Transcript
Lindsey Graham (0:00)
Hey, history buffs. If you can't get enough of the captivating stories we uncover on American Historytellers, you'll love the exclusive experience of Wondry. Dive even deeper into the past with ad free episodes, early access to new seasons, and bonus content that brings history to life like never before. Join Wondery in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts and embark on an unparalleled journey through America's most pivotal moments. Imagine it's May 5, 1925, in Dayton, Tennessee. You're sitting at a small table beside the soda fountain and Robinson's Drugstore. Two friends sit across from you, the school board president Fred Robinson, who was also the owner of the drugstore, and school superintendent Walter White. The three of you sit in silence, each watching the drugstore door for the fourth person invited to this meeting. Scopes, There you are at last. You and your friends exchange looks of anticipation as high school science teacher John Scopes approaches you in tennis whites, his blond hair and boyish face glistening with sweat. I'm glad you could make it. Here, pull up a chair. Scopes walks toward your table, peering at you warily through horn rimmed glasses. As he sits down, Robinson hands him a glass of Coca Cola. He takes a gulp and wipes the sweat from his brow and then eases into his chair with a relaxed confidence. All right, what's all this about? I'm in the middle of a match. The shop boy said. He couldn't wait, though. Yes, well, we've been talking. Hand me the textbook, Fred. Robinson passes you a copy of the high school biology textbook he sells in the store. You hold it up for Scopes to see. Now, have you been teaching your children from this block? Scopes lights a cigarette and frowns. Yes. Then that means you've taught them evolution. Well, sure. I assigned them the chapter, you know. That means you broke the law. What do you mean I broke the law? No, don't worry. It's a good thing. Scopes gives you a confused look. Well, let me explain. The Tennessee legislature just passed a law banning schools from teaching evolution. Some lawyers in New York want to stage a trial to get it overturned. They just need a teacher to be the defendant. And that's where you come in. I'm sorry, I don't follow. They need someone who's taught evolution and is willing to get arrested. The case will go to trial and we'll see if we can get this cockamamie law struck down. These Christian fundamentalists have gone too far, you know, trying to banish science from our classrooms. I'm sorry. You want me to get arrested? Are you crazy? What if I'm convicted? Oh, you won't go to jail, if that's what you're worried about. The maximum penalty is a 500 fine, and if it comes to that, we'll all pitch in. It's going to be worth it. But. But why me? Well, you're a popular fellow. You're the football coach, for heaven's sake. Everybody likes you. No one will suspect an ounce of malice on your part. Well, if you say so. Oh, I do say so. Trust me, this is going to be the best thing that's happened to Dayton in a long time. What do you mean by that? Well, the iron works shutting down has been terrible for Dayton. This will get us back on track. Think about all the publicity we'll get. This is our chance to turn things around. And anyway, don't you want to take a stand for academic freedom? Scopes takes another drag from his cigarette and gazes out the window, his brow furrowed. Well, of course I do. It's my job to teach these kids the truth. And evolution is the truth, plain and simple. We shouldn't let laws dictate what goes on in the classroom. Well, here's your chance to push back against those Bible thumpers who want to take us backwards. What do you say? Scopes stamps out his signet, pushes his chair back. Well, all right, I'll do it. But you have to promise me I won't be paying that fine. I'm on a teacher's salary, after all. Absolutely. You won't pay a cent and you can get back to your match. Now, as Scopes rushes out the door, you raise your soda to Robinson and White in a toast to Dayton. Take a swig of Coke, then grin. Your mind is already racing with thoughts of reporters, cameramen and tourists flooding Market Street. You know this is your shot to finally bring your town back to life. This message is brought to you by Apple Card. Each Apple product, like the iPhone 16, is thoughtfully designed by skilled designers. The titanium Apple Card is no different. It's laser etched, has no numbers, and earns you daily cash on everything you buy, including 3% back on everything at Apple. Apply for Apple Card on your iPhone in minutes, subject to credit approval. Apple Card is issued by Goldman Sachs Bank USA Salt Lake City Branch terms and more at applecard.com American Historytellers is sponsored by A Truby. 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If you have attrcm, talk to your cardiologist about a Truby or visit a truby.com that's a T T R U B Y.com to learn more from Wondery. I'm Lindsey Graham and this is American Historytellers Our History your story on our show. We take you to the events, the times and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now. In 1925, the Tennessee legislature banned the teaching of evolution in public schools. By then, Charles Darwin's theory of evolution was widely accepted in scientific circles. But conservative lawmakers were responding to a campaign led by Christian fundamentalists who viewed evolution as a direct threat to the Bible's authority and traditional moral values. The American Civil Liberties Union, a small civil rights organization that had been founded only five years earlier, saw this Tennessee law as an attack on academic freedom. So in the spring of 1925 they placed an ad seeking volunteers to challenge the anti evolution law in court. When residents in the small town of Dayton, Tennessee read about the ACLU's request, they saw an opportunity to stage a publicity stunt to jumpstart their local economy. So they volunteered a well liked 24 year old teacher named John Scopes. What followed was one of the most sensational trials in American history, pitting two of America's greatest orators against one another. The famous liberal trial attorney Clarence Darrow led the defense, while the prosecution boasted the star power of William Jennings Bryan, a Christian fundamentalist himself, a progressive hero and three time presidential nominee. Over the course of eight days that July, crowds packed a sweltering courtroom to witness this clash of titans. A flood of reporters descended on Dayton alongside fire and brimstone preachers, hot dog vendors and trained chimpanzees, transforming this sleepy town into a circus like spectacle. It would be one of the largest mass media events the country had ever seen. But at its core, the Scopes trial was about a broader struggle over the direction of American society. The Dayton courthouse became a battleground over the meaning of freedom, the role of science and religion in the classroom and the conflict between tradition and modernity. It laid bare the fundamental tensions of a rapidly changing society and forced all of America to take sides. This is episode one in our three part series, Evolution on a Clash of giants. In early July 1925, 65 year old William Jennings Bryan boarded a train bound for the small Tennessee hamlet of Dayton where he had volunteered to lead the prosecution in an unusual case. One he saw as an opportunity to defend traditional religious values. As he traveled, Jennings strategized how he would convince a jury that the teaching of evolution in public schools was nothing less than a threat to the moral fabric of America. But by the time Jennings boarded his train to Tennessee, he was in the twilight of a long career in progressive politics, having been an icon in the Democratic party and someone known for his ability to speak to the struggles and aspirations of ordinary Americans. His more recent crusade against evolution led some to wonder if he had abandoned his progressive ideals. But Bryan's road to the trial in Dayton began years earlier, during his childhood in Salem, Illinois. William Jennings Bryan was born in 1860 to a devout Protestant family. His father had served as a Democrat in the Illinois State Senate. And when Bryan was 14, he was baptized as a Presbyterian after attending a revival led by a traveling preacher. He would later reflect that My father taught me to believe in democracy as well as Christianity. And for Bryan, religion and politics were inseparable. His deep Christian faith and his firm belief in the will of the majority formed the basis for a lifelong commitment to political reform. After earning a law degree, Bryan moved to Nebraska and started a law practice, then jumped into a career in politics. In 1890 he was elected to Congress as a Democrat, advocating for populist policies such as the federal income tax and campaign finance reform. His eloquence and youthful passion earned him the nickname the boy orator. And in 1896, Bryan was just 36 years old when he won the Democratic nomination for president. At the party convention, he delivered the most powerful speech of his career. An attack on gold backed currency which he believed benefited the wealthy at the expense of ordinary people. For the climax of this speech, he combined Christian rhetoric with a stirring plea for majority rule, declaring, you shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns. You shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold. He then threw his arms back in a Christlike pose and the convention exploded in rapturous applause. Then, after securing his party's nomination, Bryan set out on an unprecedented national campaign, traveling 18,000 miles and delivering more than 600 speeches, so that in a time before radio, more than 5 million Americans heard him speak. He was a politician ahead of his time, the first major presidential candidate to champion reforms such as banking regulation, the direct election of US Senators, a graduated income tax, and women's suffrage, earning him a new nickname, the Great Commoner, in honor of his populist policies and rhetoric. But these positions alienated urban voters and conservative Democrats. Bryan lost the 1896 election, but his defeat did not dampen his passion for reform. He went on to run for president again in 1900 and 1908, although he was unsuccessful both times. But after helping elect Woodrow Wilson as president in 1912, he was rewarded with an appointment as Secretary of State. However, Bryan was a staunch pacifist, and he resigned his position in 1915 after becoming convinced that Wilson was leading the nation into World War I. But after leaving government, Bryan continued speaking and writing on religion and politics. He moved to Miami, where he became wealthy through the Florida land boom. There, by 1920, though, he was 60 years old and his health had declined. He was balding and paunchy, and his voice cracked when he spoke. For many, he now seemed like a relic of a previous era. By the 1920s, America was shedding the past and speeding into a modern age. Young people were embracing a faster, freer way of life, embodied by automobiles, jazz music and bootleg whiskey. But as America grew more urban, modern and forward thinking, Bryan feared the country was losing its way. So he fashioned himself into a defender of traditional Protestant values. Bryan was not alone in his fears about modern Society. In the 1920s, American Protestants were beginning to splinter over how to adapt their faith to a changing world. Although Protestantism remained the dominant faith in the US Its influence had begun to wane under the pressures of immigration, urbanization, the embrace of science and an increasingly secular culture. These tensions sparked deep divisions among Protestants and various denominations split into modernist and fundamentalist camps. The modernists attempted to reconcile their Christianity and the Bible with science and the realities of modern life. On the other side, the fundamentalists insisted on literal interpretations of the Bible to preserve traditional values and prevent moral decline. They turned to Brian as a leading voice. Fundamentalism was growing in part as a response to the widespread acceptance of evolution. During the first two decades of the 20th century, scientists had amassed a large body of evidence supporting Charles Darwin's