Lloyd Weinreb was a beloved mentor and friend, and he became a mentor and a father figure to me, and to so many, including Dan Meltzer and Dick Fallon. I loved all three of them, and now the last of the three is gone. I want to say a few words about each, as a way of holding them close.
Has there ever been a more graceful human being than Dick Fallon? A kinder one? A wiser one? A more generous one? He had a sense of mischief too, and a twinkle. (Never forget that!) He combined strong, clear commitments with humility. I have never known anyone who (1) knew so clearly what he believed, and why and also (2) had genuine modesty, alongside (3) unfailing respect and appreciation for people who disagreed with him. Read him on originalism, if you want to see?
Let’s cherish that twinkle in his eye, and the sense of mischief, and the wit. Also the integrity. The guy never (ever) cut corners.
I recently wrote a book about constitutional interpretation, emphasizing the importance of Rawls’ idea of the search for reflective equilibrium. I discovered, about halfway through, that Dick was there first. It was his idea, not mine! When I told him that, he showed no sense of ownership, much less of offense. Much more like: “I am eager to read YOU.”
You could run into Dick in the halls, here in or near Areeda, where I am writing. I cherished that. It could happen any day, any time. What a gift. The discussion could be 45 seconds or 20 minutes. It might be about the Supreme Court, or standing doctrine, or originalism. Dick would surprise you. An insight, a kindness, a perspective. Every one of those conversations was something to treasure. His generosity knew no bounds.
Dick was, in a sense, Lloyd Weinreb’s son. At least I like to think so, and I don’t think he would mind my saying that. He loved Lloyd. More on that soon.
Dick was a great friend to Dan Meltzer, and vice-versa. They might have been each other’s best friend on the faculty? I am not sure. I think so. Good friends, and beyond close.
Dan seemed like Dick’s older brother, at least to me. I worked with Dan in the Obama White House, and before that on presidential transition, and I was astounded to see how quickly Dan went from law professor to government lawyer. He didn’t miss a beat. From theory to practice - boom.
Dan was brilliant, and he was quick, and he was endlessly amused, and full of patience. He was the soul of integrity. But he was never high-handed, and he was never more-ethical-than-thou. He wore his principles lightly.
Dan was a terrific colleague, because he turned seriousness into a virtue. (How on earth did he do that? Seriousness is fine, more than fine, but it is usually not a virtue!) He made every word count. He had the highest standards. He was incapable of meanness, as far as I could tell (in that he was like Dick).
He was Lloyd Weinreb’s son too, I think. Lloyd loved him a ton.
Let’s go back to 1973 or so, shall we? When I was in my late teens, I walked into a classroom, and there at the front was Lloyd Weinreb. He was dashing, and he was charming, and he was tall, and he had a shy, delighted smile. He introduced us to worlds: Lon Fuller, John Rawls, Hans Kelsen, Robert Nozick, H.L.A. Hart, Ronald Dworkin, and many more. (What was the course about? Everything.)
That course changed my life. I was an English major, and I’d never heard of any of that stuff. The rule of law? Positivism? And who was this young smarty pants, named Dworkin?
I visited Prof. Weinreb in his office! How did I get up the courage? It was terrifying, and thrilling. It seemed like a shrine. It still does. (It’s three doors, and two seconds, from my own office as I write.) I asked Prof. Weinreb the stupidest questions, ever (“wasn’t Rawls wrong,” I wondered?), and he treated them as if they deserved to be taken seriously.
Prof. Weinreb befriended me (unaccountably). He and his amazing, gracious, kind wife, Ruth, invited me to dinner. Actually to dinners. (Was I Cinderella?) At some of those dinners, you could find Derek Bok, Harvard’s president, and Sissela Bok, the distinguished philosopher. (Both of them were glamorous, in every way.) What on earth was I doing there?
In later years - was I a law clerk? a young professor? - you could find, at those dinners, Dick Fallon and Dan Meltzer. I am pretty sure I met Dick there, for the first time. Funny: I think I eyed Dick a bit like a rival. Did Lloyd like him more than he liked me? (He certainly should have. I do.)
Lloyd got me my first clerkship, with his great friend Justice Benjamin Kaplan on the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts; the Kaplan clerkship was known as a stepping stone to a Supreme Court clerkship. Lloyd had faith in me. He helped get me a clerkship with Justice Thurgood Marshall.
He stood by me, like a rock, at every stage — first job, first marriage (!), first (and only!) divorce, years at Chicago (with pilgrimages to that sacred office), second marriage, years in Washington, return to Harvard. Lloyd was always there. (And he was always the same.)
What a blessing it was to have lunch with Lloyd, in his final years. When he was old, he remained dashing, and charming, and he had that shy smile, and he was endlessly curious. His memory is a blessing, but it’s also a stake in the heart, right now.
I think of Dick, Dan, and Lloyd as part of the same breed. They were different, of course; they all loved scholarship, but Dick loved it the most, no doubt about it; they were all literary, but Dick wrote a novel (!), and Lloyd loved it the most (he loved it as much as he loved anything); they all had piercing minds, but Dan was the most fiercely analytic, I think.
How to put it? They had similar sensibilities. They were humanists about everything. They loved to learn. They were curious. They were fond. There was nothing mean or ugly about them (ever). They had high standards. They liked new ideas. They were endlessly charitable. They were free of pomp or fakery. They liked young people and thought the best of them. They revered old people (if they deserved it). They were incapable of cliches. They were fun.
Dick, Dan, and Lloyd had grace. They embodied grace.
We won’t see their like again.
Here’s a poem from Yeats, one that all three beloved friends — every one of them a Fiddler of Dooney — would have liked, I think:
The Fiddler of Dooney
WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea.