the judgeâs queries, followed by Amit and James in a rough tie, followed by the hapless Larry.
At the end of the meeting, Judge Stinson collected her papers and stood up, resplendent in a cerulean suit that looked like Chanel (or my idea of Chanel, since I didnât own one myself).
âExcellent work, everyone,â she said. âAudrey, itâs wonderful to have you on board.â
7
A few weeks later, on a Wednesday in September, a cab dropped off my co-clerks and me in front of the James R. Browning United States Courthouse. We were in San Francisco for the annual Ninth Circuit law clerk orientation.
The cab ride to the courthouse wasnât long; we could have walked. And we would have, if the doorman at the Union Square Hilton hadnât grimaced when we asked him for directions to Seventh and Mission. He suggested we take a cab. Before the four of us could discuss, Amit had already hopped into oneâtaking the front passenger seat, of course. As we drove past boarded-up buildings, payday-loan providers, and Chinese takeout places featuring photos of their dishes above the counter, I could see why the doorman counseled against walking.
The Browning Courthouse looked like a courthouse should: just as magnificent as the Ninth Circuitâs courthouse in Pasadena, but less inviting and more imposing. Even through the thick morning fog, apparently unusual for this time of year, we could make out balustrades, cornices, and pedimentsâhallmarks of Beaux-Arts design that I remembered vaguely from an architecture class I took in college. It made sense to me that this majestic building, clad in white granite and brick, was the official headquarters of the Ninth Circuit. It made less sense to see the structure surrounded by seediness, sticking out like a wealthy widow who had wandered into a strip club.
âDid you know,â Amit said, reading something off his iPhone, perhaps a Wikipedia entry, âthat the courthouseâs design was inspired by Italian Renaissance palazzos? That skilled artisans had to be brought in from Italy to do some of the work? That when it opened for service as a federal government building in 1905, it was praised as âthe post office thatâs a palaceâ?â
âI did not know all that,â James said, shooting me a sly smile. âBut it sounds about right. Itâs a beautiful building.â
âI dunno,â Larry said. âIt looks kinda ⦠old. And some of these old buildings are totally crap on the inside.â
But what we encountered on the other side of two gigantic bronze doors was anything but âcrap.â After passing dutifully through the metal detector and security checkpoint, we found ourselves in a vast entry hall whose air felt cold due to all the marble it containedâpanels of classic white marble trimmed in green marble, a double-barrel-vaulted ceiling with marble mosaics, and more mosaic tile on the floor. Each end of the hall featured a rotunda with a stained-glass dome ringed with eagles that appeared to be made of more marble mosaic tile.
Standing in the majestic foyer of the James R. Browning Courthouse, I shiveredâpartly from the marble-cooled air, and partly from the glory of it all. I hadnât had this feeling when I first entered the Richard Chambers Courthouse in Pasadena, but that building, while no less beautiful, exuded an intimate, residential feel. The Browning Courthouse sent a different message, emphasizing the power and impersonality of the law. Marveling at the marble, I thought to myself: this is a temple to the law, my boss is one of the lawâs high priestesses, and I am one of her acolytes.
We made our way to the library atrium, the main site for the orientation sessions. Each clerk received an orientation packet that contained the Code of Conduct for Judicial Employees, a pamphlet called âEthics for Federal Judicial Law Clerks,â and different handouts on