scientific theory that humans had evolved from ape like ancestors through natural selection. And as evolution gained broad acceptance within the scientific community, it also made its way into high school curriculums. By the 1920s, the expansion of public education in the United States meant that more and more young people were exposed to modern science. And popular biology textbooks taught evolution as scientific fact. But Bryan and other fundamentalists feared those teachings were undermining religious faith and moral values. They condemned evolution, arguing that it contradicted the Bible's creation narrative and denied God's role in humanity's origins. But Bryan's stance against evolution had itself evolved over time. As a younger man, he had been open to the possibility that evolution was compatible with Christian faith. But as he grew older, he became convinced that evolution was responsible for the wrongs of the modern world. He watched the rich and powerful use the Darwinian theory of survival of the fittest to justify oppression and inequality, a concept known as social Darwinism. Then, upon the outbreak of World War I, he saw evidence of Germany using those same ideas to justify military aggression. Bryan declared, evolution is the merciless law by which the strong crowd out and kill off the weak. And Bryan had long seen himself as a champion of the weak and defenseless against the forces of a harsh, indifferent world. In the 1890s, he had worked to defend ordinary Americans against the forces of corporate greed. And three decades later, he set his sights on defending the public against evolution. But Bryan lacked a clear objective until late 1921. In December of that year, Baptist leaders in Kentucky gathered for an annual meeting where they passed a resolution imploring lawmakers to ban the teaching of evolution in public schools. Bryan adopted the cause as his own and campaigned throughout the state. But despite his endorsement, the bill narrowly failed in the Kentucky state legislature. But the anti evolution movement surged ahead nonetheless. And Bryan thrust himself into the fight, leading the charge as its fiercest advocate. Imagine it's March 1922 at the WJH radio station in Washington D.C. you are a paleontologist and the president of the American Museum of Natural History. You've traveled down from New York to record a special program with William Jennings Bryant on the topic of teaching evolution. The radio producer has just finished your introductions and he holds up his fingers, giving you a silent countdown, then points to Brian to Give his opening statement. Good evening. I come here tonight not only as a Christian, but as an American citizen concerned about the spiritual and moral decay of our youth. Children are being taught that they have descended from apes, that they were mere accidents, beasts in an indifferent world. Rather than souls made in God's image. They are being fed an unproven theory that denies the divine origin of mankind. The producer then points to you, and you give Brian a nod to Mr. Bryan. I am sure the youth are heartened to have such an esteemed public figure as yourself championing their welfare. But I assure you, evolution is no mere theory. Brian lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. Oh, more than 70 years have passed since Darwin and scientists still have not found proof of natural selection. Well, there. I am afraid you are mistaken, Mr. Bryan. That evidence is widely available. You may be an expert in the area of political debate, but you may know little of the debate among scientists. So let me explain. While we may disagree over the particulars of how evolution occurs, there is no debate about the truth of evolution itself. Brian smiles into his microphone as if he's sharing a private joke. Oh, you speak with such certainty. You profess to know the entire lineage of man from a stray tooth dug up from a gravel pit. A mere tooth? Well, not just a tooth, Mr. Brian. Skulls, jawbones, footprints. The curvature of an ancient hip and spines. I invite you to visit my museum and see the fossil for yourself. I don't need fossils to know the truth. All I need is the Bible. Well, so heed its advice. Speak to the earth and it shall teach thee. The Book of job, chapter 12. You know, there is no conflict between science and religion, between morals and empirical facts. The study of evolution does not remove God from the universe. It reveals him. In my estimation, it deepens the wonder and marvel of creation. It is God's method of creating living things. At the end of the broadcast, Brian pulls off his headphones, his face a bit flushed. You offer him a polite nod, satisfied that you've held your ground and proven yourself a worthy adversary. But you know Brian is not one to shrink from a challenge. And you fear that opposition to his crusade will only make him fight harder. In his campaign against evolution, William Jennings Bryan debated scientists, lobbied politicians and gave hundreds of speeches nationwide. He attacked evolution in articles, books and his syndicated columns that reached more than 15 million readers. Returning to themes that had long guided his career, he framed evolution as something forced upon the country by an elitist scientific oligarchy. Without any concern for democracy or majority rule. He argued that most Americans agreed with him and that public schools should reflect taxpayers beliefs. And before long Bryan had transformed the teaching of evolution into a major political political issue. In 1923, six Southern states considered anti evolution bills, though only two minor measures passed. In Oklahoma, a new public textbook law restricted the promoting of evolution, and in Florida legislators adopted a non binding resolution calling the teaching of evolution improper and subversive. But Bryan himself had drafted the language and was eager for more political wins. So soon Bryan would take take his crusade to Tennessee, turning this state into the next big battleground in his war against evolution. But even as he rallied lawmakers and citizens alike, he failed to predict that his campaign would ignite one of the most explosive legal cases America had ever seen.