Paul had opposed the Fed for decades and had offered several bills to dismantle it, dating back to 1983. As with all of his previous attempts, the 2009 bill died in committee. Although few members of Congress shared Paul's desire to eliminate the Fed, the central bank's unprecedented interventions during the 2007-2009 financial crisis provoked new sources of resistance. At a minimum, many more Americans were curious about the inner workings of the Fed, whose activities and decisions were frequently wrapped in secrecy. From its earliest days, the Fed's supporters had insisted that monetary policy had to be separated from electoral politics to prevent the manipulation of the money supply and interest rates for short-term political gain. Increasingly, however, critics questioned whether the costs of Federal Reserve independence and secrecy might outweigh the benefits. By late 2009, mounting concerns in Congress had breathed new life into one of Representative Paul's milder proposals for containing the Fed. Though his ultimate goal was to "end the Fed," Paul had also repeatedly proposed a full audit of the institution. By November 19, 2009, his latest audit bill had attracted 313 cosponsors, a record level of support, and the House Financial Services Committee was scheduled to vote that very day on whether to append a version of the proposal to a major financial reform bill that was then taking shape in Congress. If the audit provision became law, it would represent a notable change in policy, providing an unprecedented window on Fed activities and raising significant new questions about the nature of central bank independence in America.

On the afternoon of June 21, 1982, the Florida Senate prepared to vote on whether to ratify the proposed Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) to the U.S. Constitution, which stated that "Equality of Rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex." Supporters believed the ERA was essential to winning equal rights for women. Opponents claimed that the proposed amendment would dangerously expand federal power over the states, remove needed protections for women, and undermine the American family. When Congress had sent the ERA to the states for ratification, in March 1972, it had done so through a joint resolution stipulating that state legislatures had to ratify it within seven years. As the deadline neared, however, only 35 of the requisite 38 states had voted to ratify the amendment, four of which later voted to rescind ratification, though ERA supporters questioned the constitutionality of rescission. In October 1978, Congress extended the ratification deadline to June 30, 1982, a move that ERA opponents denounced as unconstitutional. Over the next several years, one more state voted to rescind, and no new states ratified. In 1982, ERA supporters made a final push for ratification. That June, the governor of Florida, an ERA supporter, called the state legislature into special session to consider, among other issues, approval of the ERA. If Florida ratified, supporters hoped that Illinois and either Oklahoma or North Carolina would quickly follow. On June 21, thousands of demonstrators, both for and against the amendment, converged on the state capitol in Tallahassee. That morning, the Florida House voted in favor of the ERA, 60 to 58. Now it was up to the Florida Senate to decide whether to ratify the amendment or to kill it.

When the Titanic tragically sank on April 15, 1912, potentially life-saving help was delayed as a result of failures in radio communication. In part as a result, Congress moved swiftly to regulate radio, passing the Radio Act of 1912 four months later. Although at this stage radio was still used principally for point-to-point, Morse code communications, the radio scene changed drastically in the early 1920s with the rise of broadcasting, as new private stations began to deliver music and voice programs to a listening public. By 1927, more than 700 stations were battling over 96 available frequencies. This crowding of the broadcast spectrum substantially diminished the quality of radio listening. In fact, the airwaves were so full of interference that many citizens complained that it was often impossible to tune into any station clearly. In January 1926, both houses of Congress began considering sweeping bills to tackle the problem of interference and the question of how to allocate frequencies for broadcasting. Lawmakers vigorously debated a broad set of issues, ranging from questions of ownership and regulatory authority to the protection of free speech and the prevention of monopoly. A bill endorsed by both the House and Senate emerged a little over a year later, after the interference problem was said to have grown worse, and it finally arrived on the desk of President Calvin Coolidge on February 23, 1927. The bill would create a Federal Radio Commission with the power to license radio stations for two years at a time. President Coolidge had endorsed radio reform in his most recent annual message to Congress but had requested that all regulatory power be granted to the secretary of commerce, not to a commission. Now, with Congress having opted for a commission, he had to decide if the bill before him charted an acceptable path for American radio regulation.

Americans elected Abraham Lincoln as the nation's first Republican president in November of 1860. Northern political leaders had formed the Republican Party only a few years before, in large measure to combat the spread of slavery. Southerners had long been wary of Northern hostility toward their "peculiar institution," and Lincoln's 1860 victory proved to be the last straw in this sectional rivalry that had deeply influenced American culture and politics since the earliest days of the republic. By the time of Lincoln's inauguration five months later, in March 1861, seven Southern states had announced their decision to secede from the Union. Lincoln rejected secession as unlawful and pledged that his government would continue to exercise its authority, as best it could, in the rebellious states. A crisis in South Carolina, the first state to secede, tested Lincoln's mettle in the opening days of his presidency. Federal troops still held Fort Sumter in Charleston harbor, but their supplies were running low. Lincoln would either have to evacuate the fort or risk war by sending provisions. The new president understood the weight of the choice he faced: nothing less than the survival of the Union was at stake.

