HIS PLAYGROUND
The boy himself is blissfully untroubled by any serious thoughts about
his background; and to him these streets are as a matter of course a
place to play in. This point of view is perfectly natural for several
reasons:
In the first place, he has never known any other playground. At the
earliest possible stage of infancy he is turned out, perhaps under an
older sister’s supervision, to crawl over the steps of the tenement or
tumble about in the gutter in front of it, watching with large eyes the
new sights around him. Here he is put to play, and here he learns to
imitate the street and sidewalk games of other boys and girls. He is
scarcely to be blamed for a point of view so universally held that it
never occurs to him to doubt it.
In the second place, the street is the place that he must play in,
whether he wants to or not. There is no room for him in the house; the
janitor usually chases him off the roof. Excepting De Witt Clinton
Park, which, as has been shown, is small, restricted, and inadequate,
there is no park on the West Side between Seventy-second and
Twenty-eighth Streets. Central Park and New Jersey are too inaccessible
to be his regular playgrounds. And besides, not only will a boy not
go far afield for his games, but he cannot. He is often needed at
home after school hours to run errands and make himself generally
useful. Moreover, to go any distance involves a question of food and
transportation; so that except at times of truancy and wanderlust,
or when he is away on some baseball or other expedition, the street
inevitably claims him.
[Illustration: BOUNCE BALL WITH WALL AS BASE
Property is safe]
[Illustration: BOUNCE BALL WITH STEPS AS BASE
Windows in danger]
And in the third place, just because this playground is so natural and
so inevitable, he becomes attached to it. It is the earliest, latest,
and greatest influence in his life. Long before he knew his alphabet it
began to educate him, and before he could toddle it was his nursery.
Every possible minute from babyhood to early manhood is spent in it.
Every day, winter and summer, he is here off and on from early morning
till 10 o’clock at night. It gives him a training in which school is
merely a repressive interlude. From the quiet of the class room he
hears its voice, and when lessons are over it shouts a welcome at the
door. The attractions that it offers ever vary. Now a funeral, now a
fire; “craps” on the sidewalk; a stolen ride on one of Death Avenue’s
freight trains; a raid on a fruit stall; a fight, an accident, a game
of “cat”--always fresh incident and excitement, always nerve-racking
kaleidoscopic confusion.
No wonder, then, that the streets are regarded by the boy as his
rightful playground. They are the most constant and vivid part of his
life. They provide companionship, invite to recklessness, and offer
concealment. Every year their attraction grows stronger, till their
lure becomes irresistible and his life is swallowed up in theirs.
But unfortunately for the boy everyone does not agree with him as to
his right of possession. The storekeeper, for instance, insists on the
incompatibility of a vigorous street ball game with the safety of his
plate glass windows. Drivers not unreasonably maintain that the road
is for traffic rather than for marbles or stone throwing. Property
owner, pedestrian, the hardworking citizen, each has a point of view
which does not altogether favor the playground theory. At the very
outset of his career, therefore, in attempting to exercise childhood’s
inalienable right to play, the boy finds himself colliding with the
rights of property; the maintenance of public safety, the enforcement
of law and order, and other things equally puzzling and annoying,
all apparently united in being inimical to his ideas of amusement.
He is too young to understand that in his city’s scheme children
were forgotten. No one can explain to him that he has been born in a
congested area where lack of play space must be accepted patiently;
that life is a process of give and take in which the rights of others
demand as much respect as his own. He does not know that his dilemma is
the problem which eternally confronts the city child. But he does know
that he must play. He has a store of nervous energy and animal spirits
which simply must be let loose. Yet when he tries to play under the
only conditions possible to him he is hampered and repressed at every
turn. Inevitably he revolts; and long before he is old enough to learn
why most of his street games are illegal, fun and law-breaking have
become to him inseparable, and the policeman his natural enemy.
So far the boy’s attitude is normal. Childish antagonism to arbitrary
authority is natural. In any large town it extends to the police. All
over New York games are played with one eye on the corner and often
with a small scout or two on the watch for the “cop.” But at this
point two facts differentiate the Middle West Side from the rest of the
city, and make its situation peculiar. On the one hand, the parents and
older people of the district, instead of showing the usual indifference
or at most a passive antipathy toward the police, openly conspire
against and are actively hostile to them. On the other, the police,
largely because of this neighborhood feeling, are utterly unable to
cope with the lawless conditions which they find around them.
