Welcome to UTR’s latest special report: Kiss Me, Guido. Article III Groupie is sorry it took her so long to prepare this post, which has been painstakingly researched. She hopes you'll find it was worth the wait!
Article III Groupie thanks the many readers who responded to UTR Discovery Request: GUIDO with delicious tidbits of news and gossip. Per UTR’s standard operating procedure, A3G has not attributed particular pieces of intelligence to her sources. But to those of you who see your information and insights reprinted herein, please know that you have A3G’s undying gratitude, despite the lack of a shout-out. And now, without further delay, let us turn out attention to today’s victim, er, subject: Guido.
Some of you might be scratching your heads right now and asking, "Guido—who’s he?" If you have to ask, get out of this blog! Yes, Article III Groupie understands that, to much of the world, a guido is "[a]n adolescent or young-adult American male of Italian ancestry or descent, esp. one of lower-middle-class socioeconomic background or status, [who is] thought of as being dim-witted, excessively aggressive, and prejudiced against perceived outsiders, particularly homosexuals and members of other races." (This definition, and others, are available here.) But within the federal judiciary, "Guido" refers to only one, truly unique individual, of aristocratic Italian ancestry and extremely high socioeconomic and educational status: the Honorable Guido Calabresi of the Second Circuit, the most prestigious circuit court after the high-and-mighty D.C. Circuit. (Yes, Article III Groupie stood up from her seat and genuflected after typing the words "D.C. Circuit." Her mama raised her right!)
Judge Calabresi's moniker of “Guido” is not of recent vintage. Being addressed as “Guido” dates back at least as far as Judge Calabresi’s tenure as dean of Yale Law School, when he would--in a calculated show of apparent humility and friendliness--insist that even the lowliest first-year students call him "Guido." Now, of course, years of insisting that people call him by his rather distinctive and memorable first name--distinctive and memorable outside of Italy, at least--have paid off handsomely. Guido is now one of the brightest federal judicial superstars, a celebrity of such tremendous proportions that he can get away with going by a single name--à la Madonna, Prince, and Cher. The following thought has surely crossed Guido's mind: "Judge Pierre Leval, Judge José Cabranes, Judge Dennis Jacobs--HA! They are mere judges; superb judges, to be sure, but just judges at the end of the day. Who am I? I am GUIDO!!!"
To the extent that Guido is a tad self-satisfied, he has every reason to be. As one reader notes, Guido “has a robust ego--but unlike most people who do, Guido has earned it.” Let's take a walking tour of the highlights of Guido's mind-blowingly fabulous curriculum vitae.
Guido received his B.S. degree, summa cum laude, from Yale in 1953. Joining the ranks of Rhodes Scholars, the pre-law equivalent of the Elect, Guido trooped off to Oxford University, from which he earned a B.A. degree with First Class Honors in 1955. (He also earned an M.A. from Oxford in 1959.) Guido then returned to his beloved Yale for his legal studies, graduating first in his class at Yale Law School, where he served as the Note Editor for the Yale Law Journal. After graduating from YLS in 1958, Guido went directly into a Supreme Court clerkship for Justice Hugo Black. “Look ma, no feeder judge!”
After his stint at One First Street, Guido staged a triumphant return to Yale Law School, arriving at 127 Wall Street in a golden chariot pulled by slaves from the Great Unwashed. He joined the YLS faculty in 1959 and spent the next 35 years of his career at the law school, first as an unbelievably prolific and successful torts scholar, and then as the school's dean, from 1985 to 1994. In 1994, Guido was appointed to the Second Circuit by President Clinton--Guido's friend and former student, as Guido never tires of reminding people.
Guido has published four books, including the law-and-economics classic The Costs of Accidents; over 100 articles, on law and related subjects; and some 800 judicial opinions. He has received over thirty honorary degrees from universities in the United States and around the world. For the past ten terms of the Supreme Court, Guido is the third-ranked feeder judge (tied with Judge Wilkinson of the Fourth Circuit).
