Children Out of Hand: The Reform School

by CHESTER LEE WHITE

1

Two teen-age boys confined in cells at the Whittier State School hanged themselves. It was claimed that, regularly beaten by “brutal guards, ” they had chosen death as the simplest way out of an intolerable situation. I wondered about that claim.

For fourteen years in the public schools I had ministered to the educational and social needs of scores of boys, before and after they had attended Whittier. Invariably these lads praised California’s correctional school. Many confessed that they would far rather remain in that institution than at home with their parents. It was difficult to reconcile these testimonies with continued rumors of other attempted suicides, atrocities, and mismanagement.

A public hearing was convened. The superintendent of the school resigned under fire, and there were so many applicants ready and willing to succeed him that competition assumed the aspects of a professional melee. Superintendents pro tempore came and went in frenzied procession. There were rumors that several of California’s counties were becoming hesitant about assigning boys to the Whittier School, until the “controversy” was settled. Inmates escaped from the institution, and juvenile gang wars suddenly seemed to break out in our metropolitan areas.

Because of my interest in the problems of delinquency, I decided to make an investigation in my own right. When it was learned that I had worked with difficult behavior cases in the classroom, the assistant superintendent of Whittier, then in charge of the school, insisted that, in view of the war shortage, it was my patriotic duty to take a position as boys’ group supervisor, for the summer.

I accepted the offer and was assigned immediately to duty in the Discipline (Lost Privilege) Cottage, the one in which the two boys hanged themselves. Now at last I should be able to learn the facts about the alleged mistreatment of juvenile wards of the State of California.

The Whittier State School, renamed the Fred C. Nelles School for Boys, is located just twenty miles east of Los Angeles City Hall. The architecture is magnificent. Twenty spacious brick buildings of old English design are surrounded by forty acres of green lawn and soft foliage. Three hundred adjacent acres, used for diversified farming, supply food for the three hundred inmates of the institution.

In the midst of this imposing ensemble stands the Discipline (Lost Privilege) Cottage. Like the others, it is an impressive brick structure erected about an interior court or patio approximately one hundred feet square. This court is divided by a fifteen-foot brick wall, and is surrounded at the top by three strands of barbed wire. The high wall divides what at first seems one building into two identical buildings, the half on the west being known as Lost Privilege Cottage, that on the east as the Receiving Cottage. Each building has five individual “detention” cells, and the interior patio just described, which has the appearance of a prison courtyard. It is paved with asphalt, and from within one can see only the bricks of the walls and the sky above them. I must add, however, that there has never been a fence around the Whittier property or a bar at the windows, except in the one “cottage” to which I was assigned.

During the two and one-half months I served in this situation, ninety maladjusted youngsters were assigned to my custody. I ate at least one meal each day with those lads. I supervised their evening baths, provided them with fresh linen and clothing, directed their activities as they washed their dishes and kept their quarters spotless. I listened to their evening prayer. And each night I shuddered as I locked behind them the three heavy doors to three cages or community cells, which are surrounded by strong steel gratings — cages referred to ambiguously as dormitories or wards.

I became acquainted with these boys. I learned their various idiosyncrasies. I read the state’s account of their incredible individual records. I have shared my desserts with them; watched their faces light up as I presented them with picture magazines, pencils, and drawing paper to make their confinement less irksome. I have heard their conversations about life and people. The homesick sobs of the less stable youngsters distressed me.

I do not contend that the Whittier program, which has been developed with the greatest care, over about half a century, is so effective as the people of the State of California have intended that it should be; but it is very far from a program of ruthless brutality. The State of California spends $99.71 per month on each child enrolled at the Whittier State School. Actually, as a professional man, I wish that I were able to assure my own children that they would always be as well cared for as are the inmates at the Whittier State School. Believe me, while in training for my commission in the United States Navy, I did not enjoy more uniformly excellent fare.

In view of these claims one has the right to wonder why two children committed suicide in this environment. Since I was not present when that occurred, all I can do honestly is to guess. I have, of course, learned some of the facts about the personal records of those unfortunate children.

2

MY EXPERIENCES at Whittier convince me that nothing in the program at that school could be used as a reason for suicide. Nevertheless, certain boys were continually running away and being returned. Some, finding themselves fugitives from justice, realized that they dare not return to their homes. Becoming hungry, they took the lines of least resistance and committed additional offenses against society. But since impractical theorists, reinforced by pressure groups, deem it inhuman to administer effective discipline in any form, those charged with the responsibility of caring for such unusual children were reluctant to employ even the loss of privilege as a method of punishment for these diversions. This has been particularly true ever since two of the boys hanged themselves.