This state of things has been brought about in various ways. The lurid
record of criminals in the district has for years necessitated methods
of policing which have not made the Irish temper any less excitable.
Public sentiment here is almost static, and hatred of the police has
become a tradition. No one has a good word for them; everyone’s hand is
against them. The boys look on them as spoil-sports and laugh at their
authority. The toughs and gangsters are at odds with them perforce.
Fathers and mothers, resenting the trivial arrests of their children,
consign the “cop,” the “dinny” (detective), and “the Gerrys” to outer
darkness together. The better class of residents and property owners,
though their own failure to properly support them is partly to blame
for the failure of the police to do their duty, frankly distrust them
for being so completely incompetent and ineffective. And now perhaps
no one would dare to support them. For the toughs of the district
have taken the law into their own hands, and with the relentlessness
and certainty of a Corsican vendetta every injury received by them is
repaid, sooner or later, by some act of pitiless retaliation. Honest
or dishonest, successful or otherwise, the policeman certainly has
a hard time of it. Wherever he goes he is dangerously unpopular. He
cannot be safely active or inactive, and whatever he does seems to add
to his difficulties. Hectored on duty, frequently bullied in court,
misunderstood and abused by press and public alike, he stands out
solitary, the butt and buffer of the neighborhood’s disorder.
It is scarcely remarkable that under these circumstances the guardian
of the law is bewildered, and tends to become unreasonably touchy and
suspicious. “I tried to start a club in a saloon on Fiftieth Street a
while ago,” said a young Irishman of twenty-five. “After we had had
the club running one night, a policeman came in and asked me for my
license. I told him I didn’t have any. He said he would have to break
up the club then. I kicked about this and he pinched me. They brought
me up for trial next morning, and the judge told me I would have to
close up my club. I asked him why, and said the club was perfectly
orderly and was just made up of young fellows in the neighborhood; and
he said, ‘Well, your club has a bad reputation, and you’ve got to break
it up.’ Now, how could a club have a bad reputation when it had only
been running one day? Tell me that? But that’s the way of it. Those
cops will give you a bad reputation in five minutes if you never had
one before in your life.” “The cops are always arresting us and letting
us go again,” said a small West Sider. “I’ve been taken up two or three
times for throwing stones and playing ball, but they never took me to
the station house yet. You can’t play baseball anywhere around here
without the cops getting you.” And so it has come about that relations
between police and people in this section of New York are abnormally
strained. Provocation is followed by reaction, and reaction by reprisal
and a constant aggravation of annoyances, till the tension continually
reaches breaking point.
This situation shows very definite results in the boy. Gradually his
play becomes more and more mischievous as he finds it easier to evade
capture. Boylike, his delight in wanton and malicious destruction is
increased by the knowledge that he will probably escape punishment.
Six-year-old Dennis opens the door of the Children’s Aid Society school
and throws a large stone into the hall full of children. Another
youngster of about the same age recently was seen trying for several
minutes to break one of the street lamps. He threw stone after stone
until finally the huge globe fell with a crash that could have been
heard a block. Then he ran off down the street and disappeared around
the corner. No one attempted to stop him; no one would tell who he
was. Later on, the boy begins to admire and model himself on the
perpetrators of picturesque crimes whom he sees walking unarrested in
the streets around him. And by the time that he reaches the gang age
he is usually a hardened little ruffian whom the safety of numbers
encourages to carry his play to intolerable lengths. He robs, steals,
gets drunk, carries firearms, and his propensity for fighting with
stones and bottles is so marked that for days whole streets have been
terrorized by his feuds. Insurance companies either ask prohibitive
rates for window glass in this neighborhood or flatly refuse to insure
it at all.
Meanwhile the police are not idle. Public opinion and their own
records at the station house demand a certain amount of activity, and
every week the playground sees its arrests. In the following table
we have classified by causes, from our own intimate knowledge of each
individual case, the arrests which took place during 1909 among the
boys of our 241 families. The court’s legal system of classification
has been discarded here in favor of the classification made to show
the real nature of each offense. The result illustrates how entirely
police intervention has failed to meet the issue in the district, and
consequently explains in part why the work of the children’s court with
boys from this neighborhood has not proved more effectual.