My goodness! Article III Groupie is completely out of breath from reciting Guido’s overpowering C.V.! Now you can see why Guido can’t help himself from constantly reminding others of his brilliance.
In fairness to Guido, it should be noted that, as one reader puts it, Guido “celebrates everyone around him,” especially if they went to Yale Law School or have some connection to YLS (e.g., alumni kids or “legacies,” upon whom Guido dotes when they are students in his torts class). Indeed, Guido is an expert at flattering others, which is why he can be so charming, and which explains how he was so adept at managing that gaggle of legal academic prima donnas known as the Yale Law School faculty. It’s just that, despite his generosity in praising others, Guido “never loses track of his ultimate superiority to all of the wonderful people that he praises.”
Guido has enjoyed widespread praise and glowing media coverage for many years. Guido's most recent appearance in the news, however, has been decidedly unfavorable and embarrassing. (Yes, Article III Groupie realizes this incident took place weeks ago--but if you billed as many hours as she does, you’d be a little behind too.) This past June, at the convention of the liberal American Constitution Society--the left-wing’s answer to the Federalist Society--Guido got himself into a lot of hot water, by making some rather unfortunate remarks about President Bush. The New York Sun, which first reported the story, offered this account of Guido’s ill-considered comments:
A prominent federal judge has told a conference of liberal lawyers that President Bush’s rise to power was similar to the accession of dictators such as Mussolini and Hitler.
“In a way that occurred before but is rare in the United States . . . somebody came to power as a result of the illegitimate acts of a legitimate institution that had the right to put somebody in power. That is what the Supreme Court did in Bush versus Gore. It put somebody in power,” said Guido Calabresi, a judge on the 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals, which sits in Manhattan.
“The reason I emphasize that is because that is exactly what happened when Mussolini was put in by the king of Italy,” Judge Calabresi continued, as the allusion drew audible gasps from some in the luncheon crowd Saturday at the annual convention of the American Constitution Society. “The king of Italy had the right to put Mussolini in, though he had not won an election, and make him prime minister. That is what happened when Hindenburg put Hitler in. I am not suggesting for a moment that Bush is Hitler. I want to be clear on that, but it is a situation which is extremely unusual,” the judge said.
Judge Calabresi, a former dean of Yale Law School, said Mr. Bush has asserted the full prerogatives of his office, despite his lack of a compelling electoral mandate from the public.
“When somebody has come in that way, they sometimes have tried not to exercise much power. In this case, like Mussolini, he has exercised extraordinary power. He has exercised power, claimed power for himself; that has not occurred since Franklin Roosevelt who, after all, was elected big and who did some of the same things with respect to assertions of power in times of crisis that this president is doing,” he said.
The 71-year-old judge declared that members of the public should, without regard to their political views, expel Mr. Bush from office in order to cleanse the democratic system.
“That’s got nothing to do with the politics of it. It’s got to do with the structural reassertion of democracy,” Judge Calabresi said
His remarks were met with rousing applause from the hundreds of lawyers and law students in attendance.
After making these comments, Guido was widely condemned--both in the news media (see, e.g., here, as well as the op-ed page of the June 23, 2004 Wall Street Journal (subscription required)), and in the blogosphere (see, e.g., here, here, here, and here)--for making partisan political remarks that ran afoul of judicial ethics rules. (Thanks to How Appealing for following the controversy so closely; you can run a search for "Guido" on this page of How Appealing to see how events unfolded.) Guido could not defend himself by claiming a lack of awareness concerning the problematic nature of his remarks; in the same panel discussion, he explicitly stated, “I’m a judge and so I’m not allowed to talk politics. So I’m not going to talk about some of the issues that were mentioned or what some have said is the extraordinary record of incompetence of this administration.” Guido then proceeded to do exactly what he promised not to do, i.e., "talk politics."
This scandal, hereinafter referred to as "Guidogate," concluded with Guido apologizing “profusely” for his remarks, in a letter addressed to Chief Judge John M. Walker, Jr.--who, interestingly enough, is President Bush’s cousin. (Remember President George W. Bush’s father, President George Herbert Walker Bush? Yes, the uber-WASPy Chief Judge Walker is one of those Walkers.) In Guido's letter--which Chief Judge Walker ever so kindly released to the press--Guido explained that in his extemporaneous remarks he was trying to make “a rather complicated academic argument,” which was unfortunately misconstrued as a partisan attack on the president. Guido apologized multiple times for his comments, emphasizing that he was “truly sorry” for “any embarrassment” he might have caused the Second Circuit. Guido’s groveling letter apparently satisfied Chief Judge Walker, who stated, “I am pleased that Judge Calabresi has promptly recognized that his remarks could too easily be taken as partisan and hence were inappropriate." (To see the full text of Guido’s letter, click here; for news accounts of Guidogate, click here or here.)
The Cost of an "Accident": If verbal diarrhea causes you to call Chief Judge Walker's cousin a Nazi, you must write "I will not make partisan attacks upon the Chief Judge’s cousin" 500 times on a blackboard at 40 Foley Square.
In light of Guido's tremendous record of accomplishment and undeniable brilliance, as well as his long stewardship of Yale--during which he honed his political skills by having to massage the gargantuan egos of YLS faculty members--one might view Guidogate as somewhat surprising. Surely Guido has better political instincts; he should have known better than to do something so boneheaded. But closer inspection reveals Guidogate to be simply a manifestation of Guido's tragic flaw: his insatiable need for constant attention, affection, and acclaim. Placed before an obviously and indisputably liberal audience, Guido--who loves the sound of his own voice, and who loves telling people what they want to hear, in order to get them to like him--got a little carried away in his preaching to the choir. In the heat of the moment, trying to forge a bond with his audience, the enthusiastic Guido said some things that he shouldn’t have. (The same thing has been known to happen to Guido in the clerkship interview process, when Guido impulsively "promises" a clerkship offer to an applicant, only to leave the applicant high and dry later on when he fails to deliver.)
Psychotherapists would have a field day with Guido; he would make a fascinating case study. In a certain sense, Guido is the truest "celebrity" of the federal judiciary, because one must ask the same question about him that one asks about the biggest Hollywood movie stars: How can someone so phenomenally successful, who has been so widely and wildly praised, still be so needy and insecure?
In his childlike need to be noticed, Guido brings to mind a certain other exuberant Italian, Roberto Benigni. (Coincidentally, the character played by Benigni in Life Is Beautiful, for which he won an Academy Award, was named Guido.) Guido’s making a spectacle of himself at the ACS conference, in an effort to ingratiate himself with his left-wing audience, is not unlike Benigni making a spectacle of himself at the Oscars, when he climbed over rows of chairs on his way to the stage and exuberantly proclaimed he wanted to kiss the entire world. Why must such amazingly talented individuals, who already receive a tremendous amount of publicity and acclaim, insist upon calling even more attention to themselves through outlandish antics?
If you dispute the proposition that Guido requires constant attention and adulation, consider the evidence. Let us begin with Guido’s academic career. Guido has spent the vast majority of his professional life as a law professor and dean, and like many judges, Guido still teaches. His teaching reflects his "Guido-ness," i.e., his egoism and boundless desire for attention. As a professor, Guido is exceedingly self-indulgent. Despite teaching the introductory torts class, Guido covers the topics that interest him the most, rather than the key topics in a doctrinal sense. He insists on claiming credit for practically every important idea he covers--including, incredibly enough, the Coase Theorem. (Guido, there’s a reason it's called the Coase Theorem and not the Calabresi Theorem.) Given his fanatical dedication to Yale Law School and his hopeless fascination with celebrity (including but not limited to his own), Guido fawns over those students of his who are the sons and daughters of major donors to Yale Law School or prominent members of the legal community. Guido loves to remind people who interact with him of his incredible connections and famous friends; in the words of one reader, Guido “has turned name-dropping into an extreme sport.”
