What precisely was President Jackson’s stake in the outcome? The president decided that now was the time to explain it himself.
“Excuse me, Mr. Chief Justice,” Jackson said as he stood to his feet. He turned to Richards, who was organizing her notes. “Sorry, Cheryl, but I think I should present the university’s side.”
President Jackson’s unexpected entry of appearance in
Tucker v. University of South Carolina
made the commotion surrounding Senator Burton’s entry of appearance seem like the height of normalcy by comparison.
The chief justice tried to gavel the courtroom to order. It took him a full ten minutes to do so. “Order!” he said, over and over again. “Order in the court! Order!”
Charles Jackson wasn’t stupid. No one savvy enough to get elected president could be. He knew that he had to explain himself quickly. He pulled the microphone close to his mouth and said, “Please, everyone. Please. Five minutes. That’s all I ask. Just five minutes.”
It worked. Calm returned to the courtroom. The chief justice seemed grateful for that, but he was less than pleased about what had caused the commotion in the first place. He said, with a surprising edge to his voice, “You’ve got five minutes, Mr. President.”
President Jackson said, “Thank you, Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court.”
The chief justice appeared surprised that the president—a politician, not a lawyer—was familiar with the proper salutation.
The president continued, “First, let me apologize for disturbing everyone. But I felt, in light of what Senator Burton said in her remarks, that I should say something too. Second, I’m not a lawyer, so please forgive me if I’m not as polished in my presentation as Senator Burton was in hers.”
The president’s first point was true: he was being a profound disturbance. His second point was a stretch: Charles Jackson was the most polished political orator since Bill Clinton and, although Supreme Court justices always denied it, the nation’s highest court was a political institution.
The chief justice, a Republican appointee, said, “Four minutes, Mr. President. I suggest you get to the point.”
“Certainly, Your Honor. Certainly.” The president retrieved Cheryl Richards’s notes from the podium and handed them back to her. He planned to speak from the heart. He said, “In case anyone failed to notice, I’m black.”
Nervous laughter filled the gallery.
Even the chief justice smiled a bit.
The president continued, “I say that not to be funny, although I’m glad the tension in the room has dissipated a bit. I mention my race because, like it or not, race still matters in the United States. It doesn’t matter as much as it used to matter—I was elected president, after all—but it still matters.” Jackson turned and faced Alexandra Burton. “Senator Burton is simply wrong to suggest otherwise. Senator Burton is simply wrong to think, for example, that it’s as easy for a black man to hail a cab in this country as it is for a white woman. It’s not. It’s simply not. In fact, before I became president—before anyone but the good people of Connecticut knew who I was—I often couldn’t flag down a cab myself. Let me be clear, however: The case the Court has been asked to decide today isn’t about me. It’s about our future. We can’t forget that during most of the past two hundred years, the Constitution as interpreted by this honorable Court didn’t prohibit the most ingenious and pervasive forms of discrimination against blacks. As I’ve said, I’m not a lawyer. But I do know about
Dred Scott v. Sanford
, which relegated blacks to the status of property, and I do know about
Plessy v. Ferguson
, in which the Court endorsed racial segregation under the guise of ‘separate but equal.’”
President Jackson reached for Cheryl Richards’s water glass and took a slow sip. He held the glass high above his head and said, “Under separate but equal I would be subject to arrest for doing what I just did. Now when a state acts to remedy the effects of that legacy of discrimination—especially a former slave state such as South Carolina—I cannot believe that this same Constitution stands as a barrier. It doesn’t. It
can’t
.”
The president returned the water glass to Richards, directed his attention back to the bench, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Chief Justice.” He turned to the gallery. “And thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”
CHAPTER 79
Cat Wilson said, “Why didn’t we go in?”
Clay Smith searched for a plausible explanation about why they had walked twenty blocks from the White House to the Supreme Court and then immediately turned around and left. He knew the reason—because he didn’t want Kelsi Shelton to see him—but he couldn’t tell Cat that. He noticed they were standing in front of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. He said, “Because I thought you should see this first. Isn’t it amazing?”
