Free Mr. Justice by Scott Douglas Gerber Page A

before they could comment on it intelligently: They could simply assert that they were an expert in the field.
    The best example of this phenomenon was what was known in academic circles as “law office history.” Law professors had spent an inordinate amount of time over the years writing about what the “framers” of the U.S. Constitution had thought about particular legal questions. The place of religion in public life was a frequent subject of debate. “The framers intended a strict ‘wall of separation’ between church and state,” a noted Yale Law School professor had written in an article published in the Yale Law Journal . “Religious activities have no place in our public schools. Prayer certainly doesn’t.”
    A Columbia Law School professor had countered that Thomas Jefferson, the author of the “wall of separation” metaphor, wasn’t even in Philadelphia in 1787 when the Constitution was being drafted. He was serving as the U.S. ambassador to France. “Jefferson’s absence aside,” the Columbia professor had penned, “there is no single entity that can be called the ‘framers’ of the Constitution… . The ‘framers’ did not have a collective mind, think in one groove, or possess the same convictions.”
    Peter McDonald, in contrast, had tried to steer clear of debates among academic lawyers about the meaning of history, philosophy, and the like. “Law professors need to concentrate on the law ,” he had once said during a symposium about the state of legal scholarship. “We should leave history to the historians, economics to the economists, and philosophy to the philosophers. To make the point another way, although it makes perfect sense to ask Phil Mickelson how he hits such incredible golf shots, it seems like pure lunacy to care what he thinks about the Sixth Amendment right to counsel in a criminal trial. Believe it or not, I once heard a reporter ask him about the Sixth Amendment. It was during the time of the Michael Vick dog fighting trial. Phil stared at the reporter as if the reporter was crazy and moved on to the putting green. We should follow Phil Mickelson’s example and stick to what we know best.”

CHAPTER 28
     
     
    Peter McDonald’s scholarship had made him famous. He was frequently invited to lecture at law schools across the nation, his articles and books were cited by other scholars in his field, and he had won numerous awards for excellence in legal research. But what made the celebrated law professor most proud was the life he had shared with his family.
    Jenny and Megan McDonald certainly had been aware of Peter’s professional success—Jenny because she was a high powered intellect in her own right and Megan because her father often brought her along on his speaking engagements—but they much preferred spending private time with him at home. Their favorite family activity was tending the garden in their backyard. None of the McDonalds possessed what could be called a green thumb—Megan’s thumb was usually brown from playing in the dirt—but there was something about trying to bring plants and flowers to life that appealed to them. Perhaps it was because both Peter and Jenny had grown up in an urban environment. Peter had been raised in Chicago, where his father was a senior vice president for a commodities firm and his mother a dentist with her own successful practice. Jenny had grown up in South Boston. Her father had worked for thirty years as a heating and cooling repairman. Her mother stayed home to raise the kids. About as close as either family had gotten to horticulture was a pair of flower boxes in the front windows of their respective residences.
    Cooking dinner together was Peter, Jenny, and Megan’s second favorite family activity. Cooking was something at which Peter’s and Jenny’s families had excelled growing up. Jenny’s mom had been a wonder in the kitchen. In fact, she had been renowned throughout her South Boston neighborhood for