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But that’s exactly what happened when two different friends set up Theodore B. Olson, the former U.S. solicitor general who in 2000 argued the Supreme Court election case that helped put George W. Bush in the White House, with Lady Booth.
“As soon as my friend told me who he was, I went out and got the tapes,” said the woman who is now Lady Booth Olson, referring to the VHS recordings she’d made of C-SPAN’s audio broadcast of Bush v. Gore. “Like every nerdy lawyer, I’d taped them. I took them out and I remembered, ‘Oh my God, he was Bush, not Gore,’ so I called her back and said, ‘This is not going to work.’”
But after a first date at L’Auberge Chez Francois just outside Washington, a second date at the Kentucky Derby, and a rainy bike ride in the Wisconsin wilderness where his glasses became all fogged up and she grilled him on affirmative action — “That’s where we worked it all out in the woods,” she said — Olson realized that, at age 41, she’d found an unlikely partner. The two married four-and-a-half years after that first date.
And less than three years later, Lady Olson found herself in the front row of a San Francisco courtroom for 11 days, watching her husband team up with his former adversary, the lawyer David Boies, to successfully overturn Proposition 8, the 2008 California ballot measure that outlawed same-sex marriage. (On Monday, a federal appeals court extended the stay on same-sex marriages in California until it decides whether a ban on such unions is constitutional.)
Lady Olson was more than just a minor behind-the-scenes player in this potentially pivotal case.
“Lady could not have been more supportive of this,” Theodore Olson said in an interview shortly before Vaughn R. Walker, chief judge of the U.S. District Court hearing the case, ruled on Aug. 4 that Proposition 8 was unconstitutional. “And she’s certainly influenced my views — her ideas, her approach, her feelings.”
When Theodore Olson teamed with Boise in 2009, much of the politerati was shocked to hear that the conservative stalwart was working alongside his former rival in Bush v. Gore, to defend the right of gays to marry. In fact, supporters of Proposition 8 had themselves tentatively approached Olson about arguing their side of the case.
But his wife said that anyone who knows him well — not to mention anyone who knows her at all — understands that for Theodore Olson and his fierce libertarian streak, gay marriage was an issue “of right and wrong, justice and injustice, and discrimination is something that offends at any time.”
“He would have never been able to take the other side,” she said, before adding with a laugh, “He wouldn’t have had a wife after that!” it around the house,” she joked, but would not share any specific details on what they discussed), and went on sushi runs for her husband when the court broke for an hour lunch. (“We found a sushi place that took six minutes to get there, six minutes to order, six minutes to eat the sushi, and six minutes to get back,” she said.)
And she began responding to the onslaught of letters Theodore Olson received from gay men and lesbians around the country thanking him for taking up their cause. She has tried to read and respond to them all, and she said she might compile them in a book someday.
“They’re incredibly moving from people who have experienced discrimination,” Lady Olson said. “There are so many, it’s hard to keep track of them. But I’m trying to document them, hearing their stories and their reasons for wanting to marry.”
Theodore Olson’s previous wife, Barbara, was a conservative commentator who was killed on Sept. 11, 2001, when she was on the hijacked plane that crashed into the Pentagon. Some friends hypothesize that Lady Olson just might have softened some of her husband’s views.
“In my innermost thoughts, I like to think he thought that on some level, but Ted’s never said that,” Lady Olson said. “He’s very proud. He owns his own decisions.”
Mary Boies, a friend of the couple who is married to David Boies, said: “He’s just a kinder, gentler Ted, but I think he’s more relaxed and more enjoying of a good time, and in that way I think she’s been a very big influence on him. He probably is more tolerant of Democrats now. Not that he agrees with them, but there’s no point in being the ant at the picnic.”
Lady Olson was named after her great aunt, Lady Jane Helm, a self-possessed, self-made businesswoman from rural Tennessee. In her family, she was considered lucky to have inherited the name of her father’s aunt, but it was a tough name to have when she moved north for graduate school.
“I got so much grief, it was pretty unbearable,” she said, before returning to the bright side: “Being in Washington, people think I’m titled half the time, so it can come in handy.”
Lady Olson is a self-described “over-idealist,” a would-be runaway bride who friends thought might never settle down. “I just took a long time to find the right man,” she said. “I was trying to make darn sure it was someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
Lady Olson is an enthusiastic nerd, the type of person who sent out a daily e-mail from the courtroom called “Notes From the Front Row” full of wonky insights and earnest observations, and the type who giggles when she talks about tax policy. She punctuates her sentences with “gosh,” and offers up effusive praise for just about everyone she knows. She can rattle off the legal logistics of the appeals process. Briefs are to be filed in September and the appeal is to be heard in court in December; many expect the case to go to the Supreme Court.
