legal career. “I don’t think I’ve read that one.”
“So you don’t read dissents, Mr. Sallinger, and now we learn that you also neglect majorities. What do you read, Mr. Sallinger, romance novels, tabloids?”
There was some extremely light laughter from behind the fourth row, and it came from students who felt obligated to laugh but at the same time did not wish to call attention to themselves.
Sallinger, red-faced, just stared at Callahan.
“Why haven’t you read the case, Mr. Sallinger?” Callahan demanded.
“I don’t know. I, uh, just missed it, I guess.”
Callahan took it well. “I’m not surprised. I mentioned it last week. Last Wednesday, to be exact. It’ll be on the final exam. I don’t understand why you would ignore a case that you’ll see on the final.” Callahan was pacing now, slowly, in front of his desk, staring at the students. “Did anyone bother to read it?”
Silence. Callahan stared at the floor, and allowed the silence to sink in. All eyes were down, all pens and pencils frozen. Smoke billowed from the back row.
Finally, slowly, from the fourth seat on the third row, Darby Shaw lifted her hand slightly, and the class breathed a collective sigh of relief. She had saved them again. It was sort of expected of her. Number two in their class and within striking distance of number one, she could recite the facts and holdings and concurrences and dissents and majority opinions to virtually every case Callahan could spit at them. Shemissed nothing. The perfect little cheerleader had graduated magna cum laude with a degree in biology, and planned to graduate magna cum laude with a degree in law, and then make a nice living suing chemical companies for trashing the environment.
Callahan stared at her in mock frustration. She had left his apartment three hours earlier after a long night of wine and law. But he had not mentioned Nash to her.
“Well, well, Ms. Shaw. Why is Rosenberg upset?”
“He thinks the New Jersey statute violates the Second Amendment.” She did not look at the professor.
“That’s good. And for the benefit of the rest of the class, what does the statute do?”
“Outlaws semiautomatic machine guns, among other things.”
“Wonderful. And just for fun, what did Mr. Nash possess at the time of his arrest?”
“An AK-47 assault rifle.”
“And what happened to him?”
“He was convicted, sentenced to three years, and appealed.” She knew the details.
“What was Mr. Nash’s occupation?”
“The opinion wasn’t specific, but there was mention of an additional charge of drug trafficking. He had no criminal record at the time of his arrest.”
“So he was a dope pusher with an AK-47. But he has a friend in Rosenberg, doesn’t he?”
“Of course.” She was watching him now. The tension had eased. Most eyes followed him as he paced slowly, looking around the room, selecting another victim. More often than not, Darby dominated theselectures, and Callahan wanted a broader participation.
“Why do you suppose Rosenberg is sympathetic?” he asked the class.
“He loves dope pushers.” It was Sallinger, wounded but trying to rally. Callahan placed a premium on class discussion. He smiled at his prey, as if to welcome him back to the bloodletting.
“You think so, Mr. Sallinger?”
“Sure. Dope pushers, child fondlers, gunrunners, terrorists. Rosenberg greatly admires these people. They are his weak and abused children, so he must protect them.” Sallinger was trying to appear righteously indignant.
“And, in your learned opinion, Mr. Sallinger, what should be done with these people?”
“Simple. They should have a fair trial with a good lawyer, then a fair, speedy appeal, then punished if they are guilty.” Sallinger was perilously close to sounding like a law-and-order right-winger, a cardinal sin among Tulane law students.
Callahan folded his arms. “Please continue.”
Sallinger smelled a trap, but plowed ahead. There was nothing
“So you don’t read dissents, Mr. Sallinger, and now we learn that you also neglect majorities. What do you read, Mr. Sallinger, romance novels, tabloids?”
There was some extremely light laughter from behind the fourth row, and it came from students who felt obligated to laugh but at the same time did not wish to call attention to themselves.
Sallinger, red-faced, just stared at Callahan.
“Why haven’t you read the case, Mr. Sallinger?” Callahan demanded.
“I don’t know. I, uh, just missed it, I guess.”
Callahan took it well. “I’m not surprised. I mentioned it last week. Last Wednesday, to be exact. It’ll be on the final exam. I don’t understand why you would ignore a case that you’ll see on the final.” Callahan was pacing now, slowly, in front of his desk, staring at the students. “Did anyone bother to read it?”
Silence. Callahan stared at the floor, and allowed the silence to sink in. All eyes were down, all pens and pencils frozen. Smoke billowed from the back row.
Finally, slowly, from the fourth seat on the third row, Darby Shaw lifted her hand slightly, and the class breathed a collective sigh of relief. She had saved them again. It was sort of expected of her. Number two in their class and within striking distance of number one, she could recite the facts and holdings and concurrences and dissents and majority opinions to virtually every case Callahan could spit at them. Shemissed nothing. The perfect little cheerleader had graduated magna cum laude with a degree in biology, and planned to graduate magna cum laude with a degree in law, and then make a nice living suing chemical companies for trashing the environment.
Callahan stared at her in mock frustration. She had left his apartment three hours earlier after a long night of wine and law. But he had not mentioned Nash to her.
“Well, well, Ms. Shaw. Why is Rosenberg upset?”
“He thinks the New Jersey statute violates the Second Amendment.” She did not look at the professor.
“That’s good. And for the benefit of the rest of the class, what does the statute do?”
“Outlaws semiautomatic machine guns, among other things.”
“Wonderful. And just for fun, what did Mr. Nash possess at the time of his arrest?”
“An AK-47 assault rifle.”
“And what happened to him?”
“He was convicted, sentenced to three years, and appealed.” She knew the details.
“What was Mr. Nash’s occupation?”
“The opinion wasn’t specific, but there was mention of an additional charge of drug trafficking. He had no criminal record at the time of his arrest.”
“So he was a dope pusher with an AK-47. But he has a friend in Rosenberg, doesn’t he?”
“Of course.” She was watching him now. The tension had eased. Most eyes followed him as he paced slowly, looking around the room, selecting another victim. More often than not, Darby dominated theselectures, and Callahan wanted a broader participation.
“Why do you suppose Rosenberg is sympathetic?” he asked the class.
“He loves dope pushers.” It was Sallinger, wounded but trying to rally. Callahan placed a premium on class discussion. He smiled at his prey, as if to welcome him back to the bloodletting.
“You think so, Mr. Sallinger?”
“Sure. Dope pushers, child fondlers, gunrunners, terrorists. Rosenberg greatly admires these people. They are his weak and abused children, so he must protect them.” Sallinger was trying to appear righteously indignant.
“And, in your learned opinion, Mr. Sallinger, what should be done with these people?”
“Simple. They should have a fair trial with a good lawyer, then a fair, speedy appeal, then punished if they are guilty.” Sallinger was perilously close to sounding like a law-and-order right-winger, a cardinal sin among Tulane law students.
Callahan folded his arms. “Please continue.”
Sallinger smelled a trap, but plowed ahead. There was nothing
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