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SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
Madeleine Z. Doty 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 BY 
 
 MADELEINE Z. DOTY 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH 
 PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 > i 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 1916 
 
,a^l^. 
 
 
 -X 
 
 Copyright, 1914, 1915, 1916, by 
 The Century Co. 
 
 Copyright, 1916, by 
 International Magazine Co. 
 
 Published September, 1916 
 
 
 • : • . • , . » 
 
 •.• 
 
 <t I. , • * 
 
 b » 
 
 • • • •, • • • 
 
 « • CO* 
 
 
NOTE AND DEDICATION 
 
 It is my pleasant duty to thank the good friends 
 who have made this book possible. If it had not been 
 for the ready assistance of Mr. Thomas Mott Osborne, 
 I should not have secured permission to spend my vol- 
 untary days in prison, nor without his example should 
 I perhaps have had the courage to undertake the ad- 
 venture. Also to my companion in misery, Elizabeth 
 Watson, who elected to try prison life with me, do I 
 owe much, and to my friend Dorothy Osborne, whose 
 sympathy, quick understanding, and devoted service 
 to prison reform have made her a valuable ally in 
 securing the material set forth in this book. 
 
 To The Century and Good HoiiseJieeping thanks are 
 due for permission to reprint the papers originally 
 published in their pages. 
 
 And last but not least do I extend my heartfelt ap- 
 preciation to the men and women confined in Auburn 
 and Sing Sing prisons who have laid bare their hearts 
 with reckless generosity and given of their all in order 
 to throw light on the prison problem and improve 
 conditions for all men, women, and children confined 
 behind bars. To them I dedicate this book. 
 
 July 3, 1916, Sparta, New Jersey. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 By Thomas Mott Osborne 
 
 " Oh that mine enemy would write a book," 
 was the cry of the ancient teacher, thirsting to 
 become a literary critic. 
 
 " Blessed is he that hath nothing to say and 
 cannot be induced to say it " is the cry of the 
 modern critic, reflecting upon the good old times 
 before '' best-sellers '' dropped in a continuous 
 stream from our over-worked presses. 
 
 The conclusion is obvious : in these days no 
 one should write a book who can possibly help it. 
 
 This book is one of those which the author 
 could not help writing ; the facts she has learned 
 must be told. Whether or not the book needs an 
 introduction is a different matter ; but Miss Doty 
 has asked me to write one and as it happens that 
 I have some knowledge of the events and persons 
 described, it may not come amiss for me to bear 
 witness to the truths that she has written. 
 • •••••• 
 
 The first of the following chapters gives the 
 
 experience of Miss Doty when she and her friend, 
 
 Miss Watson, spent a brief period as inmates of 
 
 the New York State Prison for Women at Auburn. 
 
 I had the privilege of arranging with the warden 
 
 for their reception and I was *^ our host gazing 
 
 vii 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 solicitously after us from his car," when they 
 started on their adventure. As a matter of fact 
 my gaze was rather more than solicitous; for I 
 did not altogether approve, knowing through per- 
 sonal experience something of the nerve-racking 
 strain ahead of them. 
 
 The stay of '^ Maggie Martin " in the Woman's 
 Prison was valuable in giving the Commission 
 on Prison Reform, upon which Miss Doty and I 
 were both serving, a vivid impression of the man- 
 ner of treatment of our women convicts. It 
 brought home to us the knowledge that the stupid 
 and brutal system, which was so lamentable a 
 failure in the men's prisons, was quite as bad, if 
 not worse, in a woman's prison. 
 
 • • • • • • • ' 
 
 The second chapter, " Maggie Martin's 
 Friends," is an even more depressing tale. It is 
 the story of a noble effort — the struggle of the 
 women prisoners at Auburn, aided by conscien- 
 tious friends from outside, to participate in the 
 wonderful movement w^hich was transforming the 
 men's prison from a hopeless sink of human 
 failure to a great school of genuine reform. It 
 is also the story of the failure of that effort, be- 
 cause of the hopeless, crass stupidity of the ma- 
 trons in control at the prison, who had the chance 
 of a lifetime to make themselves a power for 
 good and were too indifferent and too ignorant 
 to take advantage of it. " Against stupidity the 
 gods themselves struggle in vain." The moral of 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 the experience was that without an intelligent 
 head no prison system can be run intelligently. 
 The failure of the Prisoners' League at the 
 Woman's Prison at Auburn does not reflect upon 
 the system or the prisoners; it does reflect seri- 
 ously upon the officials whose duty it was to co- 
 operate. 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 Of the third, fourth, fifth and sixth chapters 
 I can also speak with some authority, for I know 
 most if not all the men whose stories Miss Doty 
 has recorded. There can be only one question 
 about these stories. If what the men say is true, 
 it is high time a more comprehensive examination 
 was made into our juvenile institutions and their 
 results. But is it true? No one w^ho knows the 
 men and hears the tales from their own lips can 
 doubt it for a moment. It is one great advan- 
 tage of the new prison system at Auburn and 
 Sing Sing that for the first time our convicts are 
 willing to tell the truth. They have told it to 
 Miss Doty under the pledge that their confidences 
 shall be respected ; and they are pathetically anxi- 
 ous to " save the kids.'' 
 
 The facts are now before the public ; what are 
 intelligent people in the outside world going to 
 do about it? 
 
 • • • • • • • 
 
 Regarding the seventh chapter — the case of 
 " Happy Jack '' Mulrany, I have no first-hand 
 knowledge ; but if any one can read his pathetic 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 letter without burning remorse for his own share 
 in the death of its writer, then he has a tougher 
 conscience than I can understand. It ought to 
 make some of the believers in capital punishment 
 spend a few wakeful hours at night. 
 
 Recall the end of Stave Three in Dickens' 
 Christmas Carol, where from under the robe of 
 the Ghost of Christmas Present there emerge two 
 children : 
 
 They were a boy and a ^rl. Yellow, meager, ragged, 
 scowling, wolfish, but prostrate, too, in their humility. 
 Where graceful youth should have filled their features 
 out and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and 
 shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched and twisted 
 them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might 
 have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menac- 
 ing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of human- 
 ity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful 
 creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread. 
 
 Scrooge started back, appalled. . . . 
 
 " Spirit, are they yours ? " Scrooge could say no more. 
 
 " They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon 
 them. " And they cling to me, appealing from their 
 fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Be- 
 ware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all 
 beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which 
 is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it I " cried 
 the Spirit, stretching out its hand toward the city. 
 " Slander those who tell it ye ! Admit it for your factious 
 purposes, and make it worse ! And bide the end ! " 
 
 " Have they no refuge or resource? " cried Scrooge. 
 
 " Are there no prisons ? " said the Spirit, turning on him 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 for the last time with his own words. " Are there no 
 workhouses i '" 
 
 The bell struck twelve. 
 
 These words were written in 1S43. seventy- 
 three years ago ; and despite much social progress 
 we are still sendins: our children of l£:norance 
 and Want to the reformatory and prison, to the 
 street and the brothel. 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 The last chapter deals with an institution with 
 which I am familiar, *^ The Little Common- 
 wealth/' Hidden away in a happy little valley 
 in Dorsetshire, this charming little institution 
 has far exceeded the anticipations of its found- 
 ers. In December, 1910 a meeting was held at 
 the home of Mr. George Montagu in London, to 
 hear about the Junior Eepublic movement in 
 America. At the conclusion of the meetins: a 
 committee of three was appointed to stimulate 
 interest and see how the Junior Eepublic prin- 
 ciples could be adapted for England. The com- 
 mittee consisted of Mr. Montagu, Mr. Cecil Chap- 
 man, one of the London magistrates, and myself 
 as a ptirelv honorary member. The movement 
 was very ably and carefully conducted and re- 
 suited in the establishment of The Little Com- 
 monwealth about two years later. I visited it in 
 the fall of 1913 and found it all that Miss Dotv 
 has described.. The 2:enius of Mr. Lane, the sti- 
 perintendent, and the sympathetic understanding 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Montas^u and their friends have 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 letter without burning remorse for his own share 
 in the death of its writer, then he has a tougher 
 conscience than I can understand. It ought to 
 make some of the believers in capital punishment 
 spend a few wakeful hours at night. 
 
 Recall the end of Stave Three in Dickens' 
 Christmas Carol, where from under the robe of 
 the Ghost of Christmas Present there emerge two 
 children : 
 
 They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meager, ragged, 
 scowling, wolfish, but prostrate, too, in their humility. 
 Where graceful youth should have filled their features 
 out and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and 
 shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched and twisted 
 them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might 
 have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menac- 
 ing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of human- 
 ity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful 
 creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread. 
 
 Scrooge started back, appalled. . . . 
 
 " Spirit, are they yours ? " Scrooge could say no more. 
 
 " They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon 
 them. " And they cling to me, appealing from their 
 fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Be- 
 ware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all 
 beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which 
 is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it ! " cried 
 the Spirit, stretching out its hand toward the city. 
 " Slander those who tell it ye ! Admit it for your factious 
 purposes, and make it worse ! And bide the end ! " 
 
 " Have they no refuge or resource ? " cried Scrooge. 
 
 " Are there no prisons ? " said the Spirit, turning on him 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 for the last time with his own words. "Are there no 
 workhouses ? " 
 
 The bell struck twelve. 
 
 These words were written in 1843, seventy- 
 three years ago ; and despite much social progress 
 we are still sending our children of Ignorance 
 and Want to the reformatory and prison, to the 
 street and the brothel. 
 
 ■ • • • • • • • 
 
 The last chapter deals with an institution with 
 which I am familiar, " The Little Common- 
 wealth." Hidden away in a happy little valley 
 in Dorsetshire, this charming little institution 
 has far exceeded the anticipations of its found- 
 ers. In December, 1910 a meeting was held at 
 the home of Mr. George Montagu in London, to 
 hear about the Junior Republic movement in 
 America. At the conclusion of the meeting a 
 committee of three was appointed to stimulate 
 interest and see how the Junior Republic prin- 
 ciples could be adapted for England. The com- 
 mittee consisted of Mr. Montagu, Mr. Cecil Chap- 
 man, one of the London magistrates, and myself 
 as a purely honorary member. The movement 
 was very ably and carefully conducted and re- 
 sulted in the establishment of The Little Com- 
 monwealth about two years later. I visited it in 
 the fall of 1913 and found it all that Miss Doty 
 has described.. The genius of Mr. Lane, the su- 
 perintendent, and the sympathetic understanding 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Montagu and their friends have 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 founded an institution wMcli is more truly 
 democratic in its application of vital principles 
 to education than any other I know. 
 
 • • • 
 
 After reading the book, you will easily under- 
 stand why Miss Doty could not resist writing it. 
 She could not help calling upon the good people 
 of this country to ''save the kids.'' She has 
 done so with force and sincerity ; and her appeal 
 
 will be heard. 
 
 T. M. Osborne. 
 
 Sing Sing Prison, 
 August 6, 1916. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 PART I — IN A WOMAN'S PRISON 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction ^ 
 
 ''Maggie Martin, 933'' 9 
 
 Maggie Martin's Friends ^^ 
 
 PART II r- BEHIND REFORMATORY WALLS 
 
 Introduction 105 
 
 Why Can't a Kid Write to His Mother? . . Ill 
 
 Behind the Walls 128 
 
 Wanted — ^a Mother 156 
 
 The Genesis of the Gang 179 
 
 The Fate of a Reformatory Boy .... 203 
 The Reformatory that Reforms . . . . 227 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Madeleine Z. Doty Frontispiece 
 
 Identification card of Maggie Martin 21 
 
 Tlie attractive exterior of Auburn Prison 75 
 
 Would n't you lil^e to be a foster mother to one of these? 113 
 
 Tough but interesting 123 
 
 Gambling — these are the boys who form the never- 
 ending procession to the reform schools .... 184 
 
 Waiting trial — a policeman taking the court record . . 143 
 
 After sentence — on the way to a detention home . . 154 
 
 Mother care 163 
 
 When a feller needs a friend 174 
 
 Only potentially bad, but they are apt pupils of the 
 vicious boys to be found in every institution . . . 183 
 
 A group of reformatory boys 194 
 
 A prison picture of Happy Jack 211 
 
 A boys' reformatory that is like a prison. One of the 
 institutions which Happy Jack speaks of ... . 221 
 
 Connie and two of her babies 232 
 
 ' The citizens build the commonwealth cottages — a 
 
 former judge at work 239 
 
PART I 
 IN A WOMAN'S PRISON 
 
.-I > 
 
 i ) ) 11 » 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Our whole penal system, the criminal law, the 
 courts, reformatories and prisons, stand on the 
 eve of a great revolution. The old system of 
 punishment which crushed and broke has failed. 
 Man by these methods has been made worse 
 rather than better. The released convict has 
 proved a greater menace to society than he 
 was before he fell into the clutches of the law. 
 The collective mind has awakened to the fact and 
 declared only those methods which reform to be 
 desirable. If punishment has failed then the 
 new system of education must be tried. The 
 world at last recognizes that law is for man, not 
 man for the law; that the penal system is not 
 sacred; that law, where it does not meet the 
 needs of society, like all else, must give way and 
 change. The articles in this book symbolize the 
 change going forward. They are not formal or 
 statistical but human. For that is the key-note 
 of the change — the putting of humanity into the 
 law. Intelligence of the mind is nothing with- 
 out that of the heart. Factories may be run by 
 
 3 
 
«■ c c 
 s < «: 
 
 r c c 
 
 TNIEODUCTION 
 
 rule of thumb, but individuals are remade 
 through the soul. 
 
 Perhaps my own personal experience as a law- 
 yer well illustrates this general awakening. At 
 graduation I started forth like the average young 
 lawyer. It seemed essential to have a beautifully 
 equipped office, with rows on rows of leather- 
 bound books guarding the precedents of all the 
 dead judges of all the ages. But my bank ac- 
 count was just large enough to cover two months' 
 office rent. Then came the idea of a compromise. 
 I would have an office on Fifth Avenue, and live 
 in a tenement. By day I sat in leather-bound 
 chairs, handled leather-bound books and waited 
 for rich clients. At night I climbed five flights 
 of stairs over crying babies, despairing mothers, 
 passed boys and men fallen into the clutches of 
 the police, and on their way to the station house 
 for assault or robbery. And gradually a curious 
 thing happened. My days for which all had been 
 sacrificed grew tiresome, while the Eastside even- 
 ings throbbed with life and fascination. But 
 business prospered. Through the receivership 
 appointments bestowed by a friendly judge there 
 was money to make ends meet. But where was 
 the satisfaction? In the bankruptcy cases when 
 
 4 
 
INTEODUCTION 
 
 receiver, attorney, auctioneer, and appraisers had 
 been paid, there was rarely anything left for the 
 creditors. It became evident that the practice of 
 law afforded no opportunity for rendering jus- 
 tice. It was merely a game, a game between 
 clever men to see which could be cleverest. For 
 such a career I cared little. It was the individ- 
 ual, not the case, that w^as interesting. When 
 Johnny Jones in the apartment below stole a 
 bucket of coal because his mother and baby sister 
 were freezing, it seemed vastly important to go 
 to court and explain. The law^ said Johnny w^as 
 a thief. But he was n't. It w^as absurd to argue 
 whether he did or did n't steal when the real ques- 
 tion was iDhy did he steal. Then the reform 
 school made Johnny a menace. The baby died 
 and Johnny's mother went to the poorhouse. Al- 
 together society paid pretty dearly for that 
 bucket of coal. It was evident dead judges and 
 musty precedents were not good guides. The 
 criminal law needed to be taken out of the hands 
 of legal-minded machines and remade in the 
 image of Christ. 
 
 There w^ere thousands of men to practise law 
 according to maxim. Women lawyers must 
 bring love, intelligence of the heart, into the busi- 
 
 5 
 
INTKODUCTION 
 
 ness. It was then I read John Galsworthy's 
 " Justice," and a whole new world opened. I 
 saw that courts, and prisons, might be dedicated 
 to the regeneration instead of the persecution, 
 punishment, and destruction of man. It was no 
 longer possible to practise conventional law. 
 For four years I worked with others to remake 
 the Manhattan Children's Court. In a few years 
 we had secured a new court building, five special 
 children's judges, twenty probation officers, and, 
 most important of all, a careful examination of 
 each case. To-day no child is tried without find- 
 ing out the why of the misdeed. In time the 
 criminal law for adults will follow the same 
 course. But reformatories and prisons still 
 loom like black blots on the landscape. De- 
 linquent children and adults continue to come 
 forth worse than they go in. Here and there 
 social workers are making mighty efforts to re- 
 form conditions. In externals they are often 
 successful. The gray, grim, barred-in reforma- 
 tory is frequently replaced by prosperous farms 
 dotted with cottages. Yet the percentage of re- 
 formations is not what it should be. Again in- 
 telligence of the mind is nothing without in- 
 telligence of the heart. Lawyers are dedicated 
 
 6 
 
INTKODUCTION 
 
 to the law, social workers to service, but the lat- 
 ter no more than the former can triumph, when 
 regeneration is attempted by scientific theory and 
 maxim. Man is not a machine. From the chil- 
 dren's court I turned to prison work. I became a 
 member of the Prison Reform Commission of 
 which Thomas Mott Osborne was chairman. 
 When Mr. Osborne spent his week in prison I 
 knew that he had found the way to get at the 
 heart of the problem. The student of prison 
 problems needs to know the prisoner, his needs, 
 and aspirations. That was why I made my 
 prison experiment, not to teach, but to learn. 
 Those days in jail throbbed with big moments. 
 Never have I felt so bound to any group of 
 women. Cut off from life, made an outcast, the 
 prisoner feels for his fellows a compassionate af- 
 fection that transcends common relationships. 
 In every-day life we grow selfish and hesitate to 
 relinquish even a small comfort for a friend, but 
 in prison no sacrifice is too great. Even punish- 
 ment in the cooler is gladly accepted as the price 
 to be paid for a chance to do a kind deed. This 
 beauty of spirit is dazzling. It shows that with 
 the capacity for misdeeds lies an equally brilliant 
 capacity for good. Just a little twist in the 
 
 7 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 steering gear and your gangster and gunman is 
 smashing up evil and figliting for riglit as re- 
 lentlessly as he formerly broke into your houses 
 and stole your jewelry. In the two succeeding 
 articles — " Maggie Martin, 933 " and " Maggie 
 Martin's Friends '■ — I have left out all discourse 
 on penology and tried to get at the heart of the 
 problem. I have described prison life as I found 
 it, hoping by so doing to shed light on a problem 
 so many are eager to solve. If I have demon- 
 strated that real reform can only be accomplished 
 by, with, and through the convict, I have fulfilled 
 my purpose. Wisdom to dispense justice comes 
 from a study of man not from a study of law. 
 
 " Be not dishearten'd, affection shall solve the 
 problem of freedom yet. 
 
 Were you looking to be held together by lawyers ? 
 Or by an agreement on a pax>er? Or by arms? 
 Nay, nor the world, nor any living thing will so 
 cohere." 
 
 8 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 " MAGGIE MARTIN, 933 " 
 
 ON Monday, November 3, 1913, I awoke with 
 beating heart. That day was the day. 
 But suppose something should prevent the ad- 
 venture? Then I laughed. To be fighting to get 
 behind prison-bars with as much determination 
 as the man caught in a misdeed struggles to es- 
 cape was amusing. A queer topsy-turvy world, 
 with its continual battle for that w^hich is denied. 
 I jumped up and looked at myself in the glass. 
 I wished I looked stronger. I knew the prison 
 warden and the members of the commission ques- 
 tioned my strength. They said I might suffer 
 harm from the convicts for some were colored 
 women of hard and vicious character, occa- 
 sionally violent, and I must look out for the 
 blows. A little shiver of excitement attacked 
 me. I was glad Elizabeth was to share my fate. 
 Companionship breeds courage. She, too, I 
 
 9 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 could see, was excited. We rang for breakfast. 
 Sitting in our little, soft, white beds, we chatted 
 and ate. It was good to be visiting where every 
 physical comfort was perfectly cared for, only 
 it made one soft and prison life very unattrac- 
 tive. The deliciously fragrant coffee and the 
 thin, brown, buttered toast quickly disappeared 
 as we speculated on what breakfast the following 
 morning would be like. 
 
 All that day we wandered about aimlessly try- 
 ing to curb our impatience. We visited moving- 
 picture shows, and saw scenes of prison life far 
 from reassuring. We had arranged to enter 
 prison early in the evening. A policeman was 
 to be at the station when the New York train ar- 
 rived and conduct us to the prison as regularly 
 committed convicts just up from the city. In 
 this way we would hide our identity. With care 
 we had constructed a criminal past : we were to 
 be Lizzie Watson and Maggie Martin, forgers, 
 caught in the same deal and sent up for from one 
 year and six months to two years and six months. 
 
 After a gay little dinner-party we whirled 
 down to the station in the electric. Soon the 
 sound of the whistle announced the train, and 
 we stepped out bravely across the platform to the 
 
 10 
 
" MAGGIE MARTIN, 933 " 
 
 waiting policeman. As we passed out of the 
 station and up the street I could see our host 
 gazing solicitously after us from his car. All the 
 bright, cheery comfort of his home flashed upon 
 me, and the desire for adventure ceased. I was 
 glad it was dark and that few people passed. I 
 sensed the feeling of disgrace this forced w^alk by 
 a policeman's side, past the high, forbidding, 
 gray wall, must engender. I wondered if Eliza- 
 beth also was beginning to wish she had never 
 come. Then we reached a great iron gate, and it 
 opened and clanked behind us. In an instant 
 the big outer world had vanished. We were shut 
 in by a sinister gray mass with barred gate. A 
 sickening sense of impotence filled me. Pride 
 said I must go on, but I was afraid. I had re- 
 duced myself to a wdlMess thing that could be 
 moved about at the whim of unseen authority. 
 
 What lay inside that silent building? Up the 
 path with reluctant steps I journeyed. Why 
 had I been such a fool? Surely my knowledge 
 of prisons did not need this experiment to con- 
 vince me of their vileness. But my sensations 
 belied the thought. No written word had ever 
 made me realize how great may be the fear of 
 what lies behind those gray stones and barred 
 
 11 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 windows. Only once before had I experienced 
 such a dread, and that the day before an opera- 
 tion. The strongest man is shattered by horror 
 of the unknown. 
 
 But we had reached the front door, and it was 
 opened, and we were thrust inside. I heard the 
 policeman ask if he was needed, and then he left, 
 and with him disappeared the last friendly face. 
 I longed to clutch Elizabeth, but two matrons in 
 blue uniform and white aprons stood guard. 
 These women did not speak. They had evidently 
 expected the arrival of two convicts, but they 
 gave no greeting aud made no inquiry. We 
 might have been four-legged animals or express 
 packages for aught their expression showed. 
 They were curious and a little fearful. We were 
 curious and vei'y fearful. We gazed at one 
 another like dogs at bay. Having sized us up, 
 they hurried through their disagreeable task. 
 Without explanation or comment we were led 
 through twisting passages and doors. Then be- 
 gan that persistent note of prison, the locking 
 and unlocking of doors, the jangling of keys, 
 which is forever breaking the silence and beat- 
 ing in on one the knowledge, " You 're locked in ; 
 you can't get out.'' 
 
 12 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 We passed down a long corridor on which 
 were the barred doorways of twenty cells. 
 There was light in the corridor, but none in the 
 cells, and I wondered how many breathing, rest- 
 less creatures were gazing out. The jangling 
 of keys and our footsteps must have told of our 
 approach. At the end of the corridor in a small 
 room was a bath-tub. Here the procession 
 halted. Then more jangling of keys, and a little 
 colored convict was released to aid with the task 
 in hand. 
 
 In utter silence the ceremony proceeded, Eliza- 
 beth and I watching breathlessly what was to 
 happen next. A sheet was spread for each of 
 us, and on it we stood, taking off our garments 
 one by one. It was all like a dream. The solem- 
 nity was so great we might have been under- 
 going an initiation into some fraternity. I had 
 an insane desire to giggle, but the curious and 
 hard eyes of the matron were upon me. Besides, 
 my clothes seemed to be making no impression. 
 I had forgotten before entering to remove my 
 watch and gold cuff-links, and my long brown 
 ulster had just come from London. Surely these 
 things would be noticed. Moreover, only a few 
 hours before I had bathed and put on fresh white 
 
 13 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 underwear. But this also roused no comment. 
 Evidently many convicts on entering prison must 
 be clean and well-dressed. 
 
 Then came the bath, taken in public, with the 
 aid of the little colored convict. Under di- 
 rection, she scrubbed and scrubbed, we being 
 told to keep hands off. Some one originated 
 the theory that all convicts are dirty, and truly 
 it is on that theory that the whole prison system 
 is built. A convict means dirt, physical, mental, 
 and moral, and is treated accordingly. That 
 this may not be the case makes no impression. 
 I was a convict ; therefore, I w^as full of vermin. 
 I saw Elizabeth's head being ducked into the 
 same water in w^hich she was bathedi. With 
 shrinking, I begged to be let off until the morrow, 
 pleading a headache. To my surprise, the re- 
 quest w^as granted. But the next instant I w^as 
 told to bend my head, and the contents of a dark- . 
 green bottle were poured upon me and rubbed »* 
 in. The penetrating and biting odor of kero- 
 sene pervaded everything. A hot wave of in- 
 dignation flooded me. Two days before my hair 
 had been w^ashed and waved and was soft and 
 sweet -smelling. Surely my head might be clean, 
 even supposing I had forged a check. But no, 
 
 U 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'^ 
 
 I was a convict, and red tape must triumph here 
 as elsewhere. 
 
 Only one small towel, the size of a table nap- 
 kin, was given to dry both head and body. A 
 coarse, white cotton night-gown, clean, but old, 
 bearing the name of the last wearer, was fur- 
 nished. Clad in this and barefooted, I was led 
 to a cell and locked in. A few minutes later I 
 heard the reassuring sound of the door in the 
 next cell being closed and locked, and I knew 
 that for the night at least Elizabeth was my 
 neighbor. I tapped on the wall to make sure, 
 and immediately there came a satisfying answer. 
 I examined my bed. The mattress was covered 
 with stains, but the sheets were clean, though 
 coarse. I crawled into them. At first I did not 
 notice the steely hardness of the bed. I was 
 too occupied with my straw pillow. But the 
 mattress rested on iron slats, and as the night 
 advanced I began to trace the exact location of 
 every one. 
 
 My light had been switched off, but through 
 the bars the light from the corridor filtered in. 
 Whenever I opened my eyes, that barred door 
 obtruded itself. It glared down upon me, it 
 seemed to run up against me, it haunted me, it 
 
 15 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 forever reiterated the fact, " You are an animal 
 shut in a cage." The little iron bed, the wooden 
 stand in the corner, with its basin and cup of 
 water, the three-legged stool, the yellow walls, 
 the painted window — all were lost sight of in 
 the presence of that barred door. That and that 
 only, with the endless jangling of keys, became 
 the center of existence. Drawn by a weird fas- 
 cination, I crept out of bed and to the door, 
 and, grasping the cold iron, shook it. But all 
 was secure. Then I pressed my face against the 
 bars and listened breathlessly. I could hear the 
 breathing of other prisoners and occasionally a 
 sigh. What were they dreaming or feeling? 
 Already I knew the worst feature of the prison 
 system — the brutal officialdom that treated hu- 
 man beings as though they were not human, as 
 though they were cogs in a machine. Then I 
 heard footsteps, the jangling of keys. The night 
 matron was making her hourly round, and I 
 scurried back to bed. Down the corridor she 
 came, pausing at doors to shake them and jangle 
 those keys, intent on reminding us of our degra- 
 dation and helplessness. 
 
 All night I tossed and turned on my pillow. 
 The kerosene from my hair had made it sticky 
 
 16 
 
^^ MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'^ 
 
 and vile. I choked with the odor, and, seizing 
 my towel, vainly tried to rub it off; but it per- 
 meated everything. Frequently I knocked softly 
 on the wall, and always there came an answer- 
 ing rap, and I knew that Elizabeth, too, was 
 restless. 
 
 A dirty, yellow light struggled through the 
 window. Morning had come at last. There 
 were sounds of activity in the adjoining cells. 
 A gray-haired elderly matron in blue uniform 
 and white apron came to my bars and peered in. 
 Her face was lined and sour ; she uttered no greet- 
 ing, merely gazed at me from head to foot, as 
 though I were an animal in the zoo, and re- 
 marked: "A new one, eh? Came last night," 
 and then moved on. I had a terrible sense of 
 injury ; surely she ought to see I was n't a crim- 
 inal. But perhaps there is no distinguishing- 
 mark. 
 
 The little colored girl who had assisted the 
 night before was moving busily about, helping 
 the matron. Food had arrived, and she was dis- 
 tributing it. Slices of bread were left between 
 the bars to be plucked off by the inmates. Then 
 later the cell door was unlocked and a mug of 
 coffee and a bowl of stew were handed in, all in 
 
 17 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 absolute silence. The coffee was only dish- 
 water, the stew chiefly a thick flour paste. I re- 
 membered yesterday's breakfast, and contented 
 mvself with bread. 
 
 After feeding-time the dishes were collected, 
 and the little convict took them to the sink at 
 the end of the corridor. I envied her her task, 
 as I am sure every inmate did, just to be out be- 
 yond the barred door doing something, anything. 
 The minutes dragged on. I had no clothes, so 
 I lay still. After what seemed hours, the matron 
 returned, this time accompanied by a convict, 
 laden with clothes, and the little colored trusty. 
 In the presence of these three I was ordered to 
 take off my nightgown. Underwear many sizes 
 too large was given to me, and a heavy, coarse 
 petticoat of bedticking, also much too large, and 
 finally the thick, white canvas dress, frayed and 
 gray from washing. It was all in one piece, but- 
 toning tightly down the front. The sleeves were 
 much too short, the collar too low. Anything 
 more unbecoming and degrading would be hard 
 to imagine. It reminded me of pictures of the 
 clothes worn by slaves. A pair of speckled knit 
 stockings and heavy, round-toed shoes completed 
 my toilet. These shoes seemed to give the 
 
 18 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 matron much pleasure, for she said, " See what 
 fine shoes you 've been given.'' 
 
 I knew there was no good protesting, but I 
 wanted to curse. Prison has a curious way of 
 dragging to the surface all the profanity one has 
 ever heard. Nothing else seemed adequately to 
 express one's hate and indignation. I could hear 
 Elizabeth making her toilet. Once I heard the 
 matron's voice say : " Eh, there, git spry, git 
 spry! Where do you think you are? " We had 
 both been unmercifully hurried, for we were 
 wanted in the office. As we left our cells I 
 glanced at Elizabeth. There had been no mirror 
 to view myself, so I was not prepared for the 
 transformation. With hair slicked back and 
 greasy from kerosene, prison shoes sticking out 
 from a dress much too short, she was a ludicrous 
 object, and I doubled up with mirth and snick- 
 ered. Laughter in prison is a sin. The matron 
 turned on me fiercely. 
 
 "Be still! Don't you know where you are? 
 If ye hain't ever been in prison before, you 're in 
 
 one now." 
 
 I pulled myself together and put my hand 
 over my mouth, but my whole being shook. The 
 gloom and horror of the night vanished in the 
 
 19 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 light of the enormous comedy we were enacting. 
 But I did not wish to go to the cooler, as the 
 punishment cell is called, and with a supreme 
 effort I controlled myself. Despite the terrible 
 rush in which we w^ere hustled into our clothes, 
 we waited for a long time in a hallway before 
 being called. We sat patiently side by side. I 
 longed to lean over and touch Elizabeth and 
 whisper, but our matron stood guard like a 
 dragon, and when Elizabeth's eyes once sought 
 the floor to gaze at a cat, she stormed : 
 
 " Stop looking at that cat ! Look at the 
 
 wall ! '' 
 
 Did the system of nagging ever end? Was the 
 prison system planned with the view to filling 
 the heart with rage and hate? It is unwise if so, 
 for prisons are emptied on an average every five 
 years and the inmates sent back into the world. 
 
 In the office our names, addresses, names of 
 relatives, criminal career, etc., were taken down 
 in business manner. Then we were returned to 
 our cells. In my ten by six room I found dinner 
 piled on my stool, though it was only shortly 
 after eleven. But to-day was election day, and 
 a holiday for the matrons. Holidays, periods 
 of rejoicing for officials, are days of torture for 
 
 20 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'' 
 
 prisoners. On these occasions and on Sundays 
 the convict is safely disj)Osed of by locking him 
 in his cell for interminable hours. I had thought 
 much of election day, but somehow my interest 
 was gone. It seemed unimportant who was 
 elected mayor. Only one thing mattered, those 
 gray walls. For this prison also does : it makes 
 the convict center on self, on his physical dis- 
 comfort, on a barred door. It suppresses human 
 love, and robs life of its value. 
 
 I looked at my dinner. A great mass of coarse 
 cabbage filled the plate. Hidden under it was 
 a piece of corned beef. It was too revolting to 
 touch. I made an attempt at the boiled potato, 
 but it was soggy and cold, and I gave it up. In 
 a bowl was a quantity of apple-butter, but this 
 was sour, and I left it untouched. Bread was 
 again my meal. When the dinner things were 
 removed, we were told to keep a supply of bread, 
 for no supper would be served. 
 