She’s also a little press shy, and quick to talk about the “fantastic” team — including Theodore Olson and Boies, the lawyers and clerks in their firms, the plaintiffs who shared their stories and even the go-fers who ran around making photocopies — and how devoted everyone has been. She agreed to an interview, Lady Olson explained, only because she thought that if people could see her and her husband, “happy heterosexuals who are completely supporting this,” they might get behind the cause as well.
“During the trial, I kept looking down at my wedding ring and thinking, ‘Gosh, I am so lucky to be here,’” she said, reflecting quietly just days after the trial had ended. “I waited until 45 to get married, taking it for granted the entire time.”
And less than three years later, Lady Olson found herself in the front row of a San Francisco courtroom for 11 days, watching her husband team up with his former adversary, the lawyer David Boies, to successfully overturn Proposition 8, the 2008 California ballot measure that outlawed same-sex marriage. (On Monday, a federal appeals court extended the stay on same-sex marriages in California until it decides whether a ban on such unions is constitutional.)
Lady Olson was more than just a minor behind-the-scenes player in this potentially pivotal case.
“Lady could not have been more supportive of this,” Theodore Olson said in an interview shortly before Vaughn R. Walker, chief judge of the U.S. District Court hearing the case, ruled on Aug. 4 that Proposition 8 was unconstitutional. “And she’s certainly influenced my views — her ideas, her approach, her feelings.”
When Theodore Olson teamed with Boise in 2009, much of the politerati was shocked to hear that the conservative stalwart was working alongside his former rival in Bush v. Gore, to defend the right of gays to marry. In fact, supporters of Proposition 8 had themselves tentatively approached Olson about arguing their side of the case.
But his wife said that anyone who knows him well — not to mention anyone who knows her at all — understands that for Theodore Olson and his fierce libertarian streak, gay marriage was an issue “of right and wrong, justice and injustice, and discrimination is something that offends at any time.”
“He would have never been able to take the other side,” she said, before adding with a laugh, “He wouldn’t have had a wife after that!” it around the house,” she joked, but would not share any specific details on what they discussed), and went on sushi runs for her husband when the court broke for an hour lunch. (“We found a sushi place that took six minutes to get there, six minutes to order, six minutes to eat the sushi, and six minutes to get back,” she said.)
And she began responding to the onslaught of letters Theodore Olson received from gay men and lesbians around the country thanking him for taking up their cause. She has tried to read and respond to them all, and she said she might compile them in a book someday.
“They’re incredibly moving from people who have experienced discrimination,” Lady Olson said. “There are so many, it’s hard to keep track of them. But I’m trying to document them, hearing their stories and their reasons for wanting to marry.”
Theodore Olson’s previous wife, Barbara, was a conservative commentator who was killed on Sept. 11, 2001, when she was on the hijacked plane that crashed into the Pentagon. Some friends hypothesize that Lady Olson just might have softened some of her husband’s views.
“In my innermost thoughts, I like to think he thought that on some level, but Ted’s never said that,” Lady Olson said. “He’s very proud. He owns his own decisions.”
Mary Boies, a friend of the couple who is married to David Boies, said: “He’s just a kinder, gentler Ted, but I think he’s more relaxed and more enjoying of a good time, and in that way I think she’s been a very big influence on him. He probably is more tolerant of Democrats now. Not that he agrees with them, but there’s no point in being the ant at the picnic.”
Lady Olson was named after her great aunt, Lady Jane Helm, a self-possessed, self-made businesswoman from rural Tennessee. In her family, she was considered lucky to have inherited the name of her father’s aunt, but it was a tough name to have when she moved north for graduate school.
“I got so much grief, it was pretty unbearable,” she said, before returning to the bright side: “Being in Washington, people think I’m titled half the time, so it can come in handy.”
Lady Olson is a self-described “over-idealist,” a would-be runaway bride who friends thought might never settle down. “I just took a long time to find the right man,” she said. “I was trying to make darn sure it was someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
Lady Olson is an enthusiastic nerd, the type of person who sent out a daily e-mail from the courtroom called “Notes From the Front Row” full of wonky insights and earnest observations, and the type who giggles when she talks about tax policy. She punctuates her sentences with “gosh,” and offers up effusive praise for just about everyone she knows. She can rattle off the legal logistics of the appeals process. Briefs are to be filed in September and the appeal is to be heard in court in December; many expect the case to go to the Supreme Court.
She’s also a little press shy, and quick to talk about the “fantastic” team — including Theodore Olson and Boies, the lawyers and clerks in their firms, the plaintiffs who shared their stories and even the go-fers who ran around making photocopies — and how devoted everyone has been. She agreed to an interview, Lady Olson explained, only because she thought that if people could see her and her husband, “happy heterosexuals who are completely supporting this,” they might get behind the cause as well.
“During the trial, I kept looking down at my wedding ring and thinking, ‘Gosh, I am so lucky to be here,’” she said, reflecting quietly just days after the trial had ended. “I waited until 45 to get married, taking it for granted the entire time.”
