The next day, he sent a request to Congress to convene a special session on April 2. He prepared his speech, again typing on his Hammond portable. Ike Hoover, the White House usher, told another member of the staff that judging by Wilson’s mood, “Germany is going to get Hell in the address to Congress. I never knew him to be more peevish. He’s out of sorts, doesn’t feel well, and has a headache.”
To prevent leaks, Wilson asked Hoover to bring the speech to the printing office in person, on the morning of April 2. That same day, news arrived that a German submarine had sunk yet another American ship, the Aztec, killing twenty-eight U.S. citizens. Wilson hoped to speak that afternoon, but various congressional processes intervened, and he was not called until the evening. He left the White House at 8:20 P.M.; Edith had set off for the Capitol ten minutes earlier.
A spring rain fell, soft and fragrant; the streets gleamed from the ornate lamps along Pennsylvania Avenue. The dome of the Capitol was lit for the first time in the building’s history. Wilson’s Treasury secretary and son-in-law, William McAdoo, would later recall how the illuminated dome “stood in solemn splendor against the dark wet sky.” Despite the rain, hundreds of men and women lined the avenue. They removed their hats and watched with somber expressions as the president passed slowly in his car, surrounded by soldiers on horseback, as clear a sign as any of what was to come. Hooves beat steadily against the street and gave the procession the air of a state funeral.
Wilson arrived at the Capitol at 8:30, to find it heavily guarded by additional cavalry, the Secret Service, post office inspectors, and city police. Three minutes later, the Speaker announced, “The President of the United States.” The vast chamber exploded with cheers and applause. Small American flags fluttered everywhere, like birds’ wings. The tumult continued for two minutes, before settling to allow Wilson to begin.
He spoke in the direct and cool manner that had become familiar to the nation and that listeners often described as professorial. His voice betrayed no hint of what he was now prepared to ask of Congress. At first he kept his eyes on his text, but as he progressed he now and then looked up to underscore a point.
He described Germany’s behavior as constituting “in effect nothing less than war against the government and people of the United States.” He outlined Germany’s past efforts at espionage and alluded to the Zimmermann telegram, and he cast America’s coming fight in lofty terms. “The world,” he said, “must be made safe for democracy.”
At this there rose the sound of one man’s applause, slow and loud. Sen. John Sharp Williams, a Mississippi Democrat, brought his hands together “gravely, emphatically,” according to a reporter for the New York Times. In the next moment, the idea that this was the centerpiece of Wilson’s speech, and that it encapsulated all that America might hope to achieve, suddenly dawned on the rest of the senators and representatives, and a great roar filled the room.