 We had no plates, so I piled my three slices of 
 bread on my stool and sat on the bed. Then 
 began an interminable afternoon. Minute after 
 minute, hour after hour, dragged by. I paced 
 my floor and sat on my bed and paced my floor 
 again. There was not even a Bible to read, 
 
 23 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 nothing to see or do. Often I pressed my face 
 against the bars and listened intently. Two or 
 three times I heard the cooing of a baby. Such 
 a good little baby — a baby that never cried ! 
 The mother occupied a cell down the corridor. 
 I had seen her rocking and feeding her child as 
 I passed her barred door in the morning. Born 
 in prison! What a fate for a struggling little 
 soul that had no desire to come into the world ! 
 Once as I stood at my door I heard groans, then 
 a voice : 
 
 " I We got the devil in me. I can't stand this ; 
 if they don't let me out soon, I '11 smash things." 
 Another voice urged courage and gave assur- 
 ance that to-morrow they would have to let us 
 get the air and walk in the yard. A third asked : 
 "Did you see the new girls?" 
 One of the previous voices replied: 
 "Yes, I saw them when they came; they had 
 good clothes." Then one of the former voices 
 said: 
 
 " But what did their faces look like? " 
 
 At this moment our old dragon came tiptoeing 
 
 in, and the whisperers were caught. I had been 
 
 on the point of joining in the conversation. 
 
 Lucky I did n't, for later I learned the penalty 
 
 24 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'' 
 
 inflicted: three days of close confinement in tHe 
 cell on a diet of one slice of bread and one gill 
 of water three times a day ; in addition a fine of 
 fifty cents for each day of punishment, and days 
 added to the term of imprisonment. After this 
 excitement and the matron's departure there 
 was no sound. The minutes dragged on. I had 
 no idea whether it was two or six. I had lost 
 all sense of time ; all was dull silence. And this 
 was the place where I had been told people were 
 violent and used obscene language. Thus far 
 prisoners seemed creatures but half alive, in- 
 closed in a living tomb. 
 
 Occasionally I rapped on the wall, but the 
 answer was feeble, and this bothered me. Pres- 
 ently I could hear that some one was violently 
 sick. The sound was near. It might be from 
 the next cell. I could n't be sure. It was horri- 
 ble to be unable to give assistance. No one could 
 give any help. No one stirred, and no one dared 
 speak. Later, when the matron made her 
 rounds, she paid no heed to the sufferer, and 
 Elizabeth went uncared for, for it was she who 
 had been ill. Her jar was not emptied until the 
 following morning. Jars used for all purposes 
 are emptied only once a day, and the small hand- 
 
 25 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 basin filled with fresh water only once in twenty- 
 four hours. I had already washed twice in my 
 basin, and the water was sticky with kerosene. 
 I did not make another attempt that evening. 
 Besides, I no longer cared whether I was clean 
 or not. At supper-time basin and cup were filled 
 w^ith water. We had coffee in the morning, and 
 tea occasionally for dinner, but only this one 
 precious cup of life-giving water. I clutched 
 mine greedily. Half should go for supper and 
 half for the night; my teeth must go unbrushed. 
 Would the day never end ! 
 
 But twilight came at last. I undressed and 
 went to bed. The bedclothes were heavy and 
 gave little warmth, for the blankets were made 
 of shoddy. I shivered with cold. Once when 
 the night matron made her rounds I called softly 
 and asked for another cover. This woman, like 
 the day matron, was old. She was white-haired, 
 feeble, and very near-sighted. She may have 
 been a pleasing and venerable figure on Sunday, 
 clad in her best, but as a matron she was a 
 failure. She met my request for a blanket with 
 annoyance. She must n't be bothered. It 
 wasn't her business to do anything but walk 
 through the buildings. " You should have asked 
 
 26 
 
"MAGGIE MAETIN, 933'' 
 
 the day matron in the daytime for a blanket." 
 Through this incident I learned the lesson all 
 convicts soon learn: it is wisest to suffer in 
 silence, for only suicide or severe illness compels 
 attention. But my request for a blanket was 
 unusual, and therefore troubled the old woman. 
 Twice in the night she woke me. Once to say, 
 " You 've a wash rug on the floor ; use that if 
 you 're cold," and the second time to reiterate, 
 " You should n't ask me for a blanket ; you ought 
 to ask the day matron." 
 
 So I lay and shivered. I was horribly uncom- 
 fortable, dirty, hungry, and thirsty, and my bed 
 grew hourly harder. The day had been a horror, 
 but the night was worse. All my innate ugliness 
 rose to the surface. I wanted to grasp my bars 
 and shake them and yell. I would gladly join 
 my convict friend in a smashing orgy if they 
 did n't let me out soon. I, too, had the devil in 
 me. Kebellious thoughts surged in my brain. 
 What right had man so to abuse his fellow-man? 
 What right to degrade him, to step on him, to 
 ignore him? What right to nag and browbeat 
 until he can no longer keep silent, and self- 
 respect flares up? 
 
 What wonder if prisoners occasionally are 
 
 27 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 violent! It would be marvelous if they did not 
 grow to hate all mankind and come out of bond- 
 age bent on revenge. My heart ached with pity. 
 One thing at least had been accomplished: I 
 had become in spirit a convict. I was one of 
 them. 
 
 The third day I awoke with dread. The end 
 of the week seemed years off. I could never stick 
 it out. I had no idea of the time, but it was still 
 hardly daylight. Just as I determined to rise 
 the matron appeared. 
 
 "Why ain't ye up?" she demanded. "You 
 should be dressed when I come. And what busi- 
 ness had you to ask for a blanket? I'll teach 
 you yet. Now hurry, make your bed, sweep your 
 floor, and be ready to empty your jar when I git 
 back." 
 
 Like the cowed and obedient object I had be- 
 come, I hastily obeyed. Active rebellion is rare 
 among convicts. There is one consuming desire, 
 to make good and get out. The hunger for free- 
 dom, the torture of bars, and the dread of pun- 
 ishment are so great that only the bravest souls 
 refrain from lying, hypocrisy, the betrayal of 
 others, and the surrender of self-respect in order 
 
 28 
 
« MAGGIE MARTIN, 933 '' 
 
 to win favor and shorten the term of imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 I quickly despatched my tasks, and stood 
 humbly at my door. When the matron arrived, 
 she merely said, " Come." No instructions were 
 given. Bucket in hand, I followed. Meekly I 
 emptied the jar under her watchful eye. It was 
 evident she awaited some blunder, that I might 
 be reprimanded. The jar needed rinsing. Spy- 
 ing a faucet over a sink, I made for it. At last 
 I had committed an unpardonable sin. The 
 matron was upon me like a hawk. 
 
 " What do you mean? " she yelled. " That 's' 
 where we wash our dishes. Hain't you ever 
 emptied a jar? Hain't you ever used a toilet? 
 Hain't you used to any of the decencies of life? " 
 
 For an instant I was stunned, then my sense 
 of humor came to the rescue ; only, unlike yester- 
 day, now I did not dare show it. I had become 
 subdued. The dungeon rose before me. My 
 perspective was gone. I seemed a real prisoner. 
 Fear had entered my soul. Patiently I listened 
 to a flood of abuse, finished my task, and returned 
 to my cell. 
 
 But this day was to prove eventful, for it was 
 
 29 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 full of official business. We were to be bertil- 
 loned and tben examined by the doctor, pro- 
 cesses all newcomers go through. In the middle 
 of the morning Elizabeth and I with three others 
 were summoned to the Bertillon-room, in the 
 top of the building. To be bertilloned is to 
 have your photograph taken, your hands, arms, 
 and feet measured, examined for marks of iden- 
 tification, and a general description of your per- 
 sonal appearance made. All this is then inserted 
 in a volume for the rogues' gallery, and you have 
 become a known criminal, easily identified by the 
 police. Just outside a skylight room in the attic 
 we sat, one in front of the other, like children 
 playing choo-choo cars, back to face, that we 
 might not look at or speak to one another. But 
 I was on the end, and when the matron took one 
 of our number to the adjoining room, I faced 
 about and made mental notes. Elizabeth was 
 back of me, and near her a dark-haired girl whom 
 I shall never forget. Her mouth and eyes were 
 passionate, her chin quivered, great tears rolled 
 down her cheeks. Her manner was gentle, but 
 her whole being alive. I wondered if she was 
 French. Why, I don't know, unless it was the 
 grace of her bearing. I asked her name and 
 
 30 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 what she was up for, the first questions always 
 asked by one convict of another. Her offense 
 was that which Elizabeth and I had chosen, for- 
 gery. I felt sure she was interesting, but I had 
 no opportunity for conversation. 
 
 According to orders, we let our hair down and 
 took off our shoes and stockings. We sat back 
 to face, with our bare feet curled about the 
 rungs of our chairs like naughty little girls. As 
 the little French girl stepped to the Bertillon- 
 room for her ordeal, I noticed, with something 
 like surprise, her delicate foot. Long ago I had 
 discovered that beauty of figure and fineness of 
 manner are found as often among working- 
 women as among women of wealth, but somehow 
 I had not expected refinement among convicts. 
 That is why, I suppose, I thought the matrons 
 ought to have seen I was n't a criminal, especially 
 when I had on my best manners. With startling 
 clearness it became apparent that there is no 
 criminal type, no criminal appearance, no crim- 
 inal manner. The man who made the Bertillon- 
 records was not of this opinion, however, for 
 when he finished my history and looked me all 
 over he remarked in a low voice to his compan- 
 ion, " All the stigmata of criminality." 
 
 31 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 I wondered grimly whether the joke was on 
 me or on the official. After all, the only differ- 
 ence between the criminal and the average man, 
 if there is one, is an exaggeration of type. When 
 the convict is not defective, he is often nnusual, 
 original, a variation, and therefore more prone 
 to be at odds with conventional society. He has 
 greater force than the average, and has often 
 gone wrong through misdirected power. 
 
 From the Bertillon-room we went back to the 
 ward to await dinner. That over we put on Sun- 
 day dress preparatory to a visit to the doctor. 
 This costume consisted of a khaki-colored cotton- 
 drilling shirt-waist and skirt, and was very satis- 
 factory. So arrayed, I found myself stepping 
 out with some importance. My head went up. 
 It had been hard to be dignified clothed in dirty 
 white sail-cloth. 
 
 Again we were summoned to the hall for 
 another interminable wait. But if our time was 
 wasted, so was the dragon's, for no prisoner may 
 go about unaccompanied, even though escape 
 from a locked and barred building, surrounded 
 by a guarded stone wall, is impossible. Deco- 
 rously we sat, eyes to the front, the embodiment 
 of meekness, the eagle eye of the matron upon us. 
 
 32 
 
<< MAGGIE MAKTIN, 933" 
 
 Presently a young matron, trim, pleasing, and 
 efficient, approached. She and the dragon ex- 
 changed tribulations, and the story of my auda- 
 cious demand for another blanket was related. 
 I felt a second Oliver Twist. As the tale pro- 
 gressed, all the pleasing qualities of the young 
 matron vanished. She became a hard, cold, 
 glittering-eyed, vindictive bully. She turned 
 upon me with fury. I was threatened and 
 denounced in angry tones, and warned to re- 
 member I was a prisoner and entitled to no lux- 
 uries. 
 
 Through it all I gazed at the wall in vacant, 
 meaningless stare, the proper prison attitude. 
 Then came the sound of many footsteps. A 
 group of prisoners was on its way to school, and 
 must come directly past us. At last I should 
 see some fellow-convicts. A short distance from 
 us the little band halted, to put on the felt shoes 
 they carried over their cumbersome leather ones 
 to deaden sound. At this crucial moment the 
 dragon's voice broke the stillness : '^ Rise, and 
 face the wall." Elizabeth and I did not stir. 
 Only when the harsh voice rang out again, ac- 
 companied by a threat, did we understand and 
 obey. Memories of childhood and the old stand- 
 
 33 
 
SOCIETY^S MISFITS 
 
 ing-in-the-corner punishment came to me. I had 
 an overwhelming desire to peek round my shoul- 
 der, but dared not. The company slowly filed 
 past. Out of the corner of my eye I could 
 see Elizabeth, and suddenly the absurdity of 
 our position shook me with silent and nervous 
 laughter. 
 
 As we resumed our seats, the doctor's call 
 came. I went first. As I entered the office, I 
 wondered whether the doctor knew who I was. 
 I hoped so, otherwise it might be embarrassing. 
 But immediately I saw he knew nothing. I was 
 merely a regular convict. First came the ex- 
 amination of heart and lungs and then questions 
 concerning my health. When the health-card 
 was disposed of, the doctor turned to my history. 
 I saw he was interested in psychology. He was 
 very kindly, the only official who had treated 
 the make-believe Maggie Martin as a human be- 
 ing. It was difficult to make up a past on the 
 spur of the moment. I stuck to the literal truth 
 where I could. Presently he began to question 
 me about habits. I denied drinking, but ad- 
 mitted smoking. The doctor brightened ; he felt 
 he was on the track of my downfall. He tried 
 to lead back to the first cigarette. I grew em- 
 
 34 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'' 
 
 barrassed, but this was consistent with the 
 part I was playing. The doctor grew gentler. 
 Finally he urged me to make a full confession. 
 I was fairly cornered. I could n't lie any longer ; 
 he had been too nice. In a burst of inspiration 
 I gazed shyly in my lap and stammered, " I don't 
 know you well enough yet; perhaps I might 
 later." 
 
 So ended my interview. Elizabeth's turn 
 came next, and I was worried lest she should 
 not lie successfully. To my dismay, when she 
 returned she was weeping. Had the doctor dis- 
 covered her identity or had he told her she had 
 some fatal disease? But the ever-present matron 
 prevented speech. 
 
 It was now in the middle of the afternoon, and 
 instead of returning to our cells, we were led 
 to chapel. Once a week, as a great privilege, 
 singing is permitted for an hour. Again my 
 hopes rose high. Now I would see the inmates. 
 But we were placed in the last row, and only 
 the backs of the hundred and twenty women were 
 visible. Tears were still in Elizabeth's eyes, 
 and unable longer to restrain my anxiety, under 
 cover of singing, I managed to whisper ; 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 35 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 " Nothing/' came the reply. " I 'm all right ; 
 will tell you later.'' 
 
 After release I found that Elizabeth, like my- 
 self, had been urged by the doctor to tell her 
 story. Elizabeth, endowed with a vivid imagi- 
 nation, had entered completely into her part. 
 She had no difficulty in manufacturing a life 
 history. It was her own make-believe story of 
 anguish that caused her to weep so violently. 
 She told the doctor she was the youngest of a 
 large family of brothers and sisters, and that 
 she did the house-work while they all went out to 
 earn their living. That in consequence she had 
 no income, and was unable to have any enjoy- 
 ment. She had forged the check to secure the 
 coveted good time. The doctor had proved sym- 
 pathetic, and Elizabeth cried copiously. 
 
 This story is interesting because Elizabeth is 
 the most truthful of persons; yet the power of 
 suggestion was so great that when a past was 
 demanded, involuntarily she furnished one. 
 This fact may well be a warning to investigators 
 in their eager search for the histories of de- 
 linquents. 
 
 It should be stated here that the warden had 
 intended to take the doctor into his confidence 
 
 36 
 
" MAGGIE MARTIN, 933 '' 
 
 concerning Maggie Martin and Lizzie Watson, 
 but in some way the matter had been overlooked. 
 Personally, I am glad it was, because the fact 
 that the doctor, a man of intelligence, failed to 
 detect us is strong proof of how completely we 
 had become merged in the prison population. 
 
 Reassured by Elizabeth I turned to observe my 
 companions. Seated on high chairs around the 
 side of the room were the officers, so placed that 
 they could see the motions of every convict. I 
 did not dare let my eyes wander, for already I 
 had had a warning look; but I saw with some 
 surprise that many of the prisoners in my line 
 of vision were good-looking, intelligent women. 
 A music-teacher was at the piano. The women 
 sang well, and some with a will, as though even 
 this form of expression was a relief. Then my 
 eye strayed to the song-book. I saw Elizabeth's 
 finger pointing to the words. With a start I 
 realized we were singing 
 
 " Columbia, the gem of the ocean. 
 The home of the brave and the free," 
 
 Has no official a sense of humor? 
 At the close of the exercises we were told that 
 we were to move to another ward. I knew that 
 
 37 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 the ward we had been in was a reception ward, 
 and that after a time newcomers were sent to 
 other wards and put at work. As far as I could 
 gather, the sole object of the recejDtion ward in 
 this prison was to break and subdue the prisoners 
 by isolation. Certainly it was not used for the 
 purpose of observation, for no scientific study of 
 the women was made. The newcomer was 
 merely isolated, given no work or occupation of 
 any kind, all her meals were thrust into her cell, 
 and her only resource was one library book a 
 week. I had experienced forty hours of such 
 confinement, and I shuddered to think of the 
 days, weeks, and sometimes months endured by 
 the average prisoner. Such treatment in the 
 case of a nervous, hysterical woman, eating her 
 heart out with anxiety, over some family prob- 
 lem, easily causes temporary insanity. 
 
 Our speedy release had of course been ar- 
 ranged in order that we might have the experi- 
 ence of another ward and the work-shop. Ordi- 
 narily, I feel sure, I should have been kept long 
 in isolation. Already I had been spotted as one 
 to be subdued. I held my head too high, and my 
 smiles, even laughter, showed a freedom of 
 spirit not to be tolerated. Elizabeth, with her 
 
 38 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 tears and her sadness, was being less rudely 
 handled. 
 
 It was an easy task to gather up my few pos- 
 sessions, consisting of comb, toothbrush, night- 
 gown, and extra dress, and I was quickly trans- 
 ferred to a ward in another part of the building. 
 This ward, like the first, had a very broad cor- 
 ridor resembling a large assembly-hall, off which 
 on each hand opened the cells. At each end and 
 in the middle of this big thoroughfare were great 
 windows w^hich, though painted, let in through 
 the upper half a flood of light. In the middle 
 of the hallway, in the recess made by a big bay- 
 ^dndow, were two long, wooden tables. This 
 space served as a dining-room for the twenty- 
 seven women in the ward. Down past the rows 
 of cells I was led. At the extreme end of the 
 ward, leading off on the right and left, were two 
 blind allevs. Down the one to the left we 
 turned. Five cells opened on this narrow hall- 
 way, and into one of them I was thrust. 
 
 I examined my new quarters. They were pre- 
 cisely like the old except that a chair replaced 
 the stool. But I soon discovered that the new 
 cell was more depressing, for the outlook from 
 my door was cut off by the gray plaster wall just 
 
 39 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 across the three-foot hall space, and I could not 
 see as previously into the big open ward. More- 
 over at the entrance to the alleyway I noticed 
 a large wooden door many inches thick, looking 
 like the entrance to some great castle, which, 
 when closed, shut off this wing from the main 
 corridor. I fervently prayed it was never pushed 
 to. I had been brought here without Elizabeth, 
 and I hoped against hope she would follow soon 
 and be placed near. Standing at my door, I 
 heard sounds in a near-by cell. Pressed close 
 against the bars, I whispered, " Hello ! " In a 
 moment back came an answer. Listening in- 
 tently, I heard: 
 
 " I don't dast talk ; I 'm just up from punish- 
 ment.'^ 
 
 But my curiosity was great and my loneliness 
 greater, and I persisted: 
 
 "What were you punished for?" 
 
 There was a little chuckle, a negro's chuckle, 
 then came the reply: 
 
 " Well, child, I sassed the matron. I was all 
 right until I was bad ; I don't know why I done 
 it. I just could n't help it, and I up and called 
 the matron a ." 
 
 Is one only a lady when treated like one ? Cer- 
 
 40 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'^ 
 
 tain it is that my colored friend's statement 
 filled me with joy. I wanted to pat her on the 
 back for her courage. My one regret was that 
 this graphic language had not been addressed to 
 our old dragon. Presently I ventured again: 
 
 "How were you punished?" and softly came 
 the answer : 
 
 " Put in the cooler." 
 
 " But what is the cooler ? " 
 
 " A dark cell in the basement where you only 
 gits bread and water. I was there five days." 
 
 Evidently expressive language is an expensive 
 luxury. • 
 
 At this point there was the sound of many 
 footsteps in the adjoining ward. The girls were 
 returning to their cells for the night. Soon my 
 neighbor was taken out and put elsewhere. 
 Vainly I waited for Elizabeth. Supper was 
 served or, rather, tea was passed. Bread had 
 already been left in our rooms. To my joy, I 
 was given a small can of milk by the doctor's 
 order. I had told him I could not eat. It was 
 good he had come to my rescue, for I was finding 
 a diet of bread and water wholly inadequate. 
 
 The nightly supply of water was passed from 
 cell to cell by a very tall colored w^oman who 
 
 41 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 measured at least six feet. I soon discovered 
 that her cell was next to mine. She and I were 
 the sole occupants of what might be termed the 
 servants' quarters of the main ward. I tried to 
 reconcile mvself to Elizabeth's absence, but I 
 grew uneasy. The one redeeming feature was 
 the new matron. She was a good-looking, mid- 
 dle-aged woman, vastly more human than our 
 old dragon. She treated us like a bunch of chil- 
 dren, and laid down the law with a mighty hand. 
 But her voice, though dictatorial, was not harsh. 
 Freed from a system which demanded that all 
 prisoners be treated indiscriminately as the vile 
 drainage of society, she might have blossomed 
 into an effective person. She stopped at my door 
 long enough to give directions, and said if I did 
 not talk and behaved, there would be no trouble. 
 Then she departed, and, to my despair, closed 
 the massive door. My colored friend and I were 
 alone in our fortress. 
 
 There was still light outside. It could not 
 have been more than five. Time in prison is an 
 uncertain quantity. It has to be guessed by the 
 occurrence of daily events. What should I do 
 until morning? The fourteen long hours to 
 breakfast seemed monumental. Should I go to 
 
 42 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'' 
 
 bed? But I could not sleep all that time. How- 
 ever, I was cold, my cell had no heat, and there 
 was nothing to do. From the next cell came 
 the sound of splashing, and I knew my neighbor 
 was preparing for the night. I had just gotten 
 under the covers when, hearing whispers, I hur- 
 ried to the door. 
 
 " Say, what 's your name? " came the voice. 
 " Maggie Martin. What 's yours? " 
 " Minerva. I don't dast to talk now, but when 
 the night-watch is on I '11 come to you." 
 " Come to me? How can you come to me? " 
 " I mean I '11 come to the door and talk." 
 " Before you go," I pleaded, " tell me one 
 thing. Do you know where my friend Lizzie 
 is?" 
 
 "The other new girl? She is in a transom 
 like this on the other side of the ward." 
 
 Here conversation ceased, but at least I knew 
 Elizabeth's whereabouts. I crept back to bed. 
 It had grown dark. I turned on the light. I 
 had been told to leave it on, as all lights are 
 switched off at nine. If I put it out earlier, I 
 would have to get up in the night and turn back 
 the button so that in the morning, when the 
 electricity was switched on, again it would not 
 
 43 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 flare out and waken me. It was a poor little 
 light, wholly inadequate for reading; but, then, 
 I had nothing to read. However, I had no desire 
 for darkness, for the isolation of the place was 
 gruesome. I lay staring at the electric bulb and 
 pondered. Suppose there was a fire, or Minerva 
 was taken sick or attempted suicide. What 
 could I do? No sound w^ould penetrate that 
 wooden door. I imagined the scurrying for keys 
 and the time needed to unlock the ward door, 
 then the wooden portal, and last the barred door 
 of the cell. It would be much too complicated in 
 a sudden fire. No one would bother with us. 
 
 It was very depressing. I tossed on my bed. 
 Would nine o'clock never come? Thank good- 
 ness for Minerva! Far from fearing her as one 
 of those vicious colored criminals whom I had 
 been warned against, her companionship was the 
 one ray of comfort. At last, when it seemed as 
 though it might be midnight, the hall door was 
 flung open, and the gray-haired night matron, 
 with jangling of keys, came trudging down the 
 alley. Never was sound so welcome. Having 
 assured herself that we were alive, she hastened 
 on. To my joy, she left our castle entrance open. 
 I learned from Minerva that she did this to save 
 
 44 
 
'' MAGGIE MARTIN, 933 " 
 
 trips down our way, and that it w^as safer to talk 
 with the door open, for the footsteps gave warn- 
 ing of danger. When the door was closed, and 
 she opened it noiselessly, transgressors were in- 
 evitably caught. 
 
 Minerva, true to her word, now undertook to 
 comfort me. We exchanged ages and crimes and 
 dwelt on the horror of prison. Then Minerva, 
 feeling further conversation undesirable without 
 greater knowledge, began a series of questions 
 prefaced by a statement : 
 
 " I 'm a sportin' lady ; are you ? " 
 
 " No," said I, meekly. 
 
 " Are you married or single? '^ 
 
 " Single." 
 
 " Do you write to your mother? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " All right, kid ; don't you worry." 
 
 So concluded the catechism. Then I tried to 
 draw Minerva out, but failed. My fate was 
 sealed. Having skilfully placed me, and find- 
 ing I was not of the streets, but an innocent thing 
 from home, I was not to be polluted by bad 
 stories; rather, I was to be protected. Conver- 
 sation languished. Minerva ordered me back to 
 my bed. Soon we had settled down, but not to 
 
 45 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 sleep. All night I heard Minerva sighing and 
 groaning. She had confessed to the morphine 
 habit. I wondered whether she suffered greatly. 
 Sleep for me seemed impossible. Prison had 
 begun to grow in on me. I could no longer take 
 things lightly. The hopelessness, the dreariness, 
 the ugliness of the life preyed upon me. But if 
 I could not sleep, neither could many of the 
 others. Faintly from the ward came coughs and 
 groans all night long. Only when the jangling 
 of keys and the hourly rounds began did the 
 sounds cease. If mankind had been able to un- 
 cover that building and see into the minds and 
 hearts of those convicts, what a sink of despair 
 of aching and bleeding hearts, cursing their God 
 and their fellow-men, would have lain ex- 
 posed ! 
 
 At the first peep of dawn on Thursday I was 
 stirring. I ached with fatigue from a night of 
 unrest on the hard, uneven bed. It Avas chilly, a 
 cold November day, and there was no heat in the 
 big stone building. Yet I longed for fresh air, 
 and climbing to the window-ledge and pulling 
 myself to the small, open space at the top, I drank 
 in the morning freshness. I yearned for sight 
 of the blue sky and tried to scratch the paint 
 
 46 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 from the window ; but it was useless. The paint 
 was on the other side of the glass. Then I 
 searched for a peep-hole, and finding a paintless 
 spot the size of a glove-button, I placed my eye 
 at this. My reward was a glimpse of the yard 
 and high stone wall. Discouraged, I jumped 
 down, and struggled through a sponge bath in 
 my scant quart wash-basin. In the hot, per- 
 spiring summer days this daily dash of water 
 must have been tantalizing. As I w^as finishing 
 my toilet, I heard the steps of the day matron. 
 She paused at our blind alley, and then in com- 
 manding tones came the order : 
 
 " Maggie, stick your arm out." I hurried to 
 my door, vainly speculating on what w^as ex- 
 pected. Then came further instructions : " Stick 
 your arm through the bars so I see it. You must 
 do this every morning when you hear me." So 
 that was the way she ascertained whether I was 
 dead or alive without the trouble of examining. 
 Presently we w^ere ordered out into the ward 
 corridor, and formed in line. My eye caught 
 Elizabeth's, but gave no sign of recognition. 
 We had already learned one of the many un- 
 written prison rules, which is that any form of 
 greeting between inmates is considered immoral, 
 
 47 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 evidence of what is termed "lady love/' and 
 promptly punished. 
 
 In grim silence we filed to the table in the 
 alcove. I noticed w^ith interest that Elizabeth 
 was seated between two powerful colored women. 
 Elizabeth comes from the South, and has race 
 prejudices. Will these survive, or will she lose 
 all race consciousness, as I have with Minerva, 
 and feel only a sense of companionship, the kin- 
 ship of a common cause? 
 
 In tense silence we ate. Breakfast is literally 
 shoveled down, for the time allowed is the short- 
 est possible. I could eat nothing. It was the 
 same unpalatable stew and coffee, and the on- 
 slaught of the hungry women disgusted me. Yet 
 as I stole glances at my companions, I noticed 
 the neat hair and the clean hands even when 
 those hands were worn with toil, and I was aware 
 that the lack of table manners was chiefly due 
 to want - of time and pressing hunger. The 
 hunger theory was soon verified, for when we 
 were back in our cells and the matron had gone 
 to her breakfast, Minerva whispered : 
 
 " Say, Maggie, if you don't eat, give it to me." 
 I eagerly promised. 
 
 Again we had been left in our cells with noth- 
 
 48 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 ing to do. At about eight, nearly an hour later, 
 we were released, and again formed in line. 
 Always there was the same grim silence. Mi- 
 nerva was tallest, and led us. Next to her 
 came " Lizzie," while I was well toward the 
 middle. Slowly we marched down-stairs and 
 into the workshop, where, with hands folded, we 
 sat at long tables. For five or ten minutes we 
 sat thus, abject and patient, then a bell rang, 
 and we were told to put on rubbers and capes. 
 Somehow the luxury of rubbers seemed incon- 
 gruous, in view of the many hardships, yet per- 
 haps because they were a luxury the women took 
 pride in their possession. Now we filed out into 
 the prison yard clad in our little black capes, 
 which came scarcely below the waists of our 
 clumsy white wrappers. Upon our heads we 
 wore a knitted woolen head-piece called by some 
 strange freak of absurdity a " fascinator." We 
 resembled a group of dejected little orphans sud- 
 denly grown old as round and round the yard we 
 marched. 
 
 It was with a great sense of rejoicing that I 
 felt the fresh morning air in my face and saw 
 the blue sky overhead. I quickened my step, 
 and I noticed that Minerva, with head erect, was 
 
 49 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 striding forward with the power and freedom 
 of some Greek goddess. I saw Elizabeth's arms 
 begin to swing in rhythm with her body, but 
 only for a moment; for an ever-watchful ma- 
 tron's eye was upon her, and she was directed to 
 fold arms, walk in the middle of the path, and 
 stop jerking. 
 
 Under this dreary regime the joy of exercise 
 vanished as round and round we went in rigid 
 order and forlorn silence. On three sides rose 
 the red brick walls of the building, while on the 
 fourth was the stone wall shutting out the world. 
 The path ran round a struggling grass-plot over 
 which hung the clothes-lines. It was all sordid 
 and ugly. The spirit grew weary. By the 
 time the fourteenth round was reached, one 
 would give a kingdom to turn about face and 
 walk in the opposite direction. 
 
 At last the half-hour was up, and we were 
 ordered back to the shop. I promptly attempted 
 to sit next to Lizzie, but that w^as not permitted. 
 Part of prison discipline is to separate friends, 
 and I was placed at the extreme other end of the 
 work-table. I saw with pleasure that Minerva 
 sat just opposite Elizabeth. Our task was hem- 
 ming heavy, red blankets. At another long 
 
 50 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'' 
 
 table women were picking cotton. The dust 
 from this rose, and filled the room, causing great 
 discomfort and coughing. A few women were 
 making mattresses, and there were some hand 
 sewing-machines and three old foot looms. This 
 was the extent of the industrial equipment. 
 
 There were fifty of us in the workroom, with 
 three matrons keeping guard. They sat at high 
 desks, glaring and silent, ready to scold or to 
 punish if hand flagged or eye wandered. There 
 was a big clock, and I watched the minutes drag 
 by. But release came long before expected. 
 At ten o'clock Ward VII was ordered back to 
 their cells. I rose, and followed my compan- 
 ions. What was to happen? No less momen- 
 tous event than the weekly bath. All work 
 stopped; a morning was sacrificed to this task 
 when, morning and night, prison life abounded 
 in idle hours. Locked in our cells, we were 
 brought forth one at a time, and scrubbed by 
 the colored convict trusty in the presence of the 
 matron. Each individual bath takes only a few 
 minutes, and then the dreary hours to dinner- 
 time must be spent in lonely idleness. The 
 whole prison life is a hotbed of such gross mis- 
 management. 
 
 51 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 The system is based on stupidity and igno- 
 rance. If half the common sense devoted to 
 business were expended on prisons, the physical, 
 if not the spiritual, aspect of these institutions 
 would be transformed in a day. As it is, hun- 
 dreds of working people are given into the State's 
 care, and are taught nothing, produce nothing, 
 are ill housed and ill fed, and their time and that 
 of the guards or keepers is wasted. The result 
 is an organization w^hich manufactures crimi- 
 nals, and is maintained at great cost to the State. 
 I begged off from a bath on the score that I had 
 had one the day before, when changing w^ards. 
 The rapid immersion of one person after another, 
 in the same tub, with no proper facility for 
 cleansing, did not seem hygienic or sanitary. 
 Once a week, along with the bath orgy, clean 
 underwear is furnished, and from these the new- 
 comer must rip off the name of the last wearer, 
 replacing it with her own. 
 
 I had finished labeling my garments with 
 ^^ Maggie 933 '' when I heard the matron ask 
 Lizzie to sew labels on the dirty wash rugs of 
 the cells, that they might be sent to the laundry. 
 But Lizzie was busy with her clothes,' and I 
 darted forward to claim the privilege. For it 
 
 52 
 
"MAGGIE MAETIN, 933'^ 
 
 was a privilege to sit in the open ward with 
 something to do, even though the dirty rugs 
 were nasty to handle. Even so small a diver- 
 sion as this is precious, and I found that others, 
 like myself, were eager for such duties. Keen 
 rivalry existed for the privilege of scrubbing the 
 floor. 
 
 At a quarter of twelve we had lunch in the 
 alcove. There was the same speedy despatch of 
 the same pasty stew. Then came an hour in the 
 cells, and at one another dismal half-hour's 
 march in the yard. At one-thirty we sat silently 
 over our tasks. I made various experiments. 
 First I sewed fast and then slow; sometimes I 
 hemmed well and then ill. But all brought no 
 comment, as long as one's fingers were busy and 
 eyes to the front. To work faithfully for a State 
 that ill-treats and ignores one is no satisfaction. 
 Nor is the cent and a half a day that one rarely 
 receives an incentive. The total of this large 
 wage for a year is five dollars, but as a fine of 
 fifty cents a day for each day of punishment is 
 imposed, it is seldom a prisoner has any funds 
 on release, even after a long term. Car-fare 
 and the ten dollars furnished by the State are 
 usually the capital with which the ex-convict 
 
 53 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 must face the world, with small chances of se- 
 curing employment. 
 
 So we stitch, stitch, stitch, ancl sigh, sigh, 
 sigh, and do as little as we can, and move our 
 feet silently, but restlessly. Visitors come, and 
 we steal glances from under half-closed lids. 
 We dare not look up, though we fain would see 
 these well-dressed and happy human beings. 
 The bent head and the downcast eye encountered 
 by the prison visitor are due not to shame, but to 
 fear — fear that a smile or a glance will be 
 punished. The average convict is as completely 
 cut off from communication with mankind as 
 though he were buried six feet underground. 
 His one letter a month to the outer world is in- 
 spected and he dare make no complaint. His 
 one visitor a month must be seen in the presence 
 of a guard or keeper, and he dares tell of none 
 of the prison miseries. The few brave souls who 
 have spoken have frequently suffered torture 
 from keeper or guard. It is a cruel thing to give 
 one man unlimited power over another whom 
 we have rendered helpless. It is like giving a 
 cat a mouse to play with. Human beings can- 
 not wield supreme control without degenerating 
 into tyrants. 
 
 54 
 
" MAGGIE MAETIN, 933 '' 
 
 But at last it was four-thirtv, and the one 
 event of the day was at hand. For ten minutes 
 the barrier of silence was broken, and intercourse 
 was i3ermitted. But even these precious minutes 
 were robbed of their joy, for a matron, with ear 
 alert, listened to every word, and the friend with 
 whom one would talk was placed at a distance. 
 I longed to know how Elizabeth felt. Her face 
 was white and drawn. Did she want to leave? 
 But if I could not inquire, I had at least bested 
 the authorities by sending a secret message 
 through Minerva, who now sat next her. In a 
 stolen conversation with Minerva I begged her 
 to ask Lizzie how she was, and whether she 
 thought we would be called out as witnesses on 
 Friday or Saturday? The fiction that we were 
 to return to the city as witnesses in a case had 
 been decided on as the best way to avert sus- 
 picion when we made a sudden departure. I 
 saw Minerva and Lizzie in earnest conversation, 
 and I knew I should have my answer that 
 night. 
 
 I turned to my companions, but they were as 
 sleepers suddenly awakened, and utterance came 
 slowly. To be commanded to talk, and to know 
 that in a few short moments you would be 
 
 55 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 stopped, makes speech halting and awkward. 
 There is so much to say, and so little time. I 
 noticed opposite me a round-faced, good-looking, 
 good-natured young Irish girl, and I tried to 
 draw her out. This was her first experience of 
 prison life, as her young, carefree face showed. 
 She had only a few more weeks to serve, and 
 was counting the days till her release. She gave 
 me some scraps of history of some of the others, 
 but the matron was straining every nerve to 
 hear, and we grew silent. We had hardly begun 
 before a bell rang, and the moments of respite 
 were over. 
 
 That evening I could not even eat my bread ; 
 it seemed to have acquired a prison odor. How- 
 ever, it was not wasted, for all uneaten bread 
 was gathered up and reserved for the next meal, 
 a splendid method of transmitting disease. I 
 had not yet had my message from Elizabeth, but 
 that must wait until the night-w^atch made whis- 
 pering safe. To-day more than ever the horror 
 of prison life had laid hold of me. My endur- 
 ance was at an end. I decided not to wait for 
 my message, but to seek relief at once. As the 
 matron left for the night I asked permission to 
 write to the warden. To my consternation, my 
 
 56 
 
" MAGGIE MARTIN, 933 " 
 
 request was denied, and I was told that notes 
 could be written only in the workshop in the 
 morning. Then indeed I was a true prisoner ; no 
 power I could exert would release me before 
 morning. To tell the matron I was a prison com- 
 missiouer would be foolish. She would merely 
 think me crazy, and clap me forthwith into the 
 cooler as in need of restraint. 
 
 To be so utterly helpless was keenly disturb- 
 ing. It required all the will I possessed not 
 to make some desperate move for liberty. But 
 visions of the punishment cells rose to confront 
 me. My fear was great, and I did nothing. 
 Vainly I tried to calm myself. I trudged up and 
 down my room, and every second my need of 
 freedom increased. Now that I knew there was 
 no escape, imprisonment was not to be borne; 
 my nerve was giving away. This would never 
 do. Long before nine and the opening of the 
 wooden portal, I was whispering to Minerva, 
 and she told me that Lizzie thought we should 
 be called out as witnesses on Friday, and I real- 
 ized that Elizabeth, like myself, had had all she 
 could stand. I invented excuses to keep Minerva 
 talking, so much I dreaded solitude ; but she was 
 fearful, and begged for caution. 
 
 57 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 Sleep had become impossible. I went to bed 
 only to jump up again and pace back and fortb 
 and cling to my bars. I began to have the hor- 
 rible sensation that I had been trapped, that my 
 prison adventure was a scheme to lock me up 
 for life. I imagined my friends so busy with 
 their affairs that they had forgotten and for- 
 saken me. I foresaw that the prison authorities 
 would accept no explanations. I should merely 
 be considered another criminal gone " dippy " or 
 " bughouse/' as prisoners call it when they lose 
 mental control. 
 
 I pulled myself together with a start; I 
 realized that I was on the verge of a breakdown. 
 If ordinary prison life could have this effect, it 
 was lucky I had not sought punishment in the 
 cooler. The tales of its horrors rushed to my 
 mind. I saw and felt the dark, windowless cell 
 in the basement, which contained naught but a 
 bag of straw. Into this damp, isolated dungeon 
 the quivering, despairing human being is thrust, 
 and when the victim grows hysterical, there is a 
 canvas straight- jacket, in which she is strapped 
 and left to lie on the floor, and then in the dark 
 watches of the night, horror of horror, mice and 
 rats issue from their hiding to play about the 
 
 58 
 
" MAGGIE MARTIN, 933 " 
 
 prostrate body. Little shudders ran up and 
 down my spine. 
 
 I was glad my light still burned and that oc- 
 casionally I could hear Minerva cough; but at 
 nine the lights went out. Would the night never 
 end? I imagined I heard groans. The girls in 
 the ward over the punishment cells said they fre- 
 quently heard cries. I must not give way, and 
 with sternness I set my mind to the task of con- 
 trolling my body. 
 
 An hour or so had slipped by when I was sud- 
 denly waked from a nap by groans that were not 
 imaginary. It was Minerva. There could be 
 no doubt. In increasing anguish, her distress 
 mounted and sobs broke from her. I was at my 
 door, but what could I do? I whispered, but she 
 did not hear. I thought of shouting, but to what 
 purpose, w^hen no one could hear save helpless 
 creatures like myself? Would the night matron 
 never come? 
 
 Minute after minute dragged by, and the 
 sounds in the next room as of a caged animal in 
 torture continued. Sick at heart and faint, I 
 clung to my bars. At last came those ponderous, 
 solid steps. Would the matron hear? Surely 
 she could not help doing so, the cries were so loud. 
 
 59 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 She paused at the alleyway to listen. TJien out 
 into the darkness, in hard, cold tones, came the 
 question : 
 
 " What 's the matter? " 
 
 Between long-drawn sobs came the answer : 
 
 " Such pain, such cramps ! '' 
 
 Breathlessly I waited for the unlocking of 
 doors and speedy assistance, but again in short, 
 curt words this church-going, benighted female 
 flung back an order : 
 
 " Ru^ it, and keep still." 
 
 Despite past brutality, even I had not expected 
 such cruelty, and Minerva was suffering too 
 keenly to obey. The gasping moans continued. 
 Finally a light was turned on, and Minerva was 
 inspected. Then the heavy steps moved off and 
 presently they returned. This time evidently 
 with some remedy that brought relief, for after a 
 while the sounds of distress grew fainter and 
 ceased. So the night wore on, bringing with it 
 no rest. 
 
 I no longer cared w^hether I made a success of 
 my prison investigation or not. I had one con- 
 suming desire, to get out. I mechanically went 
 through the morning task of dressing and eating, 
 my whole being centered on the note to the 
 
 60 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 warden. The workroom was hardly reached be- 
 fore I made my request. This time it was not 
 denied, and with a prayer of thankfulness I saw 
 the sealed note sent on its way. 
 
 My heart grew lighter again; I could observe 
 those about me. Visitors came to the door, and 
 daringly I reached for another blanket and 
 turned my head for a glimpse of them. They had 
 scarcely departed, under the guidance of a smil- 
 ing young matron, when the officer who acts as 
 industrial instructor turned upon me. Piti- 
 lessly, in the presence of the fifty other women, 
 she derided and upbraided me for boldness and 
 indecency. Her strident, masculine tones fell 
 like blows. I shrank from her fierceness, and I 
 saw in the demeanor of my companions indig- 
 nant protest and a longing to rush to my rescue, 
 but it all passed over me like water over a duck's 
 back; for as I looked from the window I saw 
 coming down the prison yard the warden's 
 secretary. My heart leaped in wild exultation. 
 At last my deliverance was at hand. 
 
 A few minutes later we were sent for to go to 
 the office. The eyes of all were upon us as Lizzie 
 and I went eagerly forth. The fiction that we 
 were needed as witnesses was carried out, and we 
 
 61 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 were told to hurry, that we might catch the noon 
 train for the city. We were led to the clothes- 
 room, and our possessions were returned to us. 
 We found some of our things badly damaged as a 
 result of the cleaning and fumigating that they 
 had undergone. Several articles were missing. 
 Elizabeth's stockings were not to be found. But 
 such trifles were insignificant. Somewhere out- 
 side was the blue sky and great open spaces and 
 fresh air, and our clothes were flung on anyhow 
 and pieced out, w^here lacking, with the prison 
 supply. The two matrons who presided at our 
 dressing to make sure we carried out no concealed 
 notes had become almost human. Under the 
 spell of our approaching freedom they talked in 
 friendly manner, and gave copious advice, chief 
 of which is, " Take a fool's advice, and never get 
 in again." Our assertions that w^e ^^ never will ^' 
 were vehement and forceful. 
 
 As we walked down the long hall leading to the 
 entrance, my arm slipped through Elizabeth's, 
 and I gave it an ecstatic squeeze ; but though re- 
 lease was only a yard away, this unseemly be- 
 havior was not to be tolerated. 
 
 " Girls, girls, that won't do ! " came the warn- 
 ing. " Let go of each other ! " 
 
 62 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933" 
 
 Must all the beauty and sweetness of love and 
 friendship be crushed in prison for fear that 
 beneath it may lurk something evil? But only 
 for a moment was our ardor damped, for just 
 beyond the iron gate was the great green, fresh 
 world. 
 
 With thumping hearts we emerged into the 
 street ; silently and timidly we moved toward the 
 station, for a matron was with us, and our hour 
 for speech had not yet arrived. In perplexity 
 we pondered how to make our escape. Would 
 this woman insist on seeing us on the train? 
 This would be disastrous, for we had planned to 
 seek refuge in the home of our former host. For- 
 tunately, the train was late, and having safely 
 landed us on a bench in the station, the matron 
 made her , departure. With furtive glances, like 
 true ex-convicts, we watched the matron's move- 
 ments, and as she left by one door, with stealthy 
 caution we made for another, and hailed a taxi. 
 Safely within, the flood-gates burst open, and the 
 pent-up speech of days poured forth. We were 
 two pallid and wobbly-looking objects who 
 climbed up our host's door-steps. 
 
 Two or three davs later, before the news of 
 our imprisonment had been made public, Eliza- 
 
 63 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 beth and I went back to the prison. We felt it 
 was due the women that they should know our 
 purpose in becoming prisoners, and not be led to 
 believe we had been spying. As Elizabeth and I 
 journeyed back through the long corridors to 
 Ward VII, it was queer how the old prison feel- 
 ing returned. The matrons were much discon- 
 certed at the disclosure of our identity. The 
 old dragon slunk off without daring to look at 
 us. We stood at the end of Ward VII while the 
 girls formed in line, and then hand in hand 
 Elizabeth and I stepped forward. At first there 
 was no sign of recognition, but I smiled, waved 
 my hand at Minerva, and said : " It 's Maggie 
 and Lizzie come back to you. Don't you know 
 us? " There were smiles and starts and exclama- 
 tions of astonishment. Then I told the women 
 who we were, and assured them that our whole 
 object in becoming prisoners w^as to help them; 
 that I hoped we might succeed, that our hearts 
 were with them and always would be, and they 
 could rest assured that anything said in confi- 
 dence would be guarded as sacred. All this time 
 I watched Minerva's face. At first it was grave 
 and serious, but at my last sentence it became 
 wreathed in smiles. Then we all shook hands 
 
 64 
 
"MAGGIE MARTIN, 933'' 
 
 and talked. But the women hardly knew how to 
 be friendly; it was too sudden a breakdown of 
 the relentless prison barriers. As we left, one 
 woman grasped our hands, to utter with passion- 
 ate fervor, " You 're brave women." 
 
 65 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 IT was a crisp, clear winter's day. The fire 
 crackled brightly on the hearth, the steam 
 sizzled in the radiator, an expanse of blue sky 
 and dazzling sunshine shone through the big 
 windows. It was all so warm, so vital, so bright ! 
 
 With sinking heart I opened the letter bearing 
 the prison postmark. It brought back too vividly 
 the prison cell. My voluntary week in prison 
 had cut deep. I closed my eyes and felt again 
 that cold and barren cell, with dirty, yellow 
 walls, iron bars, and gloomy painted window 
 through which no patch of sky or flash of sun- 
 shine ever came. I remembered the passionate 
 longing for a glimpse of the world, a smell of 
 fresh air. 
 
 What had my experiment accomplished except 
 to leave me with an ugly memory? Had any 
 impression been made on the prison department? 
 Or was it like so many Government organizations 
 
 66 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 so busy existing it had no time to inquire what 
 it was doing? Then my eye fell on the following 
 sentence : 
 
 The paint has been taken off the windows, and we can 
 talk in the shop. 
 
 A queer, glad rush of feeling seized me as I 
 realized that there w^as one official who was 
 human. 
 
 With eagerness I tore open the remaining let- 
 ters. Every sentence bore evidence of a new and 
 humane prison system. But woven in with the 
 glad tidings was disturbing information: the 
 matrons and keepers, guardians of the old order, 
 were rebelling at the new. 
 
 We are talking now, and the paint is off the windows, 
 but we pay dearly for this. The head matron says she 
 thinks it ridiculous. We are accused of using language 
 that is of the lowest. We are promised the talking will 
 soon stop. 
 
 Or this: 
 
 One of the girls asked for paper to write you and said 
 you were a friend to her and the rest of us. The matron 
 said, " How dare you ? " And then they put her on bread 
 and water in her room. She is a long-timer. The ma- 
 trons are mad, because we can talk, and pick on us all the 
 time. 
 
 67 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 The new freedom was not to be won without 
 suffering, but so it is with all progress. The ad- 
 vocates of the old system fight desperately each 
 step of the new way. They fear each reform as 
 a personal menace. It was hard to be patient 
 during the next few weeks. My own experience 
 made me understand the intolerable indignities 
 and petty tyrannies that can be practised by 
 stupid people with limitless power. Everything 
 was done to nullify the reforms of the official 
 with the kindly heart. 
 
 As my correspondence grew, the women I had 
 met casually in prison came to be distinct per- 
 sonalities. There was Mary, the young colored 
 girl who scrubbed me so vigorously w^hen I served 
 as a convict. She proved to be a jolly, light- 
 hearted, irresponsible young woman. In her 
 bubbled the spirit of youth, ever eager for a good 
 time. A child of nature, with no power of con- 
 trol, she was always in trouble. But to suppress 
 Mary was as futile as suppressing the sunshine. 
 She was every one's friend, the defender of the 
 downtrodden, for whose sins she was punished. 
 Her first letter was pitiful. 
 
 I am locked in my room and only leave it to empty my 
 bucket and a few minutes' walk in the morning. 
 
 68 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 Two women and I were sewing on a bed in the shop. 
 One was kidding me. I don't know what was said, but 
 some one laughed. The oiBcer reported us. We were put 
 on bread and water and locked in our rooms. 
 
 I asked five matrons if they knew what I was punished 
 for. No one seemed to know. The Head Matron would 
 not come to see me or send me any word. My temper got 
 the best of me and I destroyed my table, chair, and win- 
 dow. I guess I was crazy for the time. You see, I had 
 just talked to the Warden, and my time was nearly up, 
 and he had promised to try to get me out if I was good. 
 
 I have been locked in this room nearly five months. 
 There is no light at night, and there is a wire screen over 
 the window, so I cannot open it to get the air, and I am 
 not allowed with the other women. 
 
 It seems as though being put in a strait-jacket and kept 
 on bread and water for seven days was punishment enough. 
 The first time I was locked in seven months, the second 
 four months, and this time it is over five months. 
 
 This made sixteen months in the seven years of 
 Mary's imprisonment that had been spent in soli- 
 tary confinement. Small wonder if occasionally 
 her temper got the best of her. Her boundless 
 energy needed outlet in work. Her uncontrolled 
 nature could only gain balance through service. 
 The way to reach Mary was through her gay and 
 generous heart. Her crime against society was 
 the theft of two dollars. Not ordinary theft. 
 For plain pick-pocketing the punishment would 
 
 69 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 have been trivial : but one night Mary with two 
 other girls was out for a lark. As they left a 
 saloon they met two men and stopped to chat. 
 Presently one of the men missed two dollars. 
 Then arose an outcry. Mary's companions ran 
 and she was caught. No money was found on 
 her but she was convicted. The sentence was 
 from seven to nine years for two dollars ; for if a 
 woman takes money from a man in the night- 
 time, when he has sought her for illegal purposes, 
 it is grand larceny. The law gives to strong men 
 special protection. 
 
 In contrast to Mary's wild gaiety was the 
 patient meekness of little Christine. She is 
 twenty-three, and was sent to prison when nine- 
 teen. I remember well the first time I saw her ; 
 even the prison cell looked big in contrast to her 
 little figure. As she crept close to the bars, her 
 head scarcely came to my shoulder. She had 
 small, shy features and small, shy ways. Her 
 golden hair was pulled straight back. Her blue 
 eyes were expressionless. 
 
 I spoke of the little son born in prison. With 
 a dart she was at her table, taking from it her one 
 treasure, a picture of a radiant, laughing child. 
 As she handed it to me, her small face was trans- 
 
 70 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 figured; no longer expressionless, it was alight 
 with love. For the moment time, place, and self 
 were quite forgotten. But it was only for an 
 instant. Then a look of patient hopelessness 
 hid the mother love. — It was six months since she 
 had seen her baby. For two years he had been 
 in a children's asylum. I tried to get her story, 
 but she spoke only broken English. I asked her 
 to write. When her letter came and the Polish 
 was translated, this is what I read : 
 
 It is already nearly four years since I am locked up, 
 and there is no one to help me in my misfortune. 
 
 At the time of the arrest I was too young, and permitted 
 myself to be misled, and I am very terribly sorry; but it 
 is too late. 
 
 There where I worked I met the man for whom I am 
 now suffering and paying the penalty. He promised to 
 marry me. My friends were long married, but he told 
 me that his promise he 'd keep ; but I was not to tell any 
 one. I believed all the time that he was telhng the truth. 
 I had nearly $100, for which I worked so hard. He knew 
 that I had the money, and said I must give it to him and 
 all that was owed to me for work. He said there was one 
 pocket. 
 
 I did not think that he was deceiving me to my shame, 
 and I gave him all the money. Then I got suspicious, 
 and after two years asked him, "Why don't you marry 
 me?" I told him I couldn't stand this kind of thing 
 any more. When I reproached him he said he knew 
 
 71 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 nothing about it. He denied all he said before. He 
 could do as he pleased. Nobody could force him. He 
 would marry anybody he chose. He said, " America is a 
 free country, and I can do as I please." 
 
 By those words I was so overwhelmed from grief, re- 
 gret, and shame that I took his life. 
 
 I beg you, dear madam, very much to translate this 
 letter and explain what the reason was, when on trial I 
 did not speak, said nothing, because I was ashamed. 
 Therefore I was condemned with my child to be impris- 
 oned for ten to fifteen years. 
 
 With this letter in my hand and the memory 
 of the mother love in the little face, it was diffi- 
 cult to believe that society would wish to treat 
 Christine as a criminal. 
 
 Prison is as full of diverse personalities as the 
 outside world. It is populated by the meek, the 
 gay, the talented, and the ignorant. No special 
 shape of head or hand marks the convict. But 
 we are beginning to learn that many prisoners 
 have unusual personalities. It is as if they pos- 
 sessed a personality bigger than they could con- 
 trol, an inner, seething force that from childhood 
 had been misdirected. To this class of vivid and 
 striking personality belonged Harriet. Her gen- 
 erous, passionate nature came into conflict with 
 the well-regulated laws of society. She was the 
 
 72 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 Russian Jewess who the day I was bertilloned 
 had attracted my attention by her bitter grief 
 at the shame of being pictured and catalogued as 
 a criminal. She is small and well built, with 
 shapely hands and feet, black hair and large dark 
 eyes. She has needed intensely, lived intensely, 
 and had little. Her untrained will has not been 
 strong enough to curb her desires. Life for her 
 was a series of glowing possibilities. Eager to 
 satisfy her mind, she became mistress of several 
 languages, a student of law, and a reader of 
 Shakspere and Dante. Equally eager to satisfy 
 her body, she wanted fine clothes, gay little sup- 
 pers, and the luxuries of taxis. Added to this 
 was a generous nature which never refused aid. 
 The result for a working-woman spelt ruin. For 
 several years she w^orked as a private secretary 
 and drew a good salary. But books and clothes 
 and untold loans to friends could not be so met. 
 Soon the outstanding debts were great, and a 
 check was forged. 
 
 This was Harriet's second offense. On the 
 first occasion the disgrace seemed too great to 
 be borne. Coolly and calmly she had weighed 
 the alternatives of imprisonment or death. De- 
 liberately and without haste she had climbed 
 
 73 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 into a seven-story window and hurled herself 
 out. A few minutes later she was sitting on the 
 ground, bruised and shaken, with a cut that was 
 to leave a scar, but otherwise unhurt. 
 
 Then followed two years of imprisonment, 
 which did not cure, and Harriet went back to 
 society to continue as before. When the second 
 disaster came, a well-known woman pleaded for 
 her. The woman agreed to shelter Harriet, and 
 give her a salary that she might pay back little by 
 little the amount of the forged check. It was 
 evident that only in some such way would Harriet 
 learn control. But the court was adamant and 
 exacted its pound of flesh. Harriet was sent to 
 prison for four years. What will she be at the 
 end of that time? 
 
 Another woman whose letters began to pile 
 high on my desk and whose story haunted me was 
 Eose. It was the heart of a wife that cried out. 
 Her whole life was dedicated to her man and her 
 two little boys. At seventeen, with a conviction 
 borne of certainty that she had found her mate, 
 Eose fled to him. For ten years, through sick- 
 ness and poverty and the birth of two children, 
 they had struggled on together, w^ith an ever- 
 increasing love. But Eose was an outcast, for 
 
 74 
 
H f 
 
 (I 
 
 JO 
 
 O 
 erh 
 
 < 
 
 CD 
 
 e^ 
 05 
 
 O 
 
 cr 
 
 O 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 this man of lier heart had not married her. He 
 could not; he was already married. This was 
 the story she wrote : 
 
 I met him and loved him dearly, but three years before, 
 one night while drinking, he married. He never saw the 
 girl but that once. I made my mistake when I went with 
 him, but I thought we could save together for a divorce. 
 But when we had $70 saved I fainted at my work, and was 
 told I would be a mother in three months. I didn't 
 know before; I was only seventeen. My sister came to 
 live with me, and was taken ill and sent to the hospital. 
 Next month Ed was in the hospital with typhoid. I 
 never missed going to see them every day, though I ex- 
 pected my babe in four weeks. Two days after my hus- 
 band came home (he is my husband to me) I went to 
 Sloane Maternity at 11 p.m. My babe was born at 2 
 A. M. We started to save again, but every time we had 
 $25 or $30 it was sickness and no work. 
 
 Ed only earned $12 a week. I worked in a Y. W. C. A., 
 then I worked in a bakery taking crackers off hot pans 
 until my fingers were burnt to the bone, but it was $5 a 
 week. It may seem funny that in 9 years we could n't save 
 enough for a divorce but there were two children, my 
 own operation, and Ed's sickness. 
 
 After my second boy came I got in trouble. I did 
 sewing home for a few I knew, and when I was offered 
 things in pay for my work I took them, even though I 
 suspected how they was got. For I wanted to sell them 
 and get money. We had a chance to go as caretakers of 
 a big country place, and I wanted to go there married. 
 
 But I was arrested for receiving stolen goods. Some 
 
 77 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 one wrote to the court that I wasn't married, and they 
 showed me no mercy. I was bad for living with a man. 
 Yet I know girls who are married and have children, yet 
 they drink and go out with men. 
 
 I love my darling so much I would give my life for 
 him. Do you think I am bad for saying this ? 
 
 I tried to quiet the restlessness Rose's letters 
 created, telling myself that this woman was a 
 convict and probably lying. But I got no peace, 
 and I went out in search of the facts. It was 
 easy to find Ed. He came at once in response to 
 my call, a fine, upstanding young man, well- 
 dressed, well-mannered, and attractive. Behind 
 him tagged two small boys, shy and clean and 
 wearing kid gloves, a testimonial of the father's 
 supreme effort to educate them as gentlemen. 
 This would-be husband and father was still 
 deeply in love. It was true his faith had been 
 shaken. He had thought Rose a divinity, and he 
 found her only human. Besides, since Rose's 
 imprisonment, there had been no letter. In 
 prison a husband must be duly certified to make 
 letter-writing permissible. In all the long weeks 
 Rose had been allowed no word from her little 
 sons or been able to send one. This I explained, 
 and all the man's passionate love returned. 
 
 78 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 From the husband I went to the lawyer who 
 tried the case. He was sure Rose was all right; 
 that it was a case of taking things to keep 
 the house attractive and to hold the man upon 
 whom she had no legal claim. Then there 
 were Rose's people and the family clerg;ymian, 
 all of whom were confident of Rose's innate 
 goodness. 
 
 It was all very puzzling. The world in its un- 
 thinking, heedless fashion was spreading dis- 
 aster. It was ruthlessly tearing a man and 
 woman apart, leaving two children homeless, 
 nameless, and illegitimate, while the man was 
 sent back to a woman of the streets. It could 
 not go on. Rose would go insane. She was sob- 
 bing her heart out in the prison hospital. My 
 entrance into prison had brought a brief diver- 
 sion, but in the excitement of discovering who 
 I was she had unwisely passed a note. This 
 brought punishment. She wrote : 
 
 I have been kept in punishment for 20 days. I came 
 out of the hospital the day you came to prison and you 
 can picture a sick woman in the cold cell you had for 20 
 days. The bucket had no cover and was emptied only once 
 in 24 hours. I nearly died. My body is starving-. I can't 
 keep anything on my stomach, and my very soul is starved 
 for my darlings and a kind word. I am all alone in that 
 
 79 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 wing off the main ward. I fear my mind will leave me. 
 I am in shop now, but I walk my floor all night. 
 
 Such suffering was unendurable. 
 
 I remembered the official with the kindly heart 
 who had let in a flood of sunshine through un- 
 painted windows, and I made an appeal. 
 
 Some days later there came an official letter. 
 In it was a note from Kose directed to the offi- 
 cial w^hich explains itself. 
 
 Dear sir: 
 
 I want to thank you for the first night's sleep and the 
 happiest day I have had since I came to prison. When 
 I received my husband's two letters I forgot I was behind 
 prison bars. Accept my thanks and my sincerest wishes 
 for a Happy New Year. 
 
 Little by little the convicts grew to be real per- 
 sonalities. I longed to go to them. Then one 
 fine morning came the news that there was a new 
 head matron, and I should be welcomed. 
 
 In twenty-four hours I stood at the prison gate, 
 bag in hand. With beating heart I rang the bell. 
 The gate keeper with his great key ceremoniously 
 unlocked the clanking gate. A wicked delight 
 possessed me at my power to open and close that 
 barred door at will, where before I had been hus- 
 tled and bustled about. In a moment I was 
 
 80 
 
MAGGIE MAETIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 greeting the jolly-faced, smiling, new matron. 
 Her amiability hid for days the fact that no- 
 where beneath the soft surface was there a back- 
 bone. 
 
 With cordiality the freedom of the place was 
 accorded me. As I stepped into the big, barren 
 hall, a group of convicts filed past. So deep was 
 the prison experience that reality vanished. 
 Again I was a convict. A helplessness seized me ; 
 instinctively I turned to fall into line. Even 
 the matron at my elbow felt the pull, for she 
 addressed me as ^^ Miss Maggie.'' Then I saw 
 this was not the prison of a few weeks before. 
 Instead of sullen, expressionless faces, there were 
 smiles, waving hands, and turning heads as the 
 convicts flashed out their welcome. The despotic 
 and relentless discipline had been broken; hu- 
 manness had crept in. How queer is the solidar- 
 ity engendered by common misery and a common 
 cause ! Never before had I felt so bound to any 
 group of people. We had a gay reunion. We 
 met freely, without keepers or guards, to discuss 
 prison problems. And always the suggestions 
 for reform came to the same end — the need for 
 self-expression instead of utter annihilation. 
 This human need for self-expression, love and 
 
 81 
 
SOCIETY^S MISFITS 
 
 companionsliip is wilfully ignored in all prisons. 
 Hysterical, defective or insane is the verdict as 
 the barred door of the punishment cell slams 
 to on some sobbing woman. Yet can any one 
 be normal whose aching hungry heart and 
 passionate longings are condemned to weeks, 
 months and years of suppression? Like a puri- 
 fying fire was the return to normal relations, the 
 give and take of friendship, the opportunity to 
 serve others. 
 
 As the result of our meetings a league was or- 
 ganized. This league was to be the prisoners' 
 mouthpiece. The head matron agreed to accord 
 it the same hearing as that given to matrons and 
 keepers. Through the league the prisoners 
 hoped to show they were to be trusted, and 
 little by little win some degree of self-govern- 
 ment. 
 
 The new organization was called ^^ The Daily 
 Endeavor League." The representatives, one for 
 each ward, and the president were chosen by the 
 prisoners. The color emblem was a blue bow, 
 proudly worn on each dress front. There was 
 nothing exclusive about this organization, for 
 all might be members. Only in case of abuse 
 was a prisoner to be suspended ; but even then a 
 
 82 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 period of good behavior made reinstatement pos- 
 sible. 
 
 It was a serious and earnest group that met in 
 chapel to take the oath of allegiance. Gravely 
 we signed the document that was to us a charter 
 of enfranchisement. For the first time in his- 
 tory prison reform was to come from within. 
 
 What a melting pot prison is. It struck me 
 anew as I felt the hand-shake of those 114 women. 
 There was the toil-worn misshapen hand of the 
 scrubwoman and Harriet's delicate, shapely one. 
 The vigorous warm grip of some sturdy colored 
 girl and Christine's shy pressure. Russian and 
 Irish, colored and Italian scrubwoman and pros- 
 titute bound together by a common misery, now 
 joyfully working together for a common cause. 
 Solemnly each woman left the chapel and filed 
 back to her cell and a deep hush of peace fell 
 upon the prison. Will there some day be such 
 peace over all the earth? 
 
 My prison visit had come to an end, and I 
 returned to the city. But day by day my mail 
 grew in interest. Letters were no longer con- 
 fined to tales of personal woe; life had grown 
 bigger than that. Not personal needs, but how 
 to improve conditions, was the chief topic. 
 
 83 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 Kose and Harriet were made representatives 
 of their wards, and, still more wonderful, Mary, 
 released from months of punishment, was the 
 best representative of all. Under her guidance 
 her ward which held the most difficult cases be- 
 came a model. Her unfailing tact soothed 
 ruffled tempers and brought peace out of dis- 
 cord. 
 
 Harriet was not so successful. She exacted 
 too much. The president wrote; 
 
 Harriet's trouble is overzealousness. She is so thor- 
 oughly in earnest that she fails to realize that others can- 
 not grasp her ideas and break away as readily from little 
 habits as she can. Overzealousness will hinder as much 
 as lack of interest. But we must be patient. 
 
 As for Kose, her responsibilities transformed 
 her. Tears were suppressed, and she became a 
 normal human being. She turned her pent-up 
 emotion into service. For centuries men have 
 worked shoulder to shoulder for a common end. 
 Women have not had such training. It was dar- 
 ing to expect that this group of extreme indi- 
 vidualists could bury personal miseries and con- 
 secrate themselves to the general welfare, but the 
 daring was justified. A reign of good behavior 
 descended upon the prison. The punishment 
 
 84 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 cells stood empty. Hysterics ceased, and grudges 
 were forgotten. 
 
