Part 2

The criminal code of Indiana is absolutely silent upon the question of recovery for loss or damage to property and injuries to the person growing out of criminal acts, except that in cases of malicious trespass the court may fine a defendant a sum equal to twice the amount of the property damaged. To fine a person double the value of the property damaged and, because of his failure to pay the same, place the additional burden on the citizen of supporting him in the workhouse or jail seems in itself an absurdity.

As a part of the probation plan, the court required every person charged with any offense involving the loss or damage to property and injuries to the person to make full and complete restitution to the injured party before the final disposition of the case. Upon a proper showing that restitution has been made, the court was then in a position to take such action as the other facts in the case justified. Under this plan $7,166.83 in restitution money was recovered and paid over to the proper parties.

_7. Separate Session for the Trial of Women._

To Amos W. Butler and Demarchus C. Brown, of the Board of State Charities, was due the credit for the suggestion of a separate session for the trial of women and girls. Acting upon this suggestion, the court set apart Wednesday afternoon for the trial of such cases. To the Local Council of Women was due the credit of putting the suggestion into effect, by guaranteeing the expense of a woman probation officer for the court. To make the separate trials of women and girls something more than a perfunctory task an adequate system of investigating and supervision was absolutely essential. Like all innovations connected with matters pertaining to the work of the police, it was at first looked upon as a fad, and predictions were freely made that the life of the plan would be short because of the nature of the work and the rapidity with which it must be discharged. But notwithstanding the criticisms, it proved to be a sane and wholesome method of dealing with the delinquent women of the city.

The legislature of 1911 enacted a law, providing for the appointment of a court matron in cities of the first and second class, and this act prescribed her duties as follows: “She shall, under the direction of the judge of the city court, investigate and report to such judge upon the past histories, conditions of living, character, morals and habits of all women and girls awaiting trial in such city court and shall have supervision of such women and girls while not in actual custody until final disposition of the charges against them.” As a result of this legislation a definite work is now being done throughout the State in aiding and assisting a class of women, heretofore most shamefully neglected.

The following report by Mrs. E. P. Hopkins, court matron, who has charge of the investigation and supervision of women during my term, tells its own story:

Total number of cases investigated 586 Judgment withheld 317 Fined 28 Committed to Women’s Prison and Jail 61 Dismissed 90 Discharged 26 Continued indefinitely 38 Judgment suspended 19 Sent to Grand Jury 6 Committed to House of Good Shepherd 1

Of this number, 69 were placed on probation under the supervision of volunteer probation officers, and 72 were returned to their homes; 61 girls sent to the Faith Home were detained there until employment was secured for them. The most important work, however, of this department was the aid given to girls living in houses of prostitution. Through the special work in this connection, 23 girls gave up their lives of shame, and the reports show that they were all working and leading better lives.

_8. Domestic Relations Session._

No more important problem was presented to the court than those cases involving domestic relations. The need for a change in the method of dealing stood, when one realizes the many things involved in the imprisonment of the head of the family, especially when there are many mouths to feed. In order to deal intelligently with these people and to arrive at a just conclusion, Thursday afternoon was set apart for their consideration. A thorough investigation was made by the court matron of the conditions surrounding the man, his home, his employment and his associates, and was presented to the court at this special session, to the end that in the final disposition of the case the same might be disposed of to the best interests of the family as well as the individual. Since the establishment of this session and up to the close of my term 440 cases were investigated, and were disposed of as follows:

Total number of cases investigated 440 Judgment withheld 155 Fines and costs 106 Workhouse and jail 34 Juvenile court 11 Dismissed 39 Discharged 27 Continued indefinitely 44 Grand Jury 6 Sentence suspended 18

_9. Employment._

Through the probation department, the court attempted to meet every angle of the social problem as represented by the delinquents brought before the court. To the need of employment could be traced many cases of delinquency. To meet this condition, special efforts were made to obtain employment for men. From a crude beginning, it developed into a permanent plan, resulting in all of the larger employers of labor looking to the probation department for their help. More than 600 persons secured employment in this way.

In the presentation of a subject like this one realizes that the material side must always be at the forefront, but to one whose daily life was spent in the very midst of these problems, and who viewed them from every angle, there are many arguments that cannot be expressed in facts and figures. The problems presented by 49,916 persons brought into the court during my term were large and varied. To meet them was a gigantic task, but the results have more than justified the effort.

