Long before the four guilty verdicts and the press conferences, before the television trucks arrived and the trial began, I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby was just another guy at the federal courthouse.

Most mornings, the former White House aide could be found in jeans and shirt sleeves, sipping coffee out of a foam cup on his way to a small courthouse room where the government stored the classified evidence in his case. Court officers smiled politely, and Libby, the former chief of staff to Vice President Dick Cheney, always smiled back.

At first, he was something of a courthouse celebrity. Interns, clerks and court staff would say they saw him in the hallway or the cafeteria. But as the months dragged on, the novelty wore off, and the first sitting White House official indicted in more than century became just another friendly courthouse face.

Then came the monthlong perjury and obstruction trial. Every morning, dressed in a dark suit and tie, Libby arrived at court flanked by lawyers and took the elevator to the sixth floor and the familiar confines of his legal team's makeshift office.

"You got to know him," said James Huff, a sixth-floor court security officer who has seen his share of high-profile defendants walk through these hallways in the past 20 years. "You got to talk to him. You got to like him."

It was like that every day, through 10 days of jury deliberations and Tuesday's guilty verdicts for obstruction, perjury and lying to the FBI.

But when Wednesday arrived, Libby did not.

"It's weird," Huff remarked as a colleague in the otherwise empty hallway nodded in agreement. "Every day he was here. He was like part of the courthouse."

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A FRIENDLY FACE

A court is a house of justice, but like any other office building, it's a place where employees talk and laugh about their weekends, their children and whatever is happening in their lives. Criminal defendants come and go but the work, high-profile or not, is mostly the same.

Countless corporate executives, drug dealers and disgraced politicians have had their day in the E. Barrett Prettyman courthouse, but few became as much a part of the landscape as Libby. Workers say fewer still paused under the strain of a federal case to be friendly.

It was just small talk, never more. But it was nice.

Libby used to hold the door for court employees and lawyers as they filed into the courtroom. "There must be a metaphor here," he once said while holding the door for reporters, who filed in to cover a case involving his conversations with reporters.

He was also self-deprecating, as when he found himself locked out of the secure office where the Justice Department kept the classified documents he was reviewing before trial. In a case that hinged on his memory, Libby had forgotten the pass key. He offered a half grin and said he had to look it up.

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AFTER THE TRIAL

After Libby's conviction, as the gaggle of reporters gathered, a photographer slipped and fell down the courthouse steps near Libby. With court employees watching from the windows and dozens of reporters waiting to shout questions about prison and pardons, Libby bent down and helped the man to his feet so he could resume taking his picture to run under the word "Guilty."

Even the jurors said Libby was a likable guy. They felt sorry for him. One juror said she hoped Libby would be pardoned because he didn't deserve to go to jail. Yet they unanimously convicted him of lying about what he told reporters regarding CIA operative Valerie Plame.

Huff, the security officer, will be the first to note that Libby's friendliness apparently didn't help him in court. But some court employees, like some of the jurors, suspect Libby was a fall guy - though most didn't spend enough time in court to have a strong feeling about his guilt or innocence.

Now that the trial is over, Libby's absence is noticeable. The sixth floor has an eerie quiet about it. The faded velvet rope outside the courtroom has been moved because there are no crowds to control. Libby's judge, Reggie Walton, plans to hold a status hearing in an age-discrimination lawsuit Friday.

The TV trucks are gone. The media room has cleared out.

"Just the mood," Huff said, leaning back in his chair in an empty hallway. "The mood of the courthouse is different."