My husband, Ted, has plowed straight through Jeffrey Toobin’s new book, The Nine, in the past few days — even waking up before dawn several mornings to read it. He is so impressed with Toobin’s reporting, writing and insight into the inner workings of the current Supreme Court, I asked him to write a review for mullentown. If any of you have read it, please post your own views. And because I ALWAYS do what my husband tells me, I’m going to start reading it tonight. Seriously, I am. — Holly

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The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court, by Jeffrey Toobin, Doubleday, 2007.

Jeffrey Toobin covers legal affairs for the New Yorker, a magazine known for terrible titles for its articles yet fascinating reading when you take heart and jump in. In the case of Toobin’s book, the title and the text are equally engaging.

Toobin uses his journalistic skill to reveal the recent history of the Supreme Court. His portraits of the nine justices are certainly judgmental and open to political argument, but by a focus on individual jurists he captures the essence of these few people who are the final word on those matters most important to Americans: abortion, liberty, local government, rights of the accused, and so on.

The Court had until the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist in 2005 and the retirement of Sandra Day O’Connor in 2006 enjoyed 13 years of stability. That stability was based on a truly swing court by the political philosophies of the members. Four justices–William Rehnquist, Antonin Scalia, Anthony Kennedy, and Clarence Thomas made up a predictably conservative wing with Kennedy an occasional gadfly, swinging to the left. The liberal wing–John Paul Stevens, David Souter, Ruth Ginsburg, and Stephen Breyer balanced this out. This left O’Connor as the continuous decider-in-the-middle.

And Toobin reserves his highest accolades for O’Connor. He documents how the woman from way out west in Phoenix delighted in persuading one side or the other, and how she often controlled the court. Toobin says her greatest talent was understanding deeply how most Americans viewed the issues before the court and used this to make court decisions politically palatable. Toobin puts it simply: O’Connor has become the most powerful woman in American history.

Of Rehnquist, Toobin portrays the late chief as a well-liked conciliator fixed on the flow of work in the court, fair in distribution of opinion writing to the members, and willing to accept liberal stare decisis (legal precedent) even on stormy issues like Roe v. Wade on abortion. Rehnquist was a frustration to the conservative political movement focused on the appointments of Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush and George W. Bush to reverse Roe, expand executive power, end racial preferences, speed executions, and welcome religion into the American sphere. Rehnquist was content to be the conductor of the symphony but not to write one.

Toobin is particularly tough on Anonin Scalia. He paints Scalia as a brilliant but obnoxious juror who dominates Court questioning of contending counsel. Scalia also enjoys berating his colleagues on the Court in written opinions and once called some “idiots” in a speech to an outside group. Scalia’s impractical but insistent campaign for “originalism,” or strict interpretation of the Constitution was nonsensical to his mates. And worst of all to conservatives, he helped drive O’Connor and Kennedy to more liberal positions.

Anthony Kennedy makes his mark by his love of flowery language in opinions and international travel. Kennedy traveled frequently through the world meeting with governments and foreign jurists. He brought these thoughts back to the Court and applied international influences in his opinions and votes. As such he became a frequent swing voter to the liberal side.

John Paul Stevens, now senior on the court, is portrayed as a statesman who stabilized the Court. Though appointed by President Gerald Ford as a conservative, he long ago drifted to the liberal side on most issues.

David Souter was also the appointment of a conservative president, George H.W. Bush. Once a great hope for the conservative agenda, Souter’s simplistic and isolated life in New Hampshire led him to eschew politics and vote liberal on many issues. Souter demonstrates how Supreme Court members often move to the opposite side of the political spectrum after appointment.

Clarence Thomas cannot dispel the anger of his contentious appointment in 1991 when Anita Hill accused him of sexual harassment. Though he used continuous affirmative action to move up to the court, he believes it now to be patronizing and displays an 18th-century judicial philosophy by being the most consistently conservative member of the Court.

One myth Toobin breaks is the common perception among Court watchers that Thomas and Scalia are joined at the hip. Thomas deeply resents that description.

