Why Should White Guys Have All the Fun? (10 page)

Lewis left Baltimore for Cambridge in the summer of 1965. Over the course of the next eight weeks, he followed his “brief” to the letter.

Lewis and his fellow participants tackled law school subjects such as civil procedure, torts, criminal law, and contracts. They also took at least one course at Harvard’s regular summer program that was unrelated to legal education.

The highlight of the program was a mock trial where students took opposing sides. Lewis stood out. Almost thirty years later, Professor Sander still recalls being impressed by Lewis’s self-assurance and argumentative skills.

“He rose to the occasion. When he did the mock court thing, we all thought, ‘This guy is going to amount to something. He’s got a real drive and energy and fight and insight.’ He stood out among those students,” Sander says.

“I was rated either No. 1 or 2 out of the 40 or 50 outstanding students who competed that summer,” Lewis wrote.

As at Virginia State, his instructors were definitely aware of his presence, although this time their impressions were uniformly positive. It gave him the foundation he needed to move in for his closing argument: An appeal to be admitted to the law school.

Lewis met with Sander at a small, nondescript restaurant on Battle Street, not far from Harvard’s campus. Also present was James McPherson, another summer program student who had already been admitted to the law school. McPherson would later become a Pulitzer Prize-winning author.

Lewis, dressed in his customary shirt and tie, walked into the restaurant and purposefully took his place at the lunch table where Sander and McPherson were waiting. He ordered chicken pot pie and, virtually ignoring his lunch and McPherson, launched into a forceful, eloquent argument outlining why Reginald Lewis should be admitted to Harvard Law School. For the next hour or so, Lewis masterfully ticked off his positive characteristics and delineated the myriad ways an association between Reginald Lewis and the law school would be mutually beneficial. His appeal was based primarily on reason and irrefutable logic and was devoid of wheedling or whining.

His argument flowed freely and naturally. As far as Lewis was concerned, he was dealing from a position of strength. Harvard
really did
need someone as unquestionably gifted and destined for great things as he. He had an unswerving, total commitment to the product he was selling—Reginald Lewis.

In spite of his intensity and the high stakes, Lewis was loose and relaxed, because he felt he had nothing to lose. The worst thing Sander could say was, “You’re not going to be admitted,” which was already the case.

There had never been a summer law program for minority students before 1965, so Lewis was the first and probably the last program participant with the chutzpa to argue that the program should be a launching pad for admission.

Sander listened attentively, giving no indication one way or the other of being swayed by the glib, confident, aspiring lawyer. After lunch, Lewis left the restaurant, disappointed at not having gotten an affirmative response on the spot. He loved to win, but could cope with his plans going awry—as long as he’d expended maximum effort.

He maintained this attitude throughout his life. In later years, when one of Lewis’s two daughters would bring home an average grade from school, Lewis would simply ask, “Did you do your best?” If the answer was yes, the issue was closed as far as he was concerned. Up to a point, the former quarterback really did believe that winning or losing was secondary to how one played the game.

A funny thing happened during that summer. By the end of the program, I really didn’t care whether I got in or not. I had done my best and I knew I could compete. I had given it my best shot. That was enough. IBM had offered me a job last spring in their office products division based in Trenton, New Jersey. I also had a shot at the PhD program at Michigan. So I had alternatives. But I had created a climate at Harvard for the decisionmakers to say my recruitment would be a real coup.

In this critical instance, Lewis’s high expectations were not to be disappointed. His talk with Sander bore fruit. Before the program for minority students wound down, Lewis was contacted by Harvard Law School Dean of Admissions Louis Toepfler and asked to come to his
office. With an attentive Lewis hanging on Toepfler’s every word, the Admissions Dean said he’d heard that Lewis might have the tools to excel at the study of law. He asked him if he had ever considered attending a law school. His hopes rising, Lewis answered, yes indeed, he had.

Toepfler then brought the conversation to a close with a promise to contact several law schools on Lewis’s behalf and to see if he could get him admitted to one of them.

Lewis left Toepfler’s office in a daze. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the encounter. By now, anyone even remotely associated with Harvard Law School knew that Reginald Lewis wanted to become a part of the Harvard tradition. He’d made his position abundantly clear. Lewis was gratified that the Dean knew his name and had taken a personal interest in his situation, but was baffled by the Dean’s rather strange offer.

There was a reason for Toepfler’s interest in Lewis—the young black man had successfully cultivated several influential advocates among the law school’s staff, including Frank Sander. Sander and several other summer program professors had buttonholed Toepfler to discuss the impressive Lewis. They told Toepfler, “This guy is really terrific—you ought to take a flier and take this guy into the law school, even though we’ve said we’re not going to do this.”

With the summer program over, Lewis packed up his belongings and boarded the train to Baltimore, not knowing if he would ever get back to Cambridge. It was a long ride and Lewis had plenty of time to reflect.

His whole future hung by a thread. As far as further academic pursuits were concerned, it was Harvard or bust. One of the first things he did after arriving at Mosher Street was to put in a call to Toepfler’s office.

At a farewell banquet for all the participants in the summer program, Associate Dean Louis Toepfler told me that he would like me to call him at midweek. When I did, Toepfler’s secretary asked if I would speak to her, since the Dean was not in. She had before her a letter she was in the process of typing to me. I said of course. The opening line was, “There will be a place for you in this fall’s class, if you want it.” Great news! Plus the school was making loans available and gave me a one-year grant from the Rockefeller Foundation.

With glistening eyes, Lewis hung up the phone and informed the Fugett household of his good fortune, triggering an instant celebration. “We were just screaming and hollering and carrying on,” his mother recalls. “Here it is my son—MY SON—is going to Harvard.”

