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It started out as a publicity stunt designed to bring
tourists to the small town of Dayton, Tennessee. By the time it was over, it had brought together three
of the most famous men in the world, killed one of them, and left ripples
that we still feel today.
While the event we note today is the 85th anniversary of schoolteacher John T. Scopes being arrested for teaching evolution, the
events that prompted that arrest go back to 1922, when the Tennessee legislature
passed the Butler Act, which prohibited any teacher in a public school from
teaching "any theory that denies the Story of the Divine Creation of man
as taught in the Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a
lower order of animals." The law had been written by a Tennessee farmer,
who had "read in the papers that boys and girls were coming home from
school and telling their fathers and mothers that the Bible was all
nonsense."
The law, which had a fatal flaw (the state's required biology text
had a chapter about evolution) sat unchallenged for three years, while the American Civil Liberties Union
hunted for a teacher willing to challenge the law, even announcing its
willingness to pay for the trial and any fines (the penalty was $100). There
were no takers.
Finally, in 1925, a group of Dayton businessmen were sitting around Robinson's Drugstore, trying to come up with a scheme to draw tourists to
their town of 1,800. Someone mentioned the Butler Act, and before Scopes knew
it, he had agreed to become the sacrificial lamb (or perhaps,
"ape"). On May 5th, Scopes was "arrested" and all hell
broke loose.
The city fathers, hoping to secure maximum publicity for the trial,
contacted such notables as novelist H.G. Wells
(who declined, stating that he wasn't a lawyer). The prosecution countered
with William Jennings Bryan, the three-time presidential candidate who was America's most respected public figure.
Spurred by Bryan's presence, Clarence Darrow, the country's most famous defense attorney and defender
of civil liberties, agreed to head Scopes' defense. Drawn by not only the
spectacle of those two giants going head-to-head in the courtroom, but by the
circus that developed around the trial, H.L. Mencken, the reporter who was one of the country's sharpest social
commentators, came to report on the doings -- along with hundred of other
reporters, an unprecedented national radio hookup, newsreel photographers, trained chimpanzees, and tens of thousands of spectators.
The trial finally began on July 10, and things went badly for the defense.
Witnesses were not allowed to testify and Darrow fought with the judge --
dodging more than one contempt citation. Finally, in a desperate stroke of
genius, Darrow put Bryan himself on the stand -- or, rather, under the tree,
since the judge moved matters outside to accommodate both the huge crowds and
in an attempt to beat the stifling heat. Darrow cut him to ribbons, challenging his opponent's literal belief in the Good Book, and generally making a monkey of him. Bryan died five days after the trial, possibly the victim of his
exertions.
It was all for naught, though. The jury, deliberating only nine minutes,
found Scopes guilty, and the judge fined him $100. That verdict was
overturned on a technicality, but the law remained (unenforced) on the books
until 1967.
Even though no one else was every prosecuted under the Butler Act, its
effects are felt today in controversies over Creationism,
and the curricula proposed by the Kansas
and Texas Boards of Education. And, for all the spectacle the trial
provided, that kind of carnival atmosphere could never happen today... right?
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