To meet Reed Lee was to like Reed Lee. To get to know him further, even a little, was to love him.

The world has lost a very special person with the death of the respected First Amendment attorney, constitutional law scholar, former president of the First Amendment Lawyers Association and longtime Free Speech Coalition Board member.

I have never met a person more generous with his time, or more patient with being asked stupid, simplistic questions about incredibly complex questions of constitutional law, of which I must have asked him hundreds over the decades in which I was fortunate enough to know him.

Humble as he was concerning his legal acumen and immense intellect, I’m guessing Reed may have been more embarrassed than flattered by the fact I took to referring to our phone calls as Reed “fulfilling his FLE (Free Legal Education) requirement,” but if it did bother him, Reed was far too kind to say so.

Reed had an encyclopedic knowledge of First Amendment jurisprudence and recall for the facts and details of watershed legal decisions that bordered on frightening. In a statement mourning his passing, the FSC noted Reed’s “fierce intellect, astounding command of the law, and deep passion for the First Amendment,” high and well-deserved praise that somehow still feels like an understatement.

One of Reed’s many admirable traits was the generosity of his spirit. Reed could disagree passionately with someone, on a subject near and dear to his heart, without feeling an ounce of resentment or disrespect for that person.

Anyone familiar with his many differences – philosophical, political and otherwise – with his former law partner, J.D. Obenberger, who passed away himself in the summer of 2020, knows that for as much as the pair might have argued and debated over the years of their ‘odd couple’ partnership, Reed’s affection and respect for J.D. was immense. In Reed’s view, disagreement wasn’t a basis for dislike; it was cause for further engagement, more opportunities to understand one another, additional chances to be human, in the best possible way.

Reed was also a great storyteller, his tales aided by the same gifts of observation and recall that enabled him to be such a fine attorney and legal analyst. One of my favorites among his stories – one in which I’m sure I’ll screw up the details in way Reed never would – hailed back to his time as a long-haired, bearded, somewhat scruffy-looking college student.

At the time, Reed’s walk to class took him past a house where an elderly woman was often standing in her front yard, where she would watch him pass by, never taking her eyes off him. While he at first assumed she might be taken aback by his shaggy appearance, he eventually came to see what seemed like more than a hint of affection in her face as she stared at him passing by. She never said anything, just looked almost wistful as he plodded by on the sidewalk.

One day, after feeling awkward beneath her gaze for what felt like the hundredth time, Reed stopped and said something to the effect of “Lady, what is it with you; why do you look at me like that?”

The woman sighed and rested her chin on her hands. Nodding back toward her front door, she said: “I’ve got a picture of God inside; looks just like you.”

How I wish I could hear that story, or any other story Reed felt inclined to tell, a thousand more times. Or even just one more time.

My heart aches today, for all who knew Reed, whether just a little, or far better than I did. We have lost a colleague, a mentor, a counselor, a source of deep wisdom, kindness and humor. Above all else, we have lost a dear friend.

As the FSC observed in their statement, Reed was “a person of immense integrity who lived his life in concordance with his principles in every possible way.” He certainly was that, and so much more.

Goodbye Reed, my friend. You are already sorely missed.

Candle image by Brett Sayles from Pexels