Behind their walnut bench in the square inner chamber of their great marble temple, the nine Justices of the Supreme Court of the U. S. looked down upon an attorney arguing. Had a New Jersey school board impaired the obligation of contracts in reducing the salaries of school teachers who had fixed tenures of office? Through the chamber's marble columns, Court Clerk Charles Elmore Cropley—he who held the cellophane-covered Bible on which Franklin Roosevelt renewed his oath of office (TIME, Feb. 1)—appeared and laid some mimeographed sheets before Chief Justice Charles Evans Hughes. Presently a blond page boy popped up and laid similar sheets before the other Justices.
From the floor below it was impossible to see whether several of the Justices were reading the sheets or consulting texts, as they often do. Eighty-year-old Justice Brandeis seemed to be studying something intently, occasionally scratching his ear and smiling faintly. Next to him square-headed Justice Butler, 70, chuckled over something to Justice Roberts, 61, the Court's baby. At the other end of the bench Justice Cardozo. 66, was reading intently. Justice Sutherland. 74, stroked his Vandyke, also read. Chief Justice Hughes, 74, spoke quietly to Justice Van Devanter beside him and Mr. Van Devanter, 77, smiled dourly. But the argument went on to its conclusion, the Justices interrupting occasionally to make inquiries. Finally they rose and filed out in their customary dignity without either the attorneys or the courtroom audience realizing that they had witnessed the reception by the Supreme Court of an historic document: Franklin Roosevelt's message to Congress recommending a reorganization of the judicial branch of the Government—an oil-smooth state paper that packed terrific political punch.
The Punch in the document, however, was not equal to the punch in Franklin Roosevelt's voice as he read his message to a press conference an hour before it was delivered to Congress and the Supreme Court. He beamed at newshawks with evident exuberance. He fairly smacked his lips over his adroit phrasing, revealing to the Press by intonation and ironic interjection his exhilaration over the most daring stroke he had yet attempted: his long-awaited blow to break the deadlock between the New Deal and the Supreme Court.
He was feeling far better than at that momentous press conference two years ago, when, after the Supreme Court invalidated NRA, he lashed out hurt and angry at "horse-&-buggy" interpretation of the Constitution. Those comments were hurled back at him during last year's campaign. In his message to Congress last month he sidetracked that issue, declaring:
"The vital need is not an alteration of our fundamental law. . . . With a better understanding . . . of our needs as a nation, it is not to be assumed that there will be prolonged failure to bring legislative and judicial action into closer harmony."