Some lawyers have their greatest moments in the courtroom.

RICHARD MICHAEL PRUITT/DMN

Paul Alexander, 60, has used an iron lung since age 6, when polio paralyzed him from the neck down. Unable to take notes in college, the Dallas man, who at 10 learned to breathe on his own, memorized classwork to earn a law degree.

Paul Alexander's crowning achievement is something much more mundane – even perfunctory.

"Learning to breathe is my first and best accomplishment," said the 60-year-old lawyer who contracted paralytic polio about the same time Dr. Jonas Salk tested his famous vaccine.

It was at age 6 that he was first placed in an iron lung, the machine that through alternating changes in pressure forces air through his lungs. Polio attacks the nerves used for breathing and limb movement. Mr. Alexander cannot move from the neck down.

But with will, perseverance and courage, Mr. Alexander kept moving on – graduating from high school, then college, then law school. His practice in general law is daily defiance of his doubters.

"When my clients come in and look at me, they take a double take on the respirator and I say, 'It's OK; it helps me to breathe so I can work better. But you didn't come here to talk about me, you came here to talk about a problem you have,' " Mr. Alexander said. "And they sit down and are so excited to tell me their story, and all of this goes away."

Mr. Alexander's story of survival begins in 1952.

"When I caught polio, it paralyzed everything," Mr. Alexander said. "If other people got anywhere near as bad of polio as I had, they died. But I didn't, and I had to find a way to work with that."

So when other kids went off to kindergarten, Mr. Alexander was learning how to use his mouth to operate a stick with a pen at the end to move things or write.

RICHARD MICHAEL PRUITT/DMN

Mr. Alexander discusses a case with Judge David D. Garcia in Denton. Mr. Alexander proved his law professor wrong when he graduated, passed the bar and went into practice.

For most of his childhood, nurses and his parents – who wheeled his iron lung next to their bed each night – cared for him.

Until the introduction of the Salk vaccine in 1955, there were usually about 13,000 to 20,000 cases of paralytic polio reported each year in the U.S.

The number of polio cases has steadily and dramatically dropped since. In 2004, less than 80 cases were reported in the U.S.

When he was about 10, Mr. Alexander was paired with a physical therapist to teach him independent breathing.

The two spent several months perfecting a breathing technique known as "frog breathing," taking small, quick breaths. This allowed Mr. Alexander to spend time outside of the iron lung. To this day, that skill allows him to travel to court in a wheelchair and present cases without his iron lung. Although he is able to spend most of the day outside of the apparatus if he wants, he must sleep in it each night.

A registered student at Samuell High School, Mr. Alexander finished second in his 1967 graduating class through a special homebound program. After graduating, Mr. Alexander repeatedly asked the Texas Rehabilitation Commission to help finance his college education. Commission officials, however, were reluctant to help the paralyzed man.

"They thought that it would kill me," he said.

The commission finally agreed, but only on one condition – that he gain admission.

Mr. Alexander met with officials at Southern Methodist University and petitioned for acceptance, but they also had concerns about Mr. Alexander's physical limitations.

He was finally granted admission in 1969 after a service fraternity, Alpha Phi Omega, agreed to help feed him, house him and get him to class.

He entered a classroom for the first time in his life for a college psychology class.

"I dripped with sweat," he said. "I didn't have books or notes like the other students and I kept thinking, 'What do I do?' But then I thought, 'Well, what could I do even if I did have books or notes?' I wouldn't be able to use them anyway."

After two years at SMU, he transferred to the University of Texas at Austin.

"My parents were petrified," he said. "But I wanted to start over, and I couldn't do it in Dallas."

Mr. Alexander hired another UT student from Dallas to help him move into his dorm ahead of the rush. After his parents dropped him off, he was alone in Jester Center, and his attendant was nowhere to be found.

Mr. Alexander was without aid for three days. Angry at his sudden isolation but determined to make it on his own, he used his stick to push the phone away from him so that he could not call for help, and then he threw the stick across the room.

"It was the hardest time in my life, but I wanted to make it and I knew that I could do it," he said.

Once other students began arriving, however, he received a slew of help. Seven years later, in 1978, Mr. Alexander – who also studied finance – received his undergraduate degree in economics. He took a year off to go to California before returning to Austin in 1979 to start working on his master's degree in international economics.

But his best friend was in the UT law school, and Mr. Alexander said that something about that field captivated him.

"There was just something prestigious about it," he said. "There was a sense of power, sophistication and control that I had never run into before, and I switched to law the next semester."

His law school days, however, were not without obstacles.

"One of my professors called me into his office and said, 'It is my ultimate goal to be sure you do not finish my class,' " Mr. Alexander said. "I asked why and he said, 'Because you are crippled. You cannot practice law, so there is no point in you studying it.' "

Dallas criminal defense attorney Rikki Rutchik was a classmate.

"Law school was fairly brutal when we went, and I think it says a lot about his perseverance," Ms. Rutchik said. "Law school classes in those days were very intimidating at best. You were surrounded with a lot of people that were very competitive, and he had to rely on his memory to do everything."

Unable to take notes, Mr. Alexander memorized class lectures as best he could and spent evenings closely reading his textbooks. He finished law school in 1984.

"I didn't sleep for years," he said.

He received standing ovations at both his college and law school graduation ceremonies.

Mr. Alexander spent 1985 teaching court reporting classes in Austin and Arlington, before taking and passing the bar exam in 1986 with some help from his father, Gus, who died last year.

"My father went with me and helped me to take the exam," he said. "I dictated my answers, and he wrote them for me."

Mr. Alexander now works as a sole practitioner handling general law. One of his clients is Karen Pitts of Denton, who often refers him to friends and neighbors in need of an attorney.

"He really is really a wonderful individual," Ms. Pitts said. "He's overcome a lot. I really respect Paul in many ways. He is a more capable attorney than the ones walking."

Mr. Alexander is rarely slowed by his paralysis. At his home near Dallas Love Field, a caretaker easily lifts him in and out of the iron lung and feeds him. When he's not in court, he spends the day working at his office – located in a front room of his house – usually inside the iron lung. His head rests on a pillow on his desk, and he uses a plastic stick with a pencil attached by a rubber band to type, make phone calls and move light objects around.

The flexible airtight covering of the machine's opening at Mr. Alexander's neck slowly moves in and out as he breathes. Mr. Alexander sometimes invites inquisitive visitors to feel his chest compressions through one of the hand-access panels on each side of the iron lung.

Though the arrangement of items on his desk may appear ordinary, Mr. Alexander's computer, keyboard, and phone are always kept in the same spot to make his use of them easier. When he types, his deep breaths can be heard over the sound of keyboard strokes.

Even with all of the challenges, Mr. Alexander has no desire to stop. After practicing law for 20 years, he still hopes to one day write a book and pursue a political career.

"I really hope to be able to create a voice for the helpless," he said. "I am a hippie in a crippled body. FDR did it, so why can't I?"

Sarah Tiambeng is a Duncanville freelance writer.