OFFENSES IN 463 CASES OF ARREST AS CLASSIFIED IN THE BUREAU OF SOCIAL
RESEARCH[a]
Offenses of vagrancy and neglect:
Truancy 38
Begging 3
Selling papers at ten 18
Selling papers without a badge 5
Run-away 7
Sleeping in halls and on roofs 6
Improper guardianship 12
General incorrigibility 23
---
Total 112
Offenses due to play:
Playing ball 20
Playing cat 3
Playing shinny 2
Pitching craps 26
Pitching pennies 9
Throwing stones and other missiles 44
Building fires in the street 15
Fighting 6
---
Total 125
[a] For the classification of these arrests according to the court
charges see Chapter VI, The Boy and the Court, p. 82.
Offenses against persons:
Assault 5
Stabbing 4
Use of firearms 3
Immorality 0
Intoxication 1
--
Total 13
Offenses against property:
Illegal use of transfers 1
Petty thievery 58
Serious thievery 18
Burglary, i. e., breaking into houses and theft 36
Forgery 0
Breaking windows 4
Picking pockets 2
---
Total 119
Offenses of mischief and annoyance:
Upsetting ash cans 2
Shouting and singing 6
Breaking arc lights 3
Loitering, jostling, etc 12
Stealing rides on cars 4
Profanity 1
--
Total 28
Unknown 73
---
Total 470
Deducting duplicates 7
---
Grand Total 463
Not only is this table extraordinarily interesting in itself, but its
importance to our investigation is inestimable, because it brings out
certain features of the problem with a vividness which could not be
equaled in pages of discussion or narrative.
On the one hand, it is noticeable how large a proportion of the
arrests are for offenses which are more or less excusable in these
boys. Almost every one of their offenses is due to one of four causes:
neglect on the part of the parent, the pressure of poverty, the
expression of pure boyish spirits, or the attempt to play. Thievery,
for instance, particularly the stealing of coal from the docks or
railroad tracks, is quite often encouraged at home. “Johnnie is a good
boy,” said one mother quite frankly. “He keeps the coal and wood box
full nearly all the time. I don’t have to buy none.” And her attitude
is typical. Shouting and singing too, and even loitering, do not seem
on the face of them overwhelmingly wicked. Of course, boys sometimes
choose the most impossible times and places in which to shout and sing,
but is no allowance to be made for “the spirit of youth”? And as for
the arrests for play, they speak for themselves. Some of these games,
played when and where they are played, are unquestionably dangerous to
passersby and property, while others are simply forms of gambling. But
it must be remembered that the West Side boy has nowhere else to play;
that his games are the games which he sees around him, and he plays
them because no one has taught him anything better. The policeman,
however, has no interest in the responsibility of the boys for their
offenses; he is concerned merely with offenses as such, and his arrests
must be determined chiefly by opportunity and by rule. All that we can
ask of him is to be tolerant, broad-minded, and sympathetic--a request
with which he will find it difficult enough to comply if only because
of the atmosphere of hostility against him.
On the other hand, it is remarkable how seldom the boys are caught
for very serious offenses.[12] Most of the arrests shown here are for
causes which are comparatively trifling. Yet the whole neighborhood
seethes with the worst kinds of criminality, and many of the boys are
almost incredibly vicious. Stabbing, assault, the use of firearms,
acts of immorality, do not appear in this table to an extent remotely
approximating the frequency with which they occur. In other words, the
police absolutely fail to cover the ground. Although a large proportion
of arrests does take place, they are mostly on less important charges,
and often involve any one but the young criminal whose capture is
really desirable. The little sister of one boy who was “taken”
expressed the position exactly when she said, “The only time Jimmy was
caught was when he wasn’t doin’ anything bad.”
In this way it happens that the fact of a boy’s arrest is no clue
to his character. Again and again boys “get away with” their worst
crimes, secretly committed, in which they are protected from discovery
by the neighborhood’s code of ethics; whereas for minor offenses, of
which they are openly guilty, they are far more likely to be arrested.
Some of the worst offenders may never be caught at all. And if one of
them is taken, it is probably for some technical misdemeanor which
the officer has used less for its own importance than as a pretext
for getting the boy into court. What is the result? The policeman is
lectured by the judge for being an oppressor of the poor, and the boy
is discharged, though his previous record would entitle him to a severe
sentence, as both boy and policeman know.