 The first reform the league sought was a re- 
 lease from the cells on Sunday. 
 
 The interminable solitary hours from Satur- 
 day night to Monday morning had been a great 
 hardship. Now Sunday afternoon the women 
 w^ere allowed to mingle together freely for an 
 hour. 
 
 The league president wrote: 
 
 I want you to learn what a good time we had. While 
 we have enjoyed numerous little privileges, to-day is the 
 first we had our Sunday afternoon recreation hour. I 
 know it will give you much pleasure to hear that the 
 women behaved exceptionally fine and drew forth very 
 favorable comments from the officers in charge. It was 
 a grand success, and I am very happy to-night, for the 
 girls are falling in line as we hoped. 
 
 Perhaps to lighten the seriousness that de- 
 scended on prison life, the new head matron 
 decided to give a valentine party. It was a 
 kindly thought, yet I almost regretted it; for it 
 was important there should be nothing in the 
 nature of a bribe for good conduct. The lesson 
 humanitv needs to learn is that life's value lies 
 not in what we can get, but in what we can give. 
 
 85 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 Therein is the secret of all reform. However, 
 this burst of gaiety brought such happiness I 
 could only rejoice as I read the following : 
 
 I know you want to hear about the dance on St. Valen- 
 tine's day. To say we had a delightful time is but put- 
 ting it mildly. You have no doubt experienced the feel- 
 ing every girl does when preparing for her first dance. 
 You know what a fever of excitement and expectancy 
 there is. Well, so it was with the "girls" here. Such 
 "fixing-up" and borrowing of plumage you never saw. 
 The ball opened at 4 and ended at 9 p. m. 
 
 I can picture former employees of the institution throw- 
 ing up their hands in consternation at the " inmates of a 
 prison" keeping such unearthly hours. 
 
 But real progress is not made without strug- 
 gle. Such harmony did not continue. Black 
 specks appeared on the horizon, which rapidly 
 grew into ugly clouds. The former hostility of 
 the matrons was renewed. If the good behavior 
 of the convicts continued, fewer keepers would 
 be needed. The staff might be cut in half. 
 Tales were pouring into the head matron's ears 
 of plots and counter-plots until her smiling ex- 
 terior was a ruffled surface. Who were right, 
 the convicts or the keepers? Doubtingly she 
 listened, and ended by giving allegiance to the 
 matrons. 
 
 86 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 Meantime little by little the prisoners^ letters 
 showed the drift of affairs. They struggled 
 loyally to be true to the new head matron, but 
 doubt entered. It crept out in such sentences : 
 
 The new head matron is kind and good, but she will 
 never be able to reform conditions until the majority of 
 the old matrons are removed. 
 
 There must be the spirit of kindness in the officers to 
 reach the good that exists in the heart of the prisoner. 
 The officers bitterly resent the league. They hate to lose 
 the power they had and abused. 
 
 But ignorant hostility was not the only ob- 
 stacle. The whole system was wrong. The 
 head matron made no change in the wretched 
 prison diet and the work remained a farce. Day 
 after day the women hemmed blankets and boiled 
 food in vats, while the prison circular announced 
 the inmates were learning to sew and to cook. 
 
 Sunshine had crept behind the gray walls. 
 The punishment cells stood empty. These facts 
 were glorious, but something else was needed, if 
 prison w^as not to become a place to mark time 
 in futile and wasteful. One woman's entire five- 
 year term had been spent scrubbing one floor. 
 What would she do when released? Continue to 
 scrub or fill the monotony of her empty life with 
 
 87 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 wild gaiety? An expert stenographer was wash- 
 ing clothes in the laundry. Every day rough- 
 ened hands and swollen joints made return to 
 her trade less possible. Surely society for its 
 own sake didn't wish to cripple the people it 
 locked behind bars and make them unfit for any 
 life but that of the street and crime. 
 
 Brooding upon these things, I seized pad and 
 pencil and worked out a wonderful industrial 
 program. Then I again returned to prison. The 
 head matron greeted me kindly, and consented 
 to let me try my plans. But she was not sympa- 
 thetic. A benevolent despotism had supplanted 
 a despotic tyranny. That for her was sufficient. 
 Again we met in chapel. It was late afternoon. 
 The sunshine flickered through the barred win- 
 dows. The ugly room, with its dirty, pinkish 
 walls, its yellow, wooden benches and cheap car- 
 pet, jarred the senses. Then the sun sank, and 
 a warm, red glow softened this discordant back- 
 ground and mellowed the women's faces. A hush 
 fell on the 114 convicts as they sat there quietly 
 without keeper or guard. All the rigidity of 
 bearing that comes from iron discipline had 
 vanished. Here a hand was carelessly resting on 
 a bench back or a shoulder drooped or a body 
 
 88 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 was bent forward in eager intentness. Sim- 
 plicity, humanness, and intelligence shone in 
 the eager faces. The mask of impenetrable sul- 
 lenness had been torn aside. Suddenly, as I 
 faced this vibrant, awakened audience, my plans 
 crumbled. What godlike qualities did I possess 
 that would enable me with wisdom to map out in 
 smallest detail the lives of these women? Like 
 accusing fingers on the white paper before me 
 flared out my elaborately worked-out prison 
 schedule, with its hours for sewing, its hours for 
 cooking, its hours for recreation. 
 
 There flashed upon me the picture of myself 
 as a voluntary prisoner. I felt again the crush- 
 ing hopelessness of those strips of cold iron as 
 my body pressed against them, and the insane 
 desire to break out and demand a hearing, to 
 insist on being treated as a human being. That 
 was the key-note — the need of being treated as 
 a human being, not as a cog, a dirty cog in a 
 machine. If an effective program was to be 
 wrought, it must be made in conjunction with 
 those women whose lives it vitally concerned. 
 They must be given not only work but the de- 
 velopment that comes from work. 
 
 Throwing aside my position as prison commis- 
 
 89 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 sioner and becoming again Maggie Martin, 933, 
 I jumped down from the platform. In dis- 
 jointed, halting sentences I said I came not as a 
 director, but to put upon them the burden of 
 evolving a prison program. As I proceeded joy 
 and self-respect crept into many faces. The re- 
 sponse was tremendous. From all parts of the 
 room rose the buzz and hum of discussion. 
 Bodies straightened, shoulders were squared, as 
 the w^omen faced this new and wonderful thing 
 demanded. With disconcerting intelligence that 
 put my machine-like plans to shame, they went 
 straight for the vital issues, leaving for later the 
 minor details. With infinite wisdom the first 
 matter discussed was : " Shall all be treated 
 alike?'' 
 
 On one side of the chapel, occupying the first 
 few rows of benches, sat the " old-timers," the 
 second and third offenders, those who had previ- 
 ous records. On the sleeves of these was branded 
 the mark of shame. A red or blue disk and white 
 stripes showed the number of previous imprison- 
 ments. The system herded them together as in- 
 corrigible. All that was hardest in prison life 
 fell to their lot. They lived in the cold, damp 
 cells in the basement, where sunshine never came. 
 
 90 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 They were the victims of rheumatism. By day 
 they worked in the moist, steaming laundry, and 
 at night slept in damp, cold cells. This patient, 
 dejected little group was now all alive to know 
 the verdict of their companions. Particularly 
 did their eyes seek the faces of another group on 
 the other side of the chapel. These were the 
 " trusties," the official favorites. They had the 
 better and easier tasks and occupied a sunlit 
 ward. All day their cells were flooded with sun- 
 shine. There were plants in the unpainted win- 
 dows. There were pillow-shams on their beds 
 and tablecloths on the tables, for theirs was the 
 show ward. 
 
 I waited results. In the outside world we are 
 too proud of superiority to desire equality of 
 treatment. But the crushing shame of iron bars 
 binds prisoners together in a real sisterhood. 
 " One ain't better than another,'' was the general 
 verdict. " Because you 're a second-timer don't 
 mean you're bad. Most likely it means that, 
 being a jail-bird, the world didn't give you a 
 show, and you had to go back to crime or the 
 streets to live." 
 
 So they reasoned. The vote was unanimous. 
 Every prisoner, regardless of creed, color, or 
 
 91 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 previous prison record was to be given the " same 
 chance." Listening, it seemed imperative that 
 the women have the opportunity to live up to this 
 ideal. Temporarily I had the power. My mind 
 seized on a plan. Probably it was against all 
 tradition and any moment a higher authority 
 might intervene, but this was the time for deeds, 
 not for fears. Waving my hand at the two 
 groups, I said: 
 
 " If you 're in earnest, why not change places? 
 For months the old-timers have had the worst of 
 prison and the trusties the best." 
 
 It was a daring suggestion. A hush fell on 
 the chapel, but only for a second; then swiftly, 
 with mighty tumult, the applause shook the 
 building. With one accord every woman arose 
 to the occasion, swept on and up by the ideal 
 demanded. 
 
 Such enthusiasm needed action. I called the 
 two groups to come forward. I suggested they 
 pack their belongings and effect a transfer of 
 rooms at once. Gaily they departed, some forty 
 or fifty women in all, without keeper or guard. 
 Quietly they went on their mission to pack their 
 odd treasures. Prison possessions are few, and 
 soon they were returning. The first to appear 
 
 92 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 was a former " trusty/' now destined to be a mar- 
 tyr. A great straw hat given to her when work- 
 ing in the prison yard, decorated with a gaudy 
 ribbon, was perched on the side of her head. In 
 her arms was a soap box, with her few posses- 
 sions, post-cards, a stray book or two. Her pallid 
 face, with its soft, quivering, childish mouth, 
 was wreathed in smiles. Like a veteran return- 
 ing from the war, she was greeted with wild en- 
 thusiasm. One by one they came straggling 
 back, Harriet almost sorrowful that she was to 
 gain by the transfer, and Christine serenely con- 
 tent with her opportunity for service. All were 
 quiet and orderly, but every face was radiant; 
 heads were carried proudly. It was good to be 
 trusted, and to prove worthy of trust. 
 
 When all had reassembled, they set out for 
 their new wards. In a few moments each had 
 chosen a cell and returned to chapel. Thirty 
 minutes was the time consumed in the transfer 
 of nearly fifty women to different cells. Ordi- 
 narily, such a readjustment would have been a 
 day's work, each prisoner solemnly escorted by 
 keeper or guard. 
 
 Thus is the State money wasted on unnecessary 
 guards and the convict deprived of the freedom 
 
 93 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 of action and responsibility that alone builds and 
 strengthens character. A little deed, this chang- 
 ing of wards, yet the spirit in which it was done 
 had opened a new world and given every woman 
 a glimpse of greatness. We had been lifted out 
 of ourselves by a true democracy and a real un- 
 selfishness. To those of us who had experienced 
 that radiant vision of big things, it would never 
 quite vanish. 
 
 As I left the chapel, it was difficult to walk 
 sedately. I wanted to run and shout and tell 
 the whole world of the innate goodness in all 
 human beings. But at the foot of the stairs I 
 met the keepers. Their glum, scowling faces 
 flashed upon me like a blow in the face. They 
 had been kept a half hour overtime. I tried to 
 explain our meeting and the wonder of it. To 
 them it was nonsense; they were not interested. 
 Their task was to see that prisoners did not es- 
 cape. They were not paid to reform convicts. I 
 offered to do their work and lock every cell, but 
 this was against the rule. I hesitate to criticize 
 these women. Probably wisdom and nobility are 
 not to be had for board and |30 a month; but 
 more than new buildings and elaborate equip- 
 
 94 
 
MAGGIE MAETIN'S FKIENDS 
 
 ment, prisons need fine people, possessed of com- 
 mon sense and human understanding. 
 
 The first department we attempted to trans- 
 form was the kitchen. I really did nothing. I 
 only secured for the women the opportunity to 
 talk, to plan, and to work. Upon the convict 
 cooks was put the responsibility of furnishing 
 eatable food and teaching the art of cooking. 
 Many times I had stood in the kitchen doorway 
 and seen gloomy, sour looks, and pans of unap- 
 petizing food sent to hungry convicts. Grim 
 silence prevailed, while vast chunks of food were 
 tossed into vats and steamed into unpalatable 
 masses; for punishment food, not wholesome 
 food, was the objective. Occasionally an order 
 was given, and mechanically the prisoners 
 obeyed. Life here, as elsewhere in the prison, 
 was mere existence. 
 
 But now all was bustle and activity. Seven 
 convict teacher cooks, with seven convict pupils, 
 had been chosen to serve in the kitchen. Long 
 and eager were the discussions, and untiring the 
 efforts. There was one kitchen stove. To boil 
 things in vats was easy; anything else meant 
 
 hours of labor. 
 
 95 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 When dinner was served that day a little sigh 
 of contentment ran around the tables as each 
 prisoner gazed at her plate. Instead of the 
 boiled and tasteless mass of codfish and potatoes, 
 there were slices of fried fish and a baked po- 
 tato, the regular Friday food, transformed by a 
 labor of love. 
 
 It is curious what a small thing it takes to 
 awaken a feeling of good-fellowship. Eye met 
 eye with a new light. This deed of the convict 
 cooks had stirred the desire in all to contribute 
 like service. It was a tired but happy group of 
 kitchen women that went to bed that night. A 
 new dignity had come with responsibility and 
 new interest in work. 
 
 But this wonderful promise of big things was 
 crushed. The new program demanded hard 
 labor. The convicts uttered no word of com- 
 plaint at long hours and discomforts incidental 
 to all readjustment, but the matrons rebelled. 
 They could no longer idly watch the prisoners, 
 move them about from spot to spot, and lock and 
 unlock them at given hours. 
 
 One day a colored convict became violent. 
 She was gradually going insane. She pulled an 
 iron slat from her bed and threatened to kill 
 
 96 
 
MAGGIE MAKTIN'S FEIENDS 
 
 whomever approached. Panic spread among the 
 officers. As if the whole prison had gone mad, 
 they seemed to imagine the only safe course was 
 to lock every one up. Yet the world had not 
 changed. Little Christine was as meek as before. 
 The league members as industrious as ever. A 
 few days later the insane woman was sent to 
 Matteawan, and the panic subsided. But mat- 
 ters grew steadily worse. Keadjustments were 
 made to suit the matrons, and favors conferred 
 on certain girls. The program of equality and 
 hard work was undermined. Even the league 
 was receiving its death-blow. In joint debate 
 the women had suspended a member for un- 
 worthy conduct. She was put on probation. 
 Instantly the girl was befriended by the keepers, 
 and the league ridiculed. This put a premium on 
 bad conduct. Sick at heart, I went away. Not 
 many days later I learned that the head matron 
 had made herself the league's president, and that 
 the representatives had been directed to report 
 misbehaviors to her and the officers. Self-gov- 
 ernment with the officials in command was a 
 farce. The women must not be left in such a 
 predicament, and I returned, this time to disband 
 the league. The head matron immediately with- 
 
 97 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 drew from the presidency, but it was futile to 
 proceed when we had neither the comprehension 
 nor backing of those in charge. 
 
 It was a grief-stricken multitude that met in 
 chapel. I feared a riot. The league had grown 
 dear to every heart, but the vote to disband was 
 unanimous. An organization whose representa- 
 tives must report to officers and become stool- 
 pigeons and tattlers could not be tolerated. I 
 was determined there should be no secrecy about 
 the cause of the league's disbandment. Openly 
 we would announce our decision. As I made my 
 brief statement, I saw the joy go out of 114 faces. 
 The women sat in huddled, discouraged groups, 
 muttering together. I seemed to be killing the 
 thing that I loved. But the fight was not over. 
 Angered at being held responsible for the league's 
 failure, two matrons rose to do battle. In shrill 
 voices they denounced the women as traitors, yet 
 called upon the convicts to testify for my benefit 
 as to their loyalty and kindness. It was a queer 
 scene, those in official positions seeking vindica- 
 tion from others whom they held to be the scum 
 of the earth. As I looked into those convict 
 faces, flushed with struggling emotion, I won- 
 dered if any one would have the courage publicly 
 
 98 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 to face that official world and state the truth. 
 One word against an officer, and that prisoner 
 may be harried and worried like an animal in a 
 cage. Yet I waited, hoping against hope, for that 
 qourage which defies the world. 
 
 Then half-way down the chapel I saw Harriet 
 slowly rising, white to the lips, but steady. Re- 
 spectfully the words came: 
 
 " You really have n't been good to us. You 
 did n't like the league and made fun of it." She 
 got no further, for her mates, thrilled by such 
 dauntless courage, rose to her call. Like shots 
 from a cannon, burst out the mighty applause. 
 
 And now from the other side of the room an- 
 other girl had risen, but I dared not let matters 
 go on. My position as commissioner placed me 
 falsely on the side of the officials; I adjourned 
 the meeting. 
 
 So we failed. The big dreams we had dreamed 
 did not come true. Perhaps I had expected too 
 much. Perhaps I ought to have been content 
 that Rose could write Ed and her boys, and 
 Christine see her small son twice a month. 
 
 But except for these flashes of individual hap- 
 piness the mass struggle blindly on as before, 
 beating time until their day of release. In no 
 
 99 
 
• SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 department is real training being given. When 
 the women are released, frequently they come to 
 me. Their pitiful helplessness is only too appar- 
 ent. One woman begged me to meet her at the 
 Grand Central Depot. The noise and glare of 
 the city after the long years of seclusion terrified 
 her. She clung to me like a frightened child. 
 When we passed a policeman her whole being 
 quivered and shrank and marked her a convict. 
 I got her a room in a boarding house until she 
 could get employment. When I handed her the 
 latch she was paralyzed. The strain of locking 
 and unlocking a door for her who had been locked 
 in for many years was nerve-racking. She 
 stayed in her room to avoid it. It was days be- 
 fore her awkward fingers readjusted themselves 
 to pots and pans, and kitchen utensils, her former 
 implements of trade. It is cruel to move pris- 
 oners about like pawns on a chess-board and 
 send them back to society robbed of initiative. 
 It is as heartless as carrying a little child and 
 then thrusting it into the crowded street to walk 
 alone. 
 
 Some day the thing I have dreamed must come 
 true. Prison will be transformed, changed from 
 a prison to a home. At its head will be a wise, 
 
 100 
 
MAGGIE MARTIN'S FRIENDS 
 
 intelligent mother, able to distinguish between 
 the daughter who would be a militant and the 
 one who would be a Jane Austen, treating each 
 according to her needs. In place of the mattress- 
 making, the women will manufacture the wrap- 
 pers and female garments now made by men at 
 Sing Sing. The smell of real food will issue 
 from the kitchen. All will be bustle, cheer, and 
 activity. And best of all, the women will be 
 moving about their tasks without keepers or 
 guards, learning self-control through self-gov- 
 ernment, living a life such as she will be asked 
 to live w^hen she returns to the world outside. 
 Only when such a day dawns can we equip con- 
 victs to face a doubting and hostile world and 
 prove their integrity. 
 
 > 3 
 
 3 J J » > ) 
 
 J J 9 , » » . 
 
 ) > J ) > 
 
 
 101 
 

PART II 
 BEHIND REFORMATORY WALLS 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 It was while engaged in work for the Chil- 
 dren's Court that I discovered most reformatories 
 don't reform. Visits to institutions were never 
 satisfactory. I couldn't get the children to talk 
 freely. I felt they were suppressed and afraid. 
 
 Then came the idea of consulting convicts who 
 had been institutional children about life in re- 
 formatories. It would be difficult to win the 
 prisoners' confidence but hidden in each heart is 
 the spirit of service. If I could stir this feeling 
 and make the convict realize that he might save 
 children from a fate like his own, he would lay 
 bare his heart. 
 
 With this in mind, I went to Sing Sing prison, 
 and interviewed "Happy Jack." His story is 
 told in the succeeding pages. The information 
 he gave me made me sure I had found the way 
 to secure real knowledge. Then I spent my 
 voluntary week in prison, and realized as never 
 before the horror of life behind the bars. I knew 
 the helplessness of adults caught in the clutch 
 of prison authorities, wielding limitless power. 
 
 105 
 
INTEODUCTION 
 
 It was appalling to think what might be hap- 
 pening to the locked-in boy or girl. They had 
 no power of redress, no way to voice their suf- 
 fering. I determined to go to other convicts as 
 I had to Happy Jack, and appeal for further in- 
 formation and assistance. As a lawyer I should 
 have been mistrusted, as a social reformer 
 doubted, but as " Maggie Martin, 933," a fellow 
 convict, every prisoner extended his hand. 
 
 Through the kindness of Mr. Thomas Mott 
 Osborne, Sing Sing and Auburn prisons were 
 thrown open to me. I went first to Auburn. It 
 was one Sunday morning, I spoke to the men. 
 They filed into chapel, 1,500 in number without 
 keeper or guard, and sat with upturned expectant 
 faces. My own heart was heavy. The papers 
 were full of the account of tens of thousands 
 of men slain on the field of battle. Love in the 
 world seemed dead. Yet as I looked at those 
 faces, scarred and torn with emotions, I read 
 tenderness and human understanding. Sud- 
 denly I knew w^hat to say : "Let us fight to save, 
 not to kill. Strong men are needed. My wom- 
 an's heart has seen the vision but I need your 
 strong arms for the fight. Help me save little 
 children. Tell me what is wrong with reforma- 
 
 106 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 tories. What has crushed and broken your 
 lives? Alone I am helpless, with your aid every- 
 thing is possible. Will you fight the good 
 fight?'' 
 
 " Comrade, I give you my hand, I give you my love more 
 precious than money. I give you myself before preaching 
 or law. Will you give me yourself ? Will you come travel 
 with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we 
 live?" 
 
 Somehow they caught my vision, felt all the 
 things I left unsaid. The Divine spark in 
 each answered the call. Without a word, swept 
 by a simultaneous and common impulse, they 
 arose and stood in hushed silence. Not a sound, 
 not a hand clap, but as I walked between the long 
 line of men, out from the chapel, each chin was 
 set firmly, shoulders squared, and eyes moist 
 with emotion. Plainly on every face was writ- 
 ten the promise, " Henceforth we are fighters, but 
 we fight not to kill, but to save/' 
 
 That is why I know the stories told of re- 
 formatory life are true. The response in Sing 
 Sing was the same. Yet the world has not lived 
 through my experiences. It doubts the records 
 gathered from convicts. For the doubters, let 
 me state that I verified many records. In all, 
 
 107 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 I collected about 1,700 records and 200 stories. 
 Fifty cases taken haphazard I verified. Under 
 his different aliases I looked np a man's record 
 in the numerous reformatories and prisons in 
 which he had been confined. In each instance 
 the statements made were correct, the only dis- 
 crepancy being a variation of a few days in date. 
 A study of the records thus gathered disclosed 
 the fact that two-thirds of the men confined in 
 prison had as children been in some sort of juve- 
 nile institution. 
 
 The pitifulness of the stories told made plain 
 why so many reformatories do not reform. 
 Physically, mentally and morally, children in 
 institutions were being abused. When not 
 abused the spirit was neglected. There was no 
 love. During the past generation, man's 
 strength has been largely directed to material 
 achievements. But there are equally thrilling 
 and bewildering revelations to be made in the 
 human spirit. To speak the word that opens the 
 human heart and makes the bent and twisted man 
 burst his bonds and stand forth in all the glory of 
 manhood; or makes the tiny child blossom like 
 a flower, are discoveries requiring great men and 
 w^omen. Neither the law nor scientific methods 
 
 108 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 of reform can touch the spirit. In prison and 
 out, the way to remake the world is to release 
 the bit of God in each heart. 
 Sparta, New Jersey. 
 July 3rd, 1916. 
 
 109 
 
WHY CAN'T A KID WRITE TO HIS 
 
 MOTHER? 
 
 1WAS talking with a convict. We were dis- 
 cussing reformatories. Suddenly his eyes 
 flashed and he said, " No one, unless he has gone 
 through what I have, can realize how wrong it is 
 to send a child to a reform institution. I was 
 sent to the reformatory at the age of nine for 
 taking coal from the railroad to keep my mother 
 and four small children warm. Up to that time 
 I had never stolen or used bad language. I was 
 an innocent child. But when I came out seven 
 years later, I was a full-fledged young devil. 
 There are officers in that institution not fit to 
 herd swine. I think if it were n't for children's 
 reformatories, one prison would be sufficient to 
 keep all the prisoners of this state." 
 
 This statement set me thinking. On all sides 
 were stories of boys and girls made worse by a 
 term in a children's institution. Visits to vari- 
 ous reformatories shed little light. Rows of 
 
 111 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 children sitting in school, or shop, or marching 
 silently to meals tell nothing. The superintend- 
 ents of the institutions dilated on what was good, 
 never on what was evil. How could I get at the 
 defects? How find out what was wrong in the 
 system? It brought me back to the convict. 
 The men who had been hurt by a term in a re- 
 formatory were the ones to consult. I deter- 
 mined to talk with them, and secured permission 
 to interview the inmates of Sing Sing and 
 Auburn prisons. I found that two-thirds of the 
 prisoners had been in reformatories as children. 
 They were bitter in their hatred of these places. 
 All denounced them as crime-breeders. 
 
 They were eager to save the children of to-day 
 from a fate like their own. Gladly they gave 
 records and stories which demonstrated the rot- 
 tenness of manv so-called " reformatories." Fif- 
 teen hundred prepared written statements. 
 With unfailing trust, they gave aliases and dis- 
 closed facts unknown to the police. A convict 
 serving a short term as a first offender would lay 
 bare four or five previous arrests under other 
 names. Many of these cases I verified. In every 
 instance the statements made were correct. It 
 became apparent that the majority of convicts are 
 
 112 
 
WHY CANT A KID WKITE? 
 
 reform-scliool graduates. As a child progresses 
 from grammar to high school, from high school 
 to college, and from college to university, so de- 
 linquent children graduate from one penal in- 
 stitution to another. 
 
 Besides giving records, one hundred and fifty 
 men wrote the stories of their childhood, in 
 a reformatory. These tales show why it is 
 that reformatories don't reform. One rule 
 that exists in nearly every institution is that a 
 child shall not write to his mother more than 
 once a month and not then if naughty. Such a 
 rule is intolerable. Ninety times out of a hun- 
 dred the best influence in a child's life is his 
 mother. He confides in her, he goes to her for 
 advice, and for the touch of her hand when ill or 
 hurt. When sent away he has the hand of man 
 against him and no mother to help. 
 
 This is one man's story. He is a prisoner in 
 Auburn — twenty-two years old. He was first 
 arrested when thirteen, and most of his life since 
 then has been spent behind prison bars. He has 
 still the dancing blue eyes and curly brown hair 
 of a mischievous youngster. There is something 
 clean, strong and energetic about him. He was 
 the kind of boy who smashed windows, played 
 
 115 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 ball in the street, and was always getting into 
 trouble. He was full of boisterous red-blooded 
 vigor and youth. Even ten years of prison have 
 not killed the sparkle and life. There is still a 
 ready smile and gay laughter on his lips. He 
 must have been the joy of his mother's heart — a 
 curly-headed, fighting man-child, always getting 
 into trouble and always going to her for help. 
 This is what he writes : 
 
 My dear Miss Doty: 
 
 You ask me the reason I 'm in prison to-day, and I tell 
 you straight : it was because I was sent to a reformatory 
 when thirteen and could n't have the good influences of a 
 mother. I couldn't even write to her, and naturally 
 when released I had gained a tendency to become "ille- 
 gitimate." I am only twenty-two, but I 'm a fine example 
 of a graduate from one of the lowest to one of the high- 
 est institutions. In 1906 when thirteen I was sent to the 
 reformatory, and when I left there after two years I was 
 a first class " mobbusler " and " prowler." I was n't out 
 a year before I was sent to Elmira for burglary. After 
 serving twenty-two months I was released on parole, but 
 within four months I broke parole and was sent to the 
 reformatory at Napanoch. I came out of there in Octo- 
 ber, 1912, and in January, 1913, was arrested and sent to 
 Sing Sing and then to Auburn, where I am now. I 
 have n't been out of prison more than a few months since 
 I was thirteen. 
 
 As a boy I was wild, but not wicked, and I did love my 
 mother. When sent away I was very lonely. You can 
 
 116 
 
WHY CANT A KID WKITE? 
 
 only write one letter a month in a reform school and not 
 then if you 've been bad. I wanted to tell mother things, 
 but I couldn't. I made up my mind to write and hide 
 the letters in my shirt and send them out by some feller 
 when he got discharged. It was against the rules. But 
 it can't be wrong for a boy to write his mother. 
 
 The reformatory was awfuL It couldn't make any 
 one good. I was sent there because I threw a stone and 
 hit a man. It was wicked to throw stones, but I didn't 
 mean to hit any one. I used to see the man with the cut 
 in his head and the blood coming. It frightened me at 
 nights, and I wanted my mother. I wanted to ask if the 
 man was well again. We slept in a great, dreary dormi- 
 tory, packed close with beds, a hundred boys in one room. 
 There were bars at the windows. In winter it was ter- 
 ribly cold. There weren't any mattresses, only blankets 
 on the beds. Often I couldn't sleep. You have to lie 
 just so in bed and mustn't put your hands under the 
 covers. If a kid falls asleep and his covers come off in 
 the night, the watchman, instead of pulling the covers 
 over a boy, gives him a crack with a rattan. It wakes the 
 poor kid in an awful fright. 
 
 They beat the children dreadfully. There was a little 
 Jew boy, and he didn't want to go to church because he 
 was a Jew. He was hit on the head, and the ear-drum 
 broke. I felt awfully sorry and gathered the little Jew boy 
 up off the floor and put him to bed. For my humane act 
 of picking up an unconscious boy from the floor I received 
 a " berrie " (stripped, put under a cold shower, and 
 beaten). If I could have written my mother, she would 
 have done something, but letters home are read, so you 
 can't tell anything; besides I had been bad for helping 
 the Jew kid, so I could n't write at all. 
 
 117 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 After a while I got hard and did n't care. I tried not 
 to think of my mother. Once eight kids and I planned to 
 make a get-away. When we had the door open, seven got 
 out, and then I and another feller started to follow, but 
 we were grabbed by the throat and knocked down, and 
 were taken down to the cellar and there given a " berrie " 
 that was a peach. The seven other kids was caught in 
 two weeks, and we was all given another " berrie." While 
 the kids were away, I and the other boy was beaten up 
 every day. 
 
 The day you interviewed me you asked why is it boys 
 in reformatories learn so little. It 's because the men in 
 charge of the school are foreigners and speak only broken 
 English, or else haven't any education, so how can any 
 one learn anything? 
 
 In institutions they don't believe in teaching you, they 
 try to beat it into you with " benders." I know you will 
 agree that boys will be boys, but if a boy in a reformatory 
 plays a joke on another, he is beaten up for it, and has to 
 stand in the yard for five or six days. You said the day 
 
 you visited reformatory there were only two boys 
 
 in the hospital and you wondered why because there were 
 1500 children in the place. I will explain the reason, for 
 I was in the hospital for a month, and I know. Nobody 
 will complain of being sick. The boys are supposed to 
 go to the hospital to be treated. I have seen kids between 
 nine and twelve have their teeth pulled out, and instead 
 of giving them a mouth wash to rinse and clean the mouth 
 and throat, the man in charge (he wasn't a Dr.) would 
 take a toothpick, put a piece of cotton on the end, saturate 
 it with iodine, and stick it on the raw, bleeding gum. I 
 have had iodine put on a knife-cut instead of having it 
 sticked. Also I had an abscess on my back, and for six 
 
 118 
 
WHY CAN'T A KID WKITE? 
 
 days I had nothing but iodine put on it until one day the 
 Dr. came and rushed me to the hospital and lanced it. 
 I still bear the scar. For everything that was the mat- 
 ter, you was painted with iodine. We used to call the 
 man in charge of the Dr.'s office the " iodine kid." 
 
 I have seen children have their necks and faces dressed 
 when they had running sores or ulcers, and a bandage 
 would be wrapped about their necks and left until it got 
 so filthy it had to be removed. 
 
 One day a kid came in from the yard with a broken 
 nose. He was about thirteen, and because he would n't 
 tell a lie and say some other kid hit him, he was given 
 twenty raps on the hands. Next day, before going back 
 in the yard, he said he had his nose broken playing ball, 
 but they would n't believe him. It is the same thing day 
 after day. Nobody believes you, and you get beaten for 
 everything. Can you blame the kids for not wanting to 
 complain when they are ill? There was two Italian boys, 
 big fellers about sixteen, who used to bathe in the same 
 tank with us. They were suffering from a blood and skin 
 disease. They went to the Dr.'s room, but the " iodine 
 kid" put them out. The scalp of one of these boys was 
 one big scab. Some kid told the Dr. about it, and he had 
 it taken care of. I don't know what became of the other 
 feller. This was not the only case of suffering. I know 
 a boy who was sent to the hospital, and in four days he 
 was dead of hasty consumption. He was practically dead 
 when he was sent to the hospital. I don't know if the 
 Dr. is to blame or not. There was n't any trained nurse. 
 The boy was n't given eggs and milk, though he asked for 
 them. The Dr. ordered them, but the kid never got them. 
 I know all this because I was in the hospital waiting to 
 be operated on for my abscess. 
 
