fice restaurant of a local liquor distributor named Milton Kronheim, whose personal chef would prepare simple but superb lunches for “Milton’s boys.” Kronheim himself was in his mid-seventies when I met him. (He would live to 97, pitching in his weekly company softball game until his late 80s). His frequent

r—during my clerkship. (When I became a professor, Judge Bazelon invited me whenever I visited—then as a full participant). The first time I went to Kronheim’s for lunch, we picked up two justices at the Supreme Court building: William O. Douglas and William Brennan. I had previously met Justice Brennan thro