Introduction MELVIN I. UROFSKY One of the few benefits of Covid-19 is that I seem to have a lot more time to read not only serious works, such as John Barry’s The Great Influenza, the story of an earlier pandemic a century ago, but also lighter material, such as Ben Aaronovich’s series The Rivers of London about Thomas Nightingale and Peter Grant, two members of Scotland Yard who are magicians (real ones). Even people who are working at home tell me they have more time, if nothing else than in the hours they would be dressing for work, putting on makeup, or commuting. So I hope you all enjoy this issue. It does not have magicians, but it does have a little lightheartedness that we can all use these days. Mark Killenbeck, Davis Distinguished Professor of Law at the University of Arkansas and an old friend, writes about two justices and their dissents, William Johnson in Fletcher v. Peck (1810) and Louis Brandeis ’s concurrence in Whitney v. California (1927). Needless to say, I am much interested in dissent and also in the Brandeis opinion, which Professor Mark Tushnet of Harvard has called the greatest dissent ever written, even if it is a concurrence. What Killenbeck does is to dig deeply into both opinions, and much as I have studied Whitney, it gave me great pleasure to see it from a different angle and learn more about it. I must confess, I probably would have accepted Todd Pepper’s article for the title alone, “Chief Justice Melville Weston Fuller and the Great Mustache Debate of 1888.” Pepper, Fowler Professor of Public Affairs at Roanoke College, adjunct professor at Washington & Lee Law School, and a pre vious contributor to the Journal, gives us a great story that is almost impossible to take seriously in this time of plague. Oh to be young and innocent in 1888! There have, fortunately, been no disabled justices in recent years, but at other times in our history men who sat not only on the high court but in the district and circuit tribunals could not, by cause of physical or mental infirmity, fulfill their responsibility. Some, like Holmes and Brandeis, stepped down voluntarily. But others had to be “pushed,” often for political reasons. The Constitution ignores this problem, and the only valid means of removing a judge is impeachment. Judge Glock, a Senior Policy Advisor at the Cicero Institute, looks at this issue and how political pressure from the legislative branch, as well as gener ous retirement packages, opened up judicial seats. 112 JOURNAL OF SUPREME COURT HISTORY Another old friend is Robert Post, Ster ling Professor of Law and former dean at the Yale Law School. Bob is working on the Taft Court volumes for the Oliver Wendell Holmes Devise, and has asked me from time to time to read drafts. In one section, he deals with what is one of the landmark decisions of the Taft Court, Myers v. United States (1926). I asked him if he could give me an article for the Journal on the case, which he graciously agreed to do. Taft, a former president, tried to use the case to bolster the authority of the presidency. His opinion evoked dissents from three justices, including one of Brandeis’s most important, and the Myers decision was to be effectively overruled less than a decade later in Humphrey's Executor v. United States (1935). When we think of the Supreme Court and World War 11, the cases that always grab our attention are three in number that deal with the Japanese internments. But there were other cases involving enemy aliens and the courts, and Charles J. Sheehan, a lawyer for the federal government, tells us about one of them, involving a Japanese sailor who was injured and fought to get his case for compensation before the courts, seeking justice. Kumezo Kawato, despite a ruling from the nation’s highest court, did not get justice, and after his release from internment he returned to Japan. Because of the plague, the Society did not hold its annual meeting at the Supreme Court this past June. As a result, there was no...
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