The first time I saw Justice Antonin Scalia in the flesh was in college. He came to speak at my school, which was a broadly apolitical place. There were no protests. He gave a brief talk on the idea of originalism—easily the most engaging lecture of my four years—and then he took questions. For close to two hours he stood onstage and answered myriad queries from a collection of professors, community members, and students. It was like watching Ted Williams take batting practice. Except that in addition to possessing an intellect that was truly intimidating, Scalia was also jovial and good natured.
At one point, one of the few student radicals on campus rose to ask Scalia a question. I don’t remember the specifics of it; I think it was about slavery. Scalia’s answer reduced her—literally—to tears. She started crying and ran up the aisle and out of the theater. This was before the “safe space” era, when people who conducted themselves as such were not taken seriously. What made the biggest impression on me that night was Scalia’s genuine compassion. He called after her and asked her to come back to the microphone so they could talk some more. She didn’t.