In the classroom, Guido constantly tells jokes and does funny, quirky things to amuse the students, and he is genuinely entertaining--for a while. But after students realize he has been telling the exact same jokes and stories in the exact same way, for years and years--despite the studied casualness and apparent spontaneity of his delivery--they tire of his shtick.
Guido has been previously described by a UTR reader as a “sprightly, near-elven Italian Second Circuit judge.” According to former students of Guido, in keeping with his sprightly manner, one of Guido's favorite classroom stunts is to leap up onto his desk, lie down on his side, and continue his lecture in this ridiculous odalisque position--dubbed "the Guidolisque" by some students.
The Guidolisque: "Strike a pose, there's nothing to it." The recumbent Guido is shown here with his four great loves: Italy, Yale, his books--and himself!
Fortunately for Guido, the ivory tower had a fairly high tolerance for his self-indulgence and hunger for attention. Indeed, it is entirely acceptable, and perhaps even helpful, for a law school professor to be egotistical, self-promoting, and calculatingly idiosyncratic. Not surprisingly, as a legal academic, Guido flourished. As a professor, with a captive audience of students, and then as a dean, with an entire law school under his thumb, Guido was constantly the center of attention, "the Big Formaggio," the biggest little man on campus. Each year a new crop of eager students would arrive in New Haven, a constantly replenished audience for Guido to regale with tales establishing his brilliance and jokes demonstrating his cleverness, and each year many of these students would become "Guido groupies."
Being a law school dean guaranteed Guido the attention that he so desperately wanted and needed to be successful, and Guido responded well, like a plant to sunlight. He provided Yale Law School with strong leadership as dean, exuding charm and grace while doing so. Guido was admired and well-liked by both students and faculty members, and during his term as dean, Yale Law School zoomed to the top of the law school rankings, where it remains today (an especially impressive feat considering that Yale may not actually be a "law school," which generally requires the teaching of law, as opposed to legal theory combined with warmed-over bits of philosophy, sociology, and postmodern literary theory).
Unfortunately, judicial life has not suited Guido quite as well. Since taking the bench a decade ago, Guido has exhibited the same patterns of behavior that he did as an academic. But conduct that was tolerated and even welcomed in an academic environment can cause problems in a judicial one. Instead of going about his judicial duties in a diligent and conscientious manner, Guido has repeatedly chosen to make a spectacle of himself. At oral argument, Guido is a complete showboat, upstaging his colleagues in "Nino"-licious fashion. In his written opinions, instead of using his concededly powerful intellect to decide cases in a fair and straightforward way, like a solid journeyman judge, Guido prefers to be a judicial prima donna, spinning out creative but bizarre legal theories for resolving even the most garden-variety disputes. (Guido is often relegated to propounding such loopy theories in separate concurrences, when colleagues decline to join in his intellectual frolics.) As one might expect given his academic background, Guido has a weakness for novel and interesting theories for deciding a case, which he will always choose over theories that are boring but just plain right. As a result, even colleagues who respect Guido’s intelligence and agree with him on the issues tend to roll their eyes and sigh in exasperation when his name is mentioned.
Some of Guido's difficulties on the bench stem from the fact that, despite his intellectual brilliance, Guido is not very practical. Having spent the vast majority of his professional life in that most ivory of towers, Yale Law School, Guido is somewhat out of touch with the everyday realities that judges, even federal appeals court judges, must understand in order to do their jobs well. The following story from a UTR reader illustrates how removed Guido is from life in “the real world”:
I’m at a cocktail party with Guido; several of us, including Guido, are standing around talking. Guido turns to the hors d'oeuvre table, picks up a canapé, puts it in his mouth, and turns back to rejoin the conversation. In a matter of seconds, his eyes fill with tears, his face contorts with sourness, and he exclaims, “Oh my, there was something really hot in that canapé!”