Instead of effective discipline, the usual penalty for the most serious disregard of rules is a mark of zero entered on a daily report card. One might expect such a system to be an excellent method of rehabilitation of normal children; but for people who evidence psychopathic tendencies, or for children who are criminally adept, it is about as effective as the practice of damming flood waters with sacks of salt.

Should my fourteen-year-old son, in an unguarded moment, speak to me or to anyone else as boys to whom I gave zero at Whittier have done, I would make an issue of the matter which he would long remember; but I was powerless to act at Whittier, because these children were “protected.”

I was amused by a story about a baffled supervisor who appeared before his superior officer seeking advice. He complained that although he had given a certain boy triple zero for the day, the boy still insisted on calling him a so-and-so. The supervisor wanted to know what he should do about the matter. The humor in the story is that there was nothing effective he might do, and he should have known it. Of course, he might have given him another zero — on the theory that when you try, try again, you may succeed.

There are many people who would not consent to the use of stern, summary punishment in such cases. The greatest difficulty, I find, lies in convincing reasonable people that children are in the main not unlike their adult parents, and that they should be subject to the inexorable penalties of life as well as to its rules. Children are subject to all the physical ailments to which human flesh is prone, and (appalling as it may seem) children are often as insane and criminal as their allegedly more mature fellow creatures. Therefore, it ill behooves any lay member of society to attempt to prevent the authorities of the state from using their seasoned judgment and skill in effecting the rehabilitation of children whenever their salvation is possible.

If it takes a cuff to change a child’s mind about his responsibilities to society, the state has not acted wisely if that cuff has been postponed until the child has reached the reformatory. Certainly the law should not charge the authorities of a state school with maintaining order, and then shackle them by making the use of corporal punishment illegal. Everyone who has been on the receiving end of this baffling business recognizes that it is sometimes necessary and advisable.

3

BEFORE I entered the Discipline Cottage, I was warned that I was being placed in charge of twentyfive or thirty of the most difficult and dangerous behavior cases in the State of California. I was instructed to be always on the alert; that there must be two supervisors on duty at all times “in order that any recurrence of violence on the boys’ part may be avoided”; and that the two officers on duty must “take every possible precaution to see that neither is left in a position of disadvantage while the other is temporarily absent.”

I inquired about the meaning of this paragraph in my instructions and was told that recently a group of boys had slipped up behind their supervisor and felled him with a blow on the head administered with an improvised billy — a heavy teacup inside a sock. Then they stole his keys and escaped. Imagine the salutary effect of a mark of zero on such determined recalcitrants!

It seems that after newspapers and pressure groups had placed all employees of the state institution on the proverbial “pan,” similar attempts by bolder inmates had not been unusual. One supervisor explained that. He said, “For months we have not dared to speak sharply to an inmate. We have been forced to relax all discipline, because employees of the institution live in constant and deadly fear of unfavorable newspaper publicity and undue political pressure.”

On one occasion I witnessed a fight which had started beween two white boys. Instinctively, I stepped in to protect the weaker. As soon as I assumed that hostilities had ceased, and turned my back on the contestants, the larger boy stole up behind me and struck me an unexpected blow in the throat which so paralyzed my guttural paraphernalia that for forty-eight hours I could not talk or swallow without pain. The boy bragged that that was a sample of the jujitsu which he had used on the “cops” when he was on the “outs” (at liberty).

The most severe penalty I could administer was a grade of zero. However, I reported the incident and my condition to the latest superintendent, who seemed keenly concerned. He asked sharply, almost anxiously, “Did you provoke the boy?” I could not believe my ears.

On another occasion a quarrel started between the white and colored boys in our “cottage.” For hours everyone was tense, sullen, and cagey. Late that afternoon, without warning, the strongest and most surly of the white boys approached me demanding frantically that I protect him and his comrades from the violence which he claimed had been slyly inflicted on them for more than twentyfour hours. I was astonished, for although both supervisors had been constantly on the alert, we had witnessed no violence. Yet that fellow’s face was bruised and bloody, and his shirt was torn to shreds. The sly cunning of these lads always amazed me.

In order to get a better understanding of the boy’s opinion in the matter, I asked what he thought I ought to do. He retorted with obvious impatience, “If you would knock a few of those guys down, it would help.” He did not know that the state law would not permit me to lay even a finger on those lads; but even if he had, he would not have been able to understand why I should concern myself about such a trifle as observing the law.

