American History Tellers - Roaring Twenties | The Age of Jazz | 2

Episode Date: October 6, 2021

In the 1920s, Americans moved to the city in droves, and a new, diverse generation sparked an era of dizzying social change. It was the Age of Jazz, a time when Black Americans brought a revolutionary new musical style to northern cities. Free-spirited flappers haunted urban nightclubs. And Harlem, New York became the epicenter of a renaissance in Black artistic and political expression.But rapid changes in the city sparked fear and backlash in the countryside. Rural white Americans vigorously defended traditional religious values, and fundamentalist preachers drew massive audiences. Meanwhile, a resurgent Ku Klux Klan drew millions of new members by targeting not just Black Americans, but also Jews, Catholics, and recent immigrants. In 1925, the divide between urban and rural America came to a head in a sleepy town in eastern Tennessee, where the sensational “Scopes Monkey Trial” pitted the forces of science and religion against each other.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's a Saturday night in New York City in December 1923. You're a trombone player, and you're meeting a fellow musician outside the newly opened Cotton Club in Harlem. He's gotten you a gig joining his band, and tonight's your first show. He's waiting for you on the sidewalk as you walk up, trombone case in hand. Hey, man. You know, thanks again. I've had a dry spell since I came up from New Orleans.

I really needed this, and it's a great help. No need to thank me. I'm just glad we could get you on short notice. You look up at the marquee with the words Cotton Club blazing in neon lights. You've never played such a big venue before, and your heart pounds with excitement as you walk toward the front entrance. But your friend grabs your arm and pulls you back. No, are you crazy? No, no, no, not that way. What do you mean? Only the white customers go through the front. Come on, follow me. Your friend guides you down a side alley. You follow him to the back of the venue,

where a couple of performers are standing outside a small side door smoking cigarettes. You nod at them as your friend ushers you inside. As you walk into the club, your excitement turns to disappointment. The walls are covered in a jungle scene. The stage is decorated with fake cotton plants and slave cabins evoking a southern plantation. There are dancers on stage, all decked out in faux African outfits. Uh, you didn't mention the decor. Yeah, it's a bit much. Look at those costumes.

I thought we were here to perform jazz, not this nonsense. Your friend pulls you close and lowers his voice. Listen, man, this place pays good money. And whatever nonsense it is keeps the crowd happy. You sweep your gaze across the room. That's the other thing. I don't see a single black person in the audience. Is this a whites-only club in the middle of Harlem?

Yeah, I'm afraid so. Aw, man, it's like I never left the South. Well, if you want to leave here, there's the door. But this is the best-paying club in town, and you said it yourself. I've had a hard time finding work. Besides, try to look on the bright side. These folks, they can't get enough of our music.

You shake your head and follow your friend backstage to set up. When you left New Orleans, you thought things would be different up north. You heard Harlem was a place unlike anywhere in America, a thriving neighborhood black people could call their own. But even here, there's no escaping segregation. From Wondery comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness?

Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet. You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with.

Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. In the early 1920s, the Jazz Age burst into full swing in New York's Harlem, a cultural hub for the sweeping changes transforming American society. It was a time of youthful rebellion, sexual liberation, and racial pride. In urban nightclubs and speakeasies, a younger and more diverse generation challenged the past and pushed American society forward. But in rural areas, still dominated by white Protestant Americans, the dizzying pace of change sparked a fierce backlash. Fearing that traditional values were under siege,

millions of Americans flocked to fundamentalist churches and a resurgent Ku Klux Klan. The battle between tradition and modernity would come to a head in a sensational trial in a small Tennessee town. At issue was the question of whether the theory of evolution could be taught in schools. But as the trial unfolded, it came to be seen as nothing less than a struggle to shape the heart and soul of America. This is Episode 2, The Age of Jazz. In August 1920, Congress ratified the 19th Amendment, giving women the right to vote. It was the culmination of three quarters of a century of activism

though not a complete victory. Several more decades would pass before black women in the South could fully access the ballot box. But after finally achieving official suffrage women's right activists turned their attention to new causes. They mobilized to push through

the 1921 Shepherd-Towner Maternity Act, providing federal funds for health care clinics for mothers and their babies. Two years later, suffragist Alice Paul began a new movement to add an equal rights amendment to the Constitution, aiming to put an end to legal gender discrimination. During World War I, a growing number of women had entered the workforce, and as peacetime came, they were not prepared to turn back the clock. New jobs opened up in city offices and department stores, though for most women, their opportunities were limited to low-paying work as secretaries, stenographers, and sales clerks.

