At the close of the first day’s work the prisoner is marched to his cell.
Just inside the entrance to the cell house he is handed his supper in a
tin dish, goes to his cell, previously assigned to him, and remains
standing with his right hand on the cell door until the evening count of
the number of prisoners in the institution has been verified by the deputy
warden. If the count is correct the prisoners are notified by the sounding
of a gong near the desk of the cellhouse captain, at which signal they are
permitted to sit down and amuse themselves as they see fit. Immediately
after the ringing of the gong the gallery men pass around tea for the
prisoner’s evening meal in addition to what he received when he enters the
cellhouse.
Our subject now has an opportunity to take a glance at the cell wherein he
must spend his “little bit” as the professional crook jocularly terms his
sentence. This apartment is not commodious nor supplied with modern
improvements of a first‐class hostelry; its dimensions are five by seven,
and contains: one Bible, two cups, one small mirror, one cuspidor, one
spoon, one face towel, one dish towel, one piece of soap, one comb,
blankets, sheets, pillow cases, matress, bedstead and springs, one wooden
chair (for first and second grade), one earthen water jar with cover, one
electric light, one small shelf, one library catalogue and all the library
and school books desired. If the occupant is of a philosophical bent of
mind he will now realize that the way of the transgressor is indeed hard.
The first month or two are the most severe upon the new arrival. His
environments force him to dwell continually upon the depths of degradation
to which he has fallen, and he suffers the keenest possible mental
torture; but after passing this period he begins to readjust his viewpoint
and adapt himself to his surroundings and then calmly awaits the
termination of his sentence. Few people have any conception of what the
first offender endures during his first few months’ imprisonment; the
thoughts of his jeopardized liberty are ever before him. In summing up and
planning for the future about the worst obstacle he fears,—the
quintessence of human degradation,—is the baleful word “ex‐convict.” That
alone hurled at the public through the medium of the public press
expresses the sum total of moral turpitude and degeneracy. No matter if
the individual in question is pure‐minded, the symbol of the culture of
the age in which he lives, the hyphenated word “ex‐convict” seems to
conjure in the minds of the public a picture that causes them to shudder
with fear for their safety. As a rule this fear is not shared in by prison
officials. Only about ten per cent of the inmates cause them any anxiety,
the rest are orderly, perform their work promptly and properly, and cause
as little trouble as possible.
Prisoners frequently remain at the work first assigned them until their
discharge. However, if it is found too difficult the superintendent of the
respective departments can assign other work. Should this be impossible a
prisoner may put in an application to explain the situation to the warden.
Each prisoner has the privilege of seeing the warden at least twice a
month, who adjusts all differences of opinion between the guard and
prisoner, or between prisoner and foreman. Every complaint of unjust
treatment is investigated thoroughly by the warden, and equitable measures
are employed to remove the bone of contention. If the guard or foreman is
at fault a dignified but forcible lecture generally produces the desired
result. This is also true where the inmate has been negligent in his work,
causing the trouble.
As previously stated, if the new arrival remains at the task first
assigned him during his entire imprisonment the routine from day to day is
almost identical. He can attend chapel on Sundays if he wishes to do so; a
Catholic and Lutheran chaplain preach excellent sermons each alternate
Sunday.
Sixty days prior to the expiration of sentence the outgoing prisoner is
given a shaving ticket, or if he desires to grow a beard he can do so, if
not he can get a shave each week as usual. He is given a bath and change
of underclothing each week, and if his clothes and shoes need repairing he
is taken to the tailor department and supplied with a new outfit. A few
days before his time expires he is taken to the tailor shop and fitted to
his outgoing suit of clothes, and upon the day preceding his discharge is
sent to the cellhouse barber shop, where he is given a hair cut and shave.
[Interior of Men’s Cell ]