On Her Own, At Last : Autism: Woman’s job and apartment fulfill the quest for independence and integration.

Eileen Arenberg lives by herself in a Chatsworth apartment she rented recently. Every weekday she takes the bus to Dak Industries in Canoga Park, where she works as a data-entry operator for the electronics firm.

In nine months of work she has never been late or absent.

The 29-year-old woman sits erect at her video display terminal and works machine-like, entering 30% more items each day than most of her co-workers. Her single goal is to win the employee of the month award.

But even without the honor, Arenberg knows she has accomplished more than most people ever thought she would.

Arenberg is autistic.

In June, she became the first autistic adult from Jay Nolan Community Services for the Developmentally Handicapped to move to her own apartment.

“She is our pride and joy,” said Richard Rosenberg, executive director of the Canyon Country center named for the autistic son of the late actor Lloyd Nolan.

“She has become independent enough to be fully integrated into her community,” he said. “This is what it’s all about.”

As recently as five years ago, autistic adults such as Arenberg lived in institutions or group homes--much like the character Raymond played by Dustin Hoffman in the movie “Rain Man.” In best-case scenarios, they might spend their lives doing piecework in the comfortable setting of an agency or center for other autistic people. Until the mid-1980s, no one thought they could work and live independently.

Today, Jay Nolan and other organizations partially funded by the state work to integrate people like Arenberg into society.

“In this state, disabled people have the right to live and work and participate in their community,” Rosenberg said, referring to the Lanterman Act, which became state law in 1968. “When we make it a priority for these people, amazing things happen.”

There is perhaps no greater example than Arenberg’s.

Her independence did not come quickly or easily. It has taken Arenberg 10 years to learn how to cope fully with the world around her.

Arenberg was nearly 4 when her parents, Stan and Toby Arenberg of West Los Angeles, took her to UCLA Medical Center to learn why the girl still couldn’t speak like her peers.

“At that time, autism was a very new term,” Toby Arenberg said of her daughter’s diagnosis. “We didn’t know where to begin to find help for her.”

Once the parents understood the definitions associated with autism, they knew their daughter was an autistic savant--limited in her ability to communicate and process language, but highly gifted in various memorization, musical and mathematical skills.

Arenberg’s special musical ability was evident even before she was diagnosed as autistic. At age 4, she would climb up next to her mother at the family piano and turn the pages as her mother played.

“She knew exactly when I was finished with a page,” Toby Arenberg said. “That meant she could read the music the same way I could.”

Once, when the family was at a music festival, Eileen, then 9, placed her hands over her ears throughout several songs. When her parents asked her what was wrong, she said she couldn’t stand listening to the music unless it was played in the key of C.

“And so we discovered she had perfect pitch as well,” Toby Arenberg said of her daughter.

Although Eileen Arenberg continued to fascinate her family by memorizing calendars and teaching herself to play the piano, she spent the next 15 years in private schools for the developmentally disabled. During that time, the Arenbergs joined the Autism Society of Los Angeles, where they eventually heard about the Jay Nolan center.

“Her mental tricks were fine, but they weren’t going to help her get a job or live by herself,” Toby Arenberg said. “We wanted her to stop trying to memorize the world and start trying to live in it.”

The process of integrating Eileen Arenberg into society started when she was 19 and moved into a Jay Nolan group home for autistic adults in Canoga Park.

Last fall, Susan Shoemaker, a Jay Nolan job placement coordinator, and other staff members decided Arenberg was finally ready for her first major test--a job in the private sector. Shoemaker contacted management officials at Dak Industries and told them about Arenberg. In October she was hired.

Arenberg had worked for a few years as a secretary at Jay Nolan and had done very well, Shoemaker said. In the past year, Shoemaker and others at the center have helped to place 180 adults in jobs supervised by center-provided job coaches.

“It was time for this step,” Shoemaker said.

Gloria Morua, manager of the data-entry operators at Dak, said that although the company had hired other disabled people, Arenberg was the company’s first autistic employee. In an effort to make the transition smoother, Arenberg at first was constantly accompanied by a job coach, Darryl McDonald, provided by the center. Typically, job coaches stay with the autistic employee until the routine becomes more familiar.

“There were many instances during those first few weeks when it was rough on everyone,” Morua said. Dak co-workers still talk about one particular incident from her first week on the job. Arenberg walked briskly into the employee lunchroom and--in what seemed to be an intentional gesture--nearly collided with Morua, who was standing near the refrigerator.

