It was during the eighties and the nineties of the last century that I was most closely in touch with prison life; and it was at that time that the men whose stories I have told and from whose letters I have quoted were behind the bars. For forty years or more there was no radical change in methods of discipline in this prison, but material conditions were somewhat improved, the stripes and the lock-step were abandoned, and sanitation was bettered.

This institution stood as one of the best in the country, and doubtless it was above the average in most respects. While the convicts were under rigid repressive regulations, the guards were under rules scarcely less strict, no favoritism was allowed, no bribery tolerated, and the successive administrations were thoroughly honorable. While the different wardens conformed to accepted standards of discipline there were many instances of individual kindness from members of the administration, and no favor that I asked for a prisoner was ever refused.

But the twentieth century has brought a complete revolution in methods of dealing with convicts. This radical revolution is overthrowing century-old customs, and theories both ancient and modern. It has been sprung upon us so suddenly that we have not yet grasped its full meaning, but the causes leading up to it have been silently working these many years.

For ages the individuality of the human being has been merged in the term criminal; the criminal had practically ceased to be a man, and was classified only according to his offence; as murderer, thief, forger, pickpocket, etc. During the nineteenth century there was a gradual mitigation of the fate of the convict: laws became more flexible, efforts were made to secure more uniformity in the length of sentence imposed, many States discarded the lock-step and the striped clothing, and the contract system was giving place to other employment of convicts. While the older prisons were growing unspeakably worse through decaying walls and increasing vermin, as new penitentiaries were built more light, better ventilation, larger cells, and altogether better sanitation were adopted. However, the Lombroso theory of a distinct criminal type, stamped with pronounced physical characteristics, was taught in all our universities and so generally accepted by the public that the criminal was believed to be a different kind of man.

The courts did a thriving business collecting all their fees and keeping our prisons well filled, while the discipline of the convicts was left to the prison officials, with practically no interference. Prison congresses were held and there was much talk around and about the criminal, but he was not regarded as a man with human feelings and human rights; methods of management were discussed, but the inhuman punishments sanctioned by some of these very wardens were never mentioned in these discussions. "We are in charge; all's right in the convict world," was the impression given the outsider who listened to their addresses.

Unquestionably many of these prison wardens were at heart humanitarians, and gave to their prisons a distinctive atmosphere as the result of their personal characteristics, but they were all the victims of tradition as to dealing with convicts—tradition and precedent, the established order of prison management. The inexperienced warden taking charge naturally followed the beaten tracks; he studied the situation from the point of view of his predecessor, and the position at best was a difficult one; radical innovations could be made only with the sanction of the prison commissioners, who seemed to be mainly interested in the prison as a paying proposition; and pay it did under the abominable contract system.

And so the years went on with the main lines of prison discipline—the daily lives of the convicts—practically unchanged. The convict was merely a human machine to be worked a certain number of hours with no incentive to good work beyond the fear of punishment. No thought was given to fitting him for future citizenship. Every prison had its punishment cells, some of them underground, most of them dark, where men were confined for days on bread and water, usually shackled standing to the iron door of the cell during working hours, and at night sleeping on the stone floor unless a board was provided—the food a scant allowance of bread and water. Punishment of this kind was inflicted for even slight infractions of rules, while floggings, "water cures," and other devilish methods were sometimes resorted to. In prisons of the better grade the most rigidly repressive measures were enforced and all natural human impulses were repressed. This was considered "excellent discipline."

Now, as to the results of those severe punishments and rigid repressive methods: were the criminals reformed? Was society protected? What were the fruits of our prisons and reformatories? I have before me reliable, up-to-date statistics from a neighboring State as to the number of men convicted of a second offence after serving one term in prison. The general average shows that forty, out of every hundred men sent to prison for the first time, on being released commit a second crime. This percentage represents a fair average of the results of non-progressive prison methods to-day. But while our prisons were practically at a standstill and crime was on the increase the world was moving, new ideas were in the very air, destined to be of no less importance in human development than the mastery of electricity is proving in the material world.

There is an old proverb that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Some fifteen years ago the vital truth contained in this old saying suddenly crystallized into the playground movement. More chance for recreation, more variety in mental occupation, more fresh air and sunshine, were strenuously demanded. Not only have playgrounds broken out even in the midst of our crowded cities, but open-air schools have sprung into existence in Europe and are gaining in favor in this country where climate permits. Athletics in all forms have steadily gained in popularity. Freedom for the body, exercise for every muscle, is not only advocated by physicians but has become the fashion, until golf is now the great American pastime, and the benefit of physical recreation is no longer questioned.

Even more far-reaching in eventual influence is the modern recognition of the rights and claims of the individual. This awakening is so widespread that it cannot be centralized in any personal leadership. It is like the dawning of a great light upon the life of the twentieth century in all civilized countries, and already it is affecting existence in countless directions.

In the army the common soldier is no longer regarded as merely a shooting-machine, he is drilled and trained and schooled into development as a man as well as a soldier. In the treatment of the insane, physical restraint is gradually being relegated to the past; the patient is regarded first of all as a human being, not merely as a case. More and more the individual needs are studied and individual talents brought into activity. In schools for the mentally defective the very foundation of the methods and aims is to promote the development of the individual, to draw out to the utmost whatever rudiments of ability the child may possess and to keep the light turned steadily on the normal rather than the abnormal in his nature. Physicians, psychologists, and educators alike are realizing the importance of adapting methods to the needs of the individual.