And as contraception became more widely available, women were able to have more control over their family life. Many chose to have fewer children and seized new roles outside the home. Margaret Sanger was one woman who became America's leading advocate for birth control. Her passion had grown out of her childhood experience watching her mother struggle to raise 11 children in poverty. Unable to afford medical school, Sanger worked instead as a nurse. In 1916, she opened America's first birth control clinic in Brooklyn, New York, offering affordable services to immigrant women.

But even just giving patients a pamphlet about birth control was still illegal under federal law. When authorities discovered her clinic, they jailed Sanger for 30 days. Her time behind bars did not dissuade Sanger from her notion that only access to birth control could guarantee female independence. She argued no woman can call herself free who does not own and control her body. She focused her efforts on poorer neighborhoods where women had fewer chances to find effective and safe contraception and abortions. But the status quo was not on her side.

So to achieve her goals, Sanger allied herself with the conservative, male-dominated medical profession, as well as the growing eugenics movement. In 1920, she declared that birth control could help with weeding out the unfit and preventing the birth of those with disabilities. The next year, Sanger founded the American Birth Control League, the precursor to Planned Parenthood. Because of her efforts over the course of the decade, more and more men and women, including middle class, embraced birth control as a means of family planning.

But young women wanted more than power at the ballot box or control over their childbearing. They were also seeking excitement. The most iconic symbol of the 1920 sexual revolution was the flapper, the young, carefree woman who asserted her freedom by sporting bobbed hair, eye-catching makeup, and short, flimsy dresses worn without corsets. By day, many flappers were secretaries, sales clerks, and students. By night, they gathered at urban speakeasies where they smoked, drank, and flirted with abandon.

The wild, boisterous antics of these young women shocked their elders, and the flapper came to embody a growing generational divide. For the first time, American culture was dominated by youth, celebrated in Hollywood films and Madison Avenue advertising campaigns. F. Scott Fitzgerald chronicled this urbane, youthful culture in his novels, describing the typical flapper as lovely and expensive at about 19. Fitzgerald became an overnight celebrity himself in 1920 when he published his debut novel, This Side of Paradise. He went on to be one of the most important voices of the Jazz Age, embodying the spirit of the times both in his writing and in his public romance

with his glamorous wife, Zelda. In 1925, Fitzgerald published The Great Gatsby, a critique of the American Dream and the decade's most emblematic novel. The cosmopolitan culture portrayed in Fitzgerald's novels grew out of a period of rapid urbanization. By 1920, for the first time in U.S. history, the majority of Americans now lived in cities. That urban growth was partly fueled by Black migration. During World War I, half a million Black Americans had fled the rural South for northern cities in search of economic opportunity and as an escape from Jim Crow segregation. Over the next half century, six million Black Americans would relocate to northern cities in what became known as the Great Migration. And among the Black

Americans moving north were jazz musicians. They traveled from New Orleans up to Chicago and New York, bringing their new musical style to urban audiences. Jazz blended blues, ragtime, and brass band traditions, emphasizing improvisation over traditional static melodies. It would become the defining music of the 1920s, embodying the decade's rebellious spirit and being branded the devil's music by many parents and pastors. At night, these burgeoning cities came alive to the sounds of syncopated drumbeats and wailing horns. Young people flocked to urban nightclubs and speakeasies to hear jazz and dance the twisted, heels-out steps of the Charleston. Jazz also ushered in an era when black culture became popular among whites. In New York's

uptown neighborhood of Harlem, white audiences packed nightclubs like the Savoy and the Cotton Club, where the orchestra leader was a young pianist and composer named Duke Ellington. Still, segregation and racial stereotypes persisted. Though the Savoy allowed the races to mix, the Cotton Club permitted entry to white customers only and featured its black entertainers in a plantation-like setting. Over the course of the 1920s, the black population in Harlem grew from 80,000 to 200,000, making it one of the largest Black communities in the country. It was the center of the Harlem Renaissance, an explosion in Black artistic and intellectual expression. A new generation of Black

