The best books on characters behind famous legal proceedings

As a professor of criminal law, I often taught the case of People v Stephenson (1932), in which the Indiana courts affirmed the murder conviction of one D.C. Stephenson after a woman whom he had brutally assaulted, sexually and physically, tried to take her own life by swallowing poison.

But until this book, I never knew who Stephenson was—one of the most powerful leaders of the resurgent Ku Klux Klan in the 1920s—nor why the courage of his victim, Madge Oberholtzer, triggered the Klan’s eventual slide back into insignificance. This book, set a century ago, delivers an ominous chill of recognition along with reasons to hope. Its motifs are men who believe that they are above the law, the ease of recruiting respectable citizens into a cult, and the difficulty women have being believed.

I have a hunger for the human stories that hide behind the technical language, historical excursions, and occasionally baffling reasoning of Supreme Court decisions. There are a few legal journalists who excel at showing us these hidden lives; Anthony Lewis of the New York Times was one of these.

This book was his masterpiece, an account of the relationships among impoverished four-time convicted felon Clarence Gideon, his lawyer Abe Fortas (later to be named to the Court), the members of the Warren Court, and the law of American criminal justice. The 1963 decision in Gideon v. Wainwright, which established that persons facing serious criminal charges must be provided with lawyers, is inspiring reading, but the larger story that Lewis tells us is both more intricate and more moving.

Fifty years ago, a federal judge in Washington State issued a decision that upended the fishing economy and culture of the Pacific Northwest. United States v. Washington, which was eventually upheld by the Supreme Court, held that treaties between the government and the tribal peoples of that region must be respected and ruled that the tribes had a right to 50% of the annual catch. 

Wilkinson, one of the lawyers who advised and represented the tribal peoples, imbues his account of the lawsuit and its aftermath with Indian values and culture. Importantly, this form of storytelling includes numerous oral histories. They could serve the right reader as a sort of spiritual guide to how to behave when you, a peaceful person, find that your rights are being violated with apparent impunity.

 I love the blend of reporting and remembering in this book, as well as the skill Iversen brings to weaving them together. In 1992, a federal grand jury indicted the management of the Rocky Flats nuclear weapons plant northwest of Denver. The grand jury’s two-year investigation into the safety and environmental violations at the plant also produced a detailed and damning report, emphasizing the government’s efforts to cover up the danger that the plant posed to its employees and to people who lived nearby. The latter population included Iversen’s family.

Her childhood home, organized around the need to overlook her father’s alcoholism, drove her and her siblings outdoors into what looked like idyllic, pristine Colorado outer suburbia. There, they wandered about, rode their horses, and swam in the local creeks and lakes. Reading this, I could see some of what was coming. But it still surprises—and enrages.

This highly readable book allows us to hear from one of the actual parties to a Supreme Court case. Jim Obergefell and his co-author, Debbie Cenziper, invite us into the twined lives of Obergefell and his beloved, John Arthur. 

In 2013 Obergefell and Arthur, who was dying painfully from ALS, flew from their home in Ohio to Maryland, where gay marriage was recognized, to exchange vows. But Ohio refused to acknowledge their marriage and would insist that Arthur’s death certificate must describe him as single. As Arthur lay on his deathbed, he and Obergefell contracted with civil rights attorney Al Gerhardstein to pursue the lawsuit that would become Obergefell v. Hodges, in which the Supreme Court held that the states must recognize same-sex marriages. Gerhardstein always insisted that every civil rights case starts with a story. This one could melt a heart of stone.