Child-study—unfortunately, in many cases the study of text-books rather than of the living child in the family, but child-study in some form—prevails among the mothers of to-day. The gifted Madame Montessori, from both the scientific and the humanitarian standpoint, is emphasizing the importance of giving the child freedom for self-expression. In the suffrage movement we have another evidence of the same impulse toward recognition of individual rights. It comes to us from every direction, even from the battle-field where the Red Cross nurse sees neither friend nor foe, only a suffering man needing her care.

Here we have two great forces: nature's imperative demand for more freedom for the body, more of God's sunshine and fresh air; and the still more imperative demand from the spirit in man for recognition and release. The two forces unite in the one demand, Pro sanitate totius hominis—for the health of the whole man.

Some thirty years ago Richard Dugdale, a large-hearted, large-brained student of sociology, had the courage to state that the great blunder of society in dealing with criminals began with shutting up so many of them within our prisons, practically enslaving them to the state, depriving them of all rewards for their labor and often throwing their families upon public taxation for support; even in many cases making the punishment fall more heavily upon innocent relatives than upon the offenders themselves. He believed, however, that there would be a residue of practically irreclaimable criminals whose permanent removal from society was necessary, but that life for this class should be made as nearly normal as possible. Richard Dugdale was a man of prophetic insight, with a clear vision of the whole question of social economics—social duties as well. Unfortunately, his death soon followed the publication of his articles. But time is making his dreams come true, and vindicating the soundness of his theories. Even during the lifetime of this man spasmodic efforts were made in placing men on probation after a first offence instead of sending them to prison.

With the introduction of the juvenile courts early in the present century this idea assumed practical form; and Judge Lindsey, of Denver, gave such impetus to the movement to save young offenders from the demoralizing influence of jails and miscalled reformatories that this example has been followed in all directions, and thousands of boys have been rescued from criminal life. "Save the boys and girls" appealed directly to the masses, and this ounce of prevention was indorsed with little opposition.

But when the extension of the probation privilege to include adult offenders—still further to reduce the prison population—was advocated the public held back, fearing danger to society in allowing these older lawbreakers to escape the legal penalties of their offences. However, the current of progress was not to be stemmed, and adult probation has been legalized in many States. The results have been satisfactory beyond expectation, showing an average of less than five per cent of men released on probation reverting to crime, against forty per cent of reversions after a term in a non-progressive penitentiary.

This adult probation law confers upon the judge not mandatory but discretionary power, and the character of the judge plays a part not less important than the character of the offender; the application of the law is primarily a relation of man to man; the unjust judge will be unjust still, the timid judge will avoid taking risks; in the very human side in which lies the strength of this course lie also its limitations.

Now the very foundation of the probation idea is the recognition of the individual character of the offender and the circumstances leading to the crime. But no sooner was the adult probation law in force than the claim of the individual from another direction began to be recognized. Curiously enough, in legal proceedings against criminals the injured party had been entirely ignored—according to the old English precedent. It was not the crime of man against man but the crime of man against the state, the violation of a state law, that was punished. To the mind of the criminal a crime against the state was but a vague and indefinite abstraction, except in case of murder unlikely to cause remorse, or any feeling of responsibility toward the person injured. If the injured party were revengeful he had the satisfaction of knowing that the criminal was punished; but the sending of the delinquent to prison deprived him of all opportunity for reparation.

An interesting thing begins to happen when the judge is given power to put a man on probation. At last the injury to the individual is taken into consideration. Here is an actual instance in point.

"Five thousand dollars was embezzled from a Los Angeles theatre and dissipated in high living by a man twenty-one years old. He confessed and received this sentence from the judge:

"'You shall stay at home nights. You shall remain within the limits of this county. You shall not play billiards or pool, frequent cafÉs or drink intoxicating liquors, and you shall go immediately to work and keep at it till you pay back every dollar that you stole. Violate these terms and you go to prison.'"[14]

This practice of making restitution one of the conditions of probation is spreading rapidly. Here we have a method hitherto unapproached of securing all-round, common-sense justice, directly in line also with sound social economics. Mr. Morrison Swift has well said of a term in prison that "it breaks the current between the man and life, so that when he emerges it is hard to form connections again. He has lost his job, and too often health, nerve, and self-respect are impaired. These obstacles to reformation are swept away when a man retains his connection with the community by working in it like anybody else."

Another factor in the scheme of probation is that it brings the delinquent directly in touch with a friendly, guiding, and helping hand, placing him at once under good influences; for it is the duty of the probation officer to secure for his charge environment calculated to foster reformation: he becomes indeed his brother's keeper.

While modern ideas have thus been applied in the rescue of the individual before he has become identified with criminal life, even more marked has been the invasion of recent movements into the very stronghold of the penitentiary itself.

The twentieth century marks the beginning of the crusade against tuberculosis. Physicians, philanthropists, and legislators combined against the fearful ravages of this enemy to the very life of the people. Generous appropriations were given by the state for the cure of the disease and every effort was made to trace the sources of the evil. And then it transpired that, while the state with her left hand was establishing out-of-door colonies for the treatment of tuberculosis, with her right hand she was maintaining laboratories for the culture of the fatal germs, and industriously scattering the seeds in localities where they would be most fruitful. In other words