 119 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 After I had been in tlie reformatory a long while, I 
 decided to try to get away again. I fixed it so four kids 
 could slip out, but they got caught. They got a " berrie " 
 and was asked how they managed to escape. One said, 
 " The kid showed us how easy it was," so then the man 
 in charge of the yard sent for me and asked me what I 
 meant. I told him, " America is a free country, and you 
 are allowed to express an opinion." But he did n't agree 
 and gave me a " berrie " and stood me in the yard every 
 day for a month. 
 
 As you see, I kept getting worse. I grew reckless and 
 did n't care what I did. I lost all touch with my mother. 
 I was always naughty and couldn't write her, and she 
 was too far away to come to see me. I was never able to 
 send out letters to her on the sly and after a while I tore 
 up those I had written and hid in my shirt. She grew to 
 think I was wicked and did n't love her, but it was n't so. 
 
 There are many other bad things in a reformatory, but 
 they are so awful, to be frank, I don't know how to express 
 them on paper, or any other way. The ridiculous and 
 severe punishments meted out for little offenses is shame- 
 ful. One punishment is standing in the aisle by the side 
 of the bed. When the lights go out, the kid is told to 
 kneel. He has to remain on his knees in one position 
 sometimes for hours. This is torture to a child, whose 
 mind is filled with fear that if he moves the punishment 
 will be increased. It breaks the child's spirit, and it is 
 worse than the prison cooler (dark cell). Instead of 
 using reformative and constructive methods, the kid is 
 humiliated and humbled until he becomes a sniffling 
 weakling. The kid that shows spirit and courage is 
 marked for experimental purposes. One of the most 
 vicious punishments is putting a kid under a cold shower 
 
 120 
 
WHY CANT A KID WEITE? 
 
 and beating him with a rattan. In the dead of winter I 
 have seen a kid put under a cold shower and kept there 
 till he fainted. 
 
 I hav© undergone every kind of punishment myself. 
 When I went to the reformatory, I was mischievous, but 
 I had a kindly nature. I never thought of doing violence 
 to any one. But after a few months in the place I can 
 truthfully say at times I had the inclination to commit 
 murder. The whole atmosphere of that reformatory is 
 the same as that of a state's prison except for the cells. 
 It does not inspire confidence in a kid. Elmira is as bad 
 as any of them. You go there, and when you come out 
 you are ready for state's prison because of what you have 
 learned. How can any one keep good when he never 
 comes in contact with anything good? My mother was 
 my one connection with good people. When I was cut off 
 from her, my only friends were my pals in reformatories 
 and prisons. Naturally when I went out I went with 
 them. I knew no one else, had nowhere else to go. The 
 day I got out of Elmira I was met by a pal. As soon as 
 we got to New York, we commenced drinking. That 
 night we planned a burglary for the following week. It 
 was the only trade we knew. Next morning I tried to 
 borrow my fare to Chicago. I wanted to get away and 
 start anew. But I drank, couldn't get the money, and 
 gave up all idea of changing my mode of life. I com- 
 mitted two burglaries in the two following weeks, and 
 here I am. 
 
 I hope this is the kind of information you are looking 
 for. I hope it helps the kids. If the reformatories were 
 decent the prisons wouldn't be half full. Let the kids 
 write to their mothers. Let them keep in touch with one 
 good influence in the outside world. Let them write her 
 
 121 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 unopened letters, then they can tell her when things go 
 
 wrong. If you want anything else, let me know. You 
 
 can call on me any time. Don't forget it. 
 
 D J 
 
 This was D. J.'s story. Marvelous that in spite 
 of it his eyes still sparkle and laughter is on his 
 lips! Many will say it is a convict's story and 
 therefore not true. But there are hundreds of 
 others like it. I for one, believe D. J. Here is 
 another letter, shorter, but equally to the point : 
 
 My dear Miss Doty: 
 
 It is impossible to express my feelings on paper in re- 
 gard to the punishment I received at the reforma- 
 tory. However, it may give you some idea when I say- 
 that ever since that time whenever I see any officers of 
 that institution it is like waving a red rag at a bull. I 
 have a scar on my cheek which I shall always carry as a 
 reminder. I have received brutal beatings by the police 
 and others since that day, but have no ill will toward any 
 
 but the officer at the reformatory who nearly killed 
 
 me. He has since died. At his funeral I learned there 
 was a grand ceremony, orations, etc., the priest stating he 
 was going to heaven. Well! if there is a God, and that 
 man goes to heaven, may I be sent to hell. I was com- 
 mitted to the reformatory by my parents because I re- 
 mained out late at night. Up to then I had not committed 
 any serious offense, but after my release I practiced some 
 of the ideas I learned at the reformatory, but was never 
 a success. As a result I have spent more than half my 
 life behind prison bars. 
 
 122 
 
Tough but interesting 
 
WHY CANT A KID WRITE? 
 
 I was only allowed to write my mother once a month, 
 and every letter was inspected. My mother came to see 
 me while at the reformatory, but when she was there the 
 party who inflicted punishment stood alongside, and when 
 my mother asked me who cut my cheek, I was in such 
 fear of him I stated I fell running across the yard. I did 
 not tell the truth until I arrived home. 
 
 My dear Miss Doty, the first prayer I have said in a 
 great many years was the night at Sing Sing after listen- 
 ing to your speech. I returned to my cell and uttered a 
 short prayer for your success. It may not have been a 
 classic, but if there is the God they claim there is, I be- 
 lieve He will enter that in His book in your favor, as it 
 came from my heart and was wholly sincere. Although 
 my record is bad, down in my heart I know I am not. 
 
 I trust you may forgive me for rambling off the way 
 I have, but whenever I speak of those days, it upsets me, 
 and I am hardly rational. If I could make you and the 
 public feel as I do, believe me, there would be a revolution 
 in regard to children's institutions all over the country. 
 
 Wishing you every success, believe me, 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 D C . 
 
 Suppose these men have exaggerated. Is that 
 a reason for not letting a child write his mother? 
 Evil flourishes behind closed doors. Foul air 
 is cleansed by fresh, germs are destroyed by 
 sunshine, hidden sores relieved by opening. 
 Why not let tbe outside world into the reforma- 
 tories? Good institutions will not object, and 
 
 125 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 the bad ones will be purified. No matter how 
 good an institution there is always a weak link. 
 The child should be protected against that link. 
 Unless children can write unopened letters, they 
 have no protection. It is barbarous that the 
 griefs of a child's heart, the woes and injustices, 
 can be told to no one. If childish imaginations 
 occasionally paint pictures that are not true, 
 what matter? D. J.'s story consists of facts. 
 Whether the little Jew boy's ear-drum was 
 broken, whether sick children are properly cared 
 for, whether barbarous punishments exist, are 
 matters that can be ascertained by inquiry. If 
 the stories are false, the mother can be reassured, 
 the child corrected, and no harm is done ; if they 
 are true, the quicker the mother, and every 
 mother, and all society knows, the better. 
 
 Every night thousands of little children in in- 
 stitutions go lonely to bed. There is no good- 
 night kiss, no touch of a loving hand, no one who 
 understands. But the little heart would be 
 greatly cheered if it knew that with daylight a 
 private, uninspected letter to mother might be 
 dropped in the post-box on the big, iron gate. 
 Some might not write, but to all, good and bad, 
 come moments when the soul cries out, moments 
 
 126 
 
WHY CAN'T A KID WRITE? 
 
 when confession is on the lips, hope and aspira- 
 tion in the heart; and then a child needs his 
 mother. 
 
 Such a reform could be brought about in a day 
 if the women of the United States willed it. No 
 institution can withstand the demands of the 
 mothers. Let the women see to it that the chil- 
 dren's institutions in her city or state permit free 
 communication between mother and child. Why 
 can't a kid write to his mother? 
 
 127 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 A FEW weeks ago a gray-liaired mother came 
 to me. Slie was a working woman. Her 
 hands were work worn, tears were in her eyes. 
 She smoothed the creases in her skirt nervously 
 as she told her story. Her hoy was in a reforma- 
 tory. She wanted my assistance. " Help me 
 get him out," she kept repeating. " Help me 
 get him out. He needs me and can't have me. 
 I 'm allowed but one visit a month. He 's only 
 fourteen and he 's growing hard. He 's suffered 
 for what he did. Each visit he asks will God for- 
 give him. The man he shot haunts him. He 
 deserves punishment for playing with a pistol — 
 he and I know that — but he did n't mean any 
 harm. They chased him and he got scared. He 
 fired; never looked where he fired and hit a 
 strange man. When he seen what he done, he 
 stopped running. He flung himself on the 
 ground and sobbed and screamed until the police 
 took him. For nights after he sobbed himself 
 
 128 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 to sleep. But now he 's growing hard. Last 
 visiting day his looks frightened me. He 'd 
 brushed his hair down to his eyes. He looked 
 sullen and ugly. At home he wears his hair 
 straight back. Then he has a sweet face. I 
 says, ' Oh, son, don't wear your hair like that,' 
 and he answered gruffly, * I can't help it. Mother. 
 It don't do to look good. They get after you. 
 You 've got to look hard here to live.' " 
 
 The gray-haired woman paused pathetically, 
 then added : " That reform school ain't doing 
 him any good. If I saw him oftener maybe I 
 could fill his heart with love. In his last letter, 
 he says * Please come soon. I '11 wear my hair 
 the way you like it.' " 
 
 As the little mother looked at me over her let- 
 ter, suddenly the memory of another mother and 
 son clutched my heart. The memory of a son 
 who also adored his mother, and was good to look 
 at, and who had been sent from her. At the 
 age of nine he was committed to the institu- 
 tion where the gray-haired mother's son now is. 
 He spent ten years within those grim walls. He 
 was not released. To-day, as a man, he is in 
 State's Prison. 
 
 Fear seized me. Understandingly I grasped 
 
 129 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 the gray-haired mother s hand as she rose to go. 
 " I '11 do my best/' I promised. 
 
 This is the other boy's story, the boy im- 
 prisoned throughout boyhood. I met him in the 
 State Prison at Auburn. His eyes first at- 
 tracted me. Though a man, he has child's eyes. 
 Beneath the shell of manhood is visible a shy, 
 sensitive, affectionate boy, a mother's boy, a 
 dreamer, a thinker, a boy with moral courage but 
 no physique. His eyes are honest but timid, the 
 beautiful eyes of a startled fawn. In their depth 
 lurks suffering. He has seen things that ought 
 never to be seen. A bad man, a criminal, he calls 
 himself, but the soft brown eyes belie the state- 
 ment. No man could look and speak as he does 
 and be innately wicked. His words come from 
 his heart. " Love," he says, " is the foundation 
 of all good things — of truth, honesty, and 
 beauty. I am a bad man with little chance to 
 reform. To fill me with the love I once had and 
 overbalance the bad, would require too much 
 kindness." 
 
 When he was nine his father died and left his 
 mother with seven children to support. The 
 oldest, a girl, was fifteen, so Larry and two others 
 were sent to a combination orphan asylum and 
 
 130 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 reformatory. At this time Larry was a good 
 little boy. He worshiped his mother. Often he 
 stopped his play to run and press his rosy cheek 
 against hers. At night he crept into her arms, 
 and on her knee, with little arms about her neck, 
 learned to pray. It was a bitter grief to leave 
 home. Those first weeks of separation were tor- 
 ture. He rarely saw his mother. On the 
 monthly visiting day there was frequently no 
 money for the trip or his mother had to work. If 
 his mother could have paid $2.50 a week, he might 
 have had a visit any time. But poor children 
 cannot enjoy the luxury of a mother. Daily and 
 hourly he longed for her. He wanted to tell 
 mother the terrible things that happened. But 
 when she came he saw her in a big visiting room 
 with many other mothers and children and his 
 little lips were sealed. He dared not tell what 
 he knew. To tell meant a beating and what was 
 worse yet, — punishment for mother. Next 
 visiting day she would not be allowed to see him. 
 One night a new teacher was put in charge. 
 The little boys hoped he would n't know the rules. 
 They began to whisper. After interminable days 
 of silence this was delightful. But the new 
 teacher, on the alert, heard the whispers. He 
 
 131 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 did n't know who was guilty so lie picked out five 
 boys from where the sound had come. These he 
 told to kneel. The rest he ordered to stand. 
 You could have heard a pin drop. The five kneel- 
 ing boys were commanded to hold out their 
 hands. Ten times a hickory stick fell upon each 
 little outstretched palm with mighty blows. 
 
 The new teacher meant to teach the class a 
 lesson. Not content with one punishment, at 
 periods of every half hour for four hours, he re- 
 peated the proceeding. The little hands grew 
 red and swollen. Some boys screamed with pain. 
 It seemed to the watching Larry as if hi^ heart 
 would break. He could n't sleep that night. He 
 saw the cringing boys and heard the screams. 
 He put his head under the covers and sobbed for 
 mother. 
 
 The children in that institution never had a 
 good time. There was an hour morning and 
 afternoon for recreation in the cement courtyard. 
 Some boys played baseball, but they had n't much 
 spirit. Larry wanted friendship more than 
 play. Eagerly he sought among the boys for 
 some one he could love, some one who would un- 
 derstand, some one to whom he could cling. 
 
 There was one boy with a face like an angel. 
 
 132 
 
Photograph by Brown Brothers 
 
 Gambling — these are the boys who form the never-ending 
 procession to the reform schools 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 He liad curly red hair with which the sun was 
 forever playing. It made a halo about the pale 
 face. He sang in the choir. Dressed in his 
 white surplice he seemed to Larry a real angel. 
 Here was a boy with whom mother would like him 
 to play. Shyly he offered friendship and the 
 red-headed lad responded. Larry's heart grew 
 almost glad. This new friendship was a sacred 
 thing. He was careful never to say or do any- 
 thing naughty in the presence of his friend. 
 They had little opportunity to be together, only 
 the recreation hour in the yard. Then they went 
 about arm in arm. Suddenly one night they 
 were detained after the other boys had gone to 
 bed. The teacher jerked the children in front 
 of him. Foul words poured from his lips. He 
 told the little boys they were wicked, loathsome 
 degenerates. They were always together and 
 held hands — that showed what they were. Lit- 
 tle Larry didn't understand. It took much 
 plain talk before he did. Then the world sud- 
 denly turned into a hell. He wanted to go away 
 and hide. Everything seemed dirty. If only he 
 could talk to mother ! But the teacher was not 
 through with him. He sent the little friend 
 away and then he stripped Larry and beat him 
 
 135 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 mercilessly with a rattan. When he grew short 
 of breath he paused to ask if Larry would con- 
 fess his wickedness. But Larry couldn't. He 
 had n't been wicked. He had n't even known 
 such evil existed. He said so. He w^as told he 
 lied. Again the rattan descended brutally. 
 Finally from sheer fatigue the man stopped. 
 Then he went upstairs to Larry's friend. Soon 
 Larry heard screams. His friend was being 
 beaten, his friend was accused of evil. For the 
 first time in his life Larry wanted to hurt some 
 one. He wanted to kill that teacher. Soon the 
 little friend, sobbing and terrified, was brought 
 downstairs. Again the terrible questions were 
 asked. Shame, rage, and horror possessed 
 Larry, but neither boy would lie. They were 
 beaten until they couldn't stand. Presently 
 they were carried to bed. For hours Larry lay 
 crying and cursing, he did n't know which. The 
 ten-year-old boy had become a man. The night 
 watchman making the rounds heard the sobs. 
 He came to the child's bedside. Larry showed 
 him the welts on his little body. The man 
 hastened for the doctor. The doctor had a kind 
 heart and a timid soul. He never dared right 
 any wrongs. But he rubbed ointment on the 
 
 136 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 bruises and listened to the pitiful story. He 
 promised to do the same for Larry's friend. But 
 this was the end of the friendship. 
 
 What had promised to be a David and Jona- 
 than relation was killed in its inception. The 
 children never again dared to walk together. 
 Moreover, they had grown self-conscious. The 
 beauty of their love had been destroyed. Larry's 
 heart grew hard. Prayers and mother were for- 
 gotten. Larry sought bad company. The un- 
 principled boys were wise. They knew how to 
 avoid detection. They initiated Larry. One 
 day he discovered his rough companions were 
 planning to escape. They had secured a key to 
 the big iron gate. It was risky but they were 
 desperate. The punishment when caught was 
 terrible. As luck would have it Larry and one 
 other got away. The rest were caught. 
 
 Larry was now thirteen. He had drifted far 
 from his mother. He was ashamed to go home. 
 He lived with a wild gang of boys in a bad neigh- 
 borhood. For the first time in his life he became 
 a thief. He stole to live. One day one of his 
 older brothers met him on the street and took him 
 home. It was good to see his mother again and 
 for a while it seemed as though Larry might 
 
 137 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 begin over. But it was only for a few days. 
 An officer of the institution sent for him. The 
 desperate mother tried to hide the boy. She saw 
 he was being ruined. She sent him to an aunt 
 and he got a position as errand boy. But in two 
 months he was discovered and taken back to the 
 reformatory. Again the great gate clanked be- 
 hind Larry. When he was safely within the 
 hated walls the principal took him to a bathroom 
 and ordered him to strip. Each second the boy 
 wished he might die. Then the rattan began its 
 work. From head to heels great welts grew vis- 
 ible on the little body. Over and over Larry was 
 asked the whereabouts of his companion. But 
 Larry was not a stool pigeon. He refused to 
 tell. The enraged principal beat with blind 
 fury. Unable to endure the agony the boy 
 screamed, " Why don't you kill me and have done 
 with it." It was his first outward rebellion. It 
 brought the principal to his senses. He threw 
 the rattan away and ordered Larry to put on 
 shirt and trousers. These garments were punish- 
 ment clothes, dirty and unwashed from the last 
 wearer. He led the boy to a cell. It was a tiny 
 place, seven by three feet. It had four bare walls 
 and a mattress on the floor. But Larry saw only 
 
 138 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 the occupant. It was Frank, a boy who had 
 tried to escape and failed. His eyes were sunken 
 and his face ashen. " Look at your companion/' 
 said the principaL " He has been here since you 
 left. Now it is your turn. Here you stay until 
 the other runaway is found." 
 
 He released Frank and put Larry in his place. 
 Larry flung himself face down upon his mattress 
 and thought and thought. It was three months 
 since his escape. All that time Frank had been 
 in a cell. He might be kept there a year. They 
 would never find the other runaway. He had 
 gone to sea. But if they killed him Larry vowed 
 he would n't betray his companion. Hours 
 slipped by and night came. A can of water and 
 a piece of bread were thrust in the cell. Larry 
 could n't eat. For four days not a morsel passed 
 his lips. Then the kind-hearted doctor came. 
 " If I bring you tea and cake will you never 
 tell? " he asked. Larry swore death first. Each 
 night the doctor came well supplied and Larry 
 gratefully forsook his hunger strike. One night 
 the doctor started to sit down by the boy on his 
 mattress. Larry pushed him hastily away. 
 " You must n't," he explained. " It 's alive, and 
 so are my pants and shirt." He exhibited the 
 
 139 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 crawling things. Horrified, the doctor departed 
 with some captured specimens. What happened 
 Larry never knew. The doctor never returned. 
 Day after day the boy lay idle ; no books, no com- 
 panionship, — nothing but four bare w^alls. 
 After interminable wrecks the headkeeper ap- 
 peared. " Your mother and little sisters were 
 here to-day. I sent them home crying. I told 
 them you were bad and couldn't be seen." 
 Weakened and crushed though he w^as, Larry 
 turned on his tormentor. " How dare you," he 
 screamed ; '^ is n't it enough to do what you have 
 done without telling me this? I hate you. I 
 hate all the world." The words had hardly left 
 his mouth when he was seized, shaken, cuffed, 
 and the door of the cell slammed to. Two more 
 months w^ent by. The boy grew ill. Then the 
 principal appeared with coat and shoes and 
 stockings and told Larry to dress. It was a cold 
 November day but he was given no underwear. 
 Then he was marched out doors and ordered to 
 stand on the gutter (a small space at the end of 
 the play yard). Here he stood for eight hours 
 daily ; no work, no school, no play. He w^as for- 
 bidden to speak and no one dared speak to him. 
 Desperation drove out fear. Larry found a piece 
 
 140 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 of iron. He meant to pick the lock of the gate. 
 But he was caught and back he went to the cell. 
 There was another beating, more solitary confine- 
 ment, more bread and water. One morning as he 
 emptied his bucket a keeper broke a broom handle 
 over his bare legs. 
 
 It was the one straw too much. Larry grasped 
 his tin bucket and flung it at his tormentor. Be- 
 tween his sobs he swore he would kill that keeper, 
 but next day a new man was put on duty. Three 
 weeks later the boy was again released from his 
 cell. He was now a fit subject for the infirmary. 
 This time Larry was put back into institutional 
 life. All hope of recovering the other runaway 
 had been given up. So life dragged on. Each 
 day brought new misery. But Larry had learned 
 many tricks and often escaped punishment. He 
 drifted far astray. His mother rarely visited 
 him. Love had vanished from his heart. 
 
 Then came the day of release — when he was 
 eighteen. The principal gave him ten cents and 
 a prayer book. Outside the gate he paused, 
 uttered a little curse, and threw the prayer book 
 into the gutter. Five of the ten cents went for 
 cigarettes. Then Larry set forth, but not for 
 home. No, that tie had been too completely 
 
 141 
 
/ 
 
 SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 broken. He felt polluted and unfit to associate 
 with mother and sisters. He met some boys who 
 had been inmates of the institution. They urged 
 him to take a drink. The remaining five cents 
 went for beer. Larry had become a desperado, 
 a full-fledged criminal. Yet as I write the word 
 criminal I realize it does not fit. In spite of the 
 abuse, the brutality, the dirt through which the 
 boy and man has been dragged, he has still the 
 sweetness of a child. Deep within is the ca- 
 pacity for love, a capacity that has kept his soul 
 alive through all ills. "I have," he says, 
 ^' broken all ten commandments but one. I have 
 not committed murder, and as God is my witness, 
 I have never been guilty of the crime with 
 which as a little boy I was charged. I am not a 
 degenerate.'' The pathetic and still beautiful 
 eyes testify to the truth of this statement. 
 
 Karely had any boy greater possibilities for 
 good. What he might have been is gleaned in 
 his own summary of his own story. " As a child 
 I adored my mother. She taught me to like 
 prayer. But that institution taught me to hate 
 it. They beat us if our lips did not move when 
 praying. They never stopped to consider that 
 the heart might be moving in silent prayer. We 
 
 142 
 
P 
 
 o 
 
 CD 
 
 O 
 O 
 
 i-i 
 
 O 
 O 
 i-S 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 children came to the conclusion it was better to 
 move the lips with curses than with prayers. I 
 never went to church after leaving there. Even 
 worse, I never bad the heart to pray. I figured 
 I had been made to say enough prayers to over- 
 balance all the crimes I could ever commit dur- 
 ing the remainder of my life. 
 
 " When I visited my mother, after my release, 
 she said, ' Larry, are n't you ever going to church 
 again? ' I looked in her eyes to see if she meant 
 it. Little did she know what I had been forced 
 to think of church and prayers. She reasoned 
 with me. She said all the happiness of the here- 
 after was for those who went to church. 
 
 " While she talked I could see the faces of my 
 keepers. I asked, Would they go to heaven? 
 She said, Yes. Then I began to laugh. She 
 asked me what the matter was. I said if those 
 people go to heaven there won't be much happi- 
 ness in the hereafter. 
 
 " Religious teaching is a good thing. But re- 
 ligion must be taught through love. If it had 
 been, my mother's love would be with me to-day. 
 I never kissed my mother after leaving that in- 
 stitution. This is a hard thing for me to say, but 
 it is only admitting the truth. I thank you from 
 
 145 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 the bottom of my lieart for helping me to state 
 what I have so long hidden. If you think I 
 could have done so under the old prison system, 
 you are mistaken. If Mr. Thomas Mott Osborne 
 and you and others like you can by kindness 
 penetrate my heart, what can you not do by kind- 
 ness, with the soft and tender hearts of little 
 children ? 
 
 " I have told you everything to help you guard 
 little children from a fate like mine. I will face 
 any one who dares say that one word of what I 
 have told you is false." 
 
 Larry's life cannot be lived over, but his story 
 may save others. There is the son of the gray- 
 haired mother. Like Larry, he is shy, sensitive, 
 and affectionate. His mother, his mother's love, 
 these are the things he needs. From these he is 
 being cut off. Something must be done. There 
 are over a thousand boys in this institution, and 
 all are in need. Larry's story is not exceptional. 
 A young man in Sing Sing Prison, who does n't 
 know Larry or his story but who as a boy went 
 to the same institution, writes as follows : 
 
 "At the age of fourteen I was arrested for 
 looting quarter gas meters. Of course it was 
 stealing, but I always ignored more profitable 
 
 146 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 spoils. I was sent to reformatory. It 
 
 would be useless to attempt to describe my 
 thoughts the first night as I laid in bed. They 
 went back to my mother. I could not resist com- 
 paring my situation with similar ones at home. 
 I permitted myself to indulge in the comparison, 
 with results nothing short of appalling. My bed 
 had scanty coverings, it was near a window, wide 
 open. I recalled my affectionate mother coming 
 to my bedside and inquiring : ' Are you warm 
 enough, dear? Does the draught from the win- 
 dow bother you? ' and when I replied that it did, 
 ' I '11 close it up a little, Avourmen.' Well, that 
 first night passed with a few troubled dreams, 
 and I awoke from a sleep which I had crooned 
 myself into, with my own boyish sobs. I had 
 barely time enough to begin to realize where I 
 was, when a bell banged three times. To me it 
 seemed to toll like a funeral bell. It certainly 
 appears to me now a prophetic knell, for I 
 have n't had anything but funeral days since. 
 
 "Off to the bathouse we went for a cold 
 shower. A little explanation is necessary. On 
 the checkered gingham counterpane on our beds 
 was sewed a number. Mine was no exception, 
 but as I had had no time to inspect my surround- 
 
 147 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 ings, I was unconscious of that fact. While 
 bathing, a keeper began shouting divers num- 
 bers : '2,4., S, 11, 18, 1, 6, 17, etc' As he bawled 
 each number a shivering boy left his place under 
 a shower. 
 
 " ' Seventeen ! Seventeen ! ! Seventeen ! ! ! ' he 
 yelled with rising inflection and increasing so- 
 norousness, and as he continued to screech his 
 face took on a diabolical look which I viewed 
 with alarm. However, as he did not look in my 
 direction, I felt I was immune. Soon there 
 were none left under the shower but myself, 
 and I joined the others. 
 
 " Back to the dormitory we marched and took 
 up our places at our respective beds. Then on 
 the blue-checkered counterpane I noticed with 
 something akin to horror the number ' seven- 
 teen.' ' Seventeen ! Seventeen ! ' The number 
 rings in my memory yet. A cold sweat of ap- 
 prehensive fear broke out on me as I saw the 
 keeper approach. He roared with hate showing 
 in every feature: * So you're seventeen, eh?' 
 I recall I welcomed the blow of the descending 
 steel wire cane covered with insulated tape, and 
 although blow after blow descended with increas- 
 ing force, I preferred that to watching his 
 
 148 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 hideous, diabolical visage. The results of this 
 initial beating were ridges and welts all over my 
 back, neck, legs and arms, rendering them numb. 
 I could n't even have used a spoon for my break- 
 fast had I the least inclination for that meal. 
 But I hadn't, young and hardy as I was; the 
 appetite of youth was missing. I learned that 
 the keeper who had beaten me was an Indian. 
 But I was soon to learn that that made no espe- 
 cial difference. Almost all the keepers soon con- 
 vinced me they were equally fiendish and I have 
 an opinion they were all Indians of the tribe 
 of Tammany. This beating was but introduc- 
 tory to a series which served to create within 
 me a determination to get even with everything 
 and everybody. I felt I was justified in regard- 
 ing a society which tolerated such an institution 
 as my avowed enemy. My mother died before I 
 was released. But all love and goodness had 
 been beaten out of me. I came out infinitely 
 worse than I went in. I had a grudge against 
 mankind and set about getting square with the 
 result that I have finally landed where I am — 
 in a State's Prison." 
 
 There are a dozen more stories of this insti- 
 tution. They all corroborate one another, yet 
 
 149 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 none of the writers are acquainted. This sim- 
 ilarity of statement makes a strong case. Com- 
 pare the following with Larry's story. 
 
 " I spent eight years in the reformatory. 
 
 My mother sent me there because she was un- 
 able to support me. The punishments in this 
 place were awful. We were beaten all over 
 with a rattan. Religion was beaten into us. I 
 haven't been inside a church since I left that 
 institution. Our mothers were allowed one visit 
 a month, if we had n't been bad. The keeper in 
 charge of the visiting-room was very genial to 
 the parents, but woe betide the kid when visit- 
 ing day was over if he made any complaint to 
 his mother. It was a good ' trimming ' for him 
 that night. 
 
 " I entered that institution when I was young 
 and needed a mother's love and care, and when 
 finally released I cared nothing for love or any- 
 thing else. I had been completely cut off from 
 family ties. Does it surprise you I am a con- 
 vict to-day? Push the mother's pension move- 
 ment and you'll have less convicts in future 
 generations." 
 
 Another man says : 
 
 "My mother died while I was in re- 
 
 150 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 formatory. A keeper took me down and let me 
 see her in her coffin, but I was not allowed to 
 remain to the funeral, though one week later my 
 time expired and I was released from the re- 
 formatory." 
 
 The stories in this article have been confined 
 to one institution, but it is no exception. Other 
 reformatories are equally guilty. The majority 
 of children's institutions cut children off from 
 home and rob them of a mother's love. The 
 first great reform is to throw open the institu- 
 tions. Let the public see what is going on. 
 Why should we be so tender of headkeeper and 
 officers, so anxious to protect them from criti- 
 cism that we permit no inspections except by a 
 special commission? Why should the word of 
 officials always be accepted and that of suffer- 
 ing and unprotected children ignored? As one 
 convict says : " Open your reformatories and 
 orphan asylums to all visitors the way Thomas 
 Mott Osborne has thrown open Sing Sing. 
 Let the inmates talk to visitors and take them 
 around. This is the greatest safeguard against 
 evil administration." This convict is right, but 
 some institutions will object. They will say it 
 hurts discipline. But the discipline of public 
 
 151 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 schools or boarding schools is n't demoralized 
 because visitors see and talk to the children. 
 On the contrary, such inspection keeps up the 
 standard. Once the spirit of openness and 
 frankness is cultivated, mothers will not be de- 
 barred from institution doors. It is the official 
 attitude of secrecy that cuts the child off from 
 home. Every child should have the right to see 
 his mother once a week. If she can't come to 
 Mm why not let him go to her? Boarding school 
 children frequently spend Sunday at home. Is 
 there any reason why an orphan should n't visit 
 relatives? Even a reformatory youngster should 
 be tried out by home visits, some months before 
 his release. If he can't spend Sunday with his 
 people and behave, he is n't fit to be released. 
 
 A mother's visit should never be stopped be- 
 cause of a son's bad behavior. Then, if ever, 
 mother love is needed. It is of vital necessity 
 that every institutional child have a mother or 
 an adopted mother, some one of their own to 
 love, some one they see and write to often, some 
 one to whom they pour out their heart. This 
 is as important as tooth brushes, soap, or warm 
 clothing. The human plant can't thrive without 
 it. Would that every child had a home, but in de- 
 
 152 
 
fD 
 
 a 
 
 • O 
 
 P 
 
 a- 
 
 CD 
 Q 
 C+- 
 O 
 
 a 
 
 o 
 
 fD 
 
BEHIND THE WALLS 
 
 fault of that, institutions must no longer be run 
 like factories. They must be humanized. This 
 process of humanizing is essentially woman's 
 work. If you inform a board of man trustees 
 that the institutional plumbing is bad and the 
 children are getting typhoid, they will change 
 it with a will and instal the latest improvements. 
 But they grow perplexed over a baby with a tear 
 in its eye and run away. To nourish the heart 
 of a child and make it blossom like a flower, is 
 woman's secret. Love is the center of life. Be- 
 cause we women know this we must break 
 through the grim man-made institutions and see 
 that no child goes unloved or unvisited. 
 
 155 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 IT was Christmas day in the year 1902. Soft, 
 flurry flakes fell and stuck to the window- 
 pane. A sad, little face was pressed against the 
 glass; a harsh iron grating obstructed the view. 
 Tears crept down the pale cheeks. There was 
 to be a Christmas dinner and a Christmas tree 
 and a tiny box of candy for each boy in the big 
 institution. But the little heart ached. If only 
 there were some one who cared; some one to 
 whom he belonged; some one to love. Even a 
 tiny letter all his own ; a letter with words like 
 caresses. He couldn't stand it any longer. 
 He 'd run away. His mother had died when he 
 was seven. He had spent four dreary, unhappy 
 Christmases in the reform school. His father 
 had forgotten him. If he could have written, 
 maybe Daddy would have remembered, but for 
 six months his monthly letter had been stopped. 
 Little L. C. had been naughty. He was only 
 eleven, and he was lonely and desperate. He 
 
 156 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 watched the great, white flakes, looked at the 
 clean white world, and decided to run away. 
 This was before L. C. had committed any crime. 
 Thirteen years later I found him in the State 
 prison at Auburn, New York. Ten of the thir- 
 teen years since the day he ran away had been 
 spent in prison — fourteen Christmases out of 
 twenty-four behind prison bars. He had been 
 in prison in Indiana, Ohio, Kansas, California, 
 Michigan, New Hampshire, and New York. 
 After each imprisonment he fled to another 
 State, assumed a new name, and when again ar- 
 rested was tried as a first offender. Eight of- 
 fenses and eight imprisonments, varying from 
 thirty days to two years, is his record. 
 