Not unnaturally, respect for the court is soon lost, and an arrest
quickly comes to be treated with indifference, or is looked upon merely
as a piece of bad luck, like a licking or a broken window. One boy
recounted recently with amusement how he moved the judge to let him
off: “I put on a solemn face and says, ‘Judge, I didn’t mean to do it;
I’ll promise not to do it again,’ and a lot of stuff like that, and
the judge gives me a talkin’ to and lets me go.” “Gee, that court was
easy!” was the comment of another. “You can get away with anything down
there except murder.” Experiences in the juvenile court are invariably
related with a boyish contempt for the judges, who are looked upon
either as “easy guys to work” or as “a lot of crooks” who “get theirs”
out of their jobs. And so the boy comes back to the streets, and plays
there more selfishly and more recklessly than ever.
His activities are not confined to the block in which he lives or even
to the streets of his neighborhood. Any kind of space, from a roof or
an area to a cellar or an empty basement, is utilized as an addition to
the playground. But two places attract him particularly. All the year
around at some time of day or night you can find him on the docks. In
summer they provide a ball ground, in winter, coal for his family, and
always a hiding place from the truant officer or the police. Here along
the river front he bathes in the hot weather, encouraged by the city’s
floating bath which anchors close by, and regardless of the fact that
the water is filthy with refuse and sewage. In the stifling evenings,
too, when the band plays on the recreation pier and there are lights
and crowds and “somethin’ goin’ on,” he is again drawn toward the water.
[Illustration: WADING IN SEWAGE LADEN WATER]
[Illustration: A “DEN” UNDER THE DOCK]
And next to the streets and docks he loves the hallways. There is
something about those dark, narrow passages which makes them seem built
for gangs to meet or play or plot in. The youth of the district and
his girl find other uses for them, but the boy and his playmates have
marked them for their games. Neighbors who have no other place to “hang
around in” may protest, but the boys play on. They dirty the floors,
disturb the tenements by their noises, run into people, and if they
are lying here in wait are apt to chip away the wainscoting or tear
the burlap off the walls. But what do they care! It’s all in the day’s
play; and if the janitor objects, so much the better, for he can often
be included in a game of chase.
Streets, roofs, docks, hallways,--these, then, are the West Side boy’s
playground, and will be for many years to come. And what a playground
it is! Day and night, workdays and holidays alike, the streets are
never quiet, from the half-hour before the factory whistles blow in the
early morning, when throngs of men and boys are hurrying off to work,
to still earlier morning hours when they echo with the footsteps of the
reveler returning home. All day long an endless procession of wagons,
drays, and trucks, with an occasional automobile, jolts and clatters
up and down the avenue. Now and then an ambulance or undertaker’s cart
arrives, drawing its group of curious youngsters to watch the casket
or stretcher carried out. Drunken men are omnipresent, and drunken
women are seen. Street fights are frequent, especially in the evening,
and, except for police annoyance or when “guns” come into play,
are generally regarded as diversions. Every crime, every villainy,
every form of sexual indulgence and perversion is practiced in the
district and talked of openly. The sacredness of life itself finds no
protecting influence in these blocks. There is no rest, no order, no
privacy, no spaciousness, no simplicity; almost nothing that youth, the
city’s everlasting hope, should have, almost everything that it should
not.
A family from another state moved recently into one of these tenements.
The only child, a boy of fifteen, after several tentative efforts to
reconcile himself to street life, came in and announced his intention
of staying in the flat in leisure time thereafter, as he was shocked
and his finer feelings were hurt by what he saw of the street life
around him. His mother tried to persuade him to go out, but the boy
told her she had no idea what she was doing, and refused to go. He
attempted to take his airings on the roof, but was ordered down by the
janitor. Finally he yielded to his mother’s persuasion and went back to
the street. Within three months this boy, a type of the bright, clean
boyhood of our smaller towns, had become marked by dissipation and had
once even come home intoxicated.
What chance has the best of boys who must spend two-thirds of his
school days in such a playground? What wonder that he becomes a callous
young criminal, when the very conditions of his play lead him to crime?
The whole influence of such conditions on a child’s life can never
be gauged. But just as apart from his traditions and background he
is incomprehensible as a boy, so, as a wanton little ruffian, he is
unintelligible apart from his playground. This develops his play into
mischief and his mischief into crime. It educates him superficially in
the worst sides of life, and makes him cynical, hard, and precocious.
It takes from him everything that is good; almost everything that
it gives him is bad. Its teachings and tendencies are not civic but
anti-social, and the boy reflects them more and more. Every year he
adds to a history of lawless achievement which the court, police, and
institutions alike have proved powerless to prevent. And every day the
Middle West Side bears witness to the truth of the saying that “a boy
without a playground is the father of the man without a job.”