A boy with blond hair, blue eyes, pink and white as a girl, modest as a
nun, gentlemanly and soft spoken as Lord Fauntleroy, came upstairs to be
operated on for a tumor. A sentence of two and a half years had been
inflicted on him for selling cocaine. This deadly drug was furnished to
him by a friend once when he was suffering from a cold. He did not know
what it was, but he felt a wonderful exhilaration and a new strength
come upon him, so that his illness seemed to vanish. The reaction was
terrific, but he became addicted to the drug; and as he could not afford
to buy the stuff, he began selling it, both for the profit and to be
able to acquire it. His youth, and his already weak will, made him an
easy prey to the evil company into which he was soon thrown. His father
and mother and sisters were respectable and law abiding people of the
middle class, but they did not seem able to cope with the peculiar
conditions into which he had fallen.
Now that he is behind the bars he seems to realize the danger of his
weakness, and he speaks of going back home to work among his own people.
After he was well again they sent him downstairs to work in the machine
shop. Within two months he was back again in the hospital to be operated
on for another tumor.
What a transformation! Instead of the gentle, well-mannered, repentant
young sinner, we found a pale-faced young tough, with a sneering grin,
walking with stooped shoulders, chin forward, arms curved, closed fists,
in imitation of "gorillas" looking for trouble.
In his speech there was also a great change. Where there had been little
personality or color, there was now a picturesque wealth of blasphemies;
names and adjectives and punctuation were expressed by short but
intensely vile words.
When we remarked at the astonishing change, he answered, speaking
through one side of his mouth: "Ah, quit your kiddin'! You talk like a
preacher. I ain't no sissy no more. When I gets out o' here I'll pull
something big that'll knock you stiff. You get me?" And he spat sideways
on the floor in supreme contempt. But when we laughed at his pretence
and strutting, he blushed in anger and disappointment.
It seems that when he was sent downstairs after his first operation he
was "doubled up" with a notorious burglar, who undertook to educate him
and train him, with a view to using the lad to assist him in his work
after his release. A few weeks later his mentor joined him in the
hospital, but unlike his talkative pupil, who was quickly ordered to
"shut his mug," he was reserved and secretive as to his life and plans.
But one evening at dusk, as we were both watching the New York skyline
from the barred windows, the reserve gave way, and the cracksman told
me of his life.
It was one of those rare moments when even a strong and evil spirit will
waver and doubt; when his heart will overflow with disgust and the
hopelessness of his earthly quest. The attitude of contrition dissipated
like smoke when he was asked if it was not possible to make a living in
an honest way.
"Nothing doing," he said. "The bulls won't give me a chance. They'll
spot me and job me if I don't put up the dough. It's a fight to a
finish. At the other end there is either Sing Sing or the death chair.
There ain't no hope. I'll live and die a crook."
Two years later I read that my friend the cracksman and his pals had
been caught trying to blow up a safe in a most daring and scientific
manner. And the whole gang was sentenced to Sing Sing for a long term.