I turn to the table to see what it might have been, and I see that there's nothing left. All that remains is a tray of what must have been sushi, but with nothing on it but some ginger, a little soy sauce--and several green balls of wasabi. Guido had shoved a ball of wasabi in his mouth, thinking it was a canapé!
The main reason life as an appeals court judge has been difficult for the extroverted Guido, however, is its relative isolation and anonymity, at least compared to his past life as a law school dean. Instead of being Il Duce, now Guido is simply one among many, a circuit judge among many other circuit judges, with no reasonable prospects for elevation (for innumerable reasons, which Guido just added to with his inflammatory remarks about President Bush). Sitting on three-judge panels, Guido can barely scratch his butt without the support of at least one other judge. As a circuit court judge, Guido has precious few opportunities to distinguish himself from his colleagues or to earn gold stars. And so, like an attention-starved child, Guido "acts out." Guido’s insecurity and his feeling that he isn't getting enough attention cause him to engage in behavior that undermines his judicial performance: making a spectacle of himself at oral argument, writing off-the-wall opinions, and making partisan attacks upon the president that get him in trouble with his colleagues.
Things back at the law school aren’t going great for Guido either, and they may have contributed to Guido’s meltdown at the ACS conference. As one reader reports:
Guido has taken Harold Koh's ascent to the Yale deanship rather badly. You see, Tony Kronman, Guido's successor, was a Guido disciple. In many respects the Kronman deanship continued the Calabresi deanship. Indeed, at many public functions it would have been hard to tell that Kronman, rather than Calabresi, was the dean. Kronman took his J.D. at Yale and was one of Guido's junior allies. In contrast, Harold Koh is a Harvard J.D. He isn't part of the Yale law & economics movement that Guido started and Kronman joined. Harold has his own base of power and his own contacts in the larger world, thanks in part to his service as Assistant Secretary of State. Furthermore, Guido is no longer the immediate past dean. Thus, at public functions he's relegated to the boondocks with Harry Wellington, Lou Pollak, and Abe Goldstein, and this can't please him one bit. All this might be expected to weigh heavily on Guido, who is a Yalie through and through. . . . . So if he has been gently nudged to the side, he might well lack his usual equilibrium -- and even without this, Guido has not always been the most reticent person about those he finds contemptible.
One of the few ways that Guido can distinguish or call attention to himself as a circuit judge, without getting himself into trouble, is by feeding his clerks into Supreme Court clerkships. Guido relishes his role as a Big Pimpin’ Feeder Judge ("BPFJ"), and feeding is one judicial function that he has discharged well. As a BPFJ, he lobbies the justices aggressively on behalf of his clerks, and he takes great pride in being the number three feeder judge. Clerking for someone as needy as Guido can be exasperating at times, but Guido’s phenomenal success in feeding his clerks to the Court can compensate for a lot. When contacted by UTR and asked for her views of a Guido clerkship, Missy Elliott had the following to say:
Is it worth it? Let him work it!
Pull the phone out, flip it and reverse it!
[Last two lines should be rapped quickly and breathlessly, almost to the point of incomprehensibility.]