writers and artists burst onto the scene, including poet Langston Hughes, novelist Zora Neale Hurston, and painter Aaron Douglas. But with this cultural flourishing came growing political debate and calls for action. Longtime civil rights leaders like W.E.B. Du Bois had spent decades fighting for desegregation, equal rights, and Black economic improvement. Now, a new generation of activists began fighting for something more drastic, Black nationalism. In 1914, Jamaican activist Marcus Garvey founded the Universal Negro Improvement Association, or UNIA. Garvey rejected the goal of integration into white-dominated society. Instead, he championed complete economic,

political, and cultural independence for black people. Garvey hoped to unite black people all around the world and establish an independent nation in their ancestral homeland in Africa. He urged racial unity and economic self-sufficiency as the only path forward. Describing his motive for founding the UNIA, he reflected, I saw before me a new world of black men, not peons, serfs, dogs, and slaves, but a nation of sturdy men, making their impress upon civilization and causing a new light to dawn upon the human race. In 1916, Garvey moved to Harlem, which became the new headquarters of his black nationalist movement. There, the UNIA worked to help the local Black working class achieve economic autonomy. The organization

operated a chain of grocery stores, a laundry, and a publishing house with the aim of keeping Black dollars within the Black community. Garvey was a magnetic leader, known for his flamboyant dress. He sported military uniforms, complete with ostrich-plumed hats. His message of racial pride and self-determination inspired many Black Americans who had grown frustrated with Du Bois' rival organization, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, and their slow-moving fight for integration. But while some were galvanized by Garvey's celebration of Blackness, others were certain that the UNIA's high-profile tactics would only spark more controversy and backlash.

Imagine it's August 1922. Your friend has dragged you to a UNIA parade in Harlem. A brass band is playing, and there are hundreds of marchers and military regalia waving signs. At first, you were reluctant to come to a parade. You were sure couldn't be much more than a few dozen folk waving hand-painted signs. So you're stunned when you arrive. Oh, wow.

I've never seen so many people in Harlem. Your friend waves and cheers as UNIA leaders ride past in cars. I know, I told you. I think this is the start of something big. A movement that really changed things for black people in America. Well, there's no denying they put on a good show. Garvey's really got a knack for it. Just look at him.

But I don't know, his solutions don't seem realistic. A pan-African empire? Your friend shakes his head and laughs. Why the hell not? It's not like the NAACP has made much progress. Have we ended black poverty? Have we stopped lynching? No, we haven't. In fact, it seems like it just gets worse every day. It does, but I worry Garvey's group is too radical. What if it only dooms our chances of equality? You know, a lot of people think Garvey's is a big joke, and it's not just white people.

Who cares? The UNIA is doing real things to help real black people help themselves, gain economic power, and independence. Now, come on, let's get a little closer. Excuse me. Excuse us. Pardon me. You follow your friend as he pushes through the crowds to get a better look at the parade.

And as you draw closer, you get a better glimpse of Marcus Garvey in resplendent military dress. You have to admit, it is inspiring to see a black leader so unapologetic in flaunting his power and success. But as the marchers get closer and closer to a block dominated by white residents, you stand on your tiptoes and crane your neck as the marchers pull out new banners and signs. One reads, white man rules America, black man shall rule Africa. Another says, we want a black civilization. You turn to your friend. Well, that's to the point. They've certainly made their message loud and clear. Your gaze turns to a row of mounted white police watching the parade. Their eyes are locked on the marchers, and they're gripping their batons tightly.

A cold chill runs down your body. You have a feeling that Black nationalism will only be interpreted as Black radicalism, something the powers that be will do everything they can to stop. Marcus Garvey and the UNIA drew tens of thousands of supporters into the streets of Harlem with huge parades. By the early 1920s, the organization expanded its reach around the world, attracting two million members across nearly 1,000 branches in North and Central America, the Caribbean, Africa, and Great Britain. It published a popular magazine, Negro World, and launched the Negro Factories Organization to build and operate Black-owned factories in major cities.

