The sound of a gavel at 6 p.m. on the last day of a legislative session is the sound of freedom, of welcome relief for lawmakers, lobbyists, staff members, reporters, and others who for weeks have been under growing pressure to grasp success in the face of rapidly shrinking time. Within minutes after the gavel falls, the roads out of Jefferson City will be occupied by cars with license places beginning with the letters S and R, followed by their district numbers, speeding homeward and back to real life.

The members of the first session of the 100^th General Assembly of the State of Missouri will repeat actions hundreds of their legislative ancestors knew well long ago. The capitol press corps will have a few hours to recap the day for it can go home, also exhausted but buoyed by the relief that adjournment brings them to.

The correspondent for the Liberty Tribune wrote at the end of a very long March 2, 1855, “As it is late at night and I am worn down with fatigue, and constant application, I beg leave to do as the Dutchman’s team did in the sands of the Mexican desert—just quit.”  His column was published in the March 16 edition.

Yet, before I take my final leave of you, Mr. Editor, I would like to picture to your mind’s eye the scene of the last day of the session.  The day was bright and balmy—a lovely spring day with its light and shade—its sun and its showers—gay groups of ladies in and about the Capitol—Old Nature was loosing the bands of winter, and the tide of the mighty stream that sweeps the base of the capitol was rapidly increasing in strength. The shrill whistle of the steamboat at the wharf called away one-third of the members, with hearts buoyant to see their long-absent wives, sweet-hearts and little ones. The stage coaches were all filled and crammed with departing members and their trunks and sacks of public documents to enlighten the dear people. Private vehicles were rattling along the streets loaded to the guards with absconding legislators. All was bustle, hurry, confusion, mixture and disorder. The confusion of tongues at Babel, or the cloven tongues on the day of Pentecost, could scarcely have been more wonderful or picturesque. The Speaker’s hammer, the very symbol of authority, was as little heeded as the woodpecker’s tattoo, on the hollow tree.  Several ineffectual efforts were made to introduce bills—to call up bills—to make reports—to pass resolutions &c.  A member would rise at his desk and at the top of his voice cry out Mr. Speaker! A dozen voices at the same time, still a little louder. Mr. Speaker! Rap, rap, rap goes the Speaker’s gavel. Another member shouts out Mr. Speaker, I move to have the St. Louis riot act read, as this appears to be “an unlawful assemblage of persons!” At length, after many attempts to do business, within a thin and disorderly house, a resolution was passed deferring all the business on the clerk’s table and in the hands of the committees, until the first Monday in November next. Resolutions were then passed by both houses, notifying his excellency, Gov. Sterling Price, that they had completed their business for the present sitting, and appointing a committee to wait upon him with a copy of the resolutions.—In a short time the committee returned stating that the Governor had no further communications to make with either house of the General Assembly. A motion was then put and carried to adjourn over to the first Monday of November next.  Then, sir, scatterment took place which I shall not further attempt to describe.

Yours respectively, Publius.

The legislature in those days met in the winter months after the crops were in and before the next planting season.  It was allowed to carry over unpassed bills from one year to the next within the two-year session.  A lot of things have changed in the 164 years since “Publius” filed his report. But one thing remains.

When the gavel falls at 6 p.m. today, scatterment will take place once again.