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WASHINGTON — As the sun rose here on Tuesday, a long, cold and uncomfortable wait to glimpse the first day of arguments in two same-sex marriage cases was nearing an end for spectators, some of whom were waking up for the fifth straight morning on the sidewalk in front of the Supreme Court.
WASHINGTON — Few places draw such disparate cross-sections of American society as the steps of the Supreme Court at a moment of judicial consequence.
“When my sleeping bag took on water two nights ago, that was a low,” said Jeffrey DeSoto, 33, who traveled from New York and was No. 14 in line. “But I sort of projected ahead to what 10 a.m. this morning would look like and said, ‘It’s worth it.'”
And on Tuesday the steps were where one could find a home-schooled family from Iowa, a group of Catholic schoolchildren on a field trip and throngs of Pentecostal parishioners crossing paths with a newly engaged lesbian couple from Ohio, a black man with H.I.V. and a drag queen.
A few hundred people buzzed awake from their predawn grogginess as they anticipated their reward: one of the 60 to 70 tickets that would be available to the general public.
They all turned up for a mostly civil exercise of free speech outside the court as the justices inside heard oral arguments in a case that could settle the fate of California’s ban on same-sex marriage.
Some were there for themselves, seizing a chance to witness history. Others were there because they were paid placeholders for people who were arriving only on Tuesday morning. These latecomers produced a few guffaws from those who had been there for days, but the mood was light.
“It’s a political circus, a wonderful political circus,” said Allen Ritter, 45, who slept outside the court for days so he could get inside to hear the case argued. “And it could only happen in Washington, D.C.”
“It’s a political circus, a wonderful political circus,” said Allen Ritter, 45. “And it could only happen in Washington, D.C.”
Representing those who oppose giving gay and lesbian couples the right to marry were thousands of religious conservatives who marched up the National Mall in a demonstration that resembled a church procession, complete with flowing banners, signs citing Scripture and members of the clergy leading the way.
The day’s action was not only in the courtroom. On the streets, various rallies and counterdemonstrations were planned, even if the names of the groups sounded synonymous. The National Organization for Marriage, a group of Christian conservatives that has fought the legalization of same-sex nuptials, planned to hold a march from the National Mall to the steps of the Supreme Court. At the same time, a coalition of more than 100 gay rights groups known as United for Marriage was preparing for its own rally.
On the other side of the issue were thousands of gay men and lesbians — some who had married and others who said they wished to someday — and their supporters, who came to take in an event that could precipitate historic changes in how same-sex couples are treated under the law.
In today’s real-time culture of live Web streams and up-to-the-second Twitter updates, Supreme Court arguments remain sealed off from the digital world, making the approximately 400 seats inside the courtroom precious commodities.
Two local residents, Mike McFarland, 60, and his husband, Larry Baxley, 45, will have been married for one year next Saturday. (The District of Columbia and nine states allow same-sex marriage.) As they stood outside the court on Tuesday morning, Mr. Baxley held up a dry-erase board on which he had written “We Are Married.”
All electronic devices are banned. The only public record of the proceedings other than a transcript is an audio recording, which the court will not release until after arguments have concluded on each of the two days.
Mr. McFarland reflected on how strange it would have seemed to him as a child growing up in Tennessee in the 1960s to hear that the Supreme Court was considering letting gay people get married.
A majority of the 400 seats are held for people who have special connections, like members of the Supreme Court bar, journalists and guests of the justices. A cousin of Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. who is a lesbian told The Los Angeles Times that she planned to attend as his guest.
“When I came out when I lived in Memphis, if two men were caught dancing in a bar they would get arrested,” he said. “It’s amazing. I never felt I’d live to see this day.”
On Facebook, Dustin Lance Black, the screenwriter who won an Oscar for “Milk,” said he would be there, and he asked his friends for advice on what tie to wear.
Shannon Glatz, 32, drove to Washington from Akron, Ohio, on Monday night. She said she planned to return to the Supreme Court on June 21, where she said she would marry her fiancée whether the court affirms a right to same-sex marriage or not.
About 100 seats will be reserved for those who stand in line — or pay someone to stand there for them. The court’s public information office said that about 60 to 70 of those were reserved for people who could view the entire argument, while the remaining 30 were for people who would rotate in groups to watch for about three to five minutes each.
“This would mean my girlfriend and I are looked at as a legitimate couple,” she said, “not just as roommates.”
The first spectators and for-hire placeholders started arriving on Thursday afternoon. By midday Friday, about 20 people were waiting along the sidewalk on First Street Northeast, which runs north and south between the Supreme Court building and the Capitol.
Just down Capitol Hill, demonstrators who oppose same-sex marriage were making their way up to the Supreme Court. Among them were the Wackers of Garner, Iowa, who used the march, along with trips to tour the Capitol and a few museums, as a civics lesson to teach their home-schooled children.
One of the first to arrive was Jason Wonacott, a 25-year-old who was raised in the Bay Area but now lives in Washington.
“It could be a Roe v. Wade type of decision,” said Cindy Wacker, 40. “I wouldn’t want to look back and say I wish I could have done something. This is something I can do by being here and marching and praying.”
The experience of living in California when the state legalized and then — just five months later — banned same-sex marriages led him to want to see the arguments. “I always assumed it would be something that would be available to me,” Mr. Wonacott said of the right to marry. “I was sort of naïve. And when Prop. 8 passed in 2008, it was really devastating.”
“If we don’t do something now,” she added, “maybe we might lose marriage in our country, and I don’t want my kids to grow up without marriage — one man and one woman.”
He fortified himself for the long weekend with six books, peanut butter sandwiches, granola bars, some Gatorade and six episodes of “The West Wing” downloaded on his computer.
Some of the people at the march, like the Wackers, came on their own. Many others were bused in by their churches or made the trip as part of a spring break excursion with their families. A Catholic group called the American Society for the Defense of Tradition, Family and Property brought a marching band that played, among other songs, the Civil War anthem “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
On Tuesday morning he was back on the sidewalk, No. 13 in line, wearing a fresh suit and tie, his hair neatly combed, his boyish face cleanly shaven. His roommate had picked him up and driven him back home at 2 a.m. so he could tidy up before the arguments.
Some came on school field trips, like a group of about 30 students from Pope John Paul the Great High School in Dumfries, Va.
How much sleep had he gotten during the four nights? “Two hours, plus four hours, plus six hours, plus 25 minutes,” he said, adding up each night’s worth.
Given the rapid shift in public opinion toward allowing gay people the right to marry, some marchers expressed little faith that the Supreme Court would ultimately rule their way.
The die-hards devised a system early on for staying warm and making sure they did not lose their places in line when nature called. Many of them trekked down the hill to Union Station, which is about a half-mile away. While they were gone, the others held their place in the line. They kept track of who was who on an unofficial list they asked newcomers to sign.
“I think we’re going down a moral road that we just don’t want to travel,” said Kevin Baechle of Ohio. “The bond of marriage is a foundation. It’s a man and a woman making their union to build their foundation,” he added. “And with the Supreme Court looking at this, they’re going to turn this all upside down.”
Some made use of Capitol Hill bars that were closer. But not everyone.
Taylor Carter, a 19-year-old college student, said the walk to Union Station was the only choice for her and her two younger siblings, a 15-year-old sister and a 12-year-old brother. “We can’t get into the bars,” she said.
Another logistical complication was what to do with the miniature tarp community outside the court, where people would have to leave their belongings unattended while they went inside for the arguments.
Volunteers for some of the gay rights groups have told people that they would be on patrol.