But Garvey's most daring project was the creation of an all-Black shipping company, the Black Star Line, for the purpose of boosting global Black economic power. The Black Star Line was designed to of boosting global black economic power. The Black Star Line was designed to repatriate black people to Africa and to transport black-made goods, promoting global trade among people of African descent. But not all black Americans were inspired by Garvey's movement. The UNIA attracted the wrath of the NAACP and other civil rights groups who thought the Black Star Line was a distraction from the goals of integration and racial justice. Soon, they launched a Garvey must-go campaign. Garvey's

Black nationalist rhetoric also got the attention of J. Edgar Hoover and his Bureau of Investigation. For years, Hoover used Black agents and informants to infiltrate the UNIA. When they uncovered irregularities in the financing of the Black Star Line, Garvey was arrested and charged with mail fraud. He went to prison in 1923. Four years later, in 1927, he was deported to Jamaica, never to return. Without its leader, the UNIA's influence waned in the United States. But Garvey's message of black self-reliance would live on for decades to come. The Great Migration reshaped urban life and fueled a blossoming of black culture, political expression, and economic prosperity. But it also fed white hostility and resentment.

And soon that hostility would explode. In a quiet suburb, a community is shattered by the death of a beloved wife and mother. But this tragic loss of life quickly turns into something even darker. Her husband had tried to hire a hitman on the dark web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target. Because buried in the depths of the internet is The Kill List, a cache of chilling documents containing names, photos, addresses, and specific instructions for people's murders. This podcast is the true story of how I ended up in a race against time

to warn those whose lives were in danger. And it turns out, convincing a total stranger someone wants them dead is not easy. Follow Kill List on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+.

Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started

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More than 400,000 African Americans had served in uniform during World War I, and returning veterans had come home with newfound status and a sense of independence. But in the years after the war, black people faced some of the worst racial violence in American history. Many white Americans felt threatened by black men who had fought in the military and resented the competition they posed on the job market. Militant groups and conservative politicians stepped up their efforts to defend white supremacy, and not just in the Jim Crow South, but also in the North, where hundreds of thousands of black people had just moved in search of new opportunities.

But as black families took up residence in northern cities, they competed with hostile white neighbors for limited housing and jobs. With few choices available to them, some Black workers became strikebreakers, further fueling white resentment. In the summer of 1919, racial tensions exploded into widespread violence. White mobs terrorized and killed black people in more than 25 cities in what became known as Red Summer. One of the bloodiest outbursts of violence took place in Chicago. On a scorching July day, a black teenager took a raft onto Lake Michigan and inadvertently drifted past an unofficial color line on the segregated beach. A white beachgoer pelted the boy with rocks until he was knocked unconscious and drowned. The murder set off a week of violence that left 23 black people and 15 white people dead,

with more than 500 injured. Racial violence continued into the early 1920s. One of the most devastating race riots in American history began on June 1, 1921, when a white mob torched the thriving black neighborhood of Greenwood in Tulsa, Oklahoma, killing as many as 300 residents. Four months after the Tulsa Massacre, President Warren G. Harding shocked the nation by taking on the issue of race directly in a speech in Birmingham, Alabama. He declared,

I want to see the time come when black men will regard themselves as full participants in the benefits and duties of American citizens. The black section of the segregated audience erupted in applause. Never before had a sitting president issued such a strong defense of black civil rights in the South. And the following year, President Harding threw his support behind a federal anti-lynching bill. It passed the House of Representatives, but a Southern filibuster killed it in the Senate. Harding gave up the fight, fearing that continued efforts to stop lynching would only threaten progress on other goals. So with no further federal efforts to stop it, the racial violence continued. At least 51 black people were lynched in 1922 alone.

A year later, a white mob wiped off the map an entire town. Rosewood, Florida was a tiny hamlet home to 150 black residents. In January 1923, a white woman accused a black man from Rosewood of assaulting her. Over the next several days, some 300 white men descended on Rosewood and reduced the town to smoldering ruins. The only structure left standing was a house owned by Rosewood's sole white resident. At least six black people were killed, though some reports put the death toll much higher. Survivors hid out in nearby swamps before eventually evacuating north.