Bill Clinton appointee Ruth Bader Ginsburg is a reliable liberal and dedicated to feminist leanings. Her presence on the court had an influence on Sandra Day O’Connor’s liberalism in feminine manners but Ginsburg is identified as a weak member of the court who has limited influence, like Thomas, on opinions.

Stephen Breyer, also appointed by Clinton, is a brilliant if often elite and patrician member of the Court. He’s a wine expert and is even known on occasion to break into a British-like accent in his speech. Breyer can be relied on to influence opinions and writes his own in reliably clear and thoughtful ways. Not known generally was his close friendship on the court with Sandra Day O’Connor and his influence in moving her to the left. Conversely, O’Connor was a very close friend of Scalia’s but Scalia had the opposite impact on Breyer.

After the death of Rehnquist and the resignation of O’Connor, John Roberts and Samuel Alito, Jr. have been appointed. Roberts is a star. Good looking, well-spoken, a fair and thoughtful colleague as Chief, and deeply knowledgeable of the law and Court traditions, Roberts is now in charge of the “Roberts Court.” When asked in his confirmation hearings about his writings about how Roe v. Wade should be reversed, he responded he wrote that as counsel and not as personal opinion. In a clever finesse on abortion questions, he refused to tell the Senate committee where he would stand should the decision be revisited.

Samuel Alito, Jr. is clearly a down the line conservative. Hence the new court arithmetic is 5-4 for the conservatives, with Kennedy often reliably a sixth conservative vote.

Where the Roberts Court will now go is subject to political interpretation. Will Roberts lead the Court to the long-predicted conservative agenda centered mainly on abortion? He, by background of the Court’s members, appears to have the votes.

Toobin reserves energy to point out the Court’s involvement in politics, despite its members’ constant work to present themselves as neutral political beings. He calls the politics of the Court a continuous element- -ably demonstrated in Bush v. Gore, the case that settled the disputed presidential election of 2000. And he really puts that decision under the microscope.

He writes: “The struggle following the election of 2000 to 36 days, and the Court was directly involved for 21 of them. Yet over this brief period, the justices displayed all of their worst traits–among them vanity, overconfidence, impatience, arrogance, and simple political partisanship. These three weeks taint an otherwise largely admirable legacy. The justices did almost everything wrong. They embarrassed themselves and the Supreme Court.”

Toobin’s final conclusions: The court will always be political as long as human beings serve as justices. Don’t rely on political appearances before membership on the Court to hold up politically. And, to quote Toobin, “… one factor only will determine the future of the Supreme Court: the outcomes of presidential elections.”

Check it
out:

Don’t get me wrong. It’s lousy that someone did this. But what I like is that the photographer landed right there, right then.

And that our Web master at City Weekly, Bill Frost, picked up on the subtle grammar challenge at hand.

Life in the City.

OK. OK. I’ve been swamped. Been ignoring this blog again. And some of the most loyal posters on this blog have spoken. They want to discuss the mess surrounding Larry Craig, the U.S. Republican senator from our neighbor to the north and the growing sex scandal enveloping him.

I can’t say I’m surprised. The Idaho Statesman has been chasing down a story about Craig and his long-rumored latent homosexuality for nearly a year. The story has been referred to often in the past couple of days, but in case you missed it, go here. I think the Statesman story nails the issue (so to speak), and it’s a good example of how news outlets frequently have the germ of a story for a long time before an event like Craig’s attempt at a public restroom tryst with a Minneapolis undercover cop breaks and allows them to publish. The Statesman got the goods; good on them. Sometimes the gods of breaking news just smile down on your newspaper and grant you an opportunity to finally tell the full story. So it was with Craig, and news that pretty much proves the gay orientation he has been denying for so long — even as late as yesterday.

So. The man is 62, an ultra-conservative in an ultra-conservative state who has built a Senate career largely on morals crusading. Never seen this plot line before, have we? I’m not sure what I could add. That the Craig scandal is deeply creepy? That, as Mitt Romney, whom Craig was working for in Idaho, says, it’s “disappointing?”

