The First Day A Black Newswoman Covered Congress
Alice Dunnigan had a rough first day in the Senate; but she stuck with the beat and made history.
To honor Kadia Goba and Rachel Scott, two Capitol press all-stars, for their incredibly newsy panel with Donald Trump on Wednesday at the National Association of Black Journalists convention in Chicago, I post today the the first-person1 account of Alice Dunnigan of her first day on the Capitol beat.
Transcribed from the book Alone atop the Hill: The Autobiography of Alice Dunnigan, Pioneer of the National Black Press (2015) —
I began my job as chief of the Washington Bureau for the Associated Negro Press on the first day of January 1947. My first assignment was to cover the potential ouster of Theodore Bilbo of Mississippi from the U.S. Senate for misconduct. I was faintly familiar with legislative procedure and with the Capitol building, having often lobbied with a delegation from the Southern Conference for Human Welfare for passage of anti-poll-tax legislation and an antilynching law, two bills of major concern to that organization. But I knew nothing of press operations on Capitol Hill.
On the opening day of Congress, I secured from my Kentucky senator a pass admitting me to the visitors' gallery. Upon arrival, I found a long line waiting for seats in the already overflowing gallery. For hours I stood in tihs line, which moved only when a few people left the gallery, making room for a few others. I became very disgusted and anxious to get inside so taht I could get to work on my assignment. I was completely unaware that itw as against Capitol rules for spectators to take notes in the visitors' gallery. When I discovered this, I realized that the visitors' gallery was not an appropriate place for reporters, anyway.
While standing in line, I noticed a number of newsmen entering and going up a back stairway that was securely roped off with the usual red velvet ropes so commonly seen in places of dignity around the nation's capital. This stairway was guarded by Capitol police. The reporters would step up, show their passes, and be admitted. I saw no reason why I shouldn't do that. So I stepped up to the stairway, only to be stopped by the guards and asked where I wa going.
"I'm a nwespaper reporter," I explained, "and I'm going wjherever those newsmen are going."
"But this is reserved for reporters of accredited newspapers," one polceman replied.
"I'm a reporter for an accredited news bureau," I argued, proudly producing my newly acquired ANP press pass for inspection.
"Even with that," the other guard chimed in. "I don't think you belong up here. But I'm going to let you throuhg. If you have no business up there, they'll send you back, anyway." With this he unsnapped the rope and allowed me to pass.
At the top of the steps, I opened a door marked "Press Gallery" and walked in. To my surprise, I was in a large suite of rooms completely equipped with all types of aparatuses needed by reporters. There were rows of typewriters and shelves filled with reference books. A Western Union machine was ticking away in one corner of an adjoining room. One whole wall was lined with telephone booths. Through an open door, I could see another room full of radio and television equipment. Still another room was furnshed with comfortable couches and easy chairs for relaxation.
Press releases were piled high on a little table, surrounded by stacks of copy paper, carbon paper, Western Union blanks, letterheads, and envelopes. The main door led into the gallery overlooking the Senate chamber. Rows of circular seats were provided for reporters to watch the Senate in action. This is indeed a reprter's haven, I thought, as I gazed around in awe. Sunddenly I was facing a gallery official who politely asked if there was anything he could do for me.
I explained that I was a reporter assigned to the Bilbo hearing and wanted only to see what was goin on inside the Senate chamber.
"No one can observe from the gallery except accredited Capitol reporters," the man explained.
Without specifically answering my question, the official stated that they were not accediting any more reporters because they already had more members than they could accomodate in that space.\
"Are there any Negro repoters accredited," I asked.
He gave a negative answer, explaining that there were certain qualifications. If a reporter met those qualification, he could apply for membership. His application would be reviewed by the standing commitee of the gallery, and if it met the requirements, his membership would be approved by the committee.
I asked for and received the application, which I later completed and submitted.
Weeks passed, and I received no word regarding my application. When I called about it, I was told that the standing committee had not yet acted on it. After more weeks passed, I called again and received the same answer. After a while, I began to make personal visits to the Capitol to inquire about the status of my application, probably making a nuissance of myself. Finally I was informed that I did not qualify for membership since applicants were required to represent daily papers.
To pacify me, I was given another application for membership in the Periodical Gallery. I submitted it and ultimately was notified that I did not qualify for memebrship there because the gallery, they said, was exclusively designed for the magaine writers and I was representing weekly newspapers.
The fight for membership continued, with various organizations and the newspaper guild getting into the act. After a time, the Senate Rules Committee, chaired by Illinois Republican senator C. Wayland (Curley) Brooks, held hearings on the matter. The upshot was the committee ording that the rules of the gallery be changed to admit representatives of news agencies.
A few weeks later, Louis Lautier, representing another news agency — the National Newspaper Publishers Association (NNPA) — was notified that the he had been accepted into the Capitol press corps, thus making him the first Negro member. Percival L. Prattis was admitted to the Periodical Gallery a few days eaelrier as a representative of Our World magazine.
I was disturbed about Lautier being admitted before me since I had vigorously carried the fight, but I never questioned it. Sometime later, hover, I found out that the action on my application had been delayed because ANP director Claude Barnett was a little slow in sending in a letter of recommendation.
When I contacted Mr. Barnett regarding the need for such a letter, he was somewhat skeptical about recommending me because I was "daring to rush in where angels feared to tread." "For years," he wrote me, " we have been trying to get a man accredited to the Capitol Galleries and have not succeeded. What makes you think that you —a woman — can accomplish the feat!"
It was only after quite the exchange of correspondence and telephone conversations that Barnett reluctantly sent a letter of recommendation, and soon afterward, in June 1947, I became the first Negro woman to recieve Capitol accreditation. My acceptance received widespread publicity, and the Republican-controlled Congress received credit for opening the Capitol Press Galleries to Negro reporters.”
The first-person account of Alice Dunnigan was edited posthumously by a white lady at the Washington Post named Carole McCabe Booker. The original manuscript that Dunnigan wrote remains, for now, lost to history.