A month later, a grand jury looking into the violence declared that there was insufficient evidence. The massacre had left Rosewood deserted. Post-war racial anxieties also drove huge numbers of white Americans to the revived Ku Klux Klan. The Klan was originally organized to terrorize black people in the Reconstruction South after emancipation. After federal efforts to combat the Klan, led by President Ulysses S. Grant, the organization was thought to have lost most of its power. But it began to grow again, slowly, in the immediate aftermath of World War I, relying on white resentment of returning Black veterans. But in 1920, the Klan hired two public relations experts who would breathe new life into the old hooded order. Edward Clark and his mistress Elizabeth Tyler were the founders of the

Southern Publicity Association. During the war, the pair had raised funds for the Red Cross and the YMCA. They had also lobbied for Prohibition on behalf of the Anti-Saloon League. Now they would turn their attention to marketing the Klan's bigotry for a national audience. Clark and Tyler launched an aggressive recruitment campaign, hiring 1,000 recruiters called Klegels. Recruiters were trained to tailor the Klan's message to local bigotries, whether that be against Asian immigrants in California, Mormons in Utah, or unionized workers in the Pacific Northwest. Clark and Tyler gave the Klegels clear instructions,

telling them to play upon whatever prejudices were most acute in the particular area, and to emphasize that the Klan stood for good old-fashioned American values. These tactics gave the Klan a newfound veneer of respectability and helped the hate group go mainstream. Imagine it's July 1922, and you're in Gary, Indiana, recruiting for the Ku Klux Klan. You're freshly shaved and wearing your best suit and tie. You've decided to drop by unannounced at the office of a prominent city council member and businessman. You find that often these surprise visits are more effective than setting up an appointment. Yeah, yeah, come in.

You open the door to find the councilman pouring over a stack of papers at his desk. As you walk in, he leans back in his chair, takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. Oh, um, yeah, please have a seat. What can I do for you? Well, thank you. You look like a busy man, so I'll cut to the chase. I'm wondering if you've received my invitation to join a new fraternal order coming to town. The official scratches his head and leans back over his desk, rifling through his papers. That sounds familiar. I've probably got it around here somewhere. Well, I wanted to extend this opportunity to the men whose leadership this town relies on, and that's why I came to you first.

Well, I appreciate that. But tell me about this organization of yours. What is it, the Freemasons? Well, something like that. We call ourselves the Invisible Empire. We're dedicated to the preservation of patriotism and Protestantism. Your sales pitch always starts this way, keeping things vague and uncontroversial, focusing on matters you're certain he'll agree with. As he nods, you can tell you're on the right track. Patriotism and Protestantism. I like the sound of that. You know, if you ask me, I think this country's lost its way since the war, and I completely agree. Love of country and church. That's what really matters. There are signs of moral decay everywhere you look. Whatever ever happened to good old-fashioned values? Yes, exactly. And I think

we all know who's to blame. If it weren't for all these immigrants enthralled with the Pope, the council member nods fervently, and you know you've struck the right chord. Catholics taking over this country. My friends and I were just talking about that very thing. Before we know it, the Pope will be taking up residence in Washington, I tell you. It's time we do something about it. Like what? I've traveled all over this country and spoken to hundreds of hardworking Christian businessmen just like you. We're still the majority in this country, you know.

We just need to organize. And that's where our fraternal order comes in. Together, we can beat back the tide of the Catholics and immigrants threatening to turn our great nation into a place we won't recognize. Why don't you say your group was called the Invisible Empire of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan? The Klan? I didn't know there were Klansmen around here. There are now. Or there will be, if you join us.

I assure you, only the best people are invited in. The official hesitates, sizing you up. But you smile reassuringly. Finally, he smiles back. Well, I mean, we need to keep the Catholics out of City Hall. If you guys will help, where do I sign up? Fantastic. I'll explain everything. But first, you must swear yourself to secrecy.

We take the invisible part of our name very seriously. The Councilman nods eagerly. You stand and shake hands with the newest member of the Klan. Tyler and Clark's publicity efforts to rebrand the Klan were a resounding success. Membership exploded, and not just in the rural South. In towns across the North and West, mainstream middle-class Americans flocked to the Klan in droves. In a nation that was rapidly diversifying and modernizing, much of the Klan's appeal was rooted in its promotion of traditional Anglo-Saxon Protestant values.

