Making It the Hard Way

Robert Martin Arhelger, 29, is one of the top third-year students at Stanford University Law School. Naturally, he was interested in seeing representatives of the best firms on campus during the fall and winter. But he felt he ought to tell them something about himself before any actual meeting. Dear Sir, read his letter, "I am slightly different from other law students you meet. I have cerebral palsy."

Arhelger has been almost completely crippled all his life. He is unable to feed himself. He sometimes needs help turning pages of a book. He cannot write, and when he dictates exam answers to a secretary or speaks in class, his words are occasionally difficult to understand. He can type--but to do so, he must painstakingly peck out the letters using a prong attached to his forehead by a band. Nevertheless, his grade average for the final term of last year stood at 3.57 (on a scale of 4), and Law School Dean Bayless Manning once wrote on one of his examinations: "This is a joy to behold."

No Notes. Back in 1957, when he graduated from a high school for crippled children in his home town of St. Louis, Arhelger was advised that college was out. Undismayed, he went to the Irene Walter Johnson Institute of Rehabilitation at Washington University's School of Medicine. There he learned for the first time to dress him self, to use a wheelchair properly, and to manage a number of other acts of simple coordination that had previously been beyond him. He was also told that he was definitely college material.

Four years followed at the University of Illinois. He was editor of a fraternity yearbook, an honors history major, and consistently made the dean's list. His law-school entrance exams were above the 90th percentile. But Stanford hesitated. "Goddam. You're quite a guy," said an associate dean after a 45-minute interview. But it was not until an unusual interview by a faculty committee that he was accepted.

His problems, however, were merely beginning. Friends volunteered to help feed him. Because he could not take lec ture notes, classmates gave him carbon copies of their own. But he had to memorize the key points of cases he read in textbooks, and he had to be given extra time in exams so that he could organize the essay answers in his head and then dictate them.

Birthday Present. "How can I ever feel sorry for myself when I see what Bob has been up against?" says Classmate John Salazar, who also echoes a general awe at Arhelger's unfailing self-confidence. But all Arhelger's friends grew increasingly distressed over his job situation. Responding to his letter, firms were anxious to interview him.

Without fail, they were impressed. But although his credentials and personal history were truly remarkable, etcetera, etcetera, the firms were sorry, but they were unable at this time to take full ad vantage of his talents.

The refusals were somewhat under standable. Arhelger had made it clear that he would not accept any charity offers. Moreover, he would probably require a full-time secretary to take his dictation, and he had decided that property or trusts and estates were the fields with which he could best cope, since most of the work can be done in the of fice or library.

By last week, most third-year men at Stanford had a job lined up, but although he had been through more interviews than any of his classmates, Arhelger had nothing. Then, the day before his 29th birthday, word came. The Federal Home Loan Bank Board in Washington made him an offer. If he accepts, he will get between $8,000 and $9,000 to start, and will be given the same workload as all other freshman lawyers. Said Bank General Counsel Alan Moscov, who extended the bid: "No charity work is being done here. Bob is a valuable young man who will advance the legal profession by entering it."

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