“I moved out of her way and gave her a surprised look,” Morua said. “She just turned toward me and gave me a look that could have killed.”

It took some time and instruction from McDonald before Arenberg understood the importance of treating people--especially managers--with respect.

“She was used to being around only autistic people,” where this type of behavior wouldn’t be considered unusual, McDonald said. “That made it difficult, but not impossible.”

There were other problems as well. Arenberg didn’t know how to make a friend or be a friend, and at first she had trouble getting along with her co-workers.

“We’re realizing now that one of the most important things we can teach these people is how to make friends,” McDonald said. “When I realized how isolated she was on the job because she was different, I began setting goals for her.”

Arenberg was instructed to make a mandatory three contacts with other employees each day. Finally, after six weeks, the contacts started to come naturally without McDonald’s prompting.

Arenberg’s floor supervisor, Daniel Dias, said he met with other data-entry operators before Arenberg started and tried to explain autism to them.

“There was nothing I could do to prepare them for how she was at first,” he said. “She talked loudly and whenever she wanted to. She didn’t shut the bathroom door, and she refused to take a break.”

Morua, who is also Dias’ boss, credits Dias and McDonald with smoothing out Arenberg’s problem areas.

“Today she is a model employee,” Morua said. “She is a very hard worker, very conscientious.”

When Arenberg finishes a stack of work, she immediately asks for more. After her allotted break time, she is consistently back at her desk on time. She does not make personal phone calls, take time to chat or make visits to the vending machines. She has memorized the employee handbook.

“I must be clean, tidy, neat and on time,” said a grinning Arenberg. “The rules say I must be clean, tidy, neat and on time.”

Arenberg has also come a long way in her quest for friendships. Other data-entry operators at Dak understand Arenberg’s sometimes quirky behavior and now many of them go out of their way to spend a break or lunch hour with her.

“They enjoy asking her about dates and sports trivia,” McDonald said. “Ask her about any date, as far back as you want, and she’ll tell you what day of the week it was. They get a kick out of that.”

Although she is not extraordinarily gifted with mathematical equations, she said she has a mental calendar that allows her to know dates and days of the week as far back as 50 years.

Recently, a visitor asked Arenberg what day of the week June 8, 1963, fell on.

“June 8, 1963. That’s a Saturday. Just like this year. A Saturday,” Arenberg said quickly, never once looking up or stopping her data entry.

The visitor pulled out a pocket calculator capable of figuring dates and five minutes later determined Arenberg had been correct.

“Of course,” Arenberg said, shaking her head in mock annoyance. “I don’t have amnesia, you know.”

The people near Arenberg chuckled lightly and Arenberg smiled.

“People here like me,” she said. “It’s nice that way.”

Staff members at Jay Nolan are hoping Arenberg also begins to make friends at her apartment complex.

“She is bound to run into difficulties, glitches in her schedule,” McDonald said. “When that happens she will need to have a friend she can call nearby.”

During Arenberg’s first week in her new apartment, she left the door open several times because she was unfamiliar with the lock. She was trained to lock the door and also to use the bus.

“The first few times she was on the bus she screamed at the driver each time he stopped, telling him to keep driving because we weren’t at her home yet,” said McDonald, who traveled with her. “When we thought she had the routine down, we followed her in the car to make sure she could do it on her own.”

McDonald and other staff assigned to help Arenberg also prepared a list of what to do in case she missed the bus for any reason.

“Autistic people are very dependent on their routines,” said Diane Glasser, one of the supportive staff at Jay Nolan. “However, they are able to participate in their community once they have some instruction and guidance, just like any of us.”

Arenberg’s parents have mixed feelings about their daughter’s decision to live in her own apartment.

“We are thrilled with her independence,” Toby Arenberg said. “But she is still so vulnerable out there in the world and that makes it difficult for us sometimes.”

Glasser said that as long as she is living on her own and paying her own rent--$554 monthly, approximately half her net income--supportive staff will check on her and make frequent visits to her apartment.

“But we will need to call and make an appointment with Eileen first,” Glasser said. “She is on her own and, like any adult, she needs to plan ahead of time for visitors.”

It is break time at Dak Industries and Arenberg leans back in her chair.

“My favorite movie is ‘Rain Man.’ I watch it again and again on videocassette. ‘Rain Man,’ ” she said, perhaps aware of the similarities between herself and the movie’s main character, Raymond.

“Do you want to know why?” Arenberg asked. “Because it is both funny and sad.

“The best thing was that someone finally understood Raymond,” she said. “Someone finally understood.”