control of the day-to-day public narrative of the trial, Judge DuBose made sure journalists had the best seats in the house. He ordered a special section of box seats for the press, a move that immediately set off squabbles among the reporters over which paper deserved the best spot. But even with the expanded space and the reserved seating, demand quickly overwhelmed the room. Reporters who managed to secure box seats were quick to mock those who scrambled around them.
The clamoring crowds gathered at the courthouse and the general public’s frantic curiosity in the trial were becoming the case’s main storylines. “Another Day of Thrilling Interest in the Criminal Court, The Attendance Was Even Greater Than on Opening Day, Opera Glasses Leveled on the Cowering Defendant Witness,” exclaimed the Memphis Appeal Avalanche .
It did not take long for one newspaper to distinguish itself from the pack. It was not the Appeal Avalanche , the Commercial , nor the big out-of-towners, like the New York Times or the San Francisco Chronicle . Judge DuBose’s former employer, the Memphis Public Ledger , was by far the most popular news outlet. It was available at the conclusion of each eventful day in court, however inconclusive, with exhaustive commentary on every detail of the unfolding case, keeping readers coming back for more.
According to the Public Ledger , Judge DuBose’s courtroom had quickly become the most democratic public place in all of Memphis. By the time President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863, Tennessee had abolished slavery and returned to the Union fold, but Jim Crow laws helped maintain the South’s rigid, deeply entrenched racial hierarchy. These segregation laws mandated that African Americans were kept “separate and equal”—meaning separate and unequal. They ensuredsystematic economic, educational, and social disadvantages well after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were passed. 61 But in this rare instance—the theater that was Judge DuBose’s courtroom—people from across class, race, and gender lines shared a space. 62 They sat side-by-side as they would in almost no other setting in Memphis.
Staid Matrons and their young daughters sat check by jowl with women of doubtful character and women whose lack of all character was blazoned on their faces as plain as a pikestaff. There were white and black, mulattoes, quadroons, octoroons and a sprinkling of the genus whose class has never been distinctly defined—all eager to see two of their sex in peril of their lives, and hoping, perhaps, to hear something excitingly naughty.” 63
Female spectators, who DuBose separated from the male spectators, featured prominently in print. The press, who were almost all white and male, never failed to describe the women’s craning necks, distracting bonnet plumes, and artificial flowers—all with a palpable degree of disdain.
“The best place for ladies to sit during the trial is about four feet from the hearthstone,” the Avalanche Appeal complained.
Judge DuBose himself took the lead on that front, constantly reminding women, lest they forget, that their continued attendance in the courtroom was at his discretion, and he could easily have them removed. But behind these displays of white male authority was a distinct anxiety about white male authority; the press and the judge made a point of asserting their power precisely because they were unnerved by the prospect of women watching courtroom proceedings and drawing their own conclusions. Alternate domesticities, such as two women coupling and sharing a home—and even the general notion of females expressing passion—were considered inappropriate for the “fairer sex,” especially for ladies of the higher classes. It was no coincidence that female witnesses went to great lengths to dress conservatively, donning capes and jackets over their dresses, and often covering their faces with heavy
The clamoring crowds gathered at the courthouse and the general public’s frantic curiosity in the trial were becoming the case’s main storylines. “Another Day of Thrilling Interest in the Criminal Court, The Attendance Was Even Greater Than on Opening Day, Opera Glasses Leveled on the Cowering Defendant Witness,” exclaimed the Memphis Appeal Avalanche .
It did not take long for one newspaper to distinguish itself from the pack. It was not the Appeal Avalanche , the Commercial , nor the big out-of-towners, like the New York Times or the San Francisco Chronicle . Judge DuBose’s former employer, the Memphis Public Ledger , was by far the most popular news outlet. It was available at the conclusion of each eventful day in court, however inconclusive, with exhaustive commentary on every detail of the unfolding case, keeping readers coming back for more.
According to the Public Ledger , Judge DuBose’s courtroom had quickly become the most democratic public place in all of Memphis. By the time President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863, Tennessee had abolished slavery and returned to the Union fold, but Jim Crow laws helped maintain the South’s rigid, deeply entrenched racial hierarchy. These segregation laws mandated that African Americans were kept “separate and equal”—meaning separate and unequal. They ensuredsystematic economic, educational, and social disadvantages well after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were passed. 61 But in this rare instance—the theater that was Judge DuBose’s courtroom—people from across class, race, and gender lines shared a space. 62 They sat side-by-side as they would in almost no other setting in Memphis.
Staid Matrons and their young daughters sat check by jowl with women of doubtful character and women whose lack of all character was blazoned on their faces as plain as a pikestaff. There were white and black, mulattoes, quadroons, octoroons and a sprinkling of the genus whose class has never been distinctly defined—all eager to see two of their sex in peril of their lives, and hoping, perhaps, to hear something excitingly naughty.” 63
Female spectators, who DuBose separated from the male spectators, featured prominently in print. The press, who were almost all white and male, never failed to describe the women’s craning necks, distracting bonnet plumes, and artificial flowers—all with a palpable degree of disdain.
“The best place for ladies to sit during the trial is about four feet from the hearthstone,” the Avalanche Appeal complained.
Judge DuBose himself took the lead on that front, constantly reminding women, lest they forget, that their continued attendance in the courtroom was at his discretion, and he could easily have them removed. But behind these displays of white male authority was a distinct anxiety about white male authority; the press and the judge made a point of asserting their power precisely because they were unnerved by the prospect of women watching courtroom proceedings and drawing their own conclusions. Alternate domesticities, such as two women coupling and sharing a home—and even the general notion of females expressing passion—were considered inappropriate for the “fairer sex,” especially for ladies of the higher classes. It was no coincidence that female witnesses went to great lengths to dress conservatively, donning capes and jackets over their dresses, and often covering their faces with heavy
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