593 Riverside Drive - 4. Chapter 4

My other model for law school, if my parents really didn’t approve, was Lewis’ father, now Chief Assistant District Attorney for the City of New York. Mr. Pecora started college, but then his father died, and he had to start working in an office. He’d finished college at night and had studied law the same way, and when he’d finally completed that degree, he was twenty-nine. At twenty, I was already ahead of him, so if I had to work as a stenographer to go to Columbia, that was fine with me.

“It’s not recommended,” my advisor, Dr. Virginia Gildersleeve, said. She was president – her title was Dean – of Barnard and was responsible for choosing the women who’d be the first to enroll in Columbia’s law school. “Once the men finally get out of the way,” she gently scoffed. “Presently, some of the better known ones are threatening to resign before they teach women in their classes.”

“Should I just go to Fordham?” I asked.

“No,” she assured me. “I have plans.”

She smiled and then explained. And her plans turned out to be more interesting that anything I could have imagined.

“They won’t let women study law for at least several more years,” she went on. “Probably 1927 – and that’s if they don’t invent any more arguments. At the moment, despite the fact there have been successful women lawyers in America for over seventy years, some of the professors refuse to believe that women can keep up in a classroom – especially in a co-educational one. Instead, they claim that the only way women can absorb all the important details is by slower and more meticulous apprenticeships to men in law offices – or by going to what they consider inferior women’s colleges.”

“Is that how they feel about Fordham?” I asked.

“Well, you know they’ve always felt Fordham was below us. Of course, they feel every school is.”

“But you have plans?” I went on.

“Yes – a way to ease these stragglers along. By using you as a test.”

“Not one I can fail, I hope.”

She smiled. “From what I’ve seen, there’s very little you have a chance of failing. Especially if it’s a subject you like.”

“Thank you.”

“And you won’t fail at this because you won’t be alone.”

“They’ll be other women?”

“Not exactly. But you’ll have an advisor.”

“You?” I asked. That was a surprise because I knew her degree was in literature not law.

“I’ll coordinate. But you’ll have more specifically trained help.”

“And I’ll be starting classes soon?”

“This fall. As soon as the school year begins.”

“What will I have to do?”

“Take the same courses the men do. You just won’t be able to participate directly – interrupt, some of the teachers fear. You’ll sit at the side or the back of the classrooms, complete all the assignments, and take the same tests.”

“And the study groups? I know how important they can be.”

“That’s what your advisors are for. They’ll help in any way.”

“Will they all be women lawyers?”

“No, in fact, some will be men.” She seemed amused. “Some will be the teachers of your classes. Because there are men who not only believe women are excellent lawyers. They want to help more of them.”

“This seems wonderful.”

“As for the tuition... well, since you’ll be our test – since you’ll be helping us along – you’ll pay us by sharing your experience.”

“How?”

“By helping us correct any perceived weakness.”

It was all a bit overwhelming. All I could repeat was, “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“You won’t. Or we wouldn’t take this chance.”

I thought for a moment. There were so many questions. But my first was, “And I’ll get a degree?”

“As soon as the school admits women – which should be just as you finish your studies. So you’ll be right on schedule. You might not go on record as being among the first women to be admitted to and graduate from Columbia Law, but you’ll have the same degree.”

“That’s fine to me.”

“Yes.” She laughed. “I thought it would be.” And she gave me a very encouraging smile.

When I told Mama and Papa, there was only silence at the dinner table. “I should let you find a job,” Papa finally replied. “Maybe Pic – and Herbert and I – and even your mother – make working seem too easy.”

That was his indirect way of admitting that Mama worked. “She gives piano lessons” was his other way, because it hinted that she graciously gave these lessons for free. The truth was she would have – they were that much fun for her. But she’d been a concert pianist while Papa was out west.

“I wasn’t just waiting,” she made sure I understood. “My piano teacher, August Spaneth, even wanted to take me on a concert tour of Europe. But I was too young, and Mama wouldn’t chaperone. She said she and your grandfather never had to see Europe again.”

That was a familiar story as I was growing up. All my grandparents had safely immigrated to New York just as the German government collapsed in 1867.

After I made my dinner table announcement about Columbia, and Papa countered it, I simply said, “Maybe I will find a job. Actually, I like that idea. And I’m sure I can find time both to study and to apprentice in a law office.”

Papa just looked at me, silently letting me know he didn’t like that approach at all. I merely smiled and kissed him – knowing that I was going to law school.