The attacks on Supreme Court justices have become a troubling spectacle, often fueled by a desire for attention rather than a pursuit of truth. Recent criticisms leveled against Justice Alito, portraying him as perpetually “unhappy” or “wronged,” exemplify this trend. It’s a game where speaking out only invites further condemnation, a cycle of negativity that seems to have no end.
This isn’t just an abstract debate for me; it’s deeply personal. My own journey to the legal profession feels improbable even as I live it. Growing up in the South, attending Baylor and LSU, I now serve as the Solicitor General of Louisiana – a position that brings me before the highest court in the land. It’s an honor akin to a Super Bowl for lawyers, a challenging arena where preparation meets the weight of history.
My path wasn’t paved with privilege. I lack the Ivy League pedigree and the famous name often associated with success in Washington. Yet, through hard work and the support of countless individuals, including Louisiana Attorney General Liz Murrill, I found myself standing before the Supreme Court. And it was Justice Alito who extended a hand when I was just beginning.
A decade ago, applying for a clerkship with Justice Alito felt like a long shot. Hundreds of qualified applicants vied for just four positions. During the interview, I was convinced I’d fumbled the opportunity, even managing a comical coffee mishap. Despite my awkwardness, Justice Alito saw something worthwhile and offered me a place on his team.
The clerkship was, as expected, intellectually demanding. Justice Alito’s brilliance is evident in every opinion he crafts, every argument he dissects. But what truly surprised me was his character. He possessed a quiet decency that permeated every aspect of his work and interactions.
He was remarkably considerate of his clerks’ time. He avoided weekend emails whenever possible and always asked for assistance with a gentle, almost apologetic tone. We’d often laugh, wondering why he hesitated to ask us to do the very work we were there to perform. It was a testament to his humility and respect.
Unlike some jurists known for their harshness, Justice Alito never raised his voice or expressed displeasure. He consistently offered encouragement, even taking the time to write a thank you note after a particularly challenging memo we’d successfully defended. His appreciation felt genuine and profoundly impactful.
Our lunches were simple affairs – box lunches or cafeteria plates shared around a chambers table, while Justice Alito enjoyed a bowl of Campbell’s soup warmed in the microwave. He was an introvert, content to listen as we clerks carried the conversation, occasionally interjecting with a perfectly timed, dryly humorous remark.
He didn’t *need* to spend his lunch break with us; his time was invaluable. Yet, he chose to, sacrificing his own priorities to connect with his team. Before an argument, he even took the time to greet my family, speaking with genuine enthusiasm about my contributions to his chambers.
He made me, and my family, feel valued. In that moment, I was acutely aware of how unlikely my story was, and deeply grateful for the opportunity he’d given me. That feeling of gratitude has stayed with me for nearly a decade, a constant reminder of his profound influence.
That’s why the current media portrayals of Justice Alito as “aggrieved” and “unhappy” are so jarring. They bear no resemblance to the man I know – a man who is kind, humble, thoughtful, and selfless. He believed in me, and in doing so, made me a better person.
These obsessive caricatures, driven by clicks and likes, are a disservice not only to Justice Alito but to the integrity of the Supreme Court itself. It’s time to move beyond the tired narrative and recognize the true character of a remarkable jurist.