Hmm. I’d say it’s more than disappointing. “Disappointing” is when you’re 12-year-old breaks the neighbor’s window with an errant baseball and lies to you about it. “Disappointing” is when your husband forgets your wedding anniversary.

What is it then? Honestly, it’s crushingly sad. I could get all high and mighty the way so many Repubs did (including our own Utah congressional delegation) when Bill Clinton got caught “not having sex with that woman.” Most mortals who slip up now and again would admit to a bit of glee when a man like Craig gets snared in his own trap of humiliating hypocrisy.

The deeply sad part is the shame Craig must have lived with for god knows how many years. It’s almost a full-time job, I’d imagine, running on a “family values” platform every six years, and headlining conferences with speeches against the “gay agenda.” I can only imagine the self-hatred it must require to try to bring home the bacon from D.C. for your home state while simultaneously making quick side trips to public bathrooms, looking for a blow job from some anonymous male.

One gay activist quoted in a news story earlier this week talked about the way closeted people like Craig live in steady denial about their homosexuality by claiming they only have occasional “urges” for gay sex. Ergo, they aren’t gay, couldn’t possibly be gay, and why would anyone think for a minute they might be gay? An “urge” is just something that happens. You can’t control them.

So I have to think of the old saw: If it acts like a duck, quacks like a duck, it must be … a GAY man by the name of Sen. Larry Craig.

Man, if we could simply be true to ourselves, knowing that society would accept us for who and what we are. Sorry if I sound like a Care Bear or Mr. Rogers. But really. Think of the pain and suffering living his truth might have saved Craig’s wife, his family and everyone else caught in his fallout. But mostly himself.

What do you all think?

That’s it.

I’m done.

No more Tour de France for me. No more professional cycling races of any kind for me.

With two top riders out and under suspicion of doping, with teams dropping off all over the place and scandalized, I’m not one whit interested anymore in what happens in the sport. I’d rather put my energy behind professional wrestling. It’s more legit.

Pathetic, all of it.

I like what British rider Bradley Wiggins said. He rode with Cofidis, which quit the Tour on Thursday after Italian rider Christian Moreni got sacked over suspicion that he used testosterone.

“It makes you think about your future as a professional cyclist,” Wiggins told the British newspaper The Independent. “You ask what is the point, I could do better things with my life.”

Me too, Brad. So long, pro cycling.

The City Weekly staff returned about 30 minutes ago from the bomb scare across the street at the Wells Fargo Building. Details are still trickling in, but there appears to be no bomb.

The call to evacuate Wells Fargo came at 2:30. We left obediently at 3:15 p.m. — one of the last office buildings (along with our neighbors, the Sam Weller’s Books crew) to be ordered to leave the area. Most people stood around a safe distance from the danger zone. But it was hot. So our publisher Jim Rizzi — ever the generous sort — sent us all two blocks south to Port O’ Call, where he bought a round of drinks for everyone. At least it was air conditioned. And we’re on Tuesday night deadline, no less! (Don’t count the typos in the paper on Wednesday, please.)

Also on this very day during lunch hour I broke up a fight between a drunk homeless man and his drunk homeless girlfriend. I learned later their names are George and Julie. What went down was this:

I was walking into the front door of our building at 248 S. Main when shouting broke out. Shouting and some genuinely awful profanity aimed at the woman, Julie. George was screaming at her, running in and out of traffic and standing on the TRAX tracks. Most bystanders were uh, standing, on the sidewalk, mouths gaping open. Suddenly, George ran up to Julie, who by then was standing on the Gallivan Plaza TRAX platform. He took a swing at her, but missed.

That’s when I ran over, stood between the two of them, looked him square in the eye and shouted: “You lay a hand on her and you’ll have me to deal with.”

He grabbed his crotch, told me to fuck myself. I told him I had called the police, and I would not be leaving till they came. He spit at me. Got my shirt. But it’s black, the spittle didn’t show and besides, it’s washable.

I walked with Julie to the benches at the TRAX stop. We talked. She lives on the street. She just got out of Volunteers of America Detox. She was drunk again. I told her it didn’t matter whether she was drunk or not, I wasn’t going to stand there and let that guy hit her. She said “thank you.”