Any innovation in the administration of justice is the subject for more or less criticism, just and unjust. Did this work place additional burden on the taxpayer? Emphatically, No! It reduced the number of commitments to the jail and workhouse by more than 50 per cent. During the first year of its operation there was a saving in the cost of feeding prisoners in the county jail of $1,293 and in the maintenance of the workhouse of $4,631. However, the results of a system of justice are not to be measured by dollars and cents. Such a work aims at the physical, mental and moral uplift of the individual rather than at the cold satisfaction of the law. It aspires to restore the erring to society as useful citizens and transforms our penal system into a mighty influence for the uplifting of society.

The reports to the court showed that home conditions had improved; that men had abstained from the use of intoxicating liquors; that employers had been enlisted in taking a more friendly interest in employees; that men had joined churches and in other ways added to a higher standard of living.

This touch of humanity in the administration of justice in a criminal court was not only a profitable investment so far as the public was concerned, but better than all, it made possible the social regeneration of thousands of men and women.

THE INDUSTRIAL FARM[1]

If results are ever obtained in the handling of unfortunates it will be through right treatment. There must be a thorough investigation before the stain of prison life sentence is passed. In a great percentage of the cases for minor offences, rather than a workhouse sentence, these unfortunates require nothing more than a dismissal with a friendly word of encouragement from the court. Or, if in the judgment of the courts they need supervision, they should be turned over to a practical probation officer who will see to it that it is not necessary to commit them to imprisonment. A prisoner should never be committed to jail to serve time. The average jails of this country are a disgrace to civilization and are cesspools for the breeding of diseases and crime. Many of the cases that come to the police and criminal courts for minor offences only require supervision, change of surroundings and a new home. Institutional treatment should be the last remedy. What we must do, is to abolish the fixed sentence and de-institutionalize our institutions, and, finally, these people must be made to feel whether in an institution or out of one they are working for home-making.

Modern penology must not be sentimental; it should be practical. Then we must have prevention, which is formation, not reformation; for 95 per cent. of our subjects in the penal institutions and reformatories of the country have never been correctly formed in their mental and physical make-up.

Modern penology, in order to aid social progress, must sentence its unkempt, immoral and diseased citizens to an indefinite term of sunshine, fresh air and honest work, with such system as will make of them an asset rather than a liability when returned to society. Modern penology must be able to say that if this cannot be done, then sterilization or definite isolation on the farm must be provided. Modern penology, in addition to all this, must impress upon society the importance of ideal administration for its wayward subjects; that of humane, educated and trained employees in all departments of our penal institutions.

We are attempting at the District of Columbia Farm to lay the foundation and inaugurate a system that will be practical, a system where the inmates will not suffer by having too much done for them, a system where the inmates must be made to feel, whether in an institution or out of it, that there is work for them to do individually.

We believe that beneficial results cannot be successfully maintained in the old-time prisons with high walls, locks and bars; we believe that walls must come down and the locks and bars go to the scrap pile. We believe that for every bar of restriction removed, more rays of sunlight and hope will reach the heart of the convicted man.

With these preliminary thoughts, I will now briefly describe the District of Columbia Farm, which less than four years ago was a wilderness in the hills of Virginia, 20 miles south of Washington, D. C. The farm consists of 1150 acres of land, costing the General Government $18 per acre.

On this land we have constructed some 30 buildings, consisting of dormitories, dining rooms, lounging halls, hospital, horse and dairy barns. These are all one-story buildings, and are built of wood, with a view of giving ample light and ventilation. The plan for the prisoners is that of the congregate or dormitory system, having no cells, locks or bars about the institution. Two hundred prisoners are taken care of during the night in each dormitory, and as we have 600 male prisoners this requires three buildings. Cots are arranged side by side in these dormitories on raised platforms. Sufficient bedding, consisting of mattress, sheets and pillows, blankets and comforts are given to each prisoner. All the buildings are steam-heated and electric-lighted and have ample water, both hot and cold, in each of the buildings, with a modern and up-to-date sewerage system.

During the evening and after the days’ work is done and on Sundays the men are taken to a large building known as the Rest Hall and Library, where they are permitted to talk, play checkers, read the daily newspapers, which are bought for them by the management, and they have access to a library of over 4,000 volumes. On summer evenings and on Sundays the inmates are permitted to take the benches out into the yard where it is possible to enjoy more freedom and have an abundance of fresh air.

In one of the buildings referred to there is a shower bath and arrangements where the inmates make their toilets. In this building 125 men can be taken care of at one time. We have no wash basins, but have a faucet for each man, which makes it more sanitary, and the men are also furnished with individual towels and soap.