No one could help but be impressed by the mirror-like surface of the polished black granite reflecting the images of the surrounding trees, lawns, and monuments. The walls seemed to stretch into the distance, directing visitors toward the Washington Monument in the east and the Lincoln Memorial to the west.
Cat certainly appeared impressed. “It’s beautiful.” However, she was poor, not stupid. “But why did we
really
leave the Court in such a rush? We could’ve stopped here on the way back.”
Clay had to think fast. He couldn’t afford to let Cat know the truth. “The truth?”
“Yes.”
He lied. “Because I couldn’t wait to be alone with you.” Clay pulled Cat toward him and kissed her. It was the sort of kiss that signaled the climax of a Hollywood movie.
Cat didn’t resist. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. But after she had come up for air, she said, “I’m almost old enough to be your mother.” That wasn’t true. However, working full time while raising a child alone would make anyone feel old.
Clay said, “You’re one sexy mama, then.”
Cat giggled at Clay’s pickup line. It was so lame that it worked.
Clay kissed her again. He whispered into her ear, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
“To the fleabag, you mean.”
“Yeah. To the fleabag.”
Clay had a difficult time fitting his bent key into the rusty lock. By the time he did, Cat was undressed. Damn, Clay said to himself. She must have done this before. But he didn’t care. Her body was flawless.
Cat
had
done this before. A lot. Her looks were her strongest asset. She didn’t feel guilty about exploiting them, though. Life had dealt the poor, undereducated, unwed mother a bad hand, so she felt entitled to take advantage of the one thing that worked in her favor.
“Do you think the bed is strong enough to hold us?” Clay’s hand was firmly attached to Cat’s marvelous buttocks. “I thought it was gonna break when I rolled over last night… . I was by myself then.”
“Who knows?” Cat reached her hand inside Clay’s pants. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER 80
Senator Alexandra Burton wasn’t pleased with how the oral arguments had gone. She felt she had done well, but she didn’t like the questions that some of the justices had asked. More importantly, she didn’t like that Peter McDonald hadn’t asked any questions. By not asking questions, the Supreme Court’s newest member hadn’t tipped his hand. Burton strongly suspected where McDonald stood on the case—where most academics stood: in favor of affirmative action—but he hadn’t given Burton any ammunition to feed to the press by remaining silent during the hour-long argument. Consequently, Burton’s legal team had to resort to asserting that Justice McDonald should have recused himself from the case, a technical claim about judicial protocol that most Americans wouldn’t understand. Moreover, when the point about recusal had been floated to the reporter who covered the Court for
The Washington Times
, the reporter had reminded the Burton camp that many new justices sat on cases that were filed before they were appointed. “Don’t forget,” the reporter had said between puffs on a cigarette, “
Brown v. Board of Education
, the most famous civil rights decision in American history, was filed before Earl Warren had been appointed to the Court… . Warren ended up authoring the opinion.” That fact was relayed to Burton, and Burton concluded that she needed to do something to relieve the stress of recent events.
She decided to do what she almost always did when she felt compelled to cheer herself up: attend a Ku Klux Klan meeting. This particular meeting was being held in a large pasture on the outskirts of Spartanburg.
The exalted cyclops—the head—of the Spartanburg den said to the konklave, “Akia. Kigy. We are privileged to have with us this evening the imperial wizard herself.”
The konklave said, “Akia. Kigy.” The klansmen broke into a spontaneous round of applause. Many had tears in their eyes. This was the first time the imperial wizard had graced them with her presence. It was the highest honor any den could receive.
Burton said, “Akia. Kigy.”
More applause.
Burton held up her hands to silence the konklave. As a U.S. senator, she was used to being fawned over. Those occasions were artificial, though.
This
—the reception from her compatriots in the sacred order—was sincere. She was glad she had come. She was warmed by the fiery cross, both literally and metaphorically.
The kludd read from the Kloran.
The exalted cyclops said, “My terrors and klansmen, what means the fiery cross?”
The konklave said, “We serve and sacrifice for the right.” They sang the Klan’s sacred song.
The kludd read several more passages from the Kloran.
