Sometime that morning about a dozen antigay protesters led by the 73-year-old Reverend Fred Phelps, the leader of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, arrived, accompanied by some young children. The group held up signs referring to the Bible and its condemnation of Sodom, and bearing slogans like "God Hates Fags" and "AIDS Is God's Revenge." Other signs attacked America itself for its excessive tolerance of homosexuality. A young girl held aloft the message "Thank God for Sept. 11." Another sign said, "God Destroyed the Shuttle," referring to the recent crash of the Columbia space shuttle. The antigay protesters distributed leaflets warning that the United States would lose the war in Iraq, among other calamities, if the Supreme Court ruled in favor of the so-called sodomites.

For the hundreds of gay-rights advocates in line, there was nothing new about any of this. They had long ago habituated themselves to such protesters at gay pride parades and other events. Mostly amused by the Phelps clan, some had their pictures taken beside them, as if posing with circus acts. Their optimism was not going to be spoiled by this preacher and his followers.

By the time the marshal of the Court began letting members of the public through the front door of the Supreme Court building, around 9:30, the list of people waiting to get in had grown to about 400. The line stretched down the entire block in front of the Court. Those too far back in line to get a seat were allowed, following standard Supreme Court practice, to stand at the rear of the courtroom for three minutes to watch the argument. Then they were shuttled out so that the next group could watch.

Paul Smith, the unflappable Washington appellate lawyer, and Chuck Rosenthal, the drawling Texas trial attorney, met for the first time in the lawyers' lounge, a small antechamber for oral advocates off of the main courtroom, around nine o'clock that morning. They chitchatted politely with the other lawyers in the room. As is customary, the Court's clerk, William Suter, delivered a primer on procedure. Following a Court tradition, the clerk asked if anyone needed a button sewn, and then gave the lawyers ceremonial quill pens to mark the occasion. After 15 minutes in the lawyers' lounge, all the attorneys filed out to take seats in the courtroom.

Members of the National Prayer Center pray outside the Supreme Court in Washington Thursday, June 26, 2003 after the court struck down a ban on gay sex.

The courtroom itself is 82 feet by 91 feet, a grand but surprisingly small setting. At the front of the room the justices sit behind an elevated, curved bench, each in a high-backed wood chair upholstered in black leather. They peer down upon the lawyers and the spectators. The effect is to almost encircle the attorney--undoubtedly, an intimidating experience for the uninitiated. Counsel, up to four lawyers each for the petitioners and respondents, sit at tables positioned on either side of the lectern. Each side gets 30 minutes to make its presentation to the Court.