It took more than 15 minutes for the cops to arrive. I called 911 twice. The second time, I was angry. Why should it take two calls, I asked the polite dispatcher, to a downtown incident? There was violence, there was disruption of traffic. What else did the scene need for police intervention?

Two minutes later, Officers Snipes and Conrad arrived. Snipes is a bicycle cop. His bike was on the back of the squad car. They were very professional. I told them I’ve written a lot about homelessness. I know it’s a cycle, I told them. You’ll take George away, but any day now he’ll be back and so will Julie. She doesn’t have the tools to leave him, neither of them can be drunk and stay at the shelter, so here they live, on Main Street.

Gwen Springmeyer, of the Mayor’s Office of Community Affairs, told me she’ll communicate with the City Council and Police Department about the problems. No one here at CW wants a sweep of the homeless off Main Street. This is city life. The sidewalks are free and open to all. But I don’t want women getting beat up out here, either. No one — of any stripe — should have to worry about that.

I guess a guy has to make a living.

But isn’t it slightly weird to see this man defending convicted polygamist Tom Green’s son? David Leavitt (younger brother to former Utah Gov. Mike) was the Juab County Attorney who prosecuted the elder Green. Back then, Leavitt considered it a crime to be doing more than one child-bride at a time. Now, son William is a victim of a system that lacks appropriate boundaries and this 19-year-old defendant has Leavitt pandering to the court for a lighter sentence.

Whaa?

Of course, you have to get your arms around Utah’s love-hate relationship with polygamy in the first place. I’ve never been able to do it. Mostly because, every now and then, I’m due back on Earth.

I’m having this persistent image of George W. Bush sitting in the White House, head in hands, gazing out the window and asking “Where did I go wrong?”

So many answers to that one. Meanwhile, everything–beyond his obvious plummeting in the polls–is just falling down around him.

In the past 24 hours, Americans have been told that the Administration has lowered the bar for the benchmarks set for the big troop surge Congress authorized early this year for Iraq. Don’t expect so much, we’re told. But didn’t millions of us tell him that in the first place? I mean, before the waste of human life, energy and money that went into this ridiculous effort?

In tandem with that announcement comes a developing domestic crisis. We’ve learned that the prez is once again invoking executive privilege after directing two former top legal aides not to testify in the ongoing investigation into the Attorney General’s firing of federal prosecutors. Looks like Bush et al are headed for a showdown with Congress.

And all because this man–lacking intellect and respect for the constitutional process–has only one real characteristic left: stubbornness. Combine stubborn with shallow intellect and you get danger.

I hate the idea of a constitutional face-off between the president and Congress. But that’s why we have the Constitution in the first place, right? Guess we pull it out from behind glass and test it when we need to. This is why we have the whole separation of powers doctrine. Even some of Bush’s longtime GOP congressional pals are beginning to jump his ship (Sens. Lugar, Domenici, Warner…the list goes on), at least on continuing the mess in Iraq. The center is not holding.

I simply can’t get over the sense of Bush sitting at his desk, looking all defeated and dejected, much as Richard Nixon did in the days leading up to his collapse and resignation in 1974. What it must feel like to be George W. Bush right now–a hollow shell. Pathetic.

I’ve spent more time than I should admit publicly reading day-after stories on-line about “The Sopranos” damn fine final episode.

Here is a fairly pedestrian story from the Associated Press, which in the best wire story style tracks down the usual “expert quote” to sum up the existential ending to the HBO gangsters-doing-life series.

I’d say that ending the show the way creator David Chase did was masterful, and a lot of the critics agree. We Tivo-ed the show last night because we had evening plans, so we watched it after 10 p.m. Sunday. I went to bed with that last image of Tony Soprano’s face and then the blast-to-black image on the TV screen that ended it all for us. I tossed and turned and kept replaying Steve Perry’s voice on Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” in my mind every time I woke up.

This is what good television does. It keeps you replaying it all, summarizing it all, thinking it over and trying to make sense of it. If TV could produce a great American novel, I’d say it came in the form of “The Sopranos.” That’s just how powerfully it affected me and obviously, millions of other viewers who pay premium prices to zoom in weekly on the human condition–however violent and deeply touching it might be in the very same episode.

