Early on the day of the argument, Ruth, her husband Marty, and I arrived at court. She and I were escorted to the counsel table, where I stacked up my opened books in order of the cases Ruth would cite as precedent. The other lawyer for Sharron Frontiero, Joe Levin, looked nervous as he seated himself at our table.
As the clerk finally called out the familiar "Oyez, oyez..." and then "the Justices of the Supreme Court,” I felt my heart pounding. Here I was, 28 years old, standing before the nine justices of the Supreme Court as they filed in behind the bench. Once we had settled down, our male colleague went first, unimpressively, but without doing any real damage.
When it was Ruth’s turn, she stood and slowly but clearly declared: "May it please the court." She made our arguments brilliantly, pausing for effect, her voice changing to signal a different point or quote. As she spoke, without any fanfare, she gave the cite to each case, adding the year. I felt a bit silly for having put so much time and energy into having all the cases with cites available, but I was mesmerized by her performance.
Suddenly, I realized that Ruth was concluding her remarks and not a single justice had asked a question. This was virtually unprecedented. Should we be worried? Had she done something wrong? But as I looked at those nine men, I saw the same fascination in them that I felt. They weren't bored; they seemed thrilled to see their craft performed so brilliantly.