By the mid-1830s, the U.S. Government and the State of Georgia had for years been pushing the Cherokees to turn all of their territory over to white settlers and move west, yet it appeared that most Cherokees wanted to keep their ancestral homeland. In October 1835, the Cherokee General Council had named a committee of leaders to work out a mutually agreeable solution with the federal government in Washington. At about the same time, however, U.S. Indian Commissioner John Schermerhorn had called a meeting at New Echota, Georgia with a separate committee of Cherokees who he believed would be more willing to "remove" the entire tribe to the West. This separate committee ultimately agreed to the Treaty of New Echota on December 29, 1835. Under the treaty, the Cherokees would cede all of their eastern territory in exchange for $4.5 million, land in the West, and other sundry benefits. U.S. President Andrew Jackson, who had battled Native American tribes during much of his former military career, was eager to oust the Cherokees from the eastern states. However, several members of the Senate criticized the Treaty of New Echota as a "phantom treaty," claiming that it was signed by an illegitimate council without the consent of the Cherokee people. Approving the treaty, they insisted, would be a grave wrong against the Cherokee Nation and its official government, which the United States had long recognized. On May 18, 1836, the U.S. Senate finally put the Treaty of New Echota to a vote. If ratified, the treaty would bind all Cherokees to the decisions of the committee at New Echota, and the Cherokee Nation would have to leave its native land.

In late February, 1791, Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton submitted a report to President Washington defending his recent proposal for a national bank, which he hoped would bolster the American economy and assist the federal government in managing its finances. Congress had approved the plan, but some of the President's advisers warned that the federal government lacked the authority to establish a bank because the Constitution did not grant it the power to charter corporations. In his rebuttal, Hamilton argued that Congress had "implied powers," not specifically listed in the Constitution, which lawmakers could use when necessary to achieve legitimate goals. Because the proposed bank would assist Congress in executing its fiscal responsibilities, Hamilton believed that incorporating the bank fell well within Congress's constitutional authority. As President Washington considered these arguments, he knew that his decision to sign or veto Hamilton's bank bill would extend far beyond the issue of the bank itself. If he approved, his assent would potentially encourage the broad exercise of implied powers in the future. A veto, on the other hand, would send the message that Congress had no authority beyond the powers explicitly listed in the Constitution. Either way, President Washington would be lending his considerable weight and prestige to one side of this seminal constitutional debate, and he was well aware that much was riding on his decision.

On June 8th, 1787, at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, delegates from across the United States began discussing a curious proposal to expand federal power over the states. James Madison of Virginia had suggested that the new constitution include a "federal negative," which would give Congress the authority to veto any law passed by a state legislature. He viewed this as a critical safeguard against unchecked power at the state level. In late May, Madison's Virginia delegation had presented a plan for the constitution that included a watered-down version of the negative. Now, in June, Charles Pinckney of South Carolina revived the original version, calling it "the corner stone of an efficient national Government." Not everyone agreed with Pinckney's assessment, however. Opponents charged that Madison's federal negative would allow Congress to "enslave the states" and let "large States crush the small ones." Indeed, the question of how much power - and what types of power - to vest in the federal government went to the very heart of the debate that unfolded that summer. Whether Madison could persuade his fellow delegates at the Constitutional Convention was far from clear, but there could be little doubt how much was at stake as the new nation struggled to find its footing in Philadelphia.

In early 1891, California lawmakers were considering a plan to reform the state's elections through the introduction of an "Australian" ballot. Under this new system, candidates from all qualifying parties would appear on official ballots, which would be printed by county and municipal governments and which voters would ultimately fill out in secret. This would mark a substantial departure from the existing way in which votes were cast in California, or for that matter in most of the United States. Traditionally, political groups prepared and distributed party-line ballots, called "tickets," for voters to submit at the polls. Because each party ticket was visually distinctive (in most cases, distinguished by a particular color), it was easy for observers to determine how individual citizens had voted as they handed in their ballots. Closely monitoring the ballot boxes, representatives of the party "political machines" frequently paid supporters who voted for the machine ticket and sought to punish those who did not. Supporters of the Australian ballot promised it would end these abuses, bring greater secrecy and honesty to California's elections, and loosen the grip of party machines on the state and municipal governments. Despite some opposition in Republican circles, the Republican-dominated Assembly and Senate both passed the ballot bill by large margins in early March and sent it on to the Republican governor, Henry Markham, for his signature. If Markham signed the bill into law, California would join a growing roster of U.S. states using the new, secret ballot, and reformers would claim another victory in their battle against political machines.

In late October 1902, President Theodore Roosevelt felt relieved after months of anxiety and uncertainty. Workers in Pennsylvania's anthracite coal industry had been on strike for five months, threatening to leave eastern cities in the cold without enough heating fuel for the winter. Anthracite workers and business owners had finally reached an agreement after months of stalemate, and anthracite production resumed on October 23. The agreement - the first of its kind - put decision-making power in the hands of a federal commission, appointed by the president and empowered to determine terms of employment and various operational questions in the anthracite region. After a week-long investigation in the mines, the commission began hearing testimony from hundreds of representatives of the workers and their employers, the mine operators. The hearings finally closed in February 1903, after which the commission began formulating its final judgments. Members of the commission knew that their work would set an important precedent for industrial governance in the years ahead. Past U.S. presidents had helped put down strikes that threatened federal property or public safety, but the anthracite strike of 1902 marked the first time the government acted to resolve a strike both without force and without such a clear legal justification. The decisions of the commission would therefore have important ramifications not only for the anthracite industry, but potentially for American business-labor relations more generally. With copious amounts of data, testimony, and research to inform them, the commission members began the process of deciding how an American industry should, and would, operate.