The Klan was no longer simply an anti-Black organization. It was against Catholics, Jews, foreigners, communism, unions, bootlegging, adultery, and birth control, too. Klansmen targeted anyone and anything that threatened their conservative vision of a racially, religiously, and morally pure America. But it wasn't only bigotry that attracted white Americans to the Klan. In 1920, nearly 30% of American adults belonged to some fraternal society. For many, the Klan was just another, offering camaraderie and excitement. The secrecy, the rituals, the uniforms were all a break from the daily monotony of small-town life.

Tyler and Clark were married to other people, and their sexual relationship had long rankled Klan leadership, who wanted to maintain the veneer of morality. So in 1922, the pair were ousted from the organization. But they had proven that the Klan could be marketed to the masses and become a money-making machine. By 1924, the Klan counted nearly 4 million Americans as their members, with leadership raking in $40,000 a month in initiation fees and dues, $650,000 a month in today's dollars. And the Klan's influence on local and national politics would only continue to gain strength.

The widespread feeling that traditional values were under threat also fueled a rise in Protestant fundamentalism, focusing on literal readings of the Bible. In the 1920s, many Americans saw signs of moral decline in every corner of the culture, from jazz and Hollywood films to bootleggers and bathtub gin. Fearing that Christianity was being undermined, they sought refuge in fundamentalist churches. The 20s also saw a resurgence in theatrical religious revival meetings. Americans flocked to see celebrity preachers rage against the nation's moral decay. Reverend Billy Sunday was a former baseball player turned traveling evangelist. He held huge revivals across the country using mass marketing techniques to reap enormous profits.

Sunday blended religion with conservative cultural commentary. On the topic of radicals, he declared, If I had my way with these ornery, wild-eyed socialists, I would stand them up before a firing squad. On the topic of women, he said, If some of you women would spend less on dope and cold cream and get down on your knees and pray, God would make you prettier. Sunday's fire-and-brimstone style dazzled audiences who felt alienated by the speed of social change. But Billy Sunday was not the only evangelist barnstorming the country in the early 1920s. Amy Semple McPherson, known as Sister Amy, offered a fundamentalist message wrapped in Hollywood glamour. Wearing makeup and fashionable

flowing silk gowns, the Canadian-born Pentecostal preacher traveled the country in an old car emblazoned with the slogan, Jesus is coming soon, get ready. Crowds were enthralled by the novelty of a woman preacher, inspired by her hopeful sermons, and awed by her dramatic faith-healing demonstrations. Sister Amy eventually made her way west, where she expanded her empire with radio sermons, making her the first woman to preach over the airwaves. In 1923, she opened a $1.5 million stadium-sized temple in Los Angeles, complete with an electric illuminated rotating cross.

As the decade wore on, religious fervor also contributed to Americans' distrust of science. Soon, the forces of religion and science would face off against each other in a courtroom in what would become the most contentious legal battle of the decade. Are you in trouble with the law? Need a lawyer who will fight like hell to keep you out of jail? We defend and we fight just like you'd want your own children defended. Whether you're facing a drug charge, caught up on a murder rap, accused of committing war crimes, look no further than Paul Bergeron. All the big guys go to Bergeron because he gets everybody off.

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In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reached the age of 10 that would still have heard it. It just happens to all of us. I'm journalist Luke Jones, and for almost two years,

I've been investigating a shocking story that has left deep scars on generations of women and girls from Pitcairn. When there's nobody watching, nobody going to report it, people will get away with what they can get away with. In the Pitcairn trials, I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific Island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. In the early 1920s, religious fundamentalists grew more and more anxious about what they saw as a rapid moral decline, especially among America's youth. Their unease came to center

on one target in particular, the teaching of evolution in public schools. To fundamentalists, Darwin's theory of evolution directly contradicted the teachings of evolution in public schools. To fundamentalists, Darwin's theory of evolution directly contradicted the teachings of the Old Testament. Humans, they argued, were the product of divine creation, not descended from apes. They feared that the teaching of evolution in schools was undermining Christianity and fueling the moral breakdown of students.

