“I’ll watch your car for you,” the distinguished, older gentleman said, as he realized I had to return inside the old, red brick building nine blocks from the White House. “It’s OK young man; I’ll be right here.”
This was in 1995 at the University Club of Washington, D.C. Having gone straight upstairs to the men’s grille following a squash match, in my haste I’d left my phone and briefcase in my locker in the basement.
It was late and the parking attendants were busy retrieving other vehicles from the garage three blocks away on 16th Street. With my vehicle running and parking prohibited in the club’s semi-circular driveway, and no available street parking, I welcomed his offer.
After running back into the building, I returned minutes later, where the gracious man patiently waited. As I thanked him, he asked where I was from.
“Iowa,” I answered.
“Ahh,” he replied, “you seem like a Midwesterner.”
He introduced himself as “Stevens, from Chicago.” When I asked if he was in D.C. on business, he chuckled.
“Yeah,” he replied, grinning, “for the last twenty years.”
That man was John Paul Stevens, associate justice of the U.S. Supreme Court. He died July 16 at age 99.
For all his brilliance, Stevens, who was appointed by President Gerald Ford, was a regular guy and a kind, old-school, true gentleman.
He hailed from a wealthy Chicago family — his father owned the world’s largest hotel and a successful insurance company. But his childhood wasn’t easy.
In 1932 at age 12, Stevens and his parents and siblings were lined up against a dining room wall in their home by gangsters wielding machine guns. After robbing the family, the intruders prepared to kill them, but a neighbor happened to arrive at their front door and the thugs ran out the back.
That same year, Stevens’ father lost his fortune in the Great Depression. His father, uncle and grandfather were all indicted (and convicted) for embezzlement. Before their trial, Stevens’ grandfather suffered a stroke and his uncle died by suicide. His father’s conviction was later overturned on appeal.
That tragic series of events showed the young Stevens that judges can affect lives — for better or worse. When Stevens retired in 2010, he had served for nearly 35 years on the nation’s high court.
After serving as a Navy intelligence officer in World War II, Stevens set academic records at Northwestern University’s Law School. On the court, he was regarded as a liberal, despite being picked by the Republican Ford. But he was consistently true to himself.
Over years, I occasionally ran into him at the University Club, where Stevens often ate lunch and occasionally had drinks in the upstairs bar. The guy was a snappy dresser and always sported a silk bow tie instead of a standard necktie, which could be knotted into a Windsor or half Windsor.
Knowing how friendly and approachable he was, I asked Stevens about that. Smiling, he said it was “because I can’t tie a four-in-hand.” Sensing my skepticism, he explained, “It’s true. Every time I tried, the small part (of the tie) would get around in front. I’ve been tying bow ties since my dad taught me, when I was about 15.”
Winking at me he added one more detail: “And I just plain like ‘em!”
John Paul Stevens wasn’t merely a preeminent legal thinker. He was truly down-to-earth, unfailingly respectful to everyone, and just plain nice. What a wonderful legacy he leaves behind.
May he now rest in peace.
Todd Blodgett of Clear Lake served on President Reagan’s White House staff and as an adviser to the 1988 presidential campaign of George H.W. Bush. He also worked for the Republican National Committee and the FBI.