The fact that prisoners are sent to us for short sentences (the time now being from 15 days to three years, our average sentence being 35 days) makes it very necessary and important that the sanitary conditions should be closely looked after, as from 10 per cent. to 15 per cent. of the prisoners sent us, when received, have vermin on their persons. This however is looked after so closely that though we handle from five to six thousand people a year we are absolutely free from vermin in all of the 30 buildings.

In working prisoners we give them, from 15 to 20 men, to an officer. His part is to direct this number in a humane and intelligent manner, and to have them understand it is our purpose to be helpful. With such methods we have very little trouble so far as discipline is concerned.

Work on this 1150 acres of land consists of building roads, constructing buildings, farming, making brick, crushing stone, building and repairing wagons, painting and whitewashing the buildings, poultry raising, dairy, etc.

At the present time we are working 70 head of horses; these are all cared for by the inmates without an officer with them, and neither the farm or the buildings are enclosed by as much as a fence. We lose very few prisoners by escaping, less on an average than two per month. Our results show we get a fair day’s work from each of our able-bodied inmates.

In handling prisoners for the past sixteen years, starting with the old-time methods of having a 30 foot wall, cells, locks and bars, with stripes for clothing (and a prisoner when reported by an officer for failure to comply with some order was taken into a room, his clothing removed and lashed with a cat-o-nine tails by the officer who reported him) convinces me that the open-air method, with as few restrictions as possible so far as the inmates are concerned, will give us better results from the standpoint of discipline and reformation.

We handle the women prisoners from the City of Washington with the same system of buildings as are provided for the men. The female department is managed by women and the two institutions are some distance apart. The average population of the female department is about one hundred. The women do the laundry work and make the clothes for the population of the two institutions. In addition, a number of them work on the lawn and in the garden, and do the painting and other sanitary work about the buildings. The female department, like the male department, has neither cell, lock or bar; the buildings are one story with neither wall or fence around them. We have handled three thousand women in the past three and a half years and have only lost three by escaping.

We have very little sickness, and this we attribute to our method of work, sanitation, and to the construction of the buildings which give open-air treatment at all times with plenty of sunshine. Ninety-five per cent. of our inmates, both male and female, show decided improvement on their discharge both in their mental and physical condition.

The time is coming when the District of Columbia Workhouse will be self-supporting, if not more. When it is, I believe an appropriation should be provided whereby the dependent families of the inmates, whether they be sent to us because of non-support or for other violation of the statutes, should be paid a sum of money sufficient to provide in a comfortable manner for their support during the confinement of the offenders. If such a system were inaugurated, the financial benefit received by the family would only be a secondary consideration. The greatest benefit would be the lasting impression made on the individual while at the institution, developing in him industrial habits and self-confidence, which would help him to become a self-supporting citizen, capable of caring for his family after he is released. This certainly would be true in 60 per cent. of the cases we have, if there could be brought about a change in the penal code of the District of Columbia through having the inmates committed on an indeterminate sentence rather than on a fixed sentence such as is now being given.

[1] Read by W. H. Whittaker, Superintendent of the (Occoquan) District of Columbia Workhouse, at National Conference of Charities and Correction, Memphis, May, 1914.

A PRISON OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY

By O. F. Lewis

General Secretary of the Prison Association of New York

[Reprinted from The Independent of May 18, 1914.]

The three-car train came out of the Canadian woods from the south and stopped by the stationless road. Twenty-five young fellows jumped down, formed in twos, and, led by an older man, and followed by two older men, walked up the road over the concrete bridge to the prison buildings. They were prisoners, convicted of crimes and serving time. That morning they had left the Central Prison of Toronto--left the forbidding old building, with its bolts, its gloom, its cells and corridors; and now, but a few hours later, they were hastening without shackles, without armed guards, without prison garb, toward the latest Canadian prison, the Central Prison Farm of Guelph.

This means a new era, this method of treating prisoners--an overturning of the old traditions of prison government, a serious break with the past, an almost scornful disregard of the cherished traditions of bars and cells, tortures and punishments. It means an amazing change in the attitude of society toward the prisoner, and a startling change in the feeling of the prisoner toward society.

You have read in recent months about the mutinies at Sing Sing in New York State; how the prisoners have been for almost a century forced into atrociously small cells, with insufficient light and air. You have read how prisoners have been doubled-up, two in a cell, because of the congestion of population. You have learned that prisoners have had to stay in their cells some fourteen hours out of the twenty-four; that these cells are carriers of tuberculosis and venereal disease. And many other terrible things you have read.