This is the best analysis of the long-running show I’ve read. Remnick never writes a bad column, and this is one of his finer pieces.

So now it’s on to–yeehaw–”Big Love.” City Weekly TV god Bill Frost says this, in its own charming way, is the replacement for “The Sopranos.” A great season is in store, Bill says. Don’t hang your hats on “John From Cinncinatti,” which seems very strange and takes too long to explain to us why strange is a good thing. (Bill has seen the first few episodes and says the strangeness won’t be explained quickly enough to keep people interested in a whole season.)

Let me and the rest of mullentown readers know what you think of “The Sopranos” arrivederci episode. And if you love “Big Love” as many of we mullentown readers do, what did you think of the season premiere?

First, I thank all of you delightful posters for your kind comments yesterday (post titled: “When Work Got In the Way”). On reading it again this a.m., it struck me as unbelievably whiny. So you are all wonderful and get (virtual) gold stars for buoying me up when I was tired. I’ll keep writing here, though maybe in an altered form. All of your suggestions are worthwhile.

At this very moment I have 31 minutes until my deadline for my weekly editorial/column in the front section of City Weekly. But like the rest of America today, I’m numb. Numb from the unspeakable violence that overtook Virginia Tech yesterday, and scrambling to find all I can about the student who went on that rampage. I feel I must write something in CW, but because it’s a weekly, whatever I manage to get on the page will feel old, dusty and probably insignificant as this multi-layered story plays out in the next several days.

What do you do? Visit the old tired arguments again about gun control or not? About safety on college campuses? Something is tweaking me right now, telling me there’s much more to focus on about anger in this society — how we simmer and boil over something, then shut ourselves down without truly resolving the problem we started with. This is especially true of boys and men, who seem to get bonus points in our world for toughening up against anger (or for exhibiting it in the most troubling ways: ultimate fighting, NFL football, movie sequels to “Die Hard.”)

And you know what they say: Unresolved anger leads to depression and depression is just anger turned inward. So if the shooter was simply mentally ill, how much of that had to do with never learning to express himself properly, to work through his anger, to put it somewhere constructive?

Oh, we are all Monday morning QBs today, aren’t we? Numb, but filled with post-game analysis nevertheless.

God save us all.

Maybe it’s time our Utah newspapers start writing about whether Santa Claus is the only true elf. Does the jolly old guy really exist? Is he magic? Can he and those reindeer really fly? What powers allow him to deliver all those gifts in one night?

I’m just wondering. Because if I see one more story giving coverage to accused child rapist Warren Jeffs and his prophet (or not) status, I’m going to start pulling out my short, chemically colored hair. In a manner of speaking, in the way that most of us understand people to be insane, Jeffs is one big nut job. But the guy is crazy like a fox. The skinny little coward wants out of jail. It isn’t exactly a celestial kind of place, after all. The food sucks and I doubt the company is all that warm, either. Warren wants to go home.

And now we have to keep reading/hearing about whether he’s a true prophet or not. Wha??? Is Santa Claus real? What about Tooth Fairy while we’re at it?

Jeffs, polygamist leader of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, is melting down before the courtroom’s eyes during his pre-trial hearings in state district court in St. George. Jeffs’ eyes keep glazing over; he’s a little shaky. He keeps wanting to pass notes to the judge in charge. Yesterday, reporters were all atwitter about a half-page letter Jeffs asked Judge James L. Shumate to accept. The judge said no, of course.

The Deseret Morning News actually PAID a handwriting expert and for digital enhancement to determine the contents of the letter: “I have not been a prophet and am not a prophet.”

Oh. Ya think?!

This all makes my head spin. Yes, the press is just covering the story but it’s veering off into crazy town. Jeffs is a bully, a con artist, a federal fugitive and — I don’t really need a jury to tell me this — a pedophile.

But he isn’t mentally ill, and he isn’t all that weak and frail. If he succeeds in coming off as mentally unfit before all this ends it will be the greatest scam since the Easter Bunny.