I consider important. It will bring the issue before the attention of the world.” 107 No mere judicial decision could frustrate the awakened will of the people. “Who made the courts?” he asked in a rhetorical flourish before the Progressive Club. “The people. Who made the Constitution? The people. The people can change the Constitution and if necessary they can change the decisions of the court.” 108
Neal sat stone-faced throughout Bryan’s Progressive Club address as those around him cheered. He stayed up late that night penning a formal response. “We regard Mr. Bryan’s speech last night as the most remarkable utterance ever made by a lawyer just before his entrance into a trial of a criminal case. His speech comes as a challenge to the defense not to confine the test of the anti-evolution law,” Neal asserted, “but instead to put on trial the truth or lack of truth of the theory of evolution [and] the conflict or lack of conflict between science and religion.” 109 Such a trial could last up to a month, he predicted. That perfectly fit the defense strategy for the case, and Neal knew that the prosecution opposed it. Yet Bryan’s speech offered an opening. When prosecutors did move to exclude such issues from trial, the defense feigned surprise. “We men in New York, when we read the opinion of this distinguished lawyer to the effect that this was a duel to death,” Hays protested in court, “we relied then upon the opinion of that distinguished lawyer and we have spent thousands of dollars bringing witnesses here.” 110 Of course, those witnesses and both New York lawyers—Hays and Malone—were already en route when Bryan issued his challenge.
“You don’t know how glad I am to see you folks!” Rappleyea exclaimed when the two New York lawyers stepped off the train in Chattanooga a day before trial. “Things have been mighty lonesome down at Dayton since Bryan arrived. Mr. Neal, Scopes, and myself have been feeling like three lost kittens.” Malone laughed back, “Am I too late for the trial? I rather suspected that I was. You see, I have been reading Mr. Bryan’s speeches in the newspapers and I thought the trial had already begun.” It immediately became apparent that Bryan no longer had the stage to himself. “The issue is not between science and religion, as some would have us believe. The real issue is between science and Bryanism,” Malone added. “I believe that the scientists we have called to act as witnesses in the trial really know more about science than Mr. Bryan; and I also believe that the ministers we have called know more about religion than he does.” The prosecution wanted to keep those witnesses off the stand and let Bryan hold forth outside the courtroom. The defense would push its message in and out of court., “The fundamentalists cannot make the issue too broad for us,” one reporter eagerly replied to Malone. “The broader they make it, the better we will be satisfied.” Hays smiled. “This trial is going to be a good education for the people,” he promised, “and for the newspapers.” 111
These comments received wide circulation because a half dozen reporters from major northeastern newspapers rode on the train to Tennessee with Malone and Hays and reported their remarks. Otherwise, in marked contrast to Bryan’s reception, the New York defense attorneys arrived without fanfare. “Unknown and unannounced,” one reporter noted, “the little group passed quietly through the station to Dr. Rappleyea’s car.” The only excitement occurred after their arrival in Dayton. Charles Francis Potter, who accompanied Malone and Hays on the trip, became alarmed when a young man grabbed their baggage out of the open trunk. “Hey, boy, what are you doing with those suitcases?” Potter shouted. “That’s all right, Doc,” Rappleyea replied. “That’s only Scopes.” 112 The defenders, along with everyone else, had forgotten the defendant.
Darrow arrived later that day, on the last train into Dayton. “There was no torchlight parade to greet me,” Darrow later recalled. “Still, there were some people at the depot to meet me; I was received most kindly and courteously at that.” 113 Movie cameras captured the scene as Scopes embraced Darrow at the depot—providing the opening footage for newsreels shown throughout the country during the trial. “Scopes is not on trial. Civilization is on trial,” Darrow said upon leaving for Dayton. “Nothing will satisfy us but broad victory, a knockout which will have an everlasting precedent to prove that America is founded on liberty and not on narrow, mean, intolerable and brainless prejudice of soulless religio-maniacs.” 114 Darrow would stand for individual liberty against mindless majoritarianism—and give no quarter to Bryan. Both sides had worked themselves to a fever pitch. Judge Raulston closed the final day before trial with a remarkable public benediction, as an open-air prayer service occurred on the courthouse lawn. “I am concerned that those connected with this investigation shall divest themselves of all ambition to establish any particular theory for personal gratification,” he noted in a public statement. “I am much interested that the unerring hand of Him who is the Author of all truth and justice should direct every official act of mine.” 115 Jury selection began the next day.