 Yet in spite of it L. C is a strong, clean- 
 shaven, upstanding young man. He wants to 
 travel; he wants to learn, and he wants to live. 
 His blue eyes are clear but thoughtful, but hid- 
 den in their depths lies a tragedy. 
 
 ^' Did you run away that Christmas night? " I 
 asked. 
 
 ^' Yes, and got caught. A kid of eleven 
 does n't stand much chance." 
 
 "What happened then?" I inquired. 
 
 He smiled queerly and hesitated, then came 
 
 157 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 the tragic story. " It 's a serious offense to try 
 to escape. First there was the hickory sprig 
 until merciful unconsciousness brought relief. 
 But that was nothing to w^hat followed. A 
 shackle weighing fifteen pounds was put on my 
 right leg above the ankle. Three times daily it 
 was inspected for signs of tampering. I wore 
 this piece of ^ jewelry ' for eight months. That 
 was considered a short time, but to-day a scar 
 on my leg the size of a silver dollar and my stride 
 in walking mutely testify to its effect. A boy 
 wearing one of these things is kept on the move. 
 I had to carry bricks from the press to the bak- 
 ing oven, a distance of twenty -five yards. Back 
 and forth all day and at night during play hour 
 I stood on the chalk line. After I had worn my 
 * pet ' for two months, blood-poisoning set in 
 from a sore it had worn in the leg. I was in the 
 hospital six weeks, but the shackle was n't re- 
 moved. Had I lost both legs I suppose it would 
 have been put around an arm or my neck until 
 the prescribed period had elapsed. When I got 
 well I had to make up the six weeks I spent in 
 bed." 
 
 So that was why L. C. limped. It seemed in- 
 credible, but the limp and the scar were telling 
 
 158 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 evidence. I looked at him. There was no bit- 
 terness in his eyes; instead he was looking at 
 me eagerly. " I want," he said, " to begin life 
 over ; I 'm young — only twenty-four ; I ' ve been 
 studying; I am reading Blackstone in my cell 
 every minute I can. I We taught myself all I 
 know. I realize that education is my only way 
 out. I have absolutely no relatives — no one to 
 help me. I We got to fight it out alone. They 
 say Mr. Ford gives men a chance ; I 'm going 
 there when I get out, but I 'd like to keep in 
 touch with you and tell you how I get on." 
 
 Then came long letters from L. C. Soon his 
 whole story was unfolded; in its unfolding he 
 made shrewd comments. He had no use for re- 
 form schools and their methods. He wrote: 
 " The systems in all reformatories fall short of 
 their purpose, reformation. They try to reform 
 by disciplinary training, which means conform- 
 ing to a set of rules and regulations. A boy who 
 has committed theft is sent to a reform school 
 and given a set of rules to abide by. I concede 
 that certain rules must be enforced, for proper 
 government in any organization, but it does n't 
 follow that a boy of six to fifteen years of age 
 can reform himself morally by complying with a 
 
 159 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 set of rules, such as : ^ Thou shalt not talk or 
 laugh, except during the evening hour on the 
 playground.' Such rules hurt both man and 
 boy mentally, morally, and physically. I have 
 served under nine different set of rules and I 
 have yet to find one that if abided by for twenty 
 years would solve any one's life problem. The 
 rule against talking made us sneaky. We 
 learned to talk with our fingers. 
 
 " The punishments for breaking rules in the 
 first reformatory were as follows : 1. A number 
 of blows on the bare back with either a w^ater 
 soaked hickory sprig or an oiled, soaked strap. 
 When this method w^as used the victim was held 
 by all ^ fours ' to avoid ^ accidents.' 2. A num- 
 ber of blows on the palm of the hand with a ruler. 
 3. Considered the worst of all, consisted in be- 
 ing put on the mute system. A boy was forbid- 
 den to utter an audible sound for a period vary- 
 ing from thirty days to eight months. The only 
 means of communication was by w^riting on a 
 piece of paper attached to a tablet w^hich hung 
 about the neck. The boy would point to what he 
 had written, the guard w^ould come up and read 
 it, and write an answer. I have seen this method 
 used by the superintendent himself. There were 
 
 160 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 many other forms of torture too numerous to de- 
 scribe, such as holding the arms in the air for 
 a certain period. We were often desperate. 
 That was why I ran away. But I only got 
 caught. It did no good to complain. There 
 was no one to complain to. Our letters to rela- 
 tives were a farce. Each boy not punished was 
 permitted to write one letter a month. But he 
 had to write on a blank letter-form. Certain 
 rules governed the correspondence. A boy could 
 make no reference to punishment or in any way 
 mention the treatment he received. He must 
 confine himself to family matters. Every letter 
 had to begin, ^I am well; I hope you are the 
 same,' even though he lay half dead in the hos- 
 pital. If he was n't able to write the bov who 
 wrote for him must say he was well. Generally, 
 a relative was not informed of a boy's illness un- 
 til all hope of recovery was past. Only one visit 
 every three months was permitted, and that for- 
 feited if the boy had been punished." 
 
 Poor lonely, little Kiddie of eleven with the 
 shackled leg and hungry heart. If that Christ- 
 mas day so long ago there had been a mother, 
 or an adopted mother, some one to love you, 
 would you ever have reached a State's prison? 
 
 161 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 Would you ever have become what you now term 
 so graphically as " One of the drops in the dirty 
 bucket of water"? Two thirds of the men in 
 State's prisons have been in children's institu- 
 tions. Further the records show of this two 
 thirds 50 per cent, come from broken-up homes 
 in which either the father or the mother had died 
 before the child was fifteen. Hundreds of lonely 
 little children in institutions exist year after year 
 unkissed, unloved, uncared for. The heart sick- 
 ens without love; the soul grows hard; evil en- 
 ters — and society pays. This is what one man 
 at present in Sing Sing prison wTites about the 
 child's need of affection : 
 
 January 3rd, 1916. 
 My dear Miss Doty: 
 
 Since our talk I have been thinking deeply over the 
 work you are trying to perform. Most every one says 
 they love the kiddies, but few go out of their way to help 
 them. It is magnificent to labor for the boys and girls in 
 the juvenile institutions, where they starve for affection 
 and where they are surrounded by objects that never have 
 the least hint of a home. 
 
 My mother died when I was four years old. I am 
 told I loved her very much for a wee kid, and I believe 
 I did if after life is a reflection on childhood. My 
 father placed me in a home very soon after her death. 
 It had very little in common with other juvenile homes, 
 and I only mention it because though it was good in its 
 
 162 
 
Photograph by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y. 
 
 Mother care 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 way it lacked in affection. We had a nurse and a head- 
 matron in charge. I never remember receiving a kiss 
 from either of these two in all my three or four years' 
 residence. 
 
 At the age of thirteen I was sentenced to a reformatory. 
 It was a barn, a place for cattle, not for boys. We were 
 allowed to write and receive one visit a month. The first 
 month I must have shed an ocean of tears. I would have 
 given any treasure I possessed to any one who would have 
 written to me or come to see me. The world was a hor- 
 rible nightmare. I did not receive one kind word, or one 
 letter of love and sympathy from any one. I believe the 
 bitterness of those first months when I could not realize 
 the where and whyfore of things more cruel and heart- 
 aching than all my future misery, of which I can claim a 
 lion's share. I know that experience left its scar upon my 
 soul. There were many brutal things that occurred 
 which we kids never dared to tell any one because we felt 
 that the officials were against us and we knew if we in- 
 formed the higher officials of the institution the su- 
 perintendent would belittle the matter, and the officer 
 would get even with us, as soon as he found out who 
 had told. 
 
 One instance I remember well. An officer who had 
 charge of the boys' yard gave a little Jewish fellow twenty 
 raps on the hand with a heavy night-stick. The boy's 
 hands were all swollen and he showed them to the super- 
 intendent. The superintendent spoke to the officer and 
 told him to be more lenient. The officer immediately pun- 
 ished this boy by making him stand on a line facing the 
 wall of the building. It was April and he said to the 
 boy, " Stay there every hour you are not working until the 
 snow falls again." That boy lost every hour of recreation 
 
 165 
 
SOCIETrS MISFITS 
 
 for months. Do you think he dared to tell the officials 
 again ? 
 
 There was never a fatherly feeling among the officers 
 for the boys, let alone a motherly one. It is surprising 
 that any one of us have retained any of the finer feelings 
 after having passed through these brutalizing institutions. 
 It is a wonder any of us could come through the cold, 
 unfriendly atmosphere and still respond to the feeling of 
 kindness. 
 
 Besides the cruelty of the officers, the older boys could 
 do most anything to the smaller kids. Immorality was 
 and is common in these places. Had kids a mother or a 
 sympathetic friend to confide in they would have steered 
 clear of practices that certainly warped their lives. 
 
 Small boys, especially, crave affection. They do not 
 get it from home for they are not allowed to write and 
 pour out their hearts ; they do not get it from the officials ; 
 so they fall an easy prey to any older boy who is kind, 
 who will give them a few sweetmeats. Then the older 
 boy, if he is immoral, can do as he chooses. So the af- 
 fection needed is supplied, or rather bought, and the price 
 19 horrible. This exists in all asylums to-day, as it al- 
 ways has, because of the lack of affection. The punish- 
 ments in the reformatory in 1903-4 were more severe for 
 boys from five to eighteen years of age than they are in 
 State's Prison to-day, for men. A dark cell, hard boards 
 at night, bread and water and actual physical torture in 
 the daytime, was the mode of punishing little tots, and 
 growing boys. 
 
 I was whispering in the Chapel one evening just before 
 service began. An officer came behind me and struck 
 me so hard on the ear that I could not hear for ten days. 
 Even to-day I have trouble with that ear. I cried myself 
 
 166 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 to sleep with pain that night. They put me in a dark 
 cell the next time for whispering in the dining-hall. I 
 nearly went frantic. It seemed I was buried alive. This 
 is one of the most inhuman things about juvenile institu- 
 tions. A boy or girl who is the least bit timid should 
 never be put into a dark cell and left there. It leaves an 
 indelible mark upon his character. He goes through life 
 with a sort of horrible fear of isolation. 
 
 I believe every institution where boys are sent and left 
 unfriended, unloved, unadvised, and above all unable to 
 tell things freely and confidentially to those they love 
 and trust is a menace to the State. Permission to write 
 and explain injuries, fears, and troubles is the keynote to 
 the situation of doing some good for the boys and girls 
 confined in institutions. 
 
 Miss Doty, I hope this will help a little. The one rec- 
 ommendation I think of at present is that a great deal of 
 attention should be paid to those first few months a boy 
 is incarcerated. These are the hardest for him to under- 
 stand and the loneiest period of all. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 H. E. 
 
 What a letter ! I close my eyes and see a pro- 
 cession of sobbing children, children with tear- 
 stained cheeks, pleading eyes, and outstretched 
 hands. It is not to be borne. 
 
 There are millions of women eager to serve 
 and thousands of motherless children in institu- 
 tions. The two must be brought together. One 
 letter a week to a lonely child would transform 
 
 167 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 life. Half the prisons in the world would be 
 emptied if neglected and delinquent children 
 had a mother's love. But to make this possible, 
 silly institutional rules must be abolished. 
 Mother and child and adopted mother and child 
 must be able to correspond and see each other 
 freely and confidentially. Nothing must stand 
 in the way of the child's need of affection. Chil- 
 dren are not bits of machinery to be beaten into 
 a mold. Each child is an entity. Each child 
 has a soul. Each child needs individual love. 
 
 Think of the abandoned, nameless, and home- 
 less children thrust into asylums. I met such 
 a one. He w^as a convict without a name. 
 " ^ Who are vou? Where do vou come from?' 
 Those are the questions that haunt me," he said. 
 His voice quivered ; his hand shook. " From 
 babyhood those questions have been flung at me. 
 They wrecked my life. You are the only person 
 who has said it did n't matter. You say, ^ Do 
 something big and then the question will be, 
 " What have you done? " — not, ^' Who are you? " 
 God! If only that might be. I never thought 
 that way before, but may be you 're right. I '11 
 begin by helping you. I '11 tell everything about 
 
 my childhood." 
 
 168 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 The faded blue eyes looked into mine. His 
 courage was all but gone. His virility had been 
 sapped. Drugs, bad habits, and disease had left 
 their mark. His words were disconnected. 
 Seething emotion robbed him of speech. But lit- 
 tle by little he told his story. Later he wTote it 
 out. This is what he said : 
 
 Friend : 
 
 You have consented to let me call you friend and I 
 appreciate it. I was so choked with feeling this after- 
 noon I couldn't say what I wished. I will do all I can 
 to assist you. 
 
 I was n't born evil. Evil was grated on me. Let me 
 speak frankly. Twenty-seven years ago I was born in 
 so-called cultured and staid, old Boston. But as far as I 
 can remember I became conscious of existence around the 
 age of seven. In a place for destitute children I first 
 learned the meaning of the word fear. There I was 
 taught to be suspicious of mankind. There I learned the 
 shallowness of humanity. In fact, it was there the seed 
 of evil was sown within me. Why, why, if there is a 
 God does He let innocent children come into a world of 
 sorrow and shame! 
 
 Always two questions haunt me — " Who are you ? " and, 
 " Where do you come from ? " These questions I can 
 never answer. They have caused me pain and humilia- 
 tion. I hate to think of the past, but I 'm doing it to 
 shed a little light on your work. Perhaps if I do I may 
 be able to answer the question : " Wliat have you done 
 to make the world a better place ? " Perhaps I can help 
 
 169 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 a little to give the down-trodden offspring of society what 
 I should so have liked — some one, somewhere who 
 loved me. 
 
 I remember well the matrons in charge of the asylum. 
 It is Saturday morning and bath day. The matron picks 
 out two of the older boys to help. I am always one of 
 the helpers. The matron is there for discipline. We un- 
 dress the tiny children. In so doing we must be careful 
 not to expose them. If we do there is a lash of the cane. 
 Could anything be so utterly foolish as such sublime 
 modesty on the part of matrons who think nothing of 
 stripping a child naked and beating him? Such actions 
 give children bad thoughts. They become frightened if 
 a matron looks at them. They fear they will be beaten 
 for something they cannot understand. 
 
 Keligion we had always, and then some. I have noth- 
 ing to say against religion. It's a fine thing, but like 
 everything else taken to excess it is bound to put a crimp 
 in one somewhere. If they would only take a simpler 
 form of teaching religion, I 'm sure it would be more 
 successful. They try to drive religion into you by fear. 
 As a matter of fact what we begin to fear we begin to 
 hate. 
 
 When I was still very little I was adopted by an under- 
 taker. That place was a nightmare. For a bad childish 
 habit, I was punished by not being allowed to drink any 
 water after three in the afternoon. You can imagine the 
 craving of a little child for water. It taught me my first 
 lesson in scheming. I would wait until every one was 
 asleep then I would get out on the back porch. There 
 was an old barrel which caught the rain water drained 
 from the roof. This dirty water I would drink to my 
 heart's content and, believe me, it tasted good. It is 
 
 170 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 little things like this helped make me what I am to-day — 
 a convict. I learned to be tricky and cruel. I would 
 go into the barn and pick up the little kittens and put 
 them in the horses' manger or under their feet. It seemed 
 to be the only way I could satisfy my feeling of hate to- 
 ward these people. 
 
 One day some money was left on the mantel and could 
 not be found. Of course, I was accused. I told them I 
 did n't take it. But I was called a liar and thief and told 
 that children such as I were never any good; that if we 
 were, we wouldn't be sent out to be taken care of by 
 others. From that day I felt the real meaning of the 
 word mother. I would sit and cry for hours for the 
 mother I never knew. I would ask where she was and 
 say I wanted her. But they only laughed and mocked, 
 and said strange things I didn't understand. It was 
 then those questions began to haunt me. Who are you? 
 Wliere do you come from? It was then I became care- 
 less about going to the house. I felt I was n't welcome. 
 I slept where I could; sometimes in the woods, sometimes 
 in an old building. Eat! God alone knows where I ate. 
 In the daytime I would play with boys I had met at pub- 
 lic school in the hope they would ask me to dinner or 
 supper, and when they did, that question would rise like 
 a ghost in the dark — " Little boy, what is your mother's 
 name? Wliere do you live?" I suppose the children's 
 mothers investigated and found out the truth, because my 
 playmates dropped off one by one, until finally I had no 
 one to whom I could say hello. 
 
 It was about this time an agent came and took me back 
 to the home. After awhile I was adopted again. A newly 
 married couple came in search of a boy who would be 
 presentable around the place to run an elevator. They 
 
 171 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 picked me out. They were really the nicest people I was 
 ever with. The man was janitor of an apartment house. 
 A gentleman lived in one of the apartments. He used 
 to come into the elevator and talk to me. He never asked 
 me where I came from or who I was. At first I liked 
 him. He asked me to his apartment to see his beautiful 
 things. But I will never forget that first visit. That 
 man taught me to be a degenerate. After that nothing 
 was too good for me. But the janitor became suspicious 
 because this man gave me so many presents and so much 
 money. Eventually I took the money I had and ran 
 away. They must have sent out in search of me, for one 
 night when I was walking along the street a policeman 
 grabbed me and told me a man at the police station wanted 
 me. The minute I saw the man I recognized him as an 
 agent from the home. He treated me very kindly and 
 took me to a hotel for the night. Then I found he, too, 
 was a degenerate. I only tell you this in passing, to show 
 you what an educating start I had. Perhaps, if every 
 one knew what was behind the closed doors of a convict's 
 life, they would not be so ready to blame us. 
 
 The next day the agent took me, not to the home, but 
 to an industrial school. The superintendent seemed to 
 be kind. He called me " dear son," and said I would have 
 a fine time. He took me into a tower and showed me 
 what he called a beautiful place. All I could see was a 
 lot of shops enclosing a small yard, and a high wall, 
 which I learned afterwards was to prevent boys from run- 
 ning away. My first unpleasant experience was having 
 all my hair taken oif. Soon afterwards I was introduced 
 to punishment. This consisted in being stripped and 
 beaten with a rubber hose, with enough force to make 
 even a tiger yelp with pain. 
 
 172 
 
kj 
 
 ' 3e&--' J(Si;>-«Efc*-i:Wiafi .0* 
 
 When a feller needs a friend 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 Wtile I was there I never saw or experienced any good, 
 wholesome education. It was much like the asylum in 
 this respect. All we were taught was religion, and, be- 
 lieve me, it was a mockery to faith. 
 
 One evening I felt dreadfully sick and couldn't eat. 
 The keeper in charge said I must eat. When I refused 
 he made me kneel on the floor, and punched me and 
 knocked me down. I tried to get up but he felled me 
 again. From that time I made up my mind to get away. 
 One day when the boys were sent to shovel snow from the 
 sidewalk I managed to escape. You can imagine my feel- 
 ing (even though it was mid-winter) at being free again. 
 
 I went directly to the naval recruiting station, I passed 
 the examination for enlistment, but again came up those 
 questions : " Who are you ? Where do you come from ? " 
 I was ashamed and framed up a plausible story. But it 
 wouldn't do — I must have the consent of my folks. 
 You see, this was another overthrow by fate. I did n't 
 know what was to become of me — I was an outcast. I 
 went from place to place to get some kind of work. I was 
 hungry and had barely enough clothes to cover me. At 
 night I slept in a delivery wagon in a barn. 
 
 Finally I got a job in a cafe. I received $6 a week and 
 my suppers. I hired a room and lived as I thought, like 
 a prince for nearly a year. I was in bed every night at 
 nine; my health was perfect; for once I was enjoying 
 myself. I met some nice people. A woman who had an 
 official position took an interest in me and gave me books 
 to read. She asked me what I would like to be. I told 
 her a civil engineer. After a while she said if my mother 
 would be willing to board and clothe me she could get me 
 a free education. I did n't want to tell her the truth. I 
 was ashamed. Time and again I have gone to the orphan 
 
 175 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 asylum to try to find out the truth. But the matrons 
 would never tell me anything. They said a lot of things 
 were better not known. They would never tell me whether 
 my folks were living or dead. You can imagine my feel- 
 ings all these years. Not even a relative could I name. 
 But I haven't given up hope. I have traveled all over 
 this country and everywhere I try to find out something 
 about my people. But it has been a vain quest. If I 
 could know the truth probably it would change my way of 
 living. Always when I have known nice people, I have 
 run away rather than tell them the truth. 
 
 One night in the cafe a young fellow came in and be- 
 gan talking to me. Tinally he asked me to go to a show. 
 I jumped at the invitation because I could not afford such 
 pleasures. After the theater he took me to supper. I 
 did n't know what to make of it. This was the first time 
 I ever took part in the drama of wealth. The next day he 
 came to see me and took me to lunch. He bought me a 
 whole new outfit. I began to feel the power of money 
 and good clothes. But eventually I realized what it all 
 meant. Consequently, I determined to lose him. I left 
 my job and found a new one. But he followed me. I 
 gave in and went with him. It was the beginning of the 
 end. My crime wave began and has been going ever since. 
 I was down and out. My health was shattered. I had 
 nothing. I walked the streets all night so I wouldn't be 
 arrested. My mind was in a flurry. I walked into a place 
 and stole an overcoat, and sold it to buy some food. I 
 was arrested. The probation officer asked where I lived. 
 I told him the truth. I was put on probation. But I 
 was as badly off as ever. Shortly afterwards I stole a 
 French lens, worth $150 and sold it for $1. I was sent 
 to jail for three months. I did a lot of thinking while 
 
 176 
 
WANTED — A MOTHER 
 
 there. I thought of my past. It seemed the hand of 
 fate was against me when I tried to go straight. I 
 thought of the days as a little child when I prayed (it 
 sounds like a joke), with tears in my eyes, as only a 
 faithful child can pray, I begged God to help me in time 
 of need, but all in vain. I have gone hungry and sick 
 in the very streets of plenty. I have seen children with 
 their mothers, enjoying themselves, while I was lonesome. 
 My only friends had been my real enemies, human 
 leeches taking my life away. I thought of the days as a 
 child when I had been refused water to drink. How I 
 had been wrongfully accused of stealing. How I had 
 been mocked because I cried for my mother. I had 
 learned the shallowness of humanity. Even the hand of 
 God seemed turned against me, and I swore in that little 
 cell I would not play in the hands of fate. No, I would 
 take fate into my own hands. I would hate all, I would 
 lie and steal; I would do everything against the laws of 
 God and man. The things I learned in those melting pots 
 of crime came to my assistance. I became crafty and 
 distrustful of every one. I made no friends; if I did it 
 was simply to rob them. The hate which had been burn- 
 ing within me all those years, came out. Before the age 
 of twenty I was arrested for robbery on the high seas; 
 grand larceny, forgery, and burglary. I have been ar- 
 rested all over the United States and Canada. Both by 
 the federal and State authorities. No doubt I am receiv- 
 ing my just punishments ; but then again, if I had got my 
 just rights as a child, I would not have become a convict. 
 I tried to live and live right. I did all I could to keep 
 away from crime. I had no mother's hand to guide me; 
 I had no father's arm to protect me ; I had no home to go 
 to, with a mother's welcoming voice. I could not make 
 
 177 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 true friends, because I was unable to answer those two 
 questions. I am a convict to-day because I do not know 
 who I am or where I came from — and no one cares. 
 
 God have pity on us, for we know not what 
 we do. Only such a plea makes life endurable 
 after such a story. But now we cannot plead 
 ignorance. It rests upon us to break down the 
 high walls, the barred windows, and the relent- 
 less discipline of children's institutions. Past 
 all obstacles, straight to the heart of the child we 
 must penetrate. We women, mothers and poten- 
 tial mothers, must see that not one helpless baby 
 goes uncherished. Joy, love, and gladness. 
 These are the new notes to be brought into insti- 
 tutions. How much affection does each child re- 
 ceive is the fundamental question. Surely the 
 women of the United States will answer the call 
 and go hammering at the doors of institutions, 
 crying : " We come to save babies from becom- 
 ing criminals. We come laden with love. No 
 child is to go uncared for. An unbroken rank 
 of women waits ready to respond to every call of 
 ' Wanted — A Mother.' " 
 
 178 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 ' 'TF I had a son," writes a convict, " and there 
 
 jL was no way to support him, I would shoot 
 him rather than send him to a reformatory. 
 
 " I was sent five times. The first time I 
 learned to -pick pockets. The second, to creep 
 behind a man with a bat, hit him on the head, and 
 take his money. The third, to stick a man up 
 with a gun and so on — each time something 
 new. 
 
 " Since I have been in State's Prison, I have 
 spent fourteen months in the cooler (a punish- 
 ment cell ) . While there I learned how to bloAV 
 open a safe. But since Tom Brown [Thomas 
 Mott Osborne] came to prison and started the 
 Mutual Welfare League I have dropped every- 
 thing, and mean to make good." 
 
 Lawyers, policemen, and judges cannot end 
 crime. When we hurry trembling across a dark 
 street late at night, fearing a blow on the head 
 and robbery, or shiver in our beds listening for 
 
 179 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 the stealthy step of a burglar, remember that two 
 thirds of these men we fear were in children's 
 institutions. We had a chance to reform them 
 but didn't. For reformatories don't reform. 
 They punish and humiliate, but do not educate. 
 To remake the bad boy, life in an institution must 
 fit him for life in the world. There must be love, 
 work, and play inside because these are in the 
 world outside. If a boy can't have a normal life 
 behind walls, how can he live normally in so- 
 ciety? Institutions do not recognize this. The 
 child is cut off from companionship, his home — 
 his mother — the love that remakes him. Let- 
 ters and visits are limited. Kor does the institu- 
 tion teach him to work or to play. 
 
 The industrial training is a travesty. These 
 are the comments of convicts now in Auburn and 
 Sing Sing who w^ere previously in reformato- 
 ries: 
 
 "The industrial department of the reforma- 
 tory was sadly neglected. The machinery and 
 tools were antiquated. The work was suited to 
 while awav time. It looks as though the author- 
 ities anticipated the future of the inmates and 
 trained them accordingly. A trade learned in 
 one institution could be resumed in another but 
 
 180 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 not in the outside world. The printing and ma- 
 chine shop employ about twenty inmates each. 
 The great mass of boys learn nothing. Over one 
 half are employed in domestic service.'' 
 
 And this : 
 
 " I worked in the storeroom and matrons' din- 
 ing-room. I can't tell about the trades because 
 the only thing I learned was to wash dishes, scrub 
 floors, and carry a bag of potatoes." 
 
 And this : 
 
 " The industrial training was no good. They 
 taught us to make inmates' shoes. They were on 
 the same style as brogans. I could never find 
 work of that kind outside. It must have been a 
 bum trade, for when I went to State's Prison I 
 could n't get work there, making the kind of 
 shoes I 'd made at the reformatory." 
 
 And this : 
 
 " The only trade they taught us was book- 
 binding which you can't use when you get out. 
 I got a job at it once for a half hour, then the boss 
 kicked me out. He said : * If I was a book- 
 binder — he was a farmer ! ' " 
 
 When the child's work is a source of profit, the 
 institution may teach him something, but the 
 price paid for the knowledge is frightful. Hour 
 
 181 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 after hour acliing, childish forms bend over a 
 dreary task. 
 
 " I worked in the brush shop. I was supposed 
 to make twelve brushes a day. Every time I 
 made one, some one would steal it to fill their 
 own task. When I turned in my w^ork I had 
 only three brushes. The foreman hit me over the 
 head with a stick, but that was n't all. I was 
 taken down to the washhouse and beaten. That 
 was how I started to steal. When I was sent 
 back to the shop I did like the others. I stole my 
 brushes whenever I could." 
 
 The educational training is no better. I know 
 convicts who cannot read or wTite. The com- 
 ments on the school work are as follows : 
 
 " At school I worried over the beating I would 
 get for missing a lesson. I couldn't put my 
 mind on anything. 
 
 " The teacher was incompetent. He put an 
 example on the board and called on a boy to do it. 
 If he failed he ordered him to get on his knees 
 and gave him ten raps with a switch. 
 
 " The fifth class was known as the blockhead 
 class. The officer in charge was called the 
 ^ Boob.' All the boys made fun of him. The 
 only thing he knew was his prayers. 
 
 182 
 
Only potentially bad, but they are apt pupils of the vicious boys 
 
 to be found in everv institution 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 " The school curriculum is a travesty on peda- 
 gogical principles. The main occupation is cut- 
 ting pictures out of magazines to adorn composi- 
 tion papers." 
 
 The average institutional visitor sees nothing 
 of all this and is deceived. He beholds a group 
 of well-washed children ; the band plays, the chil- 
 dren drill, there is a good lunch, and the officials 
 are zealously attentive. But beneath this 
 polished surface, childish hearts are being tram- 
 pled on and ignorant, untaught children turned 
 into bitter, revengeful boys. Neither the drill 
 nor the band is popular. This is why : 
 
 " There were three yards, and each yard had 
 to drill for a flag which was given to the best 
 drilled company. The companies that did n't 
 wdn knew what was coming to them. Each boy 
 got a beating ! 
 
 " The institutional band is frequently a source 
 of profit. It furnishes music at numerous enter- 
 tainments, and the authorities receive for such 
 service five or ten dollars. The children get noth- 
 ing, but are beaten when they do not play well.'' 
 
 One institution I visited emphasized its indus- 
 trial training. It had a thousand boys and I 
 found only 250 engaged in industry. There were 
 
 185 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 twenty-four boys in the carpenter shoi). During 
 their two years' term they were the only ones to 
 learn carpentry. It was too much trouble to 
 break in new pupils. 
 
 The work was decorative rather than substan- 
 tial — a training that did not fit a boy to compete 
 in that trade in the outside world. It was the 
 same in the other industries, while the majority 
 of the children, seven hundred or more, per- 
 formed domestic labor. They washed dishes, 
 made beds, scrubbed floors, or idled. 
 
 In the course of my inspection, I passed a 
 cellar door. Cellars will always bear visiting. 
 I darted in, the official with me followed hastily. 
 There was n't a window in the place. It was 
 damp and dark. By the light of the open door I 
 saw forty or fifty boys ranged about the wall. It 
 was half-past two. The sun was shining 
 brightly. The air outside was full of spring 
 sweetness. "What are they here for? " I asked. 
 There was a pause, the official cleared his throat, 
 then inquired feebly, " What are you here for, 
 bovs?" Still silence. This time a restless 
 silence. Then the official made another attempt. 
 " I guess the boys must be through their work 
 and waiting; are you waiting, boys?'' Out of 
 
 186 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 that dark hole obediently and in unison came the 
 reply, " Yes, sir.'' As I left that damp and deso- 
 late place these lines flashed across me : 
 
 The vilest deeds, like poisoned weeds, bloom well in 
 prison air. 
 
 Institutions generally seem to be run for the 
 benefit of the keepers rather than for the chil- 
 dren. There is a deadly routine about them, an 
 unbelievable monotony. There is no chance for 
 initiative. Individuality is crushed out. The 
 children are handled like merchandise. They 
 are shoved and pushed about by unfeeling hands. 
 They live in grim, ugly buildings. There are 
 barred or grated windows, great dreary corri- 
 dors, bare walls, monotonous rows of beds, chairs, 
 and tables. Morning, noon, and night there is 
 the sound of shuffling feet, an endless procession 
 of blue-ginghamed, or gray -uniformed, pale-faced, 
 inanimate, unsmiling children. A bell rings and 
 the children arise, another bell rings and the 
 children sit down. Answers to questions come 
 from a hundred throats in expressionless uni- 
 son. 
 
 The institutional child is like a cog in a ma- 
 chine. Detached he cannot go on alone. One 
 
 187 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 day a convict came to me who had slept for three 
 nights on a park bench. He was as helpless as a 
 child. He wanted to make good and did n't 
 know how. 
 
 " At ^Ye/^ he said, '^ I was sent to an institu- 
 tion. I w^as there thirteen years. When re- 
 leased I was helpless. I've been so ever since. 
 I 'd eaten and slejDt to order too long. I did n't 
 know how to earn bed and board. There w^as 
 nothing left but to run with the gang and steal. 
 Last night I was desperate and went to the police 
 station and asked to be locked up and kept out of 
 harm's way but they only laughed. What can I 
 do?'' 
 
 It is the clever bad boy who flourishes in the 
 gray deadness of a reformatory. Out of the 
 welter of misery, with cunning and strength, he 
 emerges. It is a case of the survival of the 
 fittest. The fittest in a reformatory is the bully 
 and the degenerate. He usurps the play space 
 at play time, and dominates wherever he goes. 
 By underground methods he spreads his con- 
 tamination and stirs to action. So gangsters and 
 gunmen are made and society pays. 
 
 " I was the bully of the yard,'' says a member 
 of such a gang. ^^ I used to get from ten to 
 
 188 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 twenty-five dollars a month from the boys. I 
 did n't keep the money. I shared it with the 
 keepers who let me go to the mess-hall and drink 
 beer and whisky with them." 
 
 And this from a w^ell-known gunman : 
 
 " The worst place in the w^orld for any mother's 
 
 son is the reformatory. I wouldn't wish 
 
 my worst enemy to undergo what I went 
 through. 
 
 "All the New York City gangsters and gun- 
 men were in a reformatory in boyhood. A few 
 that I know were Jack Zelig, Kid Twist, Dopy 
 Benny, the ' Paper Box Kid/ and Dago Frank. 
 The last two have both been at Sing Sing." 
 