Lawmakers in 15 states, mostly in the South, drafted anti-evolution legislation, and schools became a battleground. In March 1925, with the support of the Ku Klux Klan, the Tennessee state legislature passed an anti-evolution law. The Butler Act made it a crime for public school teachers to teach any theory that contradicted the biblical story of divine creation. Conviction carried a fine of up to $500, almost $8,000 today. The Butler Act raised the ire of the American Civil Liberties Union, which had been founded in 1920 as a response to the Palmer Raids

and the government's blatant disregard for free speech. ACLU lawyers and activists saw the Butler Act as a dangerous threat to the separation of church and state. So in May 1925, the group placed an ad in a Chattanooga, Tennessee newspaper, announcing it would cover the legal expenses for any teacher willing to challenge the law in court. In the sleepy town of Dayton, nestled in the Cumberland Mountains, community leaders saw an opportunity. Dayton was struggling economically, and they hoped a high-profile legal showdown would bring attention and dollars

to their little corner of eastern Tennessee. Imagine it's May, 1925. You're sitting in a booth at Robinson's Drugstore and Soda Fountain, the social center of Dayton, Tennessee. It's been two years since you moved from New York to this tiny town in order to manage the local coal and iron company. You still feel like an outsider. But even in this God-fearing backwater town, you've managed to find some allies against the state's new anti-evolution law, although it's for reasons that have more to do with economics than free speech. They sit nodding along as you finish making your case. So look,

I'm telling you, if Dayton hosts the test case for the ACLU, it's going to be the talk of every newspaper in the nation. And I think that's the boost our local economy needs. Your co-conspirators include a local attorney and two school officials. The attorney leans in close, like you're discussing state secrets. So what's our next move? Well, now we just need to get a science teacher on board. I think I know the perfect guy, too. He should be here any minute. As if on cue, a man walks into the drugstore wearing tennis whites, wiping the sweat from his brow, and comes over to your table. So, I'm sorry, what's this all about? I'm in the middle of practice. Mr. Scopes, your timing couldn't be better.

I was just telling these gentlemen that nobody can teach biology without teaching evolution. Yeah, that's right. The textbook has a whole chapter on it. Robinson sells it right here if you want to see for yourself. You stand up and walk over to a bookshelf full of school textbooks for sale and thumb through the biology book. This is the textbook you teach your students with? Yeah, Yeah, that's right. Then you've been violating state law. The Butler Act prohibits

the teaching of evolution in public schools. Scopes stares at you dumbfounded. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, and I couldn't agree more. That's why I'd like to run an idea by you. I'm wondering whether you would be willing to be the guinea pig for a test case.

A test case? Yeah. We'll have you arrested for violating the Butler Act. The ACLU will give us the money to pay for your defense in court. You hand scopes a newspaper with the ACLU ad circled. He looks at it skeptically. I'm sorry, why would I want to be arrested? Well, don't you believe in the importance of science? In teaching the younger generation the truth of how human life came to be? I do, but why does it have to be me? Well, you're a popular fellow in town, and I'm sure the jury will side with you. I should think one little misdemeanor is a fair price for fighting for science. There's a long silence as Scopes looks at the ACLU ad again. Then at the biology textbook.

I'll do it. But I'm not paying for any lawyers. Not on my measly teacher salary. You are a good man, Mr. Scopes. Gentlemen, I'll send a telegram to the ACLU right now. Before Scopes can change his mind, you rush out the door, towards the post office across the street. You're thrilled to be setting this plan in motion, to take a stand against these backwards country legislators.

And if you'll help give the economy of Dayton a much-needed lift, then so much the better. In May 1925, a group of local boosters in Dayton, Tennessee, convinced 24-year-old teacher John Scopes to be the defendant in a test case challenging the state's new anti-evolution law. The stage was set for a show trial that would captivate the nation's attention, partly because of the high-profile players who attached themselves to the case. William Jennings Bryan offered his assistance to the prosecution. Celebrated for his

eloquence, Bryan was a three-time presidential contender and a staunch Presbyterian fundamentalist. His commitment to defending Christian values, prohibition, and justice for ordinary people had won him the admiration of many rural Americans in the South and Midwest. Clarence Darrow led the defense team. He was the nation's most famous criminal defense attorney and an avowed atheist. As a passionate advocate for civil liberties, he had defended both labor leaders and anarchist radicals. Now, Darrow and Bryan would face off against each other in what became known as the Scopes Monkey Trial.