Although Guido is undoubtedly a great feeder judge, he has not turned out to be a great judge, at least according to UTR's Second Circuit correspondents. These denizens of 40 Foley Square report that Guido, like Rodney Dangerfield, generally "get[s] no respect" from his colleagues, their law clerks, or the litigants who appear before him. Instead, he is regarded in many quarters as vaguely ridiculous, necessary to indulge if you need his vote, but not to be taken very seriously. One litigant who has appeared before Guido offered these thoughts (which confirm the wasabi-popping Guido’s manifest lack of practical knowledge):
I do mostly commercial cases, which frequently show up in federal court only because of the much-despised diversity jurisdiction. Guido seems to feel that since diversity jurisdiction is unpopular among law professors, he is entitled to sit on commercial cases governed by state law without the inconvenience of actually having to learn anything about commercial law, even when it governs cases he helps decide. Some might feel that in that situation, Guido should keep quiet at oral argument and not display his total ignorance of, for example, basic principles of contract law, but happily for all, Guido is not of their number. He sees no problem with loudly and aggressively broadcasting his ignorance of such matters from the bench, feeling, no doubt, that "state law is icky.” Guido is almost as ignorant of procedural issues as he is of state-law issues in diversity appeals. His motto appears to be, "if a piece of knowledge has any practical value, then it is something I don't need to know about." If he had ever practiced law anywhere for a while, he might actually know something of some practical use to anyone.
In the end, the story of Guido ultimately follows the familiar arc of tragedy (or, for those who share Guido’s love for all things Italian, a grand tragic opera). Our story begins with Guido, a tremendously gifted individual, experiencing a meteoric rise. Fueled by an insatiable need for attention and acclaim, and blessed with undisputed genius and considerable personal charm, Guido becomes a superstar of the legal academy. All of Guido's dreams come true. He rises to the deanship of a top law school, a job that he carries out superbly. After a personal entreaty from the president--as Guido never tires of mentioning--he becomes a circuit court judge.
But then, after Guido takes the bench, the hunger for affirmation that drove him to the top of the ivory tower turns into a tragic flaw. Because of his need for attention, Guido is not content to simply disappear into the judicial woodwork, to assume his rightful place as a well-regarded, hard-working, but relatively inconspicuous circuit judge. Instead, Guido insists on drawing attention to himself, through harmfully self-indulgent behavior both on and off the bench (e.g., Guidogate). His judicial career begins a downward spiral. At the end of his life, Guido is remembered as a brilliant scholar and a great law school dean, but not as a great--or even merely good--circuit judge.
A3G concedes that the narrative outlined above may be a bit melodramatic (hence the subtitle of this post, "The E! True Hollywood Story of Judge Guido Calabresi”). But hey, it could have been worse. Imagine a film entitled Leaving New Haven, in which the dejected Guido holes himself up in the squalid Holiday Inn on Whalley Avenue, for a weekend of suicidal binge drinking...
Okay, okay--A3G admits that the foregoing, highly dramatized discussion fails to capture the full complexity of Guido's situation. When it comes to Guido, as is the case with so many other tragic heroes, the most interesting questions remain unanswered. Indeed, one can't help wondering: What happened to Guido earlier in his life, perhaps in his childhood, to make him the way that he is today? Where do his insecurity and need for constant praise come from? Did Guido not receive enough praise from his parents or teachers growing up? His family fled Italy during the rise of Mussolini. In their mad scramble to escape Fascism, did his parents neglect to give little Guido enough hugs?
Alas, we will probably never know the answers to these questions. But that does not mean we have nothing to learn from the rise and fall of Guido Calabresi. Like many tragedies, the tale of Guido is a cautionary one. Here is one lesson to be learned: Parents, express your love to your children frequently; compliment them often. Teach them well, and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside. Give them a sense of pride, to make it easier. Let the children's laughter remind us of how we used to be...
What will happen if you withhold your praise and affection from your children? Well, you run the risk that they will grow up to become raging Guido-maniacs: phenomenally successful, hopelessly insecure overachievers, wracked by a crippling self-doubt that takes the form of anticipatorily defensive, but ultimately self-destructive, egotistical behavior.
And now, a few final words, lest Article III Groupie be misunderstood. To those of you who believe that this post has been unduly harsh towards a distinguished jurist, please understand: A3G bears no ill will towards Guido, whom she holds in the highest regard (as you can tell from her lip-smacking recitation of his achievements). As numerous readers have reported, Guido is indisputably brilliant, charming, funny, witty, and generous. He was a hugely successful dean at Yale, making it into the country’s top-ranked "law" school, and he is widely reputed to be a very nice, perfectly lovely person. As A3G noted in her prior post about Guido, he is without a doubt one of the most fabulous and fascinating figures in the federal judiciary. After all, how many other judges deserve to have this much ink spilled about them?
