"Except your family, maybe. When they see the big turn-out and hear all the fine speeches, they'll be so proud of what you were when you were alive they'll almost be glad you're finally dead. Now without having your big ego around, your grieving heirs'll finally get some real enjoyment out of your career. Even if they do find out later you weren't carrying quite as much insurance as they would've thought you might've, man of your prominence."
Leonard demurred. He said it seemed to him that judicial service while still fairly young would enhance his resume and therefore as his hair began to turn grey, as theirs had, and he had to start buying pants in larger sizes and pills to treat various ailments, as they had told him they had been obliged to mandate regular promotions to higher and higher courts, 'like they had to do with Ben Cardozo, until you finally get to the level where the only higher court is the one where Moses sits."
His colleagues said that would probably be so if the appointment were at least to the superior court, extended as a prophylactic early coronation preferably by a Democratic governor compelled to make and thus to disinfect a couple other highly unsanitary nominations, 'maybe a whole string of out-and-out stinkers. Then your precocity would count, and in your favor. Then you'd be getting the nod because you're a legal Mozart, you're so bright, and just like it didn't matter he was only four when he was writing symphonies and stuff because the music was so good, it wouldn't matter with you that you're such a young lawyer, because you're such a brilliant young lawyer.
"But," they said, 'since it's to the district court and it's being offered by a practicing Republican, it'll be the kiss of death. If you take this thing, you'll regret it the rest of your life." They said it would be deemed, correctly, a patronage bonbon, paying off his uncle.
"So although your precocity still counts, now it counts against you.
Now you're not getting the job even though you're young, because you're so bright; you're getting this job because of uncle's pull, even though you're still wet behind the ears."
They said acceptance of the Canterbury nomination would forever nullify Leonard's potential usefulness as a high-class nominee. "Doesn't matter, he's your uncle; that he's family and he loves you very much.
It's a hard world. You let somebody pimp you, fact he's kinfolk doesn't matter; still makes you a common whore."
Leonard agonized. He said: "But look, it's not that easy. If my uncle hadn't gone ahead and done this so I got this nomination, that'd be a different thing. Then of course I'd wait; I'd have to. I'd have no choice. I'd be just another meek and blushing virgin, hoping to be kissed some day if not by an ugly governor looking for an appellate judge or a senator with warts but a prime federal vacancy, then at least by a handsome prince dangling a powerhouse deanship. But now that Andy's gone and done this, other people know, how shameless I am.
No more playing hard to get: "Oh gee, I don't know. I'm not really sure." They know Andy didn't do this because what I really wanted was a Raleigh ten-speed bike; I really do want a judgeship. Trouble is the Canterbury slot was all the governor had in stock the day that Andy went shopping.
"Well, too bad for me, that's how it turned out, but it is the way it turned out. I want to be a judge, and I've got this bird in hand. Not the best judgeship in the world, no, not one I ever wanted. But still, an honest-to-God judgeship. One more than most guys who want a robe 're ever going to see or have, mine to accept or reject.
"What if I turn it down and never see another one? It could happen.
Say No, and bide my time, wait for a better one. People aren't stupid; they'll know what I'm up to. They'll say: "This young man does not suffer from lack of self-esteem."
"Suppose they then decide: "Okay, so that's how he feels, little prick: wants to start off at the top. Holdin' out for First Circuit Court of Appeals. Fine. Best of luck to him." And then I never get another one. What do I do then? I'll regret it all my life."
His friends said that was the sort of anguish that generally made it much easier to give sound advice than to take it. Julia said his friends were right and he should heed what they told him, even if it did mean that Uncle Andy, who'd been known to be vindictive, would be very angry at him.
"Forget about him, Len," she said. "You can't make your decisions on the basis of how you think Andy Finn's going to react. It's your life, not his; you're the one who has to live it -even though he'd like to run it. There's a way to tell him nicely. You don't have to come right out and say it, that it's a third-rate judgeship and it isn't good enough for you even though that is the reason. And if Andy still gets mad, so he never tries to get you another nomination, well, that's the way it goes."