 In some institutions boys are appointed moni- 
 tors by the officers. This is bad. It gives power 
 to the bully as is shown in this testimony of a 
 gangster : 
 
 " The monitor system should be abolished. It 
 is a reign of petty tyranny and makes gangsters 
 and bullies. The treatment the kids are sub- 
 jected to at the hand of the monitors is satanic. 
 None but the w^orst element are ever appointed 
 monitors because, being the leader of a gang, 
 they can enforce discipline. ' Might is right ' 
 under this system. For infractions of the rules 
 or alleged infractions the monitor can beat the 
 
 189 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 kids. It can easily be seen the terrible wbip 
 hand he has. 
 
 " Under this system immorality flourishes. A 
 kid can be forced to anything. He has to sur- 
 render his bundles from home and even his food. 
 If he dares complain it is only the worse for 
 him.'' 
 
 The other day an ex-convict who was a gangster 
 came to me. He was just out of State's Prison, 
 and wanted a job. For the first time in his life 
 he meant to go straight. 
 
 At the age of ten he was sent to a reformatory. 
 Soon he and eleven other boys were running to- 
 gether and formed a small gang. After three 
 years they were discharged. There came a few 
 weeks of lawlessness on the streets, but one by 
 one they all turned up in another reformatory — 
 a grade further on. Soon they were in command 
 of a yard. My narrator explained : 
 
 " In the reformatory it was gang against gang 
 to see who w^ould be the up of the yard. One of 
 the fellows who was a friend of mine was stabbed 
 in the lungs. All they did for him was to put a 
 piece of plaster on the cut and put him to bed. 
 The next day they had him up waxing the floor. 
 In a couple of days he w^as dead. The fellow who 
 
 190 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 stabbed Iiim is at Sing Sing doing seven to fif- 
 teen years.'' 
 
 This is true. It is corroborated by twenty dif- 
 ferent witnesses, including tlie man doing time at 
 Sing Sing. 
 
 This gang of twelve became a rough set. It 
 was their second reformatory experience. They 
 performed many daring deeds, often making es- 
 capes. The leader once got away in half a barrel, 
 which served as a boat. He floated for some time 
 before he was picked up by a tug. 
 
 When the reformatory term expired the boys 
 reassembled in New York. This time they hired 
 a room. They had all acquired the drug habit. 
 It was their one pleasure. 
 
 When the drug gave out, first one then another 
 went out to procure more. Eventually they were 
 all caught, and soon were serving terms in the 
 penitentiary or Elmira reformatory. Keleased 
 from these institutions their sojourn in society 
 was brief. Presently they were all together 
 again in State's Prison. 
 
 To-day nine are in prison, three are out, none 
 are making good, and one at the age of twenty- 
 two has just been executed at Sing Sing. He 
 killed an Italian and two policemen. Needless 
 
 191 
 
SOCIETY^S MISFITS 
 
 to say these murders were the result of a gang 
 fight. 
 
 Unless we remake our children's institutions, 
 gangsters and gunmen will flourish. What is 
 needed is not great severity but more love and 
 human understanding. Here is a typical story 
 of a boy who became a gangster : 
 
 " I was sent to a reformatory and put to work 
 in the carpenter shop outside the walls. I got 
 this job because my aunt had a pull with the 
 authorities. One day I ran away, but after fif- 
 teen days I was caught, taken back, and put in 
 a dark cell, without even a bed. I can stand 
 such treatment to-day but when I was thirteen it 
 seemed pretty bad. Next day, I was given pun- 
 ishment clothes. These are full of patches and 
 make you look like a ragamuffin. Then my hair 
 was cut cannibal style. A piece is chopped out 
 here and there. The result made you look like an 
 idiot and caused much laughter. Then I was 
 sent to the yard to stand by the post all day. At 
 night I had to stand in the dormitory in my bare 
 feet for three hours. But that was n't all. 
 While I was standing by my bed the Director 
 came in and motioned me to go into the hall. 
 All I had on was a thin nightgown. I was beaten 
 
 192 
 
> 
 
 c 
 
 c 
 
 c 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 on the back and shoulders until I was black and 
 blue. My aunt came to see me and I told her 
 how I had been treated. She comj^lained to the 
 Director, and through her influence I was again 
 put into the carpenter shop to learn a trade. I 
 might say here that they don't teach anything. 
 You could work a hundred years there and never 
 learn. At that time I was very anxious to take 
 lessons on the violin. The man in charge, like all 
 the others, was a brute. After six weeks, I said 
 I did n't like music. The truth is I was crazy 
 to learn but could n't stand the keeper. He was 
 often under the influence of liquor. I have seen 
 him carried to his room. This man's method of 
 teaching was to stand over the violin and choir 
 boys, and, if they missed a note, he beat them 
 with a rod. 
 
 " This method of teaching was also used in the 
 school. If you got an example wrong you were 
 beaten. When I entered the reformatory a boy 
 friend put me wise. He said : ' Don't be too 
 smart when examined. Get in a low class where 
 you can be sure of doing the work.' I followed 
 his advice and got along all right. 
 
 " After a while I ran away again. In forty- 
 five days I was caught. I landed in the institu- 
 
 195 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 tion at half-past nine, and was put in a dark cell. 
 But to my surprise, the next morning I was not 
 punished. I think my aunt must have interceded 
 but this time I was not sent outside. I was put 
 to work in the harness shop. The foreman in 
 charge was not fit to handle beasts, let alone boys. 
 He carried around with him a leather strap. If 
 he didn't like your work, he struck you across 
 the head. 
 
 " I was working on a horse trace one day and 
 could not keep up with my task. The boy at the 
 table with me was sick and did n't make the wax 
 cords as fast as usual. The foreman asked why 
 I had n't finished mv task. I told him I did n't 
 feel well. He did n't say a word but watched me 
 for a few minutes, then struck me across the neck. 
 I seized my awl and tried to hit him. Then he 
 took me to the cellar and made me take off my 
 shirt, and beat me until he was played out. I 
 went to the shop, sick and tired of life. During 
 the night I tried to think of some way out. The 
 next day I went to the back of the harness shop, 
 took a bottle of harness ink, and swallowed as 
 much as I could hold. That was all I remember 
 until I came to at eleven that night. They put 
 me in a special bed, called in two doctors, and 
 
 196 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 worked over me nine hours. I often wonder why 
 I did not die. They said I had swallowed enough 
 poison to kill a horse. When I got better the 
 Director sent for me. He asked why I had tried 
 to kill myself. He patted me on the head and 
 smiled. I stood there looking at him, wishing to 
 God I had the strength to spring at him and 
 strangle him until he was blue in the face. Any- 
 way I was taken out of the harness shop and given 
 a job in the yard sweeping leaves and taking care 
 of the grass plots. 
 
 '^ In the meantime my aunt came to see me. 
 I told her my trouble, but the Director came in 
 and said I had a melancholy disposition. He 
 said I had swallowed a little ink but it had n't 
 hurt me. He patted me on the head and said to 
 come to him for anything I needed. My aunt be- 
 lieved in him, for though he was a brute, he had 
 polished manners and was a suave talker. 
 
 " Then I made a third and last escape. After 
 two months I was caught. It was the same old 
 story, a dark cell, a beating, and standing in the 
 yard. 
 
 " But this time I was older and my term ex- 
 pired. 
 
 '' This is the first time I ever wrote anything 
 
 197 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 so long. Wlien I entered prison, I took an oath 
 that if I lived to be a thousand years old I would 
 never again attempt to do anything honest, or 
 have anything to do with anybody that was hon- 
 est. I had a bitter feeling against society, but 
 when you asked me to write my story, I went to 
 my cell, and did some hard thinking. I thought 
 of the fact that you spent a week in a woman's 
 prison voluntarily, and that convinced me that 
 you were on the level, and I decided to write this. 
 I have seen reformers come and go, I have seen 
 investigating committees come and go, and, be- 
 lieve me, they have never accomplished much. 
 
 " Our Chaplain is lecturing on, ^ Why men and 
 women go to prison,' but neither the Chaplain 
 nor any one else can tell why peojjle go to prison, 
 unless they go into the big cities and reforma- 
 tories and study conditions. You let a man out 
 of prison who has been taught nothing and he gets 
 in trouble. Then societv drives him in again, 
 and asks why does n't he reform. It 's impos- 
 sible. An ex-convict can't get work. He is put 
 out of theaters, put off street-cars, and not al- 
 lowed to go on the principal thoroughfares. Can 
 you blame him for adhering to the criminal 
 class?" 
 
 198 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 Small wonder this boy turned a gangster. He 
 had faced death, and he feared nothing. He had 
 been beaten and abused and taught nothing. 
 His only friends were his gang-mates. He lined 
 up with them against society. But the gang 
 spirit in itself is a valuable asset. It can be 
 turned to good account instead of to evil. The 
 group spirit can be used to protect instead of 
 destroy society. If those in authority say it can't 
 be done, if they say the reformatory boy is vicious 
 and human methods are impracticable, don't be- 
 lieve them. Sing Sing has been transformed by 
 inspiring men with the ideal of mutual welfare. 
 Fifteen hundred convicts march in to meals un- 
 accompanied by keepers or guards. They talk 
 together while they eat, they work and play to- 
 gether. There has n't been a riot in over a year, 
 not since self-government was established. 
 There are no beatings or punishment cells. The 
 men discipline themselves. This is done by a 
 convict court.* There are five convict judges. 
 Every afternoon at four court assembles in the 
 shabby old chapel. The judges sit on the plat- 
 form; directly below and in front stands the of- 
 fender. The chapel is crowded with spectators, 
 convicts and visitors ; all are welcome. One day 
 
 199 
 
SOCIETY^S MISFITS 
 
 a colored man, a prize fighter, was brought before 
 the tribunal for assault. He was a husky fellow 
 who performed heavy prison labor. In return 
 for his hard task once a week he received a beef- 
 steak. Beef-steak night was a gala occasion. 
 This was the day after and he had been charged 
 with hitting a colored friend. The man who had 
 been hit spoke first. 
 
 " It was this way, gentlemen : I had a can of 
 beans, Ise took ' em to the kitchen to warm, and 
 when I goes to fetch the beans de kitchen gen- 
 tleman handed out a beef -steak and fried pota- 
 toes. Just naturally, I was n't going to refuse 
 that beef -steak." 
 
 "What is your story? " inquired the Court of 
 the prize-fighter. The prize-fighter's eyes rolled. 
 
 " Well, ye see, gentlemen, I 'd been saving up 
 for that beef -steak. I had n't eaten anything all 
 day. When I goes to the kitchen it 's gone. I 
 could n't stop thinking about it. I dreamed of 
 that beef-steak and potatoes, and, naturally, 
 when I gits up next mornin' I goes for that feller 
 and gives him a biff." 
 
 There was a ripple of laughter among the spec- 
 tators. Each felt he would have done likewise. 
 Even the participants grinned. The humor of 
 
 200 
 
THE GENESIS OF THE GANG 
 
 the occasion seized them. The man who had 
 been hit spoke up : " Say, your honors, Ise 
 satisfied if the other feller is. I got the beef- 
 steak.'^ 
 
 A shout of laughter greeted this. The prize- 
 fighter did not wish to be outdone, and he spoke 
 up : " Ise satisfied ; I give the biff." This 
 brought down the house. 
 
 The Court paused reflectively, then issued its 
 verdict : " Time — shake hands.'^ 
 
 Amidst general merriment the two colored men 
 joined hands. They will not fight again. They 
 and all present had learned a lesson in decency 
 and fair play. But under the old system the 
 men would have been clapped in a dark cell in 
 the basement, and kept there for five days on 
 bread and water. Day by day hate would have 
 grown in their hearts. When released they 
 w^ould have flown at each other. There might 
 have been murder. One gang w^ould have arisen 
 against another. The prison w^ould have been 
 filled with violence and bloodshed. 
 
 If such kindly understanding methods are suc- 
 cessful with so-called hardened criminals, surely 
 boys can be reclaimed. One convict sums up the 
 situation in this way : 
 
 201 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 ^^ One great mistake is underestimating the in- 
 telligence of the street gamin. He has reasoning 
 power far beyond what he is credited with. A 
 great part of the problem lies in securing per- 
 sons who really understand the kid." 
 
 These things women understand. They have 
 had experience in the nursery. They are inter- 
 ested in details. They know each child must be 
 treated separately and as an individual. There- 
 fore it rests with them to change the gray, mo- 
 notonous, factory-like reformatories into homes. 
 The old prison method of punishment and re- 
 venge must be abolished and a new method which 
 prepares for life, substituted. Institutional 
 doors must be thrown open, sunshine, love, edu- 
 cation, and responsibility enter in. This must 
 be done for society's sake, if not for the child's. 
 Otherwise we will have untaught, revengeful boys 
 uniting in gangs to plunder and murder. Gang- 
 sters and gunmen will flourish and society suffer. 
 
 202 
 
THE FATE OF A KEFORMATORY BOY 
 
 ' 'TTAPPY JACK '' was the man wlio awak- 
 A A ened my interest in prison reform. He 
 was the first convict I visited. I had come aw^ay 
 from the children's court in despair. Johnnie 
 Jones had been arrested for the third time. Two 
 terms in a reformatorv had n't reformed him. 
 Our correctional system seemed a failure. It 
 w^as then I first determined to ask prison inmates 
 who had been institutional children, why so many 
 institutions were failures. 
 
 With this in mind I made my first visit to 
 Sing Sing Prison. It was a warm spring day 
 at the end of April, a day when all life seemed 
 suddenly to burst into blossom. As I entered the 
 dingy old doorway of the gray, grim building, a 
 prisoner passed. He was between two sturdy 
 guards. He was clad in the gray prison uniform 
 and his face had the gray prison pallor. But be- 
 neath the gray surface was a man. There was 
 quiet dignity in his bearing. His muscular, 
 
 203 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 forceful figure was wiry. He was short but 
 powerful. He had the jaw and chin of a fighter. 
 The guard said something and the prisoner 
 smiled, a radiant, Irish smile that made the blue 
 eyes shine, a smile that had won for him the name 
 of " Happy Jack.-' In that first glance I felt 
 this is a man to help me with my problem. He 
 disappeared into the Warden's office and imme- 
 diately I asked for his story. Happy Jack was 
 thirty-two years old. His first arrest was at the 
 age of ten. Since then he had served several 
 terms in reformatories and prisons. He was now 
 behind the bars on a charge of murder. He was 
 to have been executed but twenty-four hours be- 
 fore the end he obtained a stay on the ground of 
 newly discovered evidence. Briefly his case was 
 this : Late at night three men entered a saloon, 
 killed an unarmed saloon-keeper, and attempted 
 to rob the till. Happy Jack was charged with 
 the murder. The only evidence against him was 
 a note-book bearing his name found near the 
 saloon, and a confession signed by Happy Jack 
 which the police wrung from him under the third 
 degree. Jack claimed he did not know what he 
 was doing when he signed the confession, that he 
 did it under the influence of drugs. He said he 
 
 204 
 
FATE OF A REFORMATORY BOY 
 
 had an alibi and could show he was n't near the 
 saloon the night of the murder. Because of this 
 his case had been reopened. A criminal court 
 judge had come ui3 from the city to rehear the 
 case. The retrial was held in the Warden's of- 
 fice and I secured permission to attend the pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 At a long table sat " Happy Jack/' and beside 
 him an officer with thick wooden club, watching 
 every movement. Across the table sat the Judge, 
 the prosecuting attorney, four detectives, a 
 brother of the murdered man, some prison offi- 
 cials, and newspaper reporters. All eyes were 
 on the prisoner and all eyes were curious, or in- 
 different, only Jack's lawyer's were friendly. 
 To his fellowmen the man in gray clothes was a 
 queer and vicious animal, whom they prodded to 
 see the effect produced. The Judge leaned across 
 the table to whisper to me, " The man is a typi- 
 cal criminal, I want you to watch him.'' 
 
 Every one was on his guard and suspicious, 
 only " Happy Jack " was serene. Suddenly the 
 significance of the scene burst upon me. A hu- 
 man being was fighting for his life, appealing to 
 a stereotyped, legal-minded, noncomprehending 
 body of men, who coldly analyzed and judged. 
 
 205 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 A bitter, up-hill fight. This same group of men 
 had once before heard and condemned the 
 prisoner and would surely do so again to vindi- 
 cate their former decision. The Judge com- 
 placently reviewed his own case, his mind already 
 made up. The prosecuting attorney did his work 
 coldly and cleverly, twisting and weighing every 
 word the prisoner uttered. The perspiration 
 stood on " Happy Jack's " brow. He continually 
 moistened his lips and asked for water, otherwise 
 there was no sign of the strain he was under. 
 He was courteous and dignified and occasionally 
 his bright smile played about his lips. ^' Why 
 did n't you tell that story to your attorney at the 
 first trial?'' inquired the Judge at one point. 
 " Because,'' replied the prisoner smiling brightly, 
 " I did n't tell him anything. I was sore. A 
 pal told me, Judge, that you gave me my attor- 
 neys for a frame-up ; he said you had a grudge and 
 meant to do me." The Judge frowned. ^^ That 
 is n't so," he snapped. " Surely you would n't 
 trust the word of an ex-convict rather than that 
 of a judge? " A quizzical look crept into the 
 prisoner's eyes; then it changed to one of en- 
 gaging frankness, as he leaned across to the 
 Judge and addressed him as man to man. 
 
 206 
 
FATE OF A REFORMATORY BOY 
 
 " Why sure, your Honor, if I don't think the 
 Judge was on the level." A little gasp went 
 round the room. Invigorating as a gust of fresh 
 air, was such astounding honesty under such 
 handicap. The Judge flushed, then in an irri- 
 tated tone flung out, ^' To prove that is n t so, to 
 show you how little you mean, two minutes after 
 I sentenced you to death I never thought of you 
 again.'' 
 
 If " Happy Jack " did not shrink, I did. To 
 condemn a man to death and never think of it 
 again — a man like Happy Jack. I looked at 
 the prisoner ; he was looking at me. I wondered 
 what he w^as thinking. Suddenly it flashed upon 
 me that this convict stood out from his fellows, 
 dignified, poised, tolerant, with a wonderful sense 
 of humor. This man had power — he was not a 
 weakling. Whatever wrong he had committed, it 
 was power misdirected. If he had violated so- 
 ciety's laws it was because as a child society had 
 neglected and abused him. 
 
 For days the trial dragged on. Sometimes I 
 listened, sometimes I lost patience. No one 
 seemed to get to the bottom of things. Had Jack 
 lied or hadn't he? Was this piece of evidence 
 
 207 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 true or wasn't it? Over such points the law- 
 yers wrangled. I tried to make the District 
 Attorney realize he was dealing with human life, 
 that Jack was worth saving, that he was n't a 
 coward; that the murder was a cowardly one, 
 that, therefore, Jack had n't committed it. But 
 he did n't understand. He admitted the evidence 
 of guilt was slight, but protested the trial was a 
 fair one. This clean-cut, active-minded instru- 
 ment of the law was as cold and unyielding as a 
 machine. Only twice in his career has he lost a 
 case and he did not mean to lose this one. 
 
 Even the prisoner grew weary. He asked for 
 a private hearing and offered to tell the Judge 
 his life history. But a judge's business is to ex- 
 pound the law — not straighten out a tangled 
 human life. He was n't interested. He did n't 
 desire a private interview with a " dangerous 
 criminal." " Happy Jack " understood. He 
 measured his judge as man measures man. Per- 
 haps, unconsciously, the Judge realized what was 
 going on in the convict's mind, for he grew daily 
 more relentless. At frequent intervals he at- 
 tempted to justify his feelings by announcing that 
 Jack was stamped with guilt and a coward. One 
 
 208 
 
FATE OF A EEFORMATORY BOY 
 
 day he leaned across to me and said : " I should 
 like to witness the man's execution, and watch 
 his face. I 'm so sure he is a coward." 
 
 So this perfectly sound, legal jDroceeding con- 
 tinued, piling up insignificant fact upon fact un- 
 til the verdict again was guilty. And all the 
 time what I wanted to know, what society ought 
 to want to know, was : " Was this man a men- 
 ace, or could he be saved and reformed? Why 
 had he gone wrong? Was it his fault or ours? 
 Had he ever been given a chance? Had he been 
 bent crooked and might he be put straight, or was 
 he fundamentally vicious? " I secured a court 
 order and began to visit " Happy Jack " in the 
 death-house. Little by little I learned his story. 
 I sat in a chair in front of his cell, while he sat 
 on the edge of his cot, grasping the iron bars, 
 and gazing out at me. At first we were ham- 
 pered by the surroundings. It was hard to for- 
 get time and place and who we were and talk as 
 one human being to another. But finally it came. 
 As soon as he saw he could be of service, the bar- 
 riers were down. Little by little I got the story. 
 Some of it he told, some of it he wrote. The en- 
 tire night before his execution w^as spent writing 
 his story that was to help the " kids." 
 
 209 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 The last time I saw Jack he was leaning against 
 the bars of his cell; his hand above his head 
 grasped the cold iron; his body was pressed 
 against the barred door. There was a wistful 
 smile about his lips and in the deep blue eyes. 
 We had talked for several hours. " Good-by," he 
 said and his hand shot out between the bars and 
 grasped mine. I held his a minute, as I whis- 
 pered : " Courage, I have n't given up yet. I 
 may still get the pardon.'' He hated to have me 
 go. I was the last link with the outer world, 
 and we both felt instinctively it was the final 
 visit. His eyes searched mine and into them 
 came a look of deep understanding. Again he 
 smiled and then turned away and I crept out of 
 the door of the death-chamber with sinking heart. 
 This is what '' Happy Jack " wrote : 
 
 Dear Friend: 
 
 It ^s two A. M. Monday. Only a few hours more and 
 they come for me. A guard stands outside my cell day 
 and night. They don't want me to end it, yet they're 
 going to kill me. Dying is n't hard — it 's the waiting — 
 waiting and thinking. Down past the barred cells at the 
 end of the corridor is a little door. It opens into the 
 room with the chair. Several men have gone that way 
 since I 've been here. Big Bill went last week. It 's my 
 turn in a few hours. For fifteen months I 've been locked 
 
 210 
 
— «yffl-fflSKn!j»i^Mi^^fe- ' '■4-«ifif'.-:!»"i4!. .' 
 
 A prison picture of Happy Jack 
 
FATE OF A REFOEMATORY BOY 
 
 in. Been lying in this cell waitin' and thinkin'. God — 
 but it nearly drives a man crazy. If only there was a 
 place to walk, but in a cage 7x4 with a bed there ain't no 
 room for luxuries. There 're fifteen of us in the death- 
 house, clinging to the bars. We 're fed and watched and 
 one by one we're led out. Sometimes a man goes clean 
 dippy. That man, who was yellin' in the padded cell 
 the other day when you was here, was one of us. After 
 a while he came round. He has a little girl and got 
 thinkin'. 
 
 It's a terrible thing to die for a wrong committed by 
 another, but it'll be a relief to get out of this. There 
 is n't much more time, but before I go I 'm doing every- 
 thing in my power to write what I promised. I 've had 
 a lot to do and I hope you won't be disappointed if my 
 story is short. I have been writing ever since early Sun- 
 day. I'm sorry I distrusted you at first. But you will 
 understand. You talked so friendly with the Judge, and 
 a man who 's once been in prison don't trust any one. 
 
 If you or some one like you had gotten me when I was 
 a kid, I would n't be here now, but I 'm not complaining 
 as my life was only a joke. I had to fight since a kid, 
 getting a kick and a punch from everybody, and I hated 
 everybody until I seen you and the people who helped me 
 lately. I didn't believe there was a good man in the 
 world, but now I 'd make any sacrifice for you. I 'm sorry 
 we didn't meet before this trouble. You are doing a 
 God's work and my only regret in going is that I can't 
 help. 
 
 I have read the book you gave me and wish to say it is 
 great ["A Bunch of Little Thieves," by Greenburg]. 
 The life of Michael Roach is in a big part the true life 
 of the poor boy of to-day. The introduction to the book 
 
 213 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 cannot be beat. I quote : " In reformatories, whether 
 for old or young, the program for correction has been 
 largely based upon the idea of physical force and the 
 fear of its brutal consequences. In reformatories exist — 
 greed, system, system, system. They are dehumanizing 
 institutions where the individual is lost in the mass. 
 
 " The problem of the bad boy is not apart from the 
 problem of life and all that that implies and it cannot 
 be solved by those who do not understand the desires and 
 aspirations of the human race." 
 
 That is all true. A reformatory helped make me bad. 
 No one ever understood. Often I did things just for ad- 
 venture. It was n't the " swag " — it was the fiction. 
 
 I 'm marking off parts in the book that is right. Also 
 I 'm marking parts which relates to the boys' thoughts 
 and feelings when arrested and sent away. If there ever 
 was a reform school like the ideal one described, it would 
 reform anybody. 
 
 You asked me to write the story of my life, so I '11 do it. 
 I hope it helps the kids. It will, if some one reads it to 
 them. I have n't much time ; I '11 soon have to pay for 
 the crime I 'm here for. The curtain will be dropped for 
 me to get prepared. I '11 have to hustle so I can't give 
 you many tips as to the real life in a reform school, but 
 I '11 do my best. 
 
 I lived on the upper East Side of Harlem. My people 
 were very poor and many times I went to bed hungry. 
 My shoes were torn and sometimes I had no shoes. I eat 
 bread given me by another boy. There was a man by the 
 name of Leonard who had a flock of pigeons. I used to 
 go on the roof to see him fly them, and I thought how I 
 would like to have one. Finally, a woman named Simons, 
 who had a nephew who had a few pigeons, asked me to 
 
 214 
 
FATE OF A KEFORMATORY BOY 
 
 run an errand and she gave me a white pigeon. I was 
 overjoyed. I had two friends and made them part own- 
 ers. One boy took care of it. Our white pigeon had a 
 wart on one eye and wasn't very strong because of the 
 handling we gave it. It got worse In health. One day 
 when we had It on the roof and threw It In the air to at- 
 tract other pigeons, it fell down a chimney and got cov- 
 ered with soot. Then we gave It a bath, and a woman 
 who saw us felt sorrow and bought the pigeon for twelve 
 cents. I shared the twelve cents with my two friends. 
 Later the pigeon died and the woman let us bury It in the 
 rear yard. 
 
 I was going to school at that time on and off, though 
 I never had more than a few weeks' schoolin' altogether. 
 Always after school I kept tryin' to catch a pigeon. I 
 would put my handkerchief In my cap and fold my cap 
 around the handkerchief and try to imitate a pigeon. I 
 did this to coax other pigeons to me. One day my teacher 
 bought me a suit of clothes and some shoes. I can re- 
 member that day. But the next day I was promoted and 
 I lost my good teacher. I got a rough one instead, whom 
 I did n't like and after that I played truant. When I 
 was ten I stayed at home very little ; I lived on the street. 
 
 At this time my mother moved downtown. I got ac- 
 quainted with a boy named Eddie and went home less and 
 less. Eddie and I used to steal pigeons, and that was 
 the first time I stole. We stole common pigeons and put 
 them in Eddie's backyard and he trained them. Eddie 
 did n't have to steal, as he had money, but he liked to. 
 After he got the pigeons trained, he called me in his yard 
 to see the difference between good and common pigeons. 
 His brother Charlie had good ones in his cellar, they are 
 what is called " felights." I liked these pigeons better 
 
 215 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 than the ones Ed. had, so I stole the brother's pigeons by 
 climbing over the fence in the night. I put them in an 
 empty apartment next door to where my family lived. 
 Then I let a boy named Joseph, partners in with me, on 
 the pigeons. Joseph took them to his house. One day 
 we took them on the roof and some of them got away. 
 Then Joseph's step-mother cut the heads off the remain- 
 ing pigeons and cooked them. I felt very bad, but I stole 
 lots more. One night at 138th Street three of us boys 
 went on a pigeon hunt. One of the boys lit a cigarette 
 " butt " he found and a man saw the light in the rear yard 
 where we were and caught us and had us arrested. That 
 was my first arrest. I was scared. They took me to a 
 police station. After a while a policeman beat me and 
 let me go. That filled me with hate and I got a big stick, 
 meaning to kill that man. Then I began to steal things 
 to eat regularly. I broke into a fish store at 120th Street 
 and Second Avenue. I did n't get anything, but I can 
 remember even now finding a revolver. It was the first 
 firearm I ever had. I 've forgotten what I did with it. 
 I remember stealing many things to eat all through my 
 boyhood. Finally I got arrested and sent to the Gerry So- 
 ciety. But I got out of there and started right in to steal 
 again. The fact is, I had to, to live. Then I got ar- 
 rested and sent to a reformatory and there I learned my 
 real crooked career. I learned burglary, and it became 
 my ambition when I got out to steal and get nice clothes. 
 Also my mind had been corrupted. At 14 years of age 
 I had a rotten mind. I knew more immorality than most 
 men know. In a reform school you get your first lessons 
 in real stealing and you try it out, as soon as you are 
 released. Then you get arrested and sent back. The 
 book you gave me had the treatment in it, that a boy 
 
 216 
 
FATE OF A REFORMATORY BOY 
 
 receives at a reformatory and it does n't help him. After 
 the Reformatory comes the House of Refuge. Here you 
 are paroled when released. If caught breaking parole, 
 you may get sent back until twenty-one. After the 
 House of Refuge comes Elmira, then the next is Black- 
 well's Island, then Sing Sing and Auburn, and finally 
 Dannemora Prison. Then you are a full fiedged thief. 
 You have no respect for any one. You lose God. You 
 have no conscience, conscience is dead. You take re- 
 venge on society because society has taken revenge on 
 you. 
 
 My present trouble came about from lack of food, de- 
 spair, because deprived of things other men and boys had, 
 from a desire to have decent clothes, not just clothes 
 enough to cover me, and from the bad and immoral acts 
 learned me by men and women when a boy. Many and 
 many a time I was hungry. Many a time I was wet and 
 cold. I had no way to dry my wet feet, but to wait until 
 they dried. Then it would rain again, and again I must 
 stay wet for hours. In the meantime I was knocked 
 around and abused, morally and physically. When sent 
 away it was the same — I was abused. You are made to 
 lie, steal, and curse, and curse you can. You are made to 
 distrust all people, you trust no one. The only law you 
 know is the law of the underworld. You have to be al- 
 ways on your guard. You have to look out for the police, 
 for citizens, for the people you are going to take advan- 
 tage of, and for the stool pigeon. You have to be on 
 your guard for what is termed " rats " (burglar alarm) 
 and for dogs. You are nothing but a haunted and hunted 
 beast of a man. You have no life. If you had gotten 
 me and trusted me fully I don't think I'd have gone 
 
 217 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 back on you. I wouldn't have stolen unless you done 
 something to test me out. Sometimes I 've stolen to give. 
 Once I got in trouble because I stole to help a married 
 man pay his rent. I 've been arrested for stealing for 
 the fun of stealing and for stealing because I had to 
 steal to live, the court don't care which. God knows I 'm 
 sick of it. I 'd like to help the kids. My kind of life 
 only means heartache, torture, and disgrace. Remember 
 that in every Reform School there is boys with good in- 
 stincts as well as bad. Separate the good from the bad 
 and put the bad little ones with older boys who are good. 
 Then you will bripg them around. At the House of the 
 Good Shepherd, keep the girls sent there from home sepa- 
 rated from the ones sent there for prostitution. You can 
 work on both separately and make good. Above all, trust 
 the kids and teach them to trust you. 
 
 I 'm sorry I can't get out to assist you in your work. 
 I did n't suppose I 'd land here. I never thought they 
 could put it over on me. I ain't an angel. There 're no 
 two wings on me, but I don't murder an unarmed man in 
 the dark ; if I 'm out to kill I fight in the open. Some- 
 times it seems as though you have to kill, for the Law and 
 the courts don't give a convict justice. What else is there 
 to do with a stool-pigeon — a man who goes back on his 
 pals? 
 
 As for a man who 's a convict getting justice in his 
 own case, it ain't possible. Once have a record, even a 
 reformatory record, and the police are after you for every- 
 thing done in the neighborhood. It is easy to believe the 
 Judge did n't like me when the first remark he passed 
 was : " You have a bad face. You look like a criminal 
 and the world would be better off without you." That 
 
 218 
 
FATE OF A REFORMATORY BOY 
 
 made me hot under the collar and I wouldn't talk to my 
 lawyers, nor say a word at the trial, nor go on the stand. 
 But g-ee — I didn't see what they had on me. 
 
 Well, I 've kept me word and wrote what I promised. 
 I hope you get it O.K. It is n't what I 'd liked to have 
 done, but the time was very short. It 's after four A. M. 
 and me fingers is sore, but here I am still at it. I wrote 
 since Sunday afternoon. I thank you for your kindness 
 and all you did in my behalf. I know if a pardon could 
 have been got, you would have gotten it. But don't worry 
 for I 'm not of much use. It 's awful easy to aggravate 
 me and sometimes I lose my head completely. Do you 
 think it would be worth while to save me? Don't you 
 see all the things I 've done ? I 'm sorry, of course, but 
 do you think that 's an excuse ? Do you think that 
 squares me for the way I have acted ? You say, be brave. 
 I '11 be that alright. I can't get over the Judge's telling 
 you he thought I was afraid. No man likes being locked 
 in this kind of a hell ; but I 'm not a coward. I 'm glad 
 you're going to write to the papers the day I die, tellin' 
 them you believe in me. Gee ! how I would like to see that 
 letter. You can bet I '11 prove the Judge a liar by dying 
 brave. 
 