Of course, as the same post also points out, Guido is not without his flaws. Is Guido also egotistical and narcissistic? Well, yes. But it’s not Guido’s fault that he is the way he is. Guido’s deep-seated insecurity, and the self-aggrandizing conduct that he engages in as a defense mechanism, are clearly the result of psychological injuries and trauma inflicted upon him many years ago. In fact, A3G feels great sympathy and tenderness for Guido. Looking past his egoism, A3G can see that underneath his robe, Guido is hurting. Perhaps because of her own insecurities--which she expertly hides beneath her facade as a hard-charging, supremely competent, Prada-clad litigatrix--Article III Groupie can sense Guido's humanity, vulnerability, and woundedness. She understands Guido’s deep desire, shared by all human beings to varying degrees, for unconditional love.
Some of us, such as yours truly (see here), go through life asking of the world, "I'm not a Supreme Court clerk. Am I still worthy of being loved?" Through his actions, Guido is also asking questions of the world--and his questions are, in a sense, even more brutal and self-lacerating than A3G's. Guido wants to know: "I am a Rhodes Scholar and a Supreme Court clerk. I was a brilliant law school professor and incredibly successful dean for many years. Now I'm a federal appeals court judge. Do you love me only for my achievements? If I didn’t have all of these accomplishments under my belt, would you still love me?"
And the answer is: "Guido, how can you even think such terrible things? You know we love you no matter what. Come here, bambino--Mamma Groupie wants to give you a nice big hug!"
Dear readers, we have come full circle. Look back at the title of this post, taken from the 1997 film, Kiss Me, Guido. Read it again--does it make any more sense now? It should. Construe it not as a request by an unidentified speaker to be kissed by Guido. Instead, read it as a demand for affection from Guido, a request for baci that has been signed by Guido. Despite his exalted position as a Second Circuit judge, Guido remains at heart a needy little boy in a lot of pain.
The title of this report, “Kiss Me, Guido,” says it all. Guido just wants to be loved. Is that so wrong?
In need of a little lovin’ herself,
P.S. A special message for Guido: Judge Calabresi, if you do end up reading this post, Article III Groupie hopes that you will not take umbrage at it. The foregoing remarks, like so much of what appears in the pages of UTR, are not meant to be taken seriously and are provided primarily for entertainment value. A3G draws reassurance from the following story about you, courtesy of a UTR reader who went to Yale, which shows your willingness to laugh at yourself and your foibles:
In my third year at the law school, there was a series of songs in the Yale Law Revue [a roast of the faculty put on by students] entitled “Songs law professors would write about themselves.” Most were introduced with the name of the professor, but the last was not. On trooped a dozen or so students and an accompanist, who seated himself at the grand piano and struck up the introduction to the Hallelujah Chorus. The words were slightly different, though. "Calabresi! Calabresi! . . . Dean of Deans and Lord of Torts! . . . And he'll be Dean until he makes the Supremes!" The audience giggled nervously in the opening bars, but started roaring when Guido stood up and started conducting the group from his seat. (This was not in the script, I assure you.) Now, how many people would have the supreme confidence to do that when faced with so pointed a critique?
Judge Calabresi, just as you so gamely joined in the good-natured roasting of you at the Yale Law Revue, please feel free to come out and play with A3G in the pages of UTR. Article III Groupie cordially invites you to submit a response to “Kiss Me, Guido” if you are so inclined. She promises to reprint your response in full in the pages of UTR and to give you as much space as you need. (After all, A3G devoted some 5,000 words to you in this post.) Article III Groupie guarantees that her readers will be thrilled to hear from you!