Read Online Mr. Justice by Scott Douglas Gerber - Free Book Online
Authors: Scott Douglas Gerber
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window toward the Blue Ridge Mountains on the horizon. The morning fog blanketed the peaks like mist on a Scottish moor.
Clay Smith had mixed emotions about what he had been asked to do. On the one hand, his future looked bright. No other member of the Smith family had attended college, let alone law school. He also had a summer job lined up with the Charleston office of the largest law firm in South Carolina. On the other hand, his Uncle Earl had served as a surrogate father to him ever since his real father—Earl Smith’s younger brother—had been shot and killed in a barroom brawl when Clay was seven. There also was the undeniable fact that the Smith men had always been active in the Ku Klux Klan. Always. Clay himself had been initiated into the brotherhood during his sophomore year of high school, and he attended Klan meetings whenever he was home on break. He might have been an honors student at a top-ranked law school, but he knew that niggers had to be kept in their place. His Uncle Earl had reminded him of that at six o’clock this very morning.
One of Clay’s classmates walked by and tapped him on the shoulder. She said, “Stop daydreaming, Mr. Dershowitz.” Alan Dershowitz was the most famous lawyer in the country. “It’s time to get your butt out of the library for a change. The dean has called a meeting in the auditorium. It starts in five minutes.” She smiled and added, “Kelsi will be there.”
“I know,” Clay said, blushing. “I know.”
The law school was like high school as far as gossip was concerned, and seemingly every law student in the building knew that Clay had a crush on Kelsi Shelton. Unfortunately, Kelsi was now Clay’s responsibility. That was what his uncle had called to tell him.
CHAPTER 24
Kelsi Shelton and Sue Plant spotted two seats in the rear of the auditorium. Almost everyone in the law school knew that Kelsi was Professor McDonald’s research assistant. Consequently, words, looks, and hugs of support were in ample supply as she and Sue squeezed through the crowd. But just as Kelsi was about to take her seat, the assistant dean for student affairs asked her to step back out into the aisle for a moment.
Kelsi felt a knot in her stomach. The assistant dean was almost never the bearer of good news. Kelsi tripped over more than a few stray feet as she scrambled to the aisle. “Wh … what is it?” she said. “Wh … what’s wrong? Is it about Professor McDonald?”
The assistant dean, a woman in her late fifties who looked an awful lot like Kelsi’s favorite aunt—round face, pear-shaped build, constant smile, compassionate eyes—brushed a loose strand of hair from Kelsi’s concerned face. She said, “Yes. But it’s not what you think. The dean was hoping you would say a few words about the professor from a student’s perspective.”
Kelsi never had been one for speaking before large groups of people. In fact, she shared the preference for death over public speaking that opinion polls showed the majority of Americans favored. ( Death over public speaking.) Her aversion to talking in front of crowds explained most of her curriculum choices; she tended to avoid, except for bar exam preparation purposes, courses that were courtroom-oriented (Evidence, Trial Advocacy, Criminal Procedure, etc.). This time, though, she decided to face her fear. This time, it was about something—about some one —larger than herself. “I’d be honored to say a few words.”
Dean Diego Rodriguez was addressing the audience of law faculty, staff, and students. Dean Rodriguez reflected the commitment—some called it an obsession—the nation’s colleges and universities had to diversity. He was a competent man—he had done pretty well at a pretty good law school, his practice and clerkship experiences were respectable, and he had published two or three decent pieces of legal scholarship—but many of the candidates against whom he had competed for the deanship at
Clay Smith had mixed emotions about what he had been asked to do. On the one hand, his future looked bright. No other member of the Smith family had attended college, let alone law school. He also had a summer job lined up with the Charleston office of the largest law firm in South Carolina. On the other hand, his Uncle Earl had served as a surrogate father to him ever since his real father—Earl Smith’s younger brother—had been shot and killed in a barroom brawl when Clay was seven. There also was the undeniable fact that the Smith men had always been active in the Ku Klux Klan. Always. Clay himself had been initiated into the brotherhood during his sophomore year of high school, and he attended Klan meetings whenever he was home on break. He might have been an honors student at a top-ranked law school, but he knew that niggers had to be kept in their place. His Uncle Earl had reminded him of that at six o’clock this very morning.
One of Clay’s classmates walked by and tapped him on the shoulder. She said, “Stop daydreaming, Mr. Dershowitz.” Alan Dershowitz was the most famous lawyer in the country. “It’s time to get your butt out of the library for a change. The dean has called a meeting in the auditorium. It starts in five minutes.” She smiled and added, “Kelsi will be there.”
“I know,” Clay said, blushing. “I know.”
The law school was like high school as far as gossip was concerned, and seemingly every law student in the building knew that Clay had a crush on Kelsi Shelton. Unfortunately, Kelsi was now Clay’s responsibility. That was what his uncle had called to tell him.
CHAPTER 24
Kelsi Shelton and Sue Plant spotted two seats in the rear of the auditorium. Almost everyone in the law school knew that Kelsi was Professor McDonald’s research assistant. Consequently, words, looks, and hugs of support were in ample supply as she and Sue squeezed through the crowd. But just as Kelsi was about to take her seat, the assistant dean for student affairs asked her to step back out into the aisle for a moment.
Kelsi felt a knot in her stomach. The assistant dean was almost never the bearer of good news. Kelsi tripped over more than a few stray feet as she scrambled to the aisle. “Wh … what is it?” she said. “Wh … what’s wrong? Is it about Professor McDonald?”
The assistant dean, a woman in her late fifties who looked an awful lot like Kelsi’s favorite aunt—round face, pear-shaped build, constant smile, compassionate eyes—brushed a loose strand of hair from Kelsi’s concerned face. She said, “Yes. But it’s not what you think. The dean was hoping you would say a few words about the professor from a student’s perspective.”
Kelsi never had been one for speaking before large groups of people. In fact, she shared the preference for death over public speaking that opinion polls showed the majority of Americans favored. ( Death over public speaking.) Her aversion to talking in front of crowds explained most of her curriculum choices; she tended to avoid, except for bar exam preparation purposes, courses that were courtroom-oriented (Evidence, Trial Advocacy, Criminal Procedure, etc.). This time, though, she decided to face her fear. This time, it was about something—about some one —larger than herself. “I’d be honored to say a few words.”
Dean Diego Rodriguez was addressing the audience of law faculty, staff, and students. Dean Rodriguez reflected the commitment—some called it an obsession—the nation’s colleges and universities had to diversity. He was a competent man—he had done pretty well at a pretty good law school, his practice and clerkship experiences were respectable, and he had published two or three decent pieces of legal scholarship—but many of the candidates against whom he had competed for the deanship at
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