Why Should White Guys Have All the Fun?

by Reginald Lewis

  “He was the one person I could be very serious with. We had a lot to talk about that we didn’t necessarily talk to our friends about. We would just talk about our backgrounds and about school and having no money and things that we wanted to do. I knew he wanted to be a lawyer. I knew he was very ambitious and had an entrepreneurial bent even back then. Mostly what I remember him talking about at that time was going into law and eventually he wanted to have his own business,” Powell remembers.

  Despite Lewis’s many activities, he still found time to join a fraternity, Kappa Alpha Psi. The Kappas are one of the country’s oldest black fraternities. Lewis stoically endured the Kappa initiation rites with one exception. Some of his fraternity brothers wanted to borrow his car but he managed to deflect this request by telling them that the insurance had been paid for by his stepfather and didn’t cover anyone else.

  Lewis would later donate money to the New York chapter of the fraternity, which established a scholarship foundation in his name after his death. The Kappas gathered one last time to bid farewell to Lewis at a private service at Riverside Church the evening before the official memorial service in New York. Among those who spoke were Reverend Calvin Butts, the pastor of New York’s Abyssinian Church, businessman and former Manhattan politician Percy Sutton, and Arthur Ashe, who succumbed to his fatal illness two weeks later.

  Among Virginia State’s faculty, Lewis had developed a reputation as someone who thought nothing of asking professors to prove the validity of their theories. That wasn’t a problem for Hanley Norment, a young professor with the department of history, geography, and political science who was popular with students.

  When Norment arrived at Virginia State, a veteran professor pulled him aside with a word of advice about Reginald Lewis. “This man here, I want you to know, just wants to argue all the time,” Norment chuckles.

  “He had an inquiring mind. I think that’s why we got along so well. I was open to challenges, and that was not generally the case at black colleges at that time. I think he tried to be tactful, but I don’t think he succeeded. But I did not mind because I could take what he said and make a teaching point out of it,” Norment says.

  By his senior year, Lewis had moved back on campus and was living on the third floor of Puryear Hall. Because Norment was single, he lived there, too.

  Lewis would often drop by for discussions and the two of them traveled to Richmond to watch the state legislature in action. The two were also active participants in a discussion group that used to meet in the snack shop at Foster Hall.

  “Hanley Norment was an extremely popular instructor,” says Lucious Edwards, a member of that discussion group and now Virginia State’s archivist. “We would all get a cup of coffee and a couple of donuts and we would sit in one of the corners in Foster Hall and talk about a variety of things—politics, political systems, civil rights. Those were long conversations. We talked about student apathy to the civil rights movement at Virginia State,” he says.

  Lewis spent a fair amount of time chatting with his new roommate, Alan Colon. Lewis had matured since his freshman year and was willing to at least entertain Colon’s viewpoints, rather than force-feed him a Lewisesque take on the world.

  “We had some intellectual stimulation from newspapers and periodicals. We would read through those and comment on world affairs. He always had an agenda, a sense of purpose, and direction. You could discern a sense of destiny about Reggie that set him apart from his peers. He had little time to waste. He had a disarming, but not malicious sense of humor. Reggie could talk trash with anybody and get a kick out of it. He would make a statement and then bust out laughing at his own brilliance,” Colon recalls.

  Colon noticed that Lewis had an idiosyncratic habit of pulling at his moustache when he was thinking. He’d often be sitting at his desk in the dorm, thinking or studying and pulling at his moustache to such an extent that Colon would laugh.

  Lewis made his bed every day and kept his side of the room free of personal touches like pictures or posters. Lewis often had so little money during his senior year that he would periodically pawn his electric shaver to generate a few extra dollars. He became such a regular that every time he walked in the door, the clerk would begin to count out the money. Lewis always redeemed the shaver after a few days.

  “He had a hard side to him that showed itself in his being very blunt, with no bullshit attached,” Colon says. “I remember talking to Reggie about the possibility of a young lady that I was with being pregnant. He said, ‘Man, don’t you fall for that bullshit, she’s just jiving you.’ About a week later, she came and told me that everything was all right. I said, ‘Damn, Reggie was right about that, but why did he have to be so cold about it?’”

  Colon remembers Lewis worrying about whether he had enough credits to graduate on time. In fact, Lewis took three summer classes before his senior year to ensure that he would be leaving in May 1965. He was really pumped by the time regular classes began. Academically, it was do-or-die time.

  In his last semester, he earned three A’s, three B’s and a C, which oddly enough came in an individual sports course. These grades notwithstanding, one of the defining events of Lewis’s life was just over the horizon.

  A GLIMPSE OF HARVARD

  I began to think about graduate school or law school or maybe, just maybe, a really great university like Harvard. At this point, it was really pretty much a dream, but who knows—keep punching and maybe.

  In my senior year, lightning struck. Harvard Law School started a program to select a few black students to attend summer school at Harvard, to introduce them to legal study in general. Participating colleges would select five students from their respective schools and Harvard Law School would select just one student from each school.

  I was excited, I mean, really excited. Calm down, calm down, I told myself. Develop a plan. It wasn’t easy knowing where to begin. First, I needed to get the literature on the program. My school only gave a summary of it, so I wrote to Harvard for specific details the same day I found out about the program. Harvard responded immediately, which really impressed me. My approach was to first make sure I was selected by Virginia State. That would not be easy. Many students had straight A’s and I had had a rotten freshman year, which hurt my cumulative grade point average.