4

I HAD been a supervisor about three weeks before I was able to adapt myself to this very difficult environment. Gradually, however, I began to feel that for some indefinable reason I had become master of the situation; but I am convinced that my mastery was due chiefly to my sense of humor and (poor as it is) to my histrionic ability. For want of a better device, I had learned to keep those inmates guessing; but never for a moment in the two and one-half months did I feel that I could safely relax my vigilance.

Try as I might, it was impossible to capture the confidence of my charges; for an inmate considers it a mark of weakness to respond to the kindly missions of his teachers or supervisors. The boys call such disloyalty to the gang “slurping.”

Each afternoon a capable, pleasant, patient, middle-aged woman came to teach mathematics and English to my group. I was impressed with the effort this lady made to minister to the boys’ social as well as educational needs. At first, I could not understand the reason for a rule which prescribed that not more than fifteen inmates of the Discipline Cottage should be allowed in the schoolroom at the same time; and that during the class period a male supervisor must be present always, to maintain order. Remember that formerly some of those same boys had been in my public school classes and that I had never needed assistance in maintaining order.

However, I changed my mind quickly when on one occasion, without provocation, a timid-appearing lad went berserk and broke into a frenzy of profanity which would have made Captain Kidd raise his eyebrows. At another time two boys jumped at each other’s throats, without warning, and blood began to spurt before I could separate them. On a third occasion, unannounced, a mammoth colored boy attempted to accost the teacher. I decided then that undoubtedly the rule had its merits.

All these incidents were disconcerting; but until one has witnessed a stampede of the mob, he is unable to comprehend the significance of problems which daily confront employees of a state reformatory. On one occasion it was necessary for me to be absent for a few hours. At the same time, the supervisor who was my regular partner in the Discipline Cottage was enjoying his day off. Two men who were unfamiliar with the problems of the cottage relieved us. On my return to duty, as I approached the cottage, but while I was still a great distance off, I could hear the din of wild disorder. Upon entering I witnessed a mob scene that would have been not more effective if it had been done by the Keystone Komedy Kops and directed by Hal Roach.

It appeared that when the evening meal had been delivered from the kitchen, in great metal containers, the boys rushed upon the substitute supervisors, seized the food, and used it as ammunition with which to finish a feud that started earlier in the day. The inside walls of the building were spotted with mashed potatoes and greasy portions of stuffed bell peppers. The messy residue which did not stick to the walls was strewn over all the floors and furniture. After this battle of vitamins the warriors had retired to the “prison” courtyard, and when I arrived they were staging a war dance with plenty of wild whoops and hideous halloos. The participants had appropriated reams of toilet paper, which they had torn to bits and were using for confetti.

Several of the more rugged inma tes had corralled one of the relief supervisors and were tormenting him as a toreador goads a bull. One of the lads, whose sanity was merely a question of academic debate, was calling him some of the vilest names it has been my lot to hear. With each name the rugged bully would make a wild thrust, as if to strike a vicious blow, and when the supervisor dodged pathetically, a chorus of inmates laughed raucously and bent themselves over with savage mirth. The poor fellow looked as forlorn and frustrated as a missionary who, surrounded by cannibals, realizes that it will not be long until he is merely a well-seasoned soupbone.

I was impelled to laugh when I grasped the meaning of the incongruity, but I assumed an attitude of determined anger and strode deliberately out into the court. The festivities ceased as suddenly as if all had seen that phantom known to literature as the Masque of the Red Death. There were frantically whispered calls of “Cheese it!” The revelers became penitents, and order prevailed as if by magic.

It was amusing to recall that the supervisor whom my arrival had rescued had insisted to me that it would never be necessary to use corporal punishment in disciplining children; that each child possesses a personality which must be allowed to unfold and develop normally, lest the child’s nature become warped and democracy be robbed of its influence. (With Scrooge, I say, “Humbug!”) He propounded quite fervently that he believed there is no such thing as a bad boy. I agreed with this statement. There is no such thing as a bad boy; but unfortunately there are children who for various uncatalogued reasons seldom do anything right.

5

MANY times while I was on duty in the Discipline Cottage, boys threatened to hang themselves. I gave these threats little credence, because I realized that often this was their way of saying, “You’ll be s-o-r-r-y.” I was warned about one sixteen-year-old lad: the psychiatrists had intimated that he possessed psychopathic symptoms. He had no sooner arrived in the Discipline Cottage than he looked up at me and inquired gleefully: “Is this where the boys hung themselves?”

I answered affirmatively and he asked, “Where?”

I could see that he was keen with morbid anticipation.