On the steaming hot morning of July 10, 1925, some 200 newspaper reporters, newsreel film producers, and radio broadcasters descended on the Dayton Courthouse. The atmosphere outside was carnival-like. Banners were strung up throughout the town. Organ grinders and snake handlers entertained the crowds as vendors hawked souvenirs, hot dogs, Bibles, and biology books. In the sweltering courtroom, the lawyers and spectators rolled up their shirt sleeves as sweat beaded on their foreheads. In his opening argument, Darrow declared the trial to be as brazen and bold an attempt to destroy liberty as was ever seen in the Middle Ages. The fact that Scopes had violated the law was never in doubt. Darrow wanted

to put the anti-evolution law itself on trial. He had assembled expert witnesses who would testify to the validity of evolution and describe how it was compatible with Christian teachings. Then it was famous orator Brian's turn to speak for the prosecution. A hush fell over the courtroom as Brian delivered an hour-long speech criticizing the teaching of evolution as an attempt to banish from the hearts of the people the word of God as revealed. He asked that the testimony of Darrow's experts not be admitted, arguing that it was Scopes on trial, not the Butler Act. The judge agreed. As a result of overcrowding, on July 20th, the judge moved the trial outside to resume under

the trees on the courthouse lawn. With all his scheduled witnesses dismissed, Darrow shocked spectators by calling Brian himself to the stand as a biblical expert. Brian consented, and Darrow proceeded to interrogate him about his literal interpretations of the Bible. To many spectators, Brian looked ridiculous as he affirmed his belief that God had made Eve from Adam's rib and that a great whale had indeed swallowed Jonah. As Darrow's questioning dragged on, Brian grew furious. He rose up and shook his fist at Darrow, declaring, I am simply trying to protect the word of God

against the greatest atheist or agnostic in the United States. Brian's lack of composure and extreme claims made national headlines. The famous wit H.L. Mencken heaped scorn on Brian, writing, Brian's lack of composure and extreme claims made national headlines. The famous wit H.L. Mencken heaped scorn on Brian, writing, Once he had one leg in the White House and the nation trembled under his roars. Now he is a tin-pot pope in the Coca-Cola belt. It is a tragedy indeed to begin life as a hero and to end it as a buffoon. The next day, the jury took nine minutes to return a guilty verdict. John Scopes was fined $100, about $1,500 in today's money. Though Brian had won the case, the trial had cast

a shadow on his record as one of the leading political figures of the era. Five days after the trial ended, Brian died in his sleep in Dayton. Despite the guilty verdict, liberals and the press declared victory. They felt the farcical trial, especially Bryan's outrageous testimony, had revealed to all the absurdity and closed-mindedness of fundamentalism. Christian conservatives, on the other hand, saw the guilty verdict as a victory for scripture and traditional values. The Scopes trial became an embodiment of the tensions that seemed to be driving urban and rural America further apart. As the trial ended, another front was opening in the war between tradition and modernity, and this battle would be fought between churches

and department stores. By the mid-1920s, a new era of unbridled materialism was in full swing. Advertising and installment buying encouraged people to purchase products that, a generation ago, hadn't yet even existed. Cars, radios, refrigerators, vacuum cleaners, and record players. To some, the frantic spending spree signaled that beneath the dazzling prosperity of the Jazz Age lay a dangerous moral decay.

But there was no going back. It was an era of staggering economic growth, and the nation was surging ahead into the future, no matter the cost. On the next episode of American History Tellers, Warren G. Harding's presidency unravels in a place called Teapot Dome. General Motors and the Ford Motor Company battle for dominance of the growing automobile industry, and an unprecedented economic boom ushers in a new age of mass consumerism. From Wondery, this is Episode 2 of the Roaring Twenties for American History Tellers. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now

by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Molly Bach. Sound design by Derek Behrens. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton, edited by Dorian Marina. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery. This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected To be continued... Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand-new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus, follows the journey of a variety of characters as they confront the unimaginable.

The missiles are coming. What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Lou Henner, Mary Elizabeth Ellis, Paul Edelstein, and many, many more, Incoming is a hilariously thrilling podcast that will leave you wondering, how would you spend your last few minutes on Earth? You can binge Incoming exclusively and ad-free on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.