More than a half century ago, Creighton invited Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas to address the university community and I, as chair of the Poli Sci Department, was asked to pick him up at the airport.

Douglas was clearly the most controversial member of the Court and arguably the best known judge in the country. He had written the opinion in Griswold v. Connecticut just a few years before, he had been the target of an impeachment effort by the Republican House, under Speaker Gerald Ford, he was a prolific author of popular books and he was willing to give public speeches (for a price), a rarity for Scotus justices at the time.

Douglas met me at Eppley, an overnight bag and a briefcase in hand, and nary a U.S. Marshall or an aide in sight or a bevy of city leaders to welcome him to town. He carried his own bags to my car, a typical faculty jalopy, and we took off for the Blackstone Hotel. No sirens, no motorcycle cops, no big black SUVS, just the two of us.

Creighton had made no special security arrangements for the speech and reception and there were no protesters of any kind. When everything was over, I took him back to the hotel, ready to transport him to the airport to catch a late afternoon flight. Douglas protested, suggesting he could “just take a cab.” Well, I got him there and offered to sit with him.  He said he had plenty of work in his briefcase and I should just drop him off.

Last week, Congress passed a law to provide special round-the-clock protection for the court in light of the leaked draft by Justice Alito in the Dobbs case, the death knell to Roe v. Wade, the protests on the blocks where some jurists live and the arrest of a guy bound and determined to harm Justice Brett Kavanaugh.

As a matter of fact the perp was nabbed by Marshalls operating before the new law was passed and sent to the White House.

 Just over a dozen House Democrats voted against the measure, some saying it didn’t go far enough in protecting judicial clerks and court staffers.

 Now the Supreme Court building is surrounded by a big black fence, making it resemble a federal medium-security prison or an abandoned 1960s shopping mall.

Do you remember how you felt the first time you entered a courthouse which had just installed a rig to screen you, your briefcase and pockets? Do you remember thinking that somehow you had just witnessed the end of the openness of public spaces, the easy access to all the government offices in the place?

We hated all the security but instinctively knew that things had changed, public servants and innocent bystanders needed to be protected, and the days of trust among humans had to yield to a modicum of safety for the people who needed access to our courts.

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