“In those cells over there.” I pointed at the cells, which were being used temporarily as storehouses for paints, furniture, and clothing. (For those who would question the wisdom of exposing the lad to such information, I am convinced that it is a mistake to shield a child from the facts he seeks to learn. Complete knowledge of a fact always dispels unhealthy curiosity.)

“Where are the boys now?” He explained that lie meant the boys who had hanged themselves.

“Why, they are dead, of course,” I answered.

He continued incredulously, “Aw, they aren’t dead for good, are they?” I was astonished, for he was as serious as anyone with whom I had ever talked.

“Certainly, Don’t you know that when a person hangs by the neck it surely kills him?”

“Aw, I don’t believe it. I am going to try and see if it will kill me.” That boy proved to be a veritable will-o’-the-wisp. He was continually trying to inflict torture on someone else, and when he succeeded in producing a cry of pain, he would go into a protracted paroxysm of mirthful hysteria. Once I discovered him trying to weave a rope of shoestrings so that he might hang himself.

One of the cruel facts of life is that some children, as well as adults, are psychopathic criminals. To be sure, the word “psychopathy” is less harsh and disturbing than the term “insanity” or “lunacy”; but it means the same thing.

Police are actually afraid of such children. They would far rather encounter the most hardened professional criminal; for they are able to forecast the reactions of the latter with reasonable certainty. Some children may shoot and kill their fellow creatures and then appear entirely unable to experience remorse.

No parent wants to concede that a child is a psychopathic delinquent. Our whole Christian philosophy makes such a tenet repugnant; instinctively we wish to believe that there is balm in Gilead for the woes of the human heart and mind. At least, I am convinced that all who have devoted their lives to the otherwise thankless task of trying to rehabilitate wayward youngsters are confident that there is.

It cannot be too often reiterated that children do not get into our state schools until every known method has been tested (except, perhaps, corporal punishment), until every one of the child’s whims has been indulged, and until every agency for social betterment in our American communities has admitted its failure to effect a change in them. The home, the schools, the church, the Catholic, Protestant, and Jewish Big Brothers, Scout organizations, group agencies, women’s clubs, service organizations, and the medical profession have all failed. In addition, the probation departments, the juvenile courts, the police, the local detention homes have failed. The state school is the final depository.

6

IT Is imperative that society should understand and sympathize with the problem of crime, and that society should finance an adequate program of rehabilitation; but it is more essential that society should possess the courage to admit that the problem exists. If there is to be a successful solution, every factor must be brought out into the light and considered exhaustively. We must not hush the truth or minimize the awful facts because our problem involves children.

Society must recognize that delinquent children are not ruined by their associates in a reformatory. They are already dangerous to themselves and their fellow beings, or they would never have been committed to the custody of the state. Indeed it is almost as difficult to convince our juvenile courts that a child should be assigned to a reformatory as it is to get a camel through the eye of a needle; for our juvenile judges are unanimous in their reluctance to admit (and rightly) that a child cannot be rehabilitated within the environment of his own home. Most juvenile judges are more kindly than Bishop Bienvenu and more patient than Job.

Again, society must have the moral courage to stand firmly behind all vested authority of the state; and society must recognize and children must be taught that our democratic state is a sacred institution, whose laws and penalties are inexorable only because they protect all of us. All must be taught. Some must be taught the hard way.

After nearly fifteen years’ experience with maladjusted youths, I am convinced that the greatest single cause of juvenile delinquency may be found in the growing spirit of contempt for the apparent laxity of our law enforcement system. This is entertained by appalling numbers of maladjusted adults and children. I have found that warning a boy of the seriousness of crime gets one this kind of answer: “So what? Nobody can’t do nuttin’ about it,” or “The Judge won’t do nuttin’. He’s a swell egg,” or “Da reform school is a cool place. Dey feed ya good, an’ ya have a movie twicet a week,” or “Naw, don’t believe dat jive. A record don’t hurt ya none. Joe had a record, and he got in da Navy,” or “Da probation officer is a regular guy. He talks to ya nice. Ya don’t need to be afraid of no probation officer.”

Authorities claim that child crime is increasing appallingly. Several states have lately sentenced “children” to life imprisonment for hideous crimes. Every thoughtful member of society is asking, “What shall we do to protect youngsters from these unthinkable experiences and such a horrible fate?”

One answer is that we should not experiment in correctional institutions with spineless methods of pedagogy which are of unproved value in the education of normal children. Why must we wait until a child has committed murder before we make an example of him, for the good of his fellows? I am convinced that we should not tolerate even repeated petty crime. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” If one doubts the wisdom of this sound advice, he should take a job in the Discipline Cottage of a state school for maladjusted boys.