 Again I thank you for what you done. Good-by, and 
 may God bless you and always be with you. 
 
 Yours in gratitude, 
 
 (Signed) Jack. 
 
 P. S. I wish you had gotten me when I was a kid, I 'd 
 be a different man. 
 
 P. S. Don't feel bad — be of good heart and God bless 
 you — ' farewell. 
 
 " Happy Jack." 
 219 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 During the few days between the trial and the 
 execution I did everything in my power to secure 
 a commutation of sentence, the changing of the 
 death sentence to life imprisonment. I went to 
 the Governor, but all in vain. The rehearing 
 had been fair and when Judge and District At- 
 torney oppose clemency, it is an unwritten law 
 that none may be granted. I traveled back to the 
 District Attorney. As I made my way to his 
 office, an assistant attorney brushed against me 
 laughing and held out an engraved card. It was 
 an invitation to the execution. " Had one yet? '' 
 he inquired. I could only turn away, sick at 
 heart. Here, too, my errand was a failure. 
 What was left? Public opinion, the newspapers. 
 Then began a weary round. I sought the leading 
 dailies, only to be politely told they were n't in- 
 terested. My story was n't news. The day Jack 
 was executed they would print anything I wrote 
 but not before. Never had I felt so helpless. A 
 human life was at stake and I could n't make a 
 ripple on the placid progress of affairs. Deep 
 in my heart I knew the mother hearts would have 
 understood and answered if I could have reached 
 them. They would have seen what I saw. The 
 
 220 
 
FATE OF A KEFORMATORY BOY 
 
 awakening of a human soul, the need of per- 
 mitting this awakened soul to render the service 
 that w^as in him, before cleaning the slate. 
 
 As the time of execution drew near the stupid- 
 ity of what society in its ignorance w^as doing 
 w^eighed too heavily and I ran away. But before 
 I left the State I sent a letter to every paper to be 
 printed with the account of the execution. In it 
 I told about the " Happy Jack " I knew. I spoke 
 of his ability, his humanness, and said w^e should 
 have used him. I pointed out that we let the 
 diseased and degenerates live, but kill a young, 
 forceful, intelligent, and virile man. And last I 
 spoke of his courage. I declared he w^ould die 
 bravely, that he w^as not a coward. Was such 
 confidence on a three weeks' acquaintance haz- 
 ardous? I think not. Some things we know in- 
 stinctively and surely. Each little act of 
 " Happy Jack," however far wrong he may have 
 gone, marked him a man. 
 
 On Monday, May 19, within an hour after he 
 had finished his letter to me the end came. In 
 the Evening Journal appeared the following 
 headline : 
 
 223 
 
SOCIETY^S MISFITS 
 
 "Happy Jack" Dies in Chair With a Smile — Woman 
 
 Defends Him. 
 
 May 19th. " Happy Jack," convicted of the murder 
 
 of Paddy B , a saloon-keeper, went cheerily to death in 
 
 the electric chair to-day. He was easily the most com- 
 posed and pleasant victim that ever sat in the fatal chair. 
 
 He began his last short trip down the hall just eleven 
 minutes before six o'clock. Fourteen men who had been 
 condemned to the same sort of death were in the cells 
 near him. The curtains had been drawn before their cells 
 when Jack started but through the gloom there came his 
 cheery voice, calling good-by to the remaining fourteen. 
 
 The Reverend Father attended him. As they walked 
 together to the death chamber. Jack bore a crucifix. He 
 heard the mufiled reply that came from the death cells as 
 he called good-by and stepped into the execution room at 
 5 :49 o'clock. At 5 :50 he was strapped in the chair. The 
 current was switched on at 5 :50 and left for one minute. 
 The second and third shocks were not given and the body 
 responded but once to the charge. Even then it found 
 Jack wearing a smile. He came into the room smiling and 
 his last words as he sat in the death chair were: 
 
 " Tell them I 'm not afraid." 
 
 The warm days have come again and with them 
 the anniversary of Happy Jack's execution, that 
 moment when he was snuffed out like a candle. 
 But out of that tragedy has come gladness w^hen 
 I journey back to the grim old prison. It is no 
 longer wdth sadness, for in two short years a 
 change has taken place — a change beyond be- 
 
 224 
 
FATE OF A REFORMATORY BOY 
 
 lief. Jack's life was not lived in vain. It was 
 liis story I took to George W. Kircliwey, then 
 Dean of the Columbia Law School, and he, 
 greatly stirred, went to Thomas Mott Osborne, 
 already absorbed in jjrison problems. Through 
 these men a New York State Prison Reform Com- 
 mission was appointed with Mr. Osborne as chair- 
 man. The work that Mr. Osborne has since done 
 has become an old story. His appointment as 
 w^arden of Sing Sing, the establishment of the 
 Mutual Welfare League and self-government is a 
 tale famous from coast to coast. And through 
 Mr. Osborne it was possible for me to get from 
 the men in Sing Sing and Auburn prisons the 
 story of their boyhood in reformatories, stories 
 that have stirred woman's heart and brought 
 ready help from every State in the Union. For 
 a new spirit has awakened toward society's de- 
 linquents whose fullest expression is to be seen at 
 Sing Sing. If you look over the high walls in 
 the late afternoon on these w^arm summer days 
 you will see men moving freely about and talking. 
 Work is over and the men are playing baseball 
 or tennis or gather in little groups discussing 
 right and wrong. The pigeons that ^' Happy 
 Jack" loved so well, that he shared even his 
 
 225 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 scanty prison food with them, hover low over the 
 old buildings. A spirit of brotherhood and up- 
 rightness pervades the place. There is but one 
 regret, that is that " Happy Jack " may not see it. 
 But who knows, perhaps his released spirit has 
 taken refuge in the breast of the nesting pigeons, 
 who brood so serenely on the gray grim walls. 
 
 226 
 
THE REFORMATOEY THAT REFORMS 
 
 ^'IVTOBODY raised me, I just growed!" is 
 ±\ the Tops J form of education. The re- 
 verse is institutionalism or suppression. In 
 neither case is the result desirable. But last 
 summer I found an institution that produces 
 neither a Toi)sy nor institutionalized child, but a 
 valuable citizen. This does not mean there are 
 not other institutions doing excellent work. Be- 
 tween the evils of the worst, and the virtues of 
 the best, lies a great gulf. Every State has at 
 least one institution to be proud of, where earn- 
 est men and women with untiring zeal have 
 wrought wonders. The grim, gray, walled-in re- 
 formatory with barred windows and cruel punish- 
 ments had given place to a stretch of open coun- 
 try, dotted with gay cottages where kindly treat- 
 ment prevails. 
 
 These model institutions have acres of rolling 
 farm land, fresh green lawns, straight gravel 
 paths, picturesque cottages, fluttering curtains, 
 
 227 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 immaculate white tablecloths and real china for 
 the " kiddies." The effect is magnificent, one's 
 heart swells with pride, this we say is America 
 at its best. But these model institutions usually 
 have one grave defect. It exists in the best hos- 
 pitals as well as the best institutions. Doctors 
 have discovered it. It is that shining, white, 
 sterilized beds do not always cure curable pa- 
 tients. Why? Because the soul as well as the 
 body needs treatment. Man has attempted by 
 outer perfection to transform the spirit and it 
 can't be done. When your boy rescues a bird 
 from a snake, fights for fair play, protects his lit- 
 tle sister, tries to serve the community, is wild 
 with excitement over a new discovery, or creeps 
 into mother's arms at night for love, these mo- 
 ments transform him and make him a man. 
 These moments the institutional child rarely has. 
 But I found a reformatory that had discovered 
 the secret. It was by chance I stumbled upon it. 
 I was in England, absorbed in the war. I had 
 been talking democracy with a nephew of the 
 Earl of Sandwich, when he said, " Visit our Lit- 
 tle Commonwealth if you want to see real democ- 
 racy." I opened my eyes wide. Earls and earls' 
 sons and nephews don't usually go in for democ- 
 
 228 
 
REFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 racy, but I accepted liis invitation. He was 
 chairman of the executive board. On the board 
 of managers were such people as Earl Grey, the 
 Duchess of Marlborough, the Earl of Sandwich 
 [since this has been written the ncAvs has come of 
 the death of the Earl of Sandwich], and many 
 other notables. 
 
 I journeyed down to Dorchester. It was a 
 w^arm summer's day, with patches of blue sky, 
 gray clouds, and intense peace. War seemed an 
 absurdity. Mr. Homer T. Lane, the superintend- 
 ent of the Little Commonwealth, met me at the 
 quaint English station with his motor-car. Mr. 
 Lane, by the way, is an American, which may ac- 
 count for some of the democracy. At first I was 
 absorbed in the scenery, the well-ordered farms, 
 the thatched cottages, the serenity and routine 
 of English country life, and I gave Mr. Lane 
 scant attention. It was the motor-car roused 
 me. It was feeling its way along the road like a 
 thing alive. Suddenly as if tired of civilization 
 it shot out across the fields with a little puff of 
 contentment. It butted its nose against a gate 
 and with a chug of conquest darted through. 
 Then I looked at the driver. It was a disreputa- 
 ble old car all banged and scarred, but it w^as 
 
 229 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 human. It had as much spirit and character as 
 an animal. I began to wonder about the man at 
 the wheel, a man who could make even a Ford 
 car human. Long before our destination was 
 reached I knew that the children under his care 
 would not be cogs in a machine. We climbed a 
 hill and slid down another, in happy-go-lucky 
 fashion, and turned into an open gate. There 
 was no form of reception, no rows of children and 
 a brass band. Visitors at the Commonwealth 
 are a common occurrence : mothers, relatives, 
 strangers, all are welcome, at all times. I saw 
 a big farm dotted with cottages. Everywhere 
 doors and windows were open. There were boys 
 working in the fields, a girl in a doorway shaking 
 a rug, and some tiny children playing on a lawn. 
 Every now and then there were snatches of song 
 and gay childish laughter, and everywhere the 
 hum and buzz of voices. The place w^as alive — 
 like the auto, it had meaning. 
 
 Presently, I and my bag were deposited at a 
 cottage door. Some small girls surrounded me. 
 One took me to a tiny room, her own turned over 
 to me. The diminutive bed and chair made me 
 feel a child again among children. That was the 
 beauty of the place, you became one of the family. 
 
 230 
 
Connie and two of her babies 
 
REFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 I stayed for three days. I saw the " kiddies " 
 in their every-day life ; I figuratively looked under 
 the beds, in all the cupboards, and searched the 
 children's hearts and could find nothing wrong. 
 The children paid little heed to me. They were 
 busy with their own tasks, but they possessed true 
 hospitality. They gave me my freedom. Even 
 yet each child stands out as an individual. There 
 was no herding together in a colorless institu- 
 tional mass. 
 
 The children ranged in age from thirteen to 
 seventeen. They were chiefly products of the 
 London Children's Courts. They had been con- 
 victed of theft, assault, or had been in danger of 
 becoming morally depraved. Some records w^ere 
 bad. Mr. Lane has a preference for a boy or girl 
 whom the ordinary reformatory rejects. He be- 
 lieves in the theory that children with great en- 
 terprise for evil have equal capacity for good. 
 He pointed to his three oldest girls and told their 
 story. Each now occupies a position of honor as 
 a cottage housekeeper. Their crimes had been 
 shoplifting. At the time of arrest they were only 
 fifteen. They were almost women in size and 
 considered a menace. In court they were closely 
 guarded by a matron and policemen. During 
 
 233 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 trial thej had been in prison in the Women's De- 
 tention House. Mr. Lane was in court. His be- 
 lieving heart and understanding eyes discovered 
 possibilities no one else saw. He asked that the 
 delinquents be sent to the Commonwealth. The 
 Judge hesitated. He thought the delinquents too 
 wicked. At last he consented. Then Mr. Lane 
 went to the girls. They were still closely 
 guarded. "We won't need you any more/' he 
 said to the officials, " the girls are going with 
 me." The matron and policemen were as- 
 tounded. Surely Mr. Lane didn't know what 
 dangerous characters he dealt with. Their ap- 
 prehension changed to horror as he continued, 
 turning to the girls: "Is there a taxi stand 
 near? We will need a cab to go to the station." 
 Three pairs of eyes looked at him squarely. 
 " Sure, sir, we know where to get one," and they 
 were off. In leisurely manner, with smiling 
 good-bys, amidst gaping officials, Mr. Lane made 
 his departure. At the street corner in quiet 
 dignity stood the three girls with the taxi. At 
 the station weeping relatives met the little group. 
 " May we say good-by to our mothers? " asked 
 the trio. " Certainly," was Mr. Lane's prompt 
 answer. "Take your mothers in the waiting- 
 
 234 
 
REFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 room, but fifteen minutes before train time meet 
 me on the station platform." At the api)ointed 
 hour the three weeping maidens appeared. They 
 were desperately unhappy ; they did n't w^ant to 
 go to a strange institution, but they had been 
 trusted and they kept their trust. 
 
 The citizens of the Little Commonw^ealth are 
 those whom society has dubbed " misfits." They 
 are not a picked brand, unless choosing the hard- 
 est to control means a choice of the best. But 
 where they come from or what their crimes these 
 things are forgotten — the interest centers in 
 what the children are. 
 
 HOME LIFE 
 
 The first thing that strikes one about the Com- 
 monwealth is its hominess. Many institutions 
 have cottages, but not many are homelike. The 
 Commonwealth cottages have all the earmarks. 
 It was evident boys had sprawled in chairs and 
 tramped about on the rugs. The fireplaces were 
 black with usage; the books battered with han- 
 dling, the graphaphone continually emitted a 
 cheery sound, family life oozed from every corner 
 of the buildings. 
 
 Two things created this home atmosphere. 
 
 235 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 One, the children owned the place. There was 
 no routine or system, beyond that of the well- 
 regulated family and there were big and little 
 children and both sexes in every cottage. 
 
 The average cottage institution herds ten to 
 twenty boys all of the same age in one building. 
 Triplets is the utmost a normal family can man- 
 age. Even a cottage cannot make twenty boys, 
 all fourteen, a natural family. There must be 
 the big and the little, the girl and the boy, to 
 create the relation of give and take, care and con- 
 sideration that exists in home life. 
 
 The Little Commonwealth has met the need 
 for tiny children, by adopting eight orphans all 
 under seven, the youngest a baby of six months. 
 These little creatures awaken the latent love of 
 the old boys and girls. They satisfy the ache of 
 the hungry heart. Babies are in demand in 
 every cottage. It is a joyous sight when you 
 step into the dining-room for dinner to see a 
 cooing, friendly, curly-headed baby playing in 
 its clothes basket. Not a boy or girl passes the 
 baby without some term of endearment. These 
 little creatures thrive on the love of their older 
 brothers and sisters, but they are not spoiled. 
 Their destiny is presided over by Mrs. Lane who 
 
 236 
 
REFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 brings them up Montessori fashion. Moreover, 
 each cottage has a grown up, who acts as house 
 father or mother. These babies as soon as they 
 can walk, like the other citizens, care for them- 
 selves. They have their tiny gardens and their 
 daily tasks. Late one afternoon hearing gurgles 
 and chuckles issuing from the bathroom in my 
 cottage I entered. Some three- and four-year-old 
 kiddies, unaided, w^ere taking their bath. Quite 
 unconscious of me, they continued their opera- 
 tions. When it came time to dress there was a 
 hunt for clothes. The clothes w^ere in a big cup- 
 board. A small man of four could not find satis- 
 factory garments. A glorified, naked little Eve 
 of three undertook to assist. She got down on 
 her hands and knees and crept into the cupboard. 
 Meanwhile Stanley poised on two sturdy legs 
 observed proceedings. Presently, Eve emerged 
 triumphant with shirt and trousers that matched. 
 I offered my services to Stanley but he was much 
 more expert than I in arranging his garments, 
 and Eve was far too capable to need any assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Into such an atmosphere of hominess, kindli- 
 ness, cheer, and love do the children come. Such 
 
 237 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 faith have Mr. and Mrs. Lane in the innate good- 
 ness of children and that environment can work 
 wonders that their own children, a boy of eight, 
 two little girls, and a boy of sixteen are members 
 of the community. Like the others, they are 
 citizens. They have no privileges but share 
 equally in the work and the play. 
 
 ECONOMIC INDEPENDENCE 
 
 Next to the hominess, the most striking feature 
 of the Commonwealth is the ability of the citizens. 
 They are self-reliant, self-respecting, and full of 
 initiative. They don't ask for help, they do 
 things themselves. This comes from economic 
 independence. For each citizen earns his own 
 living. As soon as he or she arrives the first task 
 is to secure employment. There is the carpentry 
 work, the building of houses, equipment, repairs, 
 plumbing, the farming, the planting and raising 
 of vegetables, the care of the cattle, all these 
 things are done by the boys. The housework, the 
 cooking, cleaning, sewing, laundry work, care of 
 the children, the keeping accounts, buying house- 
 hold supplies, making both ends meet, the run- 
 ning of the community store, these are the tasks 
 
 238 
 
The citizens build the commonwealth cottages 
 
 at work 
 
 a former judge 
 
REFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 of the girls. The great novelty of it all is, that 
 the citizens not only do the work, but conceive 
 and plan it as well. 
 
 For all labor each child receives the current 
 local rate of wages of from 6 to 7 cents an hour. 
 The payment is made in token money, but when 
 a citizen graduates, his savings are redeemed 
 in regular currency. All departments are con- 
 ducted on a strictly business basis. The citizen 
 has the same problems to meet that confront him 
 in the outside world. If he does n't give satis- 
 faction he is discharged and must secure other 
 employment. 
 
 The position of shopkeeper is in great demand. 
 It may be held by a boy or girl. In the store are 
 all needed supplies from food to clothing. A 
 small girl was storekeeper during my visit. Ex- 
 cept for the size of the jjroprietor, it might have 
 been the shop of a thrifty French woman. There 
 was an air of cheer, cleanliness, and compact- 
 ness about it. The account books were beauti- 
 fully neat. The cash register gathered in the 
 aluminum money. This small person would have 
 no difficulty in securing a similar position in the 
 w^orld at large. 
 
 Out of their earnings the children pay for 
 
 241 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 room, board, clothing, and every necessity and 
 pleasure. There is no restriction on color, shape, 
 or value of clothing. Yon may wear what you 
 please provided you can afford it. There is equal 
 latitude in the matter of accommodations. If 
 dissatisfied with board in one cottage a citizen 
 may move to another, if there is room. This is 
 good for the housekeepers. It keeps up a stand- 
 ard. One day at lunch the cake was heavy. 
 Criticisms came thick and fast. It was evident 
 the baking must improve, or the housekeeper lose 
 her position, or her boarders. 
 
 The inevitable question of course is, are there 
 no laggards? The answer is, that constructive 
 work that is paid for reduces that problem to a 
 minimum. But once there was a little boy who 
 rebelled. He flatly refused to lift his hand in any 
 kind of labor. Day by day he grew more ragged 
 and dirty. He was fed on the community leav- 
 ings. At last his appearance became a disgrace 
 and the citizens held a meeting. It was decided 
 to tax each member and buy the boy a suit of 
 clothes. One night the disreputable coat and 
 trousers w^ere burned and new ones left in their 
 place. In the morning the small lad had no al- 
 ternative but to wear what he found. Those 
 
 242 
 
REFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 clothes were like a red-hot brand in the flesh. 
 Each citizen made a tour of inspection. They 
 had paid for the clothes and felt they had a right 
 to inspect. He saw he was a pauper and a de- 
 pendent. The disgrace ate into the boy's soul. 
 In a day he was hard at work. The first money 
 earned went to reimburse the community for his 
 new suit. To-day there are rarely shirkers. The 
 community resents being taxed to support a de- 
 linquent. Public disapprobation is the greatest 
 punishment young shoulders can endure. 
 
 In such fashion are the problems worked out. 
 
 SELF-GOVERNMENT 
 
 Do not imagine the citizens are perfect. These 
 children, like others, have their fits of passion, 
 their tantrums, their days of bad behavior. But 
 they are given the opportunity to learn self-con- 
 trol through experience. It is a self-governing 
 community. From the first, the children have 
 done their own thinking, made their own laws, 
 and maintained discipline. When the Common- 
 wealth started the children assembled to draw up 
 the laws. Mr. Lane saw that all looked to him 
 for guidance. They voted as he voted. He de- 
 termined to teach them a lesson. Deliberately 
 
 243 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 he voted wrong on every question. The citizens 
 followed suit. Soon they were in a frightful 
 muddle. The leaders were in despair. They 
 went to Mr. Lane in desperation. " Self-govern- 
 ment won't work/' they declared. Mr. Lane 
 looked at them quietly. " The trouble is n't with 
 self-government, but with you," he said. Then 
 he told them what he had done and why, and 
 ended with — " Now go back, make your own 
 laws, do your own thinking, never depend on any 
 one else." They went back. This time in a new 
 spirit. Soon they had evolved w^ise rules of con- 
 duct. Children's laws suited to children's needs, 
 not adult laws superimposed on children. That 
 is the keynote — the great difference between the 
 Commonwealth and all other junior republics. 
 Other republics have adopted the bad as well as 
 the good in society's laws. They have copied the 
 grown-up system of revenge, punishment, and 
 jails, and the attempt to create good behavior by 
 fear. Not so the Commonwealth; its laws are 
 the result of experience and have been worked out 
 by trial and error. Mr. Lane has let his citizens 
 go down a blind alley, find their mistakes, and 
 return to the trail. As an example, one day 
 when Mr. Lane started for the city, the boys asked 
 
 244 
 
KEFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 to make a bonfire. " Certainly/' said Mr. Lane, 
 ^^onlj be careful to do no damage.'^ It was a 
 gray day, and the wood was damp. The fire was 
 a failure. The disappointment was keen. Then 
 a bright boy spoke up : " I know how to make 
 it burn; put on some gasoline.^' Down to the 
 garage they trooped, and a bucket of gasoline was 
 poured on the wood. It proved a huge success. 
 Great was the delight. Bucket after bucket of 
 gasoline disappeared in the flames. That night 
 when Mr. Lane returned he asked : " Did you 
 have a good bonfire? '' " Great/' was the answer 
 in chorus. " How did you manage it? " asked 
 Mr. Lane. "The wood was wet?" These chil- 
 dren know no fear. There is no need for decep- 
 tion. Promptly they poured forth the story of 
 the gasoline. Mr. Lane listened attentively. 
 " Yes/' he said, " gasoline makes a fine fire, but 
 an expensive one." Bit by bit he worked out the 
 amount used, the price per bucket, what it would 
 cost each boy. Moment by moment the faces 
 grew more dejected. The lads saw the savings 
 of months vanishing. Then Mr. Lane ended 
 with : " I want you boys to feel the place and 
 everything on it is yours, but of course you must 
 pay for what you use." That principle was al- 
 
 245 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 ready citizen law. Its justice was recognized. 
 The boys accepted their fate without question and 
 wrote this addition in the Statute Book. " If 
 you use what you haven't paid for, you must 
 make restitution with interest." They had 
 learned a never to be forgotten lesson. No more 
 gasoline was ever uselessly expended. The 
 citizens' laws secure reformation by education 
 rather than punishment. 
 
 But sometimes there is need of discipline. 
 When there is, it is administered by the children 
 through their court. Every Friday night court 
 is held. In these proceedings the whole com- 
 munity takes part. Any one may give testimony. 
 There is simplicity in the procedure, lacking in an 
 ordinary court. It results in greater justice. 
 Frequently the judge is a girl. This has come 
 about naturally. It was discovered that girls 
 make better judges than boys because more 
 original. The verdict is, " Girls think up things 
 to do to you and boys only fine." The first girl 
 chosen objected. She said it was not the place 
 for a woman. But the community knew better. 
 They had listened to her wise remarks as a wit- 
 ness and they insisted. Her success was instan- 
 taneous. From that day the girls have made the 
 
 246 
 
REFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 most popular judges. A small girl of fourteen 
 acted as judge on the Friday night of my visit. 
 Black-gowned judges would not have recognized 
 the proceedings. The court was bound by no 
 precedents. It was based on justice and common 
 sense. A girl named Connie, aged fifteen, al- 
 most a w^oman in appearance, w^as brought be- 
 fore the court on the charge of swearing. After 
 the indictment, there was a pause, then the Judge 
 said : " How can I be sure what you said was 
 swearing?'' "Shall I tell you what it was?" 
 volunteered Connie. " No," said the Judge hur- 
 riedly. " Some children may never have heard 
 the words." Then after a moment of deep re- 
 flection and w^ith utmost gravity : " I will aj)- 
 point a committee of experts on swearing to hear 
 you." Solemnly the two experts on swearing re- 
 tired to listen to Connie. Gravely they returned 
 and declared her language unfit for polite so- 
 ciety. Again the Judge paused, then passed sen- 
 tence. 
 
 " Connie, you must have your mouth w^ashed 
 with soap. You take care of the little children, 
 and it 's bad of you to swear." 
 
 But from all parts of the room came murmurs 
 and protests. It w^as evident the verdict was not 
 
 247 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 satisfactory. These citizens did not hesitate to 
 criticize the bench. "What's the matter?" in- 
 quired the Judge. Outflowed the following ob- 
 jections : 
 
 " We don't think the punishment a good one. 
 Connie 's too big to have her mouth washed out. 
 It would take four of us to do it. It would n't 
 be dignifled. It was all right in the early days 
 of the Commonwealth, but we have passed that 
 stage." 
 
 The Judge listened reflectively. She had no 
 arrogance or false pride. " You 're right," she 
 admitted; "I'll change my sentence. Connie 
 must stay in close bounds for three days." 
 ( Keep within the courtyard. ) 
 
 In such fashion is justice administered. So 
 simply, sweetly, fairly, and impersonally that 
 the delinquent accepts his fate without murmur 
 and bears no ill-will. 
 
 When the trial was over Connie came to me to 
 whisper, " I only swear in my own room, never 
 before the babies." I didn't need to look into 
 her honest blue eves to know this was so. 
 Through her love for the little ones she was learn- 
 ing self-control. Fear had not purified her lips, 
 but love was purifying both heart and lips. 
 
 248 
 
KEFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 One great feature of the Commouwealth is its 
 absolute democracy. It is truly a government 
 by all, for all. Tlie Judge of Friday niglit may 
 Saturday morning be working under and taking 
 orders from the delinquent she sentenced the day 
 before. No one holds an elevated position. If 
 there are complaints against Mr. Lane they are 
 brought before the court. When the Earl of 
 Sandwich visits he too becomes a citizen. There 
 are no distinctions, all are treated alike. While 
 the citizens do not bow or curtsey and have no 
 formal good manners, they have acquired some- 
 thing infinitely greater, good breeding. 
 
 COEDUCATION 
 
 One important phase of the Commonwealth not 
 yet touched on is coeducation. This experiment 
 was roundly denounced and opposed. It was 
 declared impossible to bring delinquent boys and 
 girls together without dire results. It could not 
 be done. But Mr. Lane insisted. " Only when 
 both sexes are together is life normal. You can't 
 secure the family spirit without it,'^ was his con- 
 tention. Boys and girls, men and women, live 
 together in society, they must learn to do so in 
 the Commonwealth. Especially was the plan es- 
 
 249 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 sential, Mr. Lane felt, to the delinquent girl. 
 Girls get into trouble through irregular relations. 
 How teach right relations and behavior except 
 by experience? To segregate boys and girls and 
 then suddenly throw them together and expect 
 good behavior, is like trying to teach piano play- 
 ing without a piano. This truth is easy to see, 
 but most of us have not the courage to carry it 
 out. Mr. Lane had. Boys and girls were put 
 together in a cottage. The first floor was made 
 common to both. On the second the building 
 was partitioned in the middle, on one side live 
 the girls — on the other the boys. The citizens 
 on their own initiative enacted the law that boys 
 and girls should never trespass in each other's 
 quarters. From the beginning Mr. Lane says 
 there has been no sex problem. The checks and 
 balances of normal life have created friendlv, 
 natural and wholesome relations. 
 
 Life in the Commonw^ealth is free and open, 
 no one can be secretive. This does not mean that 
 a particular girl has not cared for a particular 
 boy. That has happened, but the romantic 
 glamour has not lasted. Mary, adoring John, 
 asks to sit next him at table. Now John un- 
 fortunately has atrocious table manners. He 
 
 250 
 
EEFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 gobbles his food and guzzles his soup and makes a 
 fearful noise. In a few days the dream John 
 vanishes. But with the departing thrill Mary- 
 learns a real lesson. She finds John, in spite of 
 his manners, is honest and generous. A new 
 value arises. These boys and girls learn to know 
 one another with all their faults and all their 
 virtues. If anything beyond friendship ever does 
 develop, it will be love based on knowledge. 
 What could be better? One hindrance to ro- 
 mance in youth, is that girls at maturity are 
 much older than boys of the same age. Invari- 
 ably the attitude of the older girls in the Com- 
 monwealth to the boys has been that of Big Sis- 
 ters. So even with this vexing problem the 
 Commonwealth has succeeded. Behavior is not 
 always perfect, but the surprising thing is that 
 the delinquent boy and girl in the Little Com- 
 monwealth are turning out as well or better than 
 the average boy or girl of society. 
 
 RESULTS 
 
 It is the graduates that have clinched the suc- 
 cess of the Commonwealth. In all other reforma- 
 tories, even the best, the authorities feel that if a 
 large per cent, of their children keep from crime, 
 
 251 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 " make good," they have succeeded. Not so the 
 Commonwealth. It expects more than mere 
 making good. Its citizens have learned how to 
 work, how to play, how to love. They have 
 learned self-control. They are good not only un- 
 der orders, but in the free open world. They are 
 expected to compete with and equal or surpass 
 their fellows in society. Reports from all quar- 
 ters show that they do. The Commonwealth is 
 producing a superior brand. It is turning out 
 the best cooks, the best soldiers, the best car- 
 penters, the most capable citizens. A lieuten- 
 ant at the front writes : " The boys of the Com- 
 monwealth are my best soldiers. They are effi- 
 cient and thorough.'^ 
 
 Said Lord Lytton one day, while talking about 
 the citizens : " My only difficulty is to know 
 what to do with the children, when they gradu- 
 ate. They are so fine it is difficult to find places 
 good enough for them.'' And this was said of 
 little waifs, strays, and pickpockets, gathered up 
 from the streets of London. 
 
 WHAT WOMEN CAN DO 
 
 If the Commonwealth can produce such re- 
 sults let us steal its secret and multiply those 
 
 252 
 
KEFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 results throughout the United States. It is for 
 the women to do this. Long ago there would 
 have been many reformatories that reform if the 
 mother half of the human race had had her hand 
 in their shaping. I say advisedly the mother 
 half, for women have been engaged in the work. 
 But too often these women have been trained in 
 man-made schools. In these schools the habits, 
 customs, and systems of men have been superim- 
 posed on women. They have been taught to act 
 according to routine, to be impersonal and ab- 
 stract. The humanness, mother love, mother- 
 craft, has been crushed out. Only in a few in- 
 stances where men like Mr. Lane or Thomas Mott 
 Osborne have arisen, has the spirit of mother- 
 hood survived, and because these men possessed 
 the woman's as well as the man's point of view, 
 the world has dubbed them sentimentalists. 
 But that mother point of view is important. It 
 must not be crushed out. Women have n't spent 
 generations in the nursery for naught. They 
 have treasures to give as great as man's. Every 
 honest man knows it. He rejoices in a co-worker 
 when she expresses herself, her womanhood, in 
 her work, and is not a poor imitation of him. 
 Whether it be in law, medicine, politics, reform- 
 
 253 
 
SOCIETY'S MISFITS 
 
 atories, or tlie home, woman is needed, needed 
 because she is different from man. That is the 
 great reason for suffrage. The home is pointed 
 to as the best that society has to offer. If it is, 
 it is because it is the joint expression of man and 
 woman. 
 
 If children are taken out of the homes, women 
 must follow them into the institutions and ex- 
 press their mothercraft there. Let man and 
 woman work shoulder to shoulder. Let him 
 build his buildings, instal his new plumbing, in- 
 vent his labor-saving laundry machine, but when 
 he attempts to raise children by the same busi- 
 ness methods and make them merely cogs in a 
 machine, it is time woman stepped in. She 
 knows that girls are not taught cooking by steam- 
 ing masses of food in unwieldy vats. That boys 
 are not taught honesty and courage by a system 
 of silence and suppression. It is for her to see 
 that no child goes unkissed or untucked to bed. 
 That the spirit, as well as the body, is cared for, 
 for only the kernel nourishes. She must go 
 hammering at the doors of even the best institu- 
 tions, and demand that the spiritual beauty be 
 made to coordinate with the outer perfection. If 
 the institutions bound by a system of routine and 
 
 254 
 
KEFORMATORY THAT REFORMS 
 
 red tape refuse her admittance, there are other 
 ways of winning the battle. Let men and 
 women form small committees, rent a cottage, 
 create a diminutive Commonwealth, and show to 
 their city and State what can be done, when man 
 with his strength and woman with her mother- 
 craft combine to make a reformatory that re- 
 forms. Not long will the old institutions with- 
 stand such an attack. Their doors will soon sag 
 on their hinges, their corridors be empty, for no 
 judge or jury or public will consent to consign 
 a child to their soul-warping halls. 
 
 My call then is to women, for the men will 
 readily follow. Remember the world's children 
 are your children. Your mothercraft belongs to 
 each tiny soul that with outstretched baby hands 
 pleads to you for protection. 
 
 THE END 
 
 255 
 
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