My turn to stand vigil came at 11 on Tuesday morning, an hour after the flag-draped coffin of William Hubbs Rehnquist had been carried into the Great Hall of the Supreme Court and placed for public viewing on the same velvet-covered platform that had once borne the coffin of Abraham Lincoln. At the head of the platform stood a portrait of the man who had presided over the judicial branch of our federal system for the last 19 years.

		Tom McGough is the head of the Litigation Department at Reed Smith, LLP, and clerked for then-Associate Justice Rehnquist from August 1979 to August 1980.

Standing vigil meant standing silent and stock still beside the coffin for a half hour, a duty and an honor I shared with the other men and women who had served as law clerks for "the Chief." Of the 102 lawyers who had served in his chambers, 98 had rearranged their Labor Day and post-Labor Day schedules to note his passing together and to pay our respects to his family. That included Judge John Roberts, whose Senate hearings on his nomination to be the next chief justice were postponed.

The guidelines for standing vigil are relatively straightforward. Stand erect. Clasp your hands in front or behind. Remain silent. Look somber. Flex your leg muscles periodically to keep blood flowing to your head. If you feel woozy, take a knee, pretend you are praying, and wait for help.

I had an easy time with everything except the somber part; the portrait kept threatening to break my composure. The artist had not only depicted the Chief wearing a tie that could have been patterned after a color photo from the Hubble telescope, but had also given him the barest hint of a smile. And then there were the stripes.

AP file photo William H. Rehnquist

When the gold stripes first appeared on the sleeves of his robe in 1992, legal historians searched for precedent while court-watchers tut-tutted about pretentiousness. Jay Leno even spoofed them in one of his monologues. Many pundits predicted a rapid disappearance, like the marching band uniforms President Nixon once had designed for the White House guards.

But the stripes stayed, and those who knew the Chief understood. He had put them there not out of grandiosity, but out of whimsy. Think Gilbert & Sullivan, he said.

A "judicial conservative," of course, is not supposed to be whimsical, especially a Goldwater-supporting-Nixon-appointed-Reagan-elevated-strict-constructionist. But whimsical he was. And good-natured. And patient. And immensely interested in just about everything, including the lives of the recent law school graduates who came into his chambers as law clerks.

For most of his tenure on the court, his daily routine included long walks around the Capitol grounds, usually with a law clerk in tow. Topics of conversation ranged far beyond pending cases to sports, books, families, food, politics, history and religion. He liked to distinguish those people who know a lot about a few things from those who know a little about a lot of things, and placed himself firmly in the latter camp.

On one walk, he and I merged quietly into a passing group and took a tour of the Supreme Court's original courtroom on the ground floor of the Capitol building. No one, including the guide, recognized the associate justice in their midst. On another day we paused behind the Supreme Court building to ponder the phrase chiseled over the east-facing portico, "Justice, Guardian of Liberty," words far less familiar than those over the west-facing portico, "Equal Justice Under Law."

His open, affable and inquisitive style served him and the nation well when President Reagan elevated him to chief justice in 1986. That office entitled him to be "first among equals" on the nine-member court, but gave him only one vote's influence over its decisions and direction. Because associate justices of the Supreme Court are notoriously independent -- the Chief once likened them to "hogs on ice" -- securing their agreement and cooperation depended almost entirely upon his ability to persuade them, or at least four of them, to do things his way.

It helped in that regard that he had a brilliant legal mind and an awesome command of the court's rich history. Equally important, however, were his willingness and ability to forge strong personal bonds with each of his colleagues, even those who disagreed with him on fundamental legal issues. When Rehnquist clerks gathered with him at the court for our last two annual reunions, the entertainment included videos of the other eight justices poking affectionate fun at him and at themselves. This was clearly a group of people who enjoyed shouldering their burdens under his leadership.

On its brightest, most tourist-friendly days, the Great Hall of the Supreme Court evokes awe with its vaulted ceiling, marble columns and busts of departed chief justices. Add a flag-draped coffin flanked by silent sentries and the atmosphere in the hall veers sharply toward gloom.

But for me, at least, that portrait leavened the mood nicely. I will leave to more objective commentators the judicial and historical post-mortems that attend the passing of a chief justice. For this particular chief, I'll just suggest that the most singular accomplishment may have been presiding over the "Third Branch" of our federal government for nearly 20 years and completing that tenure not only well-respected, but well-rounded and well-liked.

Nicely done, Chief. We'll miss you.