Tom McGough: Rehnquist Leaves An Enormous Judicial Legacy
My turn to stand vigil came at 11 on Tuesday morning, an hour after the flag-draped coffin of William Hubbs Rehnquist had been carried into the Great Hall of the Supreme Court and placed for public viewing on the same velvet-covered platform that had once borne the coffin of Abraham Lincoln. At the head of the platform stood a portrait of the man who had presided over the judicial branch of our federal system for the last 19 years.
Standing vigil meant standing silent and stock still beside the coffin for a half hour, a duty and an honor I shared with the other men and women who had served as law clerks for "the Chief." Of the 102 lawyers who had served in his chambers, 98 had rearranged their Labor Day and post-Labor Day schedules to note his passing together and to pay our respects to his family. That included Judge John Roberts, whose Senate hearings on his nomination to be the next chief justice were postponed.
The guidelines for standing vigil are relatively straightforward. Stand erect. Clasp your hands in front or behind. Remain silent. Look somber. Flex your leg muscles periodically to keep blood flowing to your head. If you feel woozy, take a knee, pretend you are praying, and wait for help.
I had an easy time with everything except the somber part; the portrait kept threatening to break my composure. The artist had not only depicted the Chief wearing a tie that could have been patterned after a color photo from the Hubble telescope, but had also given him the barest hint of a smile. And then there were the stripes.
When the gold stripes first appeared on the sleeves of his robe in 1992, legal historians searched for precedent while court-watchers tut-tutted about pretentiousness. Jay Leno even spoofed them in one of his monologues. Many pundits predicted a rapid disappearance, like the marching band uniforms President Nixon once had designed for the White House guards.
But the stripes stayed, and those who knew the Chief understood. He had put them there not out of grandiosity, but out of whimsy. Think Gilbert & Sullivan, he said.
A "judicial conservative," of course, is not supposed to be whimsical, especially a Goldwater-supporting-Nixon-appointed-Rea gan-elevated-strict-constructionist. But whimsical he was. And good-natured. And patient. And immensely interested in just about everything, including the lives of the recent law school graduates who came into his chambers as law clerks.
Standing vigil meant standing silent and stock still beside the coffin for a half hour, a duty and an honor I shared with the other men and women who had served as law clerks for "the Chief." Of the 102 lawyers who had served in his chambers, 98 had rearranged their Labor Day and post-Labor Day schedules to note his passing together and to pay our respects to his family. That included Judge John Roberts, whose Senate hearings on his nomination to be the next chief justice were postponed.
The guidelines for standing vigil are relatively straightforward. Stand erect. Clasp your hands in front or behind. Remain silent. Look somber. Flex your leg muscles periodically to keep blood flowing to your head. If you feel woozy, take a knee, pretend you are praying, and wait for help.
I had an easy time with everything except the somber part; the portrait kept threatening to break my composure. The artist had not only depicted the Chief wearing a tie that could have been patterned after a color photo from the Hubble telescope, but had also given him the barest hint of a smile. And then there were the stripes.
When the gold stripes first appeared on the sleeves of his robe in 1992, legal historians searched for precedent while court-watchers tut-tutted about pretentiousness. Jay Leno even spoofed them in one of his monologues. Many pundits predicted a rapid disappearance, like the marching band uniforms President Nixon once had designed for the White House guards.
But the stripes stayed, and those who knew the Chief understood. He had put them there not out of grandiosity, but out of whimsy. Think Gilbert & Sullivan, he said.
A "judicial conservative," of course, is not supposed to be whimsical, especially a Goldwater-supporting-Nixon-appointed-Rea gan-elevated-strict-constructionist. But whimsical he was. And good-natured. And patient. And immensely interested in just about everything, including the lives of the recent law school graduates who came into his chambers as law clerks.