When he had finished, the exalted cyclops said, “Amen.”
The konklave said, “Amen!”
The exalted cyclops said, “Bring forth the sacrifice.”
Klan protocol required that a sacrifice be offered the first time the imperial wizard visited a particular den. It was a sign of respect.
Two terrors—two members of the exalted cyclops’s staff—dragged a middle-aged black man across the muddy ground. The black man had put up quite a fight thirty minutes before Burton had arrived, but the terrors had beaten the man into submission with a tree branch. They had to stop several times to make certain he wasn’t dead. The sacrifice was required to be of a
living
black man.
The exalted cyclops said, “Tie the nigger to the tree.”
Burton smiled at the spectacle. It was power in its ultimate form—the taking of human life. Burton loved power. That’s why she originally ran for the U.S. Senate, that’s why she became the imperial wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, … and that’s why she coveted the American presidency.
The next morning, smoldering ashes and a blackened tree were all that remained. A placard read,
We Must Protect Our Women
.
The local newspaper urged readers to “keep the facts in mind” when they judged the actions of the lynchers, whom everyone knew to be the local den of the KKK. This wasn’t the first time a black man had been discovered hanging from a tree in Spartanburg. The newspaper’s lead editorial insisted:
The people of Spartanburg are orderly and conservative, the descendants of ancestors who have been trained in America for more than two hundred years. They are a people intensely religious, home-loving, and just. There is among them no foreign or lawless element.
The newspaper went on to provide the so-called facts of the black man’s alleged offenses. They were implausible and untrue.
Alexandra Burton chuckled as she closed the local paper. She buttered a piece of toast and then swept the toast across the egg yolk that remained on her breakfast plate. Politicians needed to keep abreast of both local and national news, and Burton was no exception. She reached for
The Washington Times
, her national newspaper of choice.
The Washington Times
was founded in 1982 by the Reverend Sun Myung Moon. The paper was politically conservative, and most journalism scholars cited it, along with FOX News and radio host Rush Limbaugh, as epitomizing the conservative agenda.
The Washington Times
was Ronald Reagan’s favorite newspaper. Burton liked to say, “If it was good enough for Reagan, it’s good enough for me.” That morning’s edition included a clarion call against the “liberal activism of the politicians in robes.” The editorial was referring to
Grutter v. Bollinger
. The piece concluded by urging the nation’s highest court to overrule that precedent in
Tucker v. University of South Carolina
.
Burton had just poured herself a second cup of coffee when her secretary entered the room.
“Excuse me for interrupting your breakfast, Senator, but your nine o’clock appointment is here.”
Burton checked her watch. Now we can end this matter once and for all, she said to herself.
She instructed her secretary to bring in Clay Smith.
CHAPTER 81
Peter McDonald said good morning to the parking garage attendant as he exited his car.
“You’re here mighty early this mornin’, Mr. Justice,” the attendant said. He held the door of McDonald’s car, the only one in the garage with a University of Virginia bumper sticker. Wahoo-wah.
McDonald smiled and said, “The chief has been asking about the status of my opinion in the South Carolina case. The arguments were a month ago. He’s been polite about it—a brief e-mail here, a quick phone call there—but it’s not difficult to tell that he wants to see a draft … and pronto.”
The attendant returned McDonald’s smile. “I’m sure you’re up to it, sir. I’ve been watchin’ the news. Everyone says they expect great things from you.”
McDonald arrived at his second floor office, unlocked the door, and switched on the lights. The silence was comforting. He wasn’t used to the cacophony that had dominated both his nomination to the Court and the attempt on his life. Academics lived a quiet existence with their books and ideas. Judges usually did, too. He was glad the tumult had subsided … at least a bit. Unfortunately, the media was having a field day with his failure to recuse himself from
Tucker v. University of South Carolina
. But the canons of judicial ethics were far from clear. Canon 3 was the only one plausibly at issue: “A judge shall perform the duties of judicial office impartially and diligently.” McDonald, being the former law professor that he was, researched the canon before deciding not to disqualify himself from the most important case of the decade. He had also discussed the matter with the chief justice.