Critics of Supreme Court justices frequently resort to unfair caricatures of those justices that, the critics hope, will generate clicks and likes. If you happened to see a recent hit piece on Justice Alito, for example, you would read that he is “unhappy,” “aggrieved” and “wronged.” And he, like the others, is expected to endure these attacks in silence. For, if the justices speak up, their critics then castigate them as thin-skinned and — conveniently — unhappy, aggrieved and wronged.
This vicious game is nothing new — but, when it comes to Justice Alito, it is personal for me.
I was born in Louisiana and grew up in the South, where I attended Baylor University for undergrad and Louisiana State University for law school. Today, I serve as the solicitor general of Louisiana, which requires me to argue before the Supreme Court. That is the experience of a lifetime — an experience sometimes described as a Super Bowl for lawyers, or, as one Yelp review of the Supreme Court building put it, Washington’s version of a gladiator match.
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History and statistics would say that my story is unlikely. I did not grow up among East Coast and West Coast elites. I do not hold an Ivy League degree. And my unpronounceable last name is not famous. Yet here I am — by God’s grace and because of an army of people (including my current boss, Louisiana Attorney General Liz Murrill) who have believed in me.
Justice Alito is one of those people. When I mailed a clerkship application around a decade ago, I was under no illusions about winning the race against hundreds of other applications from top attorneys for one of four positions with the justice. And when I interviewed, I was sure I had torpedoed my chances: When I arrived, I declined coffee when the justice’s assistant offered it (I could not risk spilling it on my white shirt) — but when I went into the justice’s office and he offered coffee, I panicked and accepted (it would be rude to say no), only for him to ask the same assistant to bring me coffee. My face was bright red as she handed me a cup. Yet they both apparently forgave me, and they became dear friends after I began my clerkship.
The clerkship with Justice Alito was surreal in many expected ways. For example, the justice is incredibly smart. That is readily apparent from any opinion he writes or oral argument in which he grills counsel. So, too, behind the scenes: On more than one occasion, email chatter from him would go quiet, and then a flood of perfectly cited draft opinions would come streaming in. He did not need us.
But unexpected were the myriad examples of Justice Alito’s decent character that we witnessed. Take this example: A law clerk works long hours performing legal research, drafting memos and completing other necessary tasks. The “Alitos” during my year were no exception. But the justice is notoriously sensitive to imposing on his law clerks. He refused to email us on weekends if he could help it. And any time he wanted us to complete some research, he would ask in a sheepish, almost apologetic, tone. My co-clerks and I would laugh: Why was he worried about asking clerks to do the very things that clerks do? That is his decency.
Some jurists are reputed to be harsh taskmasters. Not Justice Alito. Not only did he lighten our loads at all costs, but he also never raised his voice or directed displeasure toward us. That is not because we were perfect — one time I had to apologize for turning in a memo a day late, but he did not bat an eye. To the contrary, the justice took every opportunity he could to encourage us. I remember one particularly long memo battle that we fought and won. He could have walked off with the victory. But instead, he took time to give me a thoughtful thank you note for my assistance.
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One of the memorable parts of any clerkship is the chance to eat lunch with your judge or justice and discuss anything but work. Some jurists prefer a fancy lunch out on the town. Not Justice Alito. My fondest memories are those lunches we had around a chambers table — the clerks with box lunches or maybe a to-go plate from the cafeteria, and the justice with a bowl of Campbell’s soup that he had just warmed in a microwave. The justice is famously introverted, and so, it was not uncommon for the clerks to run away with the conversation as the justice’s spoon clinked against his bowl of soup. The justice was not disengaged; he was waiting for the right moment to strike with the driest humor known to Washington. He did not need to spend precious time with us at lunch — he had more important things to do. And yet he sacrificed anyway.
Before argument one day, my family had a chance to stop by chambers and meet the justice. I was excited to introduce the justice. But, when they came in, he was beaming like a new father showing off a newborn: He told my family all about my work and how grateful he was to have me in chambers. Of course, as noted earlier, he could do his job just as well (probably better) without clerks. But he made me — and them — feel like a million bucks by expressing his sincere appreciation. In that moment, I remembered how improbable my story was. And nearly a decade later, I often reflect on that moment and the immense gratitude that I will always express to the justice who dramatically impacted my life.
All this is why obsessive depictions of Justice Alito as “aggrieved” and “unhappy” in the media are personal to me. He is nothing like the caricature erected by those pining for clicks and likes at his expense. And it is a disservice to the justice and to the Supreme Court as an institution to perpetuate a false “aggrievement” narrative that, at this point, is exhausted from being copied and pasted too many times.
The Justice Alito I know is kind, humble, thoughtful, and selfless. I know because he believed in me — and I am a better man because of his example.