  I needed to supplement my application—obtain letters of recommendation perhaps. I spoke to a couple of professors. I told them that this was my shot at the big time. I said I didn’t want a letter that just said “he’s a nice guy,” but a real substantive letter setting out what I did well and what I did poorly. I gave them a biography, grades, everything.

  Hanley Norment figured to be a natural ally in Lewis’s quest. Not only were they friends, but Lewis had received A’s in both classes he’d taken from Norment. Mindful of the rapidly approaching deadline for submitting Harvard program applications, Lewis barged into Norment’s office.

  “In the spring of 1965, a number of black colleges—I believe 32—were given an opportunity by Harvard to nominate some students to attend a summer program that Harvard had for minority youngsters. Virginia State was asked to send either four or five applications and Lewis rushed over to me when he found out about it. He was not one of those asked to prepare papers for that opportunity. So, he asked me if I could write a letter of recommendation for him,” Norment recalls.

  “I was pleased to do it and did it quickly. I knew there was some urgency. I met the time frame and personally walked it over to the president’s office. The person who handled it was the assistant to the president at the time, a Mr. Dabney. I don’t remember his first name. He took the letter and began to read it with a pained expression on his face. I said, ‘My god, what’s this all about?’”

  A tall, light-skinned man who wore glasses and squinched his face readily, Mr. Dabney said, “Well Mr. Norment, I see that you’ve put a lot into this letter, but I want you to know that Mr. Lewis is not one of the students that we’ve selected. Bu
t since you’ve put a lot into this letter, we will send it on. But Mr. Lewis will be an add-on to our selections.”

  Lewis was ecstatic. Against the odds, he’d made it.

  Well, I made the college list, fifth. The college recommended four people above me because their cumulative averages were higher. But I made the cut. OK!

  The paperwork was sent off to Harvard, beginning an anxious waiting period for Lewis. He monitored his mail daily, looking for anything bearing a Harvard seal.

  Then the letter came—I was going to Harvard for the summer. I later learned that Harvard discredited my freshman year and liked my straight A’s in economics and the letter of recommendation. The night I got the letter, I told my roommate, Alan Colon, “Alan, come September I will be in the incoming class at Harvard Law.” He said, “Reg, this is just for the summer. Don’t set yourself up for a major disappointment.” I said, “Alan, just watch—I’m going to Harvard.”

  The Harvard summer program opened a door on a new world for Lewis. Characteristically, he kicked the door open, instead of waiting to be ushered in.

  4

  * * *

  No Application Needed: Breaking Down the Doors of Harvard Law

  Reginald Lewis was beginning to make his move. As he’d told his professors at Virginia State, the summer program was his “shot at the big time” and he wasn’t to be denied. First, however, he would have to overcome one more obstacle in his path.

  GETTING INTO LAW SCHOOL

  Unbeknownst to Lewis, his goal of becoming a Harvard Law School student was something the creators of the summer program had given considerable thought to and expressly forbidden. The program was the brainchild of Louis Loss, a law school professor who later got Lewis interested in corporate takeovers. Alarmed by the paucity of African-Americans in law schools and in the legal community in general, Loss and a few other law school professors—including Frank E.A. Sander—pressed Harvard to establish a program to acquaint black college students with legal study. Perhaps mindful that Harvard Law School’s highest ranking full-time black faculty member was an assistant reference librarian named George Strait, the school went along with Loss’s suggestion. The Rockefeller Foundation agreed to fund the program, which provided room and board along with a $500 stipend.

  In addition to giving participants a taste of law school life, the summer program was designed to give them a boost in the law school application process. The entire project was a grand experiment never attempted at Harvard or anywhere else prior to 1965.

  However, the decision to create the program brought with it a damning proviso from Lewis’s standpoint: It was not to serve as an alternative admissions route for black students wishing to enter Harvard Law School.

  For that reason, the law school asked participating black colleges to send third-year undergraduates. That way, students would return to their schools as seniors and enthusiastically spread the law school gospel around their respective campuses. They would also be a year removed from the elaborate screening mechanisms Harvard had in place for selecting law school applicants. Part of Virginia State’s reluctance to send Lewis to the summer program may have stemmed from his being a senior.

  As far as Lewis was concerned, the whole thing was an elaborate forum for showcasing his talents and attributes. Before arriving at Harvard, Lewis read everything he could get his hands on about the law, the better to capitalize on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  Lewis borrowed several political philosophy books from Virginia State Professor Norment to bone up for the summer program. Determined to impress the instructors at Harvard, he’d turned down an offer from IBM to work in the company’s office products division. He was taking a real risk, but he approached the summer with a sense of purpose and determination that characterized his entire career.

  I needed a plan. An incredible calm came over me and the plan began to emerge. First, have a tremendous final year in college; second, know the objectives of the program; third, break your ass over the summer, eliminate all distractions—nothing except the objective. The program was held over two four-week semesters: during the first semester, say nothing about going to Harvard. First, prove that you can compete; for example, take a difficult course at Harvard College during the summer and do well. Second, do the job. Build upon your strengths. This was the brief and I’ve never executed better.

  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.