The State prison at that time was situated in the capital of the State. A collection of old and dilapidated buildings, expressive of the misery and the suffering inside, stood within sight of the capitol—a contrast of two extremes.

The idea of the construction of the buildings was good. There were four wings, each converging into a common center. From this center the guard could see all that took place in the several wings. In the center were the desks of the “P. K.” and the center keeper. The P. K., so called by the men, had general supervision of the entire prison. In his hands was placed the discipline of the entire institution. His was the authority to order all punishment, responsible only to the warden.

At the time when I entered there were none of the reforms now so common in most of the penal institutions of the country: stripes, the lockup, the clipped head, the “contract system” were in general vogue. There were no privileges to speak of. The prisoner was allowed to write but one letter a month. No newspapers were permitted to enter the institution. Pencils and writing paper were absolutely prohibited on pain of severe punishment. It was like a prison, one could imagine, that came up from the Dark Ages untouched by modern thought or usage.

The cells were of brick covered with the whitewash of many years. In this whitewash much vermin had nesting places, and it was a continual battle between the prisoner and the vermin from the time the former first entered the cell. The cells were about five by seven; the furniture was meager, consisting of an iron cot, a corn-husk mattress and pillow, a table that folded against the wall, and a small wooden stool. For covering, the prisoner was given a blanket. There were no electric lights or toilet conveniences.Looking back over my experiences, I can say that the food was on about the average served in similar institutions—sometimes fair, occasionally good, and at other times very bad. It is an impossible task to please all the men in such an institution, an absurd endeavor even to try to please them. Convicts, as a rule, are chronic kickers. Serve them with ham and eggs for any reasonable time, mutterings of discontent would soon follow. Some officials seem to know this, and change the diet of the prisoner frequently. The same food served continuously soon becomes monotonous. Men lose their appetite, discontent poisons their nature, melancholy results, and trouble follows. If a change of food is made at intervals of the year, a better discipline is procured. That, at least, is my experience. If the prisoner is satisfied with his food, a better and more wholesome state of mind results, and, naturally, a better discipline follows.

The punishment as inflicted at this institution was never brutal. During my stay of over ten months I heard of no cuffings-up, of no water cure, of no severe whippings, and of no manhandlings by the guards. Nevertheless, I found there the best discipline of any like institution I was ever in. As a general rule, the guards were of a little higher caste than the average.

In all such places political or personal pull amounts to a great deal. In this respect I found this institution no exception. This pull enables one to get the “cinch” positions. If one is well known and favorably thought of, it is an easy matter to reach the hospital or to “beat” the contract. Favoritism so practiced is the bane of all such institutions. It engenders the belief in the convict that it isn’t the fact of his crime that counts, but its enormity. He sees the bank-wrecker, convicted of misappropriating the life savings of the poor, come to the prison with a paltry sentence of a few years. Though the sum stolen reaches into the thousands, the sentence is only a third or a fourth of his for a much smaller crime. He sees the big thief enjoying the run of the institution, with no contract work, or work in some clerical position. The partiality breeds discontent and generates the poison of society hatred in the being of the minor criminal. The little crook tries to become a big crook, and in this manner the ranks of the underworld are further recruited.

The contract system in vogue at the institution was vicious to the extreme. It was the cause of most of the discontent found there. It was the source of all the numerous petty disturbances. Although I know of no prisoner being severely punished for noncompletion of task assigned, I do know of punishment inflicted elsewhere. Most wardens say, if you ask them, that they expect but one half to one fourth of an outside man’s output or ability. This assertion isn’t worth the time taken to read it. I have found universally true in all prisons where the contract system is in force that the prisoner is expected and compelled to do the equal of an outside man’s output, and in some cases more than that. I shall dwell more at length on this phase of the question in my later chapters.On entering the institution, after bathing, having my hair clipped, and donning the red-and-white striped suit, I was sent to the receiving wing. Here the convicts are locked up until assigned to work. Each morning I was called to the door of my cell and stood for a close inspection of my physical capacity. My hands were examined for strength and pliability. I was made to bend my knees without touching hands to the floor. My mouth was inspected and heart tested. I was an animal being offered for sale to the highest bidder. My weight was asked and age investigated. Everyone seemed satisfied with my physical condition, but they failed to hire me because of my defective eyesight. Old-timers advised me to “beat the contract,” to simulate a condition of the eyes, worse than they really were. I took the advice for what it was worth and played it to the limit. None of the contractors would have me. The doctor examined me thoroughly, and found me possessed of a bad case of myopia.

I was assigned to State work and did odd jobs about the institution. I soon tired of this, however, and made application to be sent out on contract. I was assigned to the shoe contract, and began my work there by sewing buttons on women’s shoes.

All my life I have been restless. The thought of staying at one position for any considerable time was enough in itself to make me long for a change. I played my sight against the position and won out. I was given work at polishing the bottoms of shoes. This suited me to a T. It was one of the cinch jobs of the contract, and I was mighty lucky to get it. It was my sight that got it, not I.

For an hour each day I could exercise in the yard, a privilege denied to those who worked. I stayed at this work until I left the institution, some six months later. When I did leave I knew about as much of the shoe business as I did when I started, and that was nothing at all. So much for the argument that the contract system is conducive to trade-learning.

The day finally came for my discharge. I was dressed in a suit of shoddy material worth about five dollars. I was given the magnificent sum of four dollars and left to shift for myself. This brings to light another reason why so many men return to the underworld. They have been incarcerated for a long number of years. Friends and home are all gone. The money given them is soon used. There is no one to whom they can turn, so they return to the places where the criminals meet. It’s not natural that they should starve, and they have too much pride to beg. They see an opportunity to get some easy money and they take the chance; the chance more than often proves a fall. Another step is thus taken in the making of the habitual criminal.