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4.2.12
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they were taking up the place of a man who would actually practice law, while they got married
and raised children.

Dean Griswold wasn’t particularly comfortable with Jews either. At the same dinner, he noticed
that I didn’t eat the meat, and he asked me why. I told him I was kosher, to which he responded:
“Even the Catholics have eliminated the prohibition against eating meat on Friday. Don’t you
think it’s time for your people to eat what everyone else eats.” I thought he was kidding, so I
said: “I’ll check with my people.” He wasn’t kidding. The next time I saw him I said: “I’ve
checked with my people and they said that they’ve been keeping kosher for thousands of years, so
a few more centuries couldn’t hurt.” He didn’t laugh. I think this exchange kept me kosher for
an extra few years!

For more than a year, Griswold called me “Shapiro,” which was the name of another assistant
professor, with whom I had nothing in common, except a Jewish sounding name. Griswold
demanded that I teach classes on Saturday. I refused. He said he couldn’t make a special
exception for me because I was a practicing Jew. I still refused. So he abolished all Saturday
classes.

Shortly after I was appointed to the Harvard Law School faculty, I received a call from Judge
Aldrich inviting me to present a talk to the members of his private club, called the “Club of Odd
Volumes.” He assured me that its members included some of the best and most important
lawyers in Boston, including several Justices of the Supreme Court and other judges. “We invite
all the new dons to tell us about their work,” he advised me.

Remembering Judge Bazelon’s refusal to speak to the members of Justice Douglas’ restricted
club, I politely told Judge Aldrich that I would get back to him. I then called the head of the local
Anti-Defamation League and inquired about the Club of Odd Volumes. “They don’t accept Jews,
Catholics, Blacks or women as members,” he quickly responded. I called Judge Aldrich, and told
him that I had a strict policy against speaking at any “restricted” club and so I would respectfully
have to decline his kind invitation. (I adopted that “policy” that day, having never before been
invited to speak at a restricted club.) He thanked me for considering it and hung up the phone.
Within an hour, I was abruptly summoned into the Dean’s Office.

Dean Erwin Griswold informed me that I had offended one of the Law School’s most important
and influential alumni, that I was the only assistant professor ever to turn down an invitation to
speak at that club and that it was important for untenured faculty to present their work there
because several of the members served on the Harvard Board of Overseers that had to approve all
tenure decisions. “You’ve hurt your chances,” he chided me. “Why did you decline their
invitation? Will you reconsider it if I can get them to invite you again?”

I explained my reasons. Griswold, who despite his Midwest origins considered himself an
honorary Brahman, was a cautious advocate of civil rights and civil liberties, so I thought he
would understand. What I did not know was that he himself was a member of a restricted club.
Nevertheless, he paused, looked directly at me and said, “While I don’t agree with you,
considering your background I can understand why you would feel uncomfortable at that club.
I’ll call Bailey and try to explain. I hope he understands, and I hope you haven’t hurt your

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