VOLUME | ONC 2023

17. June 10th, 1964

It took 14 hours and 13 minutes.

At 9:51 a.m. on June 10th, 1964 Senator Robert Byrd's address had finally come to its finale.

For 60 working days, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 would be poked and prodded in what would be the longest filibuster in Senate history.

The room was brimming with bodies and buzzing with great expectancy and what some might call a sweltering hope.

Just a month prior, on May 19th Senator Everett Dirksen of Illinois had put on an oratorical display of grandeur during a press conference where he waxed political about the morality of a civil rights bill. The news folk ate it up. Dirksen was playing it smart – he presented his illustrious take well before the bill would come to a floor vote.

Between the bill's passing in the House on February 10th and May, Dirksen worked ruthlessly. The season known for new birth and refreshing had been etched in blood, sweat, and tears, sickness and sheer grit – the man had taken Spring cleaning to heart and the Hill.

With a team of legal experts at his aid, Dirksen had rewritten the bill altogether. With nearly seventy amendments to the version of the bill that had passed in the House, Dirksen was after achieving some kind of harmony that felt less threatening to his fellow Republican lawmakers. "I have a fixed pole star," Dirksen remarked in April. "This is, first, to get a bill; second to get an acceptable bill; third, to get a workable bill; and, finally, to get an equitable bill."

After Senator Richard Russel, a Democrat from Georgia, had begun the filibuster against the bill on March 9th, 1964, Dirksen determined to rework a substitute for the version that had passed in the more relaxed House.

Six senators had wavered, sending the victory into a crescendo by only four votes. In the end, the tally was a whopping 71 to 29. Never ever had the Senate seen a civil rights bill filibuster be defeated, and there had only been a single instance where it had agreed to cloture for any measure since 1927.

One of the most riveting moments occurred when Senator Clair Engle was led into the Senate chamber by wheelchair. A cancerous brain tumor had robbed him of his ability to speak, but when his name was called in the roll, he raised his arm, pointing to his left eye. A silent affirmation, "Aye."

Senator Engle died almost seven weeks later.

Quiet from sickness and weary from his fervent work on rehabilitating the bill, Dirksen addressed all one hundred of his Senatorial colleagues. "There are many reasons why cloture should be invoked and a good civil rights measure enacted. It is said that on the night he died, Victor Hugo wrote in his diary substantially this sentiment, 'Stronger than all the armies is an idea whose time has come.' The time has come for equality of opportunity in sharing of government, in education, and in employment. It must not be stayed or denied. It is here."

Someone asked him why – how had Dirksen become a champion of the cause? "I am involved in mankind, and whatever the skin, we are all included in mankind," he'd said.

Nine days after the cloture victory came Senate approval of the bill, and on July 2nd, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Civil Rights Bill of 1964 into law banning discrimination in public facilities, providing federal voting rights protection, and establishing equal opportunity as the new national precedent.

Lizzie...

I couldn't breathe. I thought I'd feel pride or joy. I thought I'd feel exhilarated, but all I had were heaving sobs.

I flattened myself against the wall of the Capitol building. I stood crumbly outside the visitor's gallery where there was standing room only.

We'd done it. We had changed history, and it was like I had been holding my breath.

Dirksen's eyes squinted behind his round frames, "Where'd you graduate from?"

"I haven't graduated, sir."

He smiled good-naturedly, "That's alright. Where are you attending?"

"Nowhere, sir. But, I am deeply committed to this cause, and I won't get in the way."

When he didn't respond, I kept going.

"I won't waste your time, sir. If – there's anyone on this team who... benefits from this going well, sir, it's me. I don't think there's anyone who wants this more than I do."

Legal expert. Pfft. I was no legal expert. I was just a lover of books and a lover of justice. And – I loved my people. I longed for my mother to get groceries from whichever store she pleased. I wanted my daddy to have a fair shot at promotion, to make the money he earned. I wanted my sister to go to the colleges she wanted, to drink from the fountains she wanted. I wanted people who looked like me to be able to vote. I wanted folks like me to walk on the same side of the street as white folks. I wanted us to be able to dine at the same establishments and watch movies in the same theaters. I wanted us not to be worried about being plucked from our homes or our daily commutes to be lynched. I wanted no more church or house bombings – and no more burning crosses in our front yards. No more fire hoses or dogs. No more pleading for our humanity, for our human rights.

I loved my people.

"There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere – what's the matter?"

Roosevelt had come barreling toward me, a goofy-looking grin on his face.

I shook my head, looking up at him. Gently, he took hold of my elbow, guiding me into a discreet corner.

"Baby, why are you crying? We won!" Even my tears couldn't hamper his excitement.

"I – I'm... I don't even know what to feel. If I'm honest, I – I don't think I had any real faith." I exhaled a shaky breath.

He just looked at me, "They'd be idiots not to vote yes. Idiots. I mean... that was a sexy bill."

It took a beat before I could laugh. It was nervous and breathy, but I laughed.

"We did a pretty good job, didn't we?"

"We did a damn good job, baby. You did a good job. Those amendments you suggested were some of the most important. The arguments you made... if I weren't already your man, I'd have asked you to marry me."

I giggled. It had been a team effort. If Dirksen could stay holed up in his hospital bed and then at home poring over the bill on the brink of exhaustion, so could we. Ev had been the star of the show. The man bled brilliance and rationality and had a zeal for the Senate like I'd never seen.

Everett Dirksen was the unsung hero behind the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

The rest of us were merely young, eager, and foolish enough to believe we could help produce something that would pass. Ev had believed in it from the beginning – it had been the single most driving force: his belief in a workable, equitable bill for the benefit of humankind.

His belief had instilled in me a new hope. Since meeting Ev, I had a better chance of Roosevelt being my forever. Most importantly, I believed Roosevelt could be my forever.

"I love you," through wet lashes, my gaze raised to meet his. I knew my mascara had to have left watery black streaks on my cheeks.

"I love you more," he picked me up, squeezing me.

Roosevelt set me on my feet, cupping my cheek, "I love you, and I'll never, ever stop loving you."

"You could've been a poet."

He lifted a brow, smiling, "Fortunately for you, my work doesn't preclude me from being a poet."

"I think practicing the law categorically precludes you from being a poet."

Roosevelt tugged at the waistband of my skirt, sending me colliding into his chest. My hands pressed against the lapel of his crisp suit jacket, "You just watch me. What do you say we have a picnic at our spot later? I'll bring the poetry, and you wear that blue dress."

"I say yes."

And for a moment, it felt like the beginning of not worrying about the things we couldn't change. Because we had begun to change them after all.