“He would have never been able to take the other side,” she said, before adding with a laugh, “He wouldn’t have had a wife after that!” it around the house,” she joked, but would not share any specific details on what they discussed), and went on sushi runs for her husband when the court broke for an hour lunch. (“We found a sushi place that took six minutes to get there, six minutes to order, six minutes to eat the sushi, and six minutes to get back,” she said.)
And she began responding to the onslaught of letters Theodore Olson received from gay men and lesbians around the country thanking him for taking up their cause. She has tried to read and respond to them all, and she said she might compile them in a book someday.
“They’re incredibly moving from people who have experienced discrimination,” Lady Olson said. “There are so many, it’s hard to keep track of them. But I’m trying to document them, hearing their stories and their reasons for wanting to marry.”
Theodore Olson’s previous wife, Barbara, was a conservative commentator who was killed on Sept. 11, 2001, when she was on the hijacked plane that crashed into the Pentagon. Some friends hypothesize that Lady Olson just might have softened some of her husband’s views.
“In my innermost thoughts, I like to think he thought that on some level, but Ted’s never said that,” Lady Olson said. “He’s very proud. He owns his own decisions.”
Mary Boies, a friend of the couple who is married to David Boies, said: “He’s just a kinder, gentler Ted, but I think he’s more relaxed and more enjoying of a good time, and in that way I think she’s been a very big influence on him. He probably is more tolerant of Democrats now. Not that he agrees with them, but there’s no point in being the ant at the picnic.”
Lady Olson was named after her great aunt, Lady Jane Helm, a self-possessed, self-made businesswoman from rural Tennessee. In her family, she was considered lucky to have inherited the name of her father’s aunt, but it was a tough name to have when she moved north for graduate school.
“I got so much grief, it was pretty unbearable,” she said, before returning to the bright side: “Being in Washington, people think I’m titled half the time, so it can come in handy.”
Lady Olson is a self-described “over-idealist,” a would-be runaway bride who friends thought might never settle down. “I just took a long time to find the right man,” she said. “I was trying to make darn sure it was someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
Lady Olson is an enthusiastic nerd, the type of person who sent out a daily e-mail from the courtroom called “Notes From the Front Row” full of wonky insights and earnest observations, and the type who giggles when she talks about tax policy. She punctuates her sentences with “gosh,” and offers up effusive praise for just about everyone she knows. She can rattle off the legal logistics of the appeals process. Briefs are to be filed in September and the appeal is to be heard in court in December; many expect the case to go to the Supreme Court.
She’s also a little press shy, and quick to talk about the “fantastic” team — including Theodore Olson and Boies, the lawyers and clerks in their firms, the plaintiffs who shared their stories and even the go-fers who ran around making photocopies — and how devoted everyone has been. She agreed to an interview, Lady Olson explained, only because she thought that if people could see her and her husband, “happy heterosexuals who are completely supporting this,” they might get behind the cause as well.
“During the trial, I kept looking down at my wedding ring and thinking, ‘Gosh, I am so lucky to be here,’” she said, reflecting quietly just days after the trial had ended. “I waited until 45 to get married, taking it for granted the entire time.”
Lady Olson was named after her great aunt, Lady Jane Helm, a self-possessed, self-made businesswoman from rural Tennessee. In her family, she was considered lucky to have inherited the name of her father’s aunt, but it was a tough name to have when she moved north for graduate school.
“I got so much grief, it was pretty unbearable,” she said, before returning to the bright side: “Being in Washington, people think I’m titled half the time, so it can come in handy.”
Lady Olson is a self-described “over-idealist,” a would-be runaway bride who friends thought might never settle down. “I just took a long time to find the right man,” she said. “I was trying to make darn sure it was someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
Lady Olson is an enthusiastic nerd, the type of person who sent out a daily e-mail from the courtroom called “Notes From the Front Row” full of wonky insights and earnest observations, and the type who giggles when she talks about tax policy. She punctuates her sentences with “gosh,” and offers up effusive praise for just about everyone she knows. She can rattle off the legal logistics of the appeals process. Briefs are to be filed in September and the appeal is to be heard in court in December; many expect the case to go to the Supreme Court.
She’s also a little press shy, and quick to talk about the “fantastic” team — including Theodore Olson and Boies, the lawyers and clerks in their firms, the plaintiffs who shared their stories and even the go-fers who ran around making photocopies — and how devoted everyone has been. She agreed to an interview, Lady Olson explained, only because she thought that if people could see her and her husband, “happy heterosexuals who are completely supporting this,” they might get behind the cause as well.
“During the trial, I kept looking down at my wedding ring and thinking, ‘Gosh, I am so lucky to be here,’” she said, reflecting quietly just days after the trial had ended. “I waited until 45 to get married, taking it for granted the entire time.”