—CHAPTER SIX—
PRELIMINARY ROUNDS
T HE CROWD gathered early on Friday, July 10, for the opening of the trial. The first spectators began filtering into the courthouse before 7 A.M., a full two hours before the scheduled start. “The newspapermen set along the three sides of the rectangular rail surrounding the sanctum of the court,” one of them noted. “Feature writers and magazine contributors have the first three of four spectators’ seats reserved for them, just like the seats for the families at a wedding.” 1 By 8:45, all seats were taken, and the general public began to spill out into the hallway—local men mostly, from Dayton and the surrounding countryside. “Farmers in overalls from the hillside farms, silent, gaunt men,” the New York Times reported. “They occupied every seat and stood in the aisles and around the walls of the room.” 2 These were not the big-spending tourists that Dayton civic boosters hoped to attract (those people never showed up) but East Tennesseans who came for the day in small automobiles raised high for the rocky mountain roads, or in wagons drawn by horses and mules.
Only about five hundred visitors stayed in Dayton during the trial, and almost half of these were associated with the media. “They sleep and they ‘drop’ a little money,” the Chattanooga Times said of the visiting journalists, “but they do not form the vast hoards that Dayton expected.” 3 The reporters began work early on the opening day. Some claimed seats at the courtroom press table long before the trial started, already drafting articles for afternoon papers. Antievolution bill author J. W. Butler, in his new role as a trial commentator for a national news syndicate, joined the reporters at the press table—but gave far more interviews than he conducted. Other journalists tracked down Darrow or Bryan for pretrial statements. Press photographers and newsreel crews waited on the courthouse lawn to record the arrival of key participants, much like at a movie premiere. The trial quickly became more of a media event than a spectator show, with some of America’s finest journalists on hand to tell the story: H. L. Mencken, Watson Davis, Joseph Wood Krutch, Russell D. Owen, Jack Lait, and Philip Kinsley. Reports from Dayton would dominate the front pages of the nation’s newspapers for more than a week.
Judge Raulston arrived with his entire family at about 8:30, carrying a Bible and a statute book. “As he laid these down on the desk,” Darrow later wrote, “I wondered why he thought that he would need the statutes. To the end of the trial I did not know.” 4 The judge’s family took seats next to the bench while the judge mingled with friends and reporters. He wore a new suit for the occasion (Tennessee circuit judges rarely wore robes), and kept the coat on for the time being. With temperatures forecast to push 100 degrees and poor air circulation in the overcrowded courtroom, however, he had authorized attorneys and court personnel to dispense with coats and ties. Most welcomed this relaxed formality, but objected to Raulston’s added rule against smoking during the proceedings. Nearly all the lawyers except Bryan smoked heavily. So did the reporters. Perhaps this might be a short trial after all, some people joked. Certainly chewing tobacco gained popularity among court personnel and spectators as a result. A bouquet of flowers graced the judge’s bench; spittoons adorned the floor.
Defense counsel came in next, along with Scopes and Rappleyea. Darrow had eaten breakfast with reporters at the Mansion and passed through the gathering crowds on his way downtown, picking up the other defense lawyers as he went. “As we approached the courthouse,” Hays later recalled, “our attention was first caught by a sign on the fence reading, ‘Sweethearts, come to Jesus,’ and conveying other advice of like kind. In the courtyard were various groups of people, some singing psalms.” 5 Malone entered the jammed courtroom first, at about 8:45, wearing a fashionable double-breasted suit and smoking a cigarette. “He bubbles with good humor,” a New York reporter observed, “and the smile on his round and merry face greets everyone who stops him.” 6 Malone was the only lawyer who wore a suit coat throughout the proceedings. At first, townspeople dismissed him as a dandy for doing so, but grew increasingly impressed with his stamina. The rumor spread that he did not even sweat. Although several spectators and prosecutor Ben McKenzie dropped from heat exhaustion during the first day, Malone held out against the temperature in style that day and throughout the trial—although he did occasionally blot his brow with a linen handkerchief.
Darrow trailed behind. “His appearance is in marked contrast to the others of the defense staff,” the New York reporter noted. “His huge head, leathery, lined face, square jaw, his twisted mouth of the skeptic, are softened by the quizzical twinkle of his deep-set eyes.” Darrow shed his coat upon crossing the threshold, revealing his trademark colored suspenders and pastel shirt—both a generation out of date. “Are you going to wear suspenders like Darrow?” one journalist ribbed Malone, who laughed back, “I refuse to get dressed up for the occasion.” Meanwhile Neal impatiently chomped on his half-burnt cigar and Hays chatted with the press. Scopes looked like “a college student on vacation,” the reporter added, with neither coat nor tie and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. 7 His casual dress hid his nervousness. “The whole scene, to me, was unnatural,” Scopes later wrote. “I realized that I was on display. Everything I did was likely to be noted; consequently, relaxing was not as easy for me as it apparently was for my companions at the defense table.” 8 He made himself as inconspicuous as possible.