The Harvard
Independent — October 9-15, 1980
FEATURE
Life on Wheels--An
Equal Chance
By BEN MATTLIN
In the midst of the academic year and the deadlines that go with it,
Harvard students—especially freshmen, who are faced with some new Core regulations—may feel frustrated. picked
on, or even downright small. But the University has some new requirements to
meet, too. As of September 1980, all school programs must have been made accessible to handicapped persons. With a campus
as old as Harvard’s, this is certainly a challenging task, if not an outright impossibility. But a wheel-chair bound
student can negotiate Harvard more easily than you might imagine. I know—I'm one, and I’ve been getting along
fine.
My story begins before I even applied to Harvard. I was interested
in what various colleges had done to improve access to facilities. As might be expected, some campuses were well set-up; others
were not at all. (One institution, whose name I shall omit because I not sure how to spell it, admitted they’d find
it "damn difficult" to meet my needs.)
When I first visited Harvard, Ruth Kavess, then head of the student
group ABLE (Advocating a Better Learning Environment), introduced me to Quincy House, its ramps and elevators, a University-sponsored
van for the transportation of disabled persons, and other aids in the offing. People seemed interested and enthusiastic about
having a student like me. The place was willing, but the works remained practically
untried.
A word about myself: I have always attended "normal" school where
I was the only disabled student. I am not afraid of a school designed for the
ambulatory. But I was planning to live on campus; frankly, I was anxious about
how a college, especially a Harvard, could effectively accommodate me. Let's face it: this place is old. It's full of cracks and bumps and stairs. (New York, where I grew up, also has cracks, bumps, and stairs,
but, I think, not quite so many.)
In due course, I was accepted, and after considering all factors,
I decided to go ahead with my Harvard career.
That brings us to last June. The University was busy planning for
my arrival. I was phoned by the Freshman Dean Office for the dimensions of my widest and heaviest wheelchair. As the summer
progressed, I found myself engaged more than once in conversations with the FDO, particularly with Will Marquess, a senior
adviser. We discussed every aspect of my life (and I mean every).
I was forced to consider questions I couldn’t begin to answer.
Daily activities I had never thought twice about before were suddenly objects of scrutiny. How big should a bathroom be? Did
I really need a tub or would the shower do? Could I open the front door to my suite by myself? The future was nebulous; all
I could do was guess at the answers.
I visited Cambridge twice more, to ensure that all systems were go.
By the time I arrived in September, everything was arranged. I was to live on the ground floor of Canaday, a modern, spacious
complex built with me (that is, my sort of problem) in mind. The Building and Grounds people promised to widen a few doorways
and smooth a few bumps for me, and so the forecast began to look less gloomy. As for academics, I was asked to peruse last
year's course catalogue over the summer to get an idea of what I might take. Courses I picked would be in accessible rooms.
All that remained was to test the system out. One of the first places
I ventured when I arrived in September was Mem Hall, for registration. "Mem Hall,” you might be thinking, "that old
place with the steps in front of it." That’s what I’d thought. But then I strolled around back—there were
two ramps. The haze of uncertainty was clearing.
Another place I came across early on was the Freshman Union. Again
I saw stain. And again I saw just how well Mother Harvard was looking out for me. Behind the side door (which is on street
level) is an elevator. Furthermore, the matrons of the Union are only too happy to assist those in need by carrying trays
and such. I was running out of things to worry about.
And so it went. In time I discovered the ramped side door and the
automatic lift which render the ground floor of Emerson Hall completely accessible.
(The upstairs, however, is a different story—if you'll pardon the pun.) Robinson has ramps to the ground floor. Lamont, Widener, and the Science Center all have ramps and elevators. If there are
any I've forgotten (or haven't discovered yet), I hope they'll forgive me.
When I did all this come about? According to Sandra Moreno,
a senior who assisted a wheelchair-bound student her freshman year, very few of these support systems were around four years
ago. Emerson and the Robinson halls were a hassle, and the Union was nearly impossible. The work done is recent, and according
to official sources more may be on the way.
Why, I wondered, has Harvard been so receptive to the needs of the
handicapped? I could find no evidence of a rich, disabled alumnus behind these goings-on. Is the administration simply obeying
the law, as Ray Wayne, the present head of ABLE, believes? In fact, he wishes the University were doing more.
I think Harvard is doing more than meeting the law. When I mentioned
to Will Marquess that the gate nearest and most accessible to both the Union and my dorm was locked each night before dinner,
I didn’t expect a change in security policy. But, to my surprise, that gate now remains open until 8 p.m., cutting my
transportation time to and from dinner in half. And, while I’m not sure if it’s Harvard’s doing, many curbs
in and around the Square have been cut so that a wheelchair may roll across the street more easily—unattended if need
be.
My roommate/attendant’s needs were met also. A fellow undergraduate student here, he asked for and received a "special" ID, allowing him use of the
libraries and interhouse privileges.
Most recently, Moral Reasoning 13 was moved from the second floor
of Harvard Hall, a monument to stairdom, to the first floor of Emerson (upsetting several classes, I regret to say) so I could
attend more effortlessly. Not completely effortlessly, but that's the nature of Harvey Mansfield’s courses.
In addition, word has it, my pathway will be among the first cleared
at snow. (I asked them to stop the snow altogether, but that, they said, couldn’t be done.)
How much is the University legally required to give me? I asked Dean
Thomas Crooks, the faculty's coordinator for the handicapped, just what the law entails. He told me that all educational institutions
receiving federal aid must offer disabled people the same programs they offer anyone else.
This starts with non-discrimination in admissions and financial aid
and goes right through to housing, transportation, and, of course, classrooms and lecture halls—within reason. Dean
Crooks explained to me that every square inch of campus space does not have to be on level ground or accessible by wheelchair.
Sever Hall, for example, is not accessible and cannot be made so without major construction. But any course must be made available
to a disabled person wishing to take it. Either the class will be moved or the administration will arrange to have that person
carried past the barrier, as was done last year with a senior who couldn't walk.
The University has vigorously and efficiently worked toward eliminating all barriers. Keep your eyes open,
peer down side paths, and you'll see all the ramps and elevators about. For all those Stanford and the UC-Berkeley students
who warned me about hardships among the time-worn buildings of the East, I invite you to come and eat your hearts out. I have no regrets.