After the euphoria abated somewhat, the economic reality of the situation began to set in. The family members started asking each other: How would Lewis pay day-to-day expenses like meals, books, and clothing? Members of the Fugett and Cooper families chipped in what they could, but it didn’t go terribly far toward defraying Lewis’s expenses.

But Lewis was nonchalant. As far as he was concerned, the big problem had already been solved. Harvard Law School had offered him a place in the Class of 1968. Things like expenses were just minor details to be ironed out later.

Being admitted to Harvard reaffirmed Lewis’s sense of destiny and further solidified his view of his own uniqueness. By refusing to entertain thoughts of failure, or to even consider the outrageousness of his quest, Lewis had leapfrogged sizable obstacles blocking his path to Harvard Law School.

First he’d pushed his way onto the list of Virginia State students earmarked for the summer law program, then lobbied hard to get himself admitted to the law school. Now he was going to attend world-renowned Harvard Law School, one of the premier training grounds for the country’s power elite. The established routine of taking the Law School Aptitude Test or filling out a law school application were for ordinary mortals who lacked the boldness to craft their own set of rules. Yes indeed, he wanted a place in the fall class! And money was the least of his worries as he left Baltimore for Cambridge.

I arrived in Cambridge in September 1965 as a member of the Harvard Law School class of 1968. The first thing I had to do was go to the school and complete an application. That’s right, an application. I’m told that I am the only person in the 148-year-history of Harvard Law who was ever admitted before he applied.

Lewis came to Harvard’s campus unsure of how he would pay for his room and board. He walked into the law school dean’s office with $50 in his pocket. Dean Toepfler met him and extended a hearty welcome.

“How was Lewis set for money?” Toepfler wanted to know. Proud to a fault and fiercely independent, Lewis responded, “I’m in good shape, I’m in good shape.” Pressed by Toepfler to describe exactly what that meant, Lewis allowed that he had a few loose bills in his wallet that came to $50.

A bemused Toepfler told Lewis, “Now that you’re at Harvard, we take care of our own.” Toepfler informed Lewis that paperwork for an educational loan had already been processed and a check for living expenses had been drawn in Lewis’s name. All that was needed was Lewis’s signature.

With that simple gesture, Lewis was freed of having to juggle school and work, as he had done at Virginia State and at Dunbar High School. For the first time in his life, he enjoyed the luxury of being able to focus on only one job—that of being a full-time law student.

Harvard’s generosity made a lasting impact on Lewis. He would later repay Harvard manyfold. In 1992, he gave Harvard Law School a $3 million gift—at the time the largest individual gift in the school’s history. In gratitude, the Law School named its international law building The Reginald F. Lewis International Law Center, the first building on campus to be named after an African-American.

Because of the 11th-hour nature of Lewis’s admission to Harvard Law School, all the dorms were full, so Lewis was unable to live on campus. He had no qualms about that, having lived off-campus two of the years he was at Virginia State. In fact, living off campus was preferable to Lewis, given his private, independent nature.

I found a room in a local rooming house for a few days while I looked for a place to live. Then I had a bit of luck—two students, John Hatch, a third-year law student, and Bill Robinson, a second-year student, had an apartment at 1751 Massachusetts Avenue that was a short walk from the school and they offered me the third bedroom. I was set.

I will never forget that first year of law school, or the other two for that matter. It was a brand new ballgame. Dean Griswold, who I later had for taxation, greeted the class of 1968 with the line, “I am the head of this menagerie of prima donnas.”

Harvard really knows how to make its students feel they are truly the elite. Fortunately, I never got carried away with their attitude, which by and large was constructive because the students really worked hard and were an incredibly gifted group.

The place had the smell of competition all around, but there was also a fair amount of humor in a lot of the classes. Wit was greatly admired. My civil procedure class with Professor Chadborne was probably the funniest, yet most instructive educational experience I have ever had. Chad really made the class come alive.

For the most part, my section had some great teachers. The entire class of 535 students was broken into four sections of about 130 or so students. All the first-year classes were required and you really got to know the people in your section. I also made lasting friendships with some of the faculty members.

As Lewis noted, competition at the law school was fierce, so much so that some students went to the trouble of attending less prestigious law schools for a year to get a feel for the legal education routine. They then dropped out and enrolled in Harvard’s first-year class, writing off an entire year of law school in the process. It was deemed worth the trouble just to get a leg up on the competition at Harvard Law School.

Law school is unique in that students are assessed almost completely on the basis of exam results. But only one exam is given in most courses—after classes are over. For first-year Harvard Law School students of Lewis’s era, the one exam came at the end of a full year of course work. By the time you realized you had fared poorly in the cut-throat, sink-or-swim environment, you had already drowned.

Lewis was secretly terrified of not doing well at Harvard. He was studying diligently and was beginning to incorporate terms such as
res judicata
and
res ipsa loquitor
into his everyday speech.

All in all, I was really scared to death that first year and never really got my legs, so to speak. But I hung in there, passed all of my courses and at the end of the year received so-called Gentlemen’s C’s. My second and third years were much better and when I left, I had moved into the B category and wrote my third-year paper for Professor Louis Loss’s securities regulation course and got an honors grade. My paper was titled “Defenses to Takeover Bids.
”
I remember the first sentence especially well: “The corporate acquisition has become a useful vehicle by which corporations can grow and prosper.
”

Years later, Lewis would often refer to this paper as spurring his interest in corporate takeovers.

While Lewis was scared, he did not let his terror get the better of him. In the classroom, for example, his technique was straightforward and simple. Professors at Harvard generally utilized a teaching technique known as the Socratic method. They would randomly pick students and quiz them on legal issues, without any clear indication as to what was the correct answer or if there even was one.