In the light of that story, hear this tale of a prison farm.

When I alighted from an earlier train I looked for Warden Gilmour in vain. In the road stood a man in civilian’s clothes. “I’m Sergeant Grant,” said he, “and the warden was to come on this train. He’ll come later, though, with the draft.” We walked toward the prison. On the way we crossed an attractive concrete bridge. “All built by prisoners,” said the sergeant, “and we had hard work to find the bottom for some of the piers. We made this macadam road, also graded up the approaches to the bridge, designed the balustrades, and even hydrated the lime that went into the concrete, after having quarried it from the limestone quarries up there.”

Approaching the prison I looked for the wall and found none. Not a thing apparently, to prevent the men from running away. I asked the sergeant how many escapes they had. “About one and a half per cent. of the population. We’ve lost from three to five this year. Fact is there’s nothing in the way of guns to prevent the men from breaking away any time. There isn’t a guard here that carries a revolver. The warden says: ‘We haven’t taken away the guns from the guards, because we haven’t ever given them guns!’ As a matter of fact, I carry a revolver,” said the sergeant, “but I’ve never used it in eighteen years. But I feel more comfortable with it.” Which made me smile, because it was an example of an age-long tradition dying hard.

The dinner whistle blew at 11:45. Here I saw what in the old-line prison would be the unbelievable. From all parts of the farm came the men in to dinner. It was the reverse of the usual factory procession. Here the crowd poured into the door of a factory building temporarily used as a dining-room and kitchen. There was absolute order. The garb was not unlike that of the average farmer’s helper. Even the customary vizored cap of many prisons was absent, and the old straw hat had taken its place. On the tables, for dinner, were meat and vegetables, tapioca, soup and milk--a liberal amount.

Meanwhile Warden Gilmour had arrived with his detail of prisoners. He has been in prison work for seventeen years; before that he was a physician. He is regarded as one of the best prison administrators in the country. He loves the land, not for what it produces alone, but in humanity also. The frequency, moreover, with which bits of biblical quotations drop from his lips leads one to believe that the injunctions of Holy Writ form a considerable part of his sanction for life, and for that of the men in his charge. There is nothing mawkish or apologetic in his adherence to Holy Writ as a guide. There is a certain severity of viewpoint in his daily work. Nothing is happy-go-lucky about the Guelph Prison Farm; it has all been thought out, and the warden is the dominant personality.

“Remember,” he said, “this is not run on honor, this prison. I don’t believe in the so-called honor prison, as the word is generally understood. This is a prison that is successful because the supervision is successful. Supervision will do what formerly guns and wall accomplished.

“We talk about the originality of a prison like this? Why, originality consists in doing what other people are afraid to do. I have not been afraid to build this prison without walls. But we are everlastingly watchful. Thirty miles east of Toronto, at Whitby, I have a hundred prisoners building an asylum for the insane on the cottage plan. The plaster, the lime, the sashes and the window frames are shipped from here. Here at Guelph we can perform with prison labor more than seventy-five per cent. of the building operations.

“Punishments? We don’t have them here. That is, if a prisoner gets bad here, disturbs the order of the place, and we cannot make him see that he must conform to the rules, we send him back to the Central Prison at Toronto. But most of the men prefer the life out here a thousand times. We take men that generally have still some months to serve. We have been taking men whose sentences run up to two years, but more recently we have received men with longer sentences. Let me tell you about one man who was here.

“I asked this boy, some time ago, who had been in the Toronto prison, what he found the greatest difference between the prison in the city and the farm out here. He said, ‘Warden, the getting away from that cell! To sit there,’ the boy added, ‘on Sunday, every evening and on holidays, and have that cell gate staring you in the face, is hell!’”

We walked toward the new building--all of them being built by the prisoners. Under construction, in a kind of hollow square formation, were kitchen and dining hall, several dormitories and cell buildings, an administration building and officers quarters. One of the largest and best dairy and hay barns that I have ever seen is already up; also a little creamery building. Most of the work is of poured concrete.

As we went through one building, where some score of prisoners were silently working at plastering, painting, carpentering and stone cutting, Warden Gilmour said: “You see, I have my cells only on one side of the central corridor. I mean that all the cells shall have southern exposure. Each of the cells contains eight hundred cubic feet.”

I thought of the twelve hundred cells at Sing Sing, still used, which contain less than two hundred cubic feet of air space, and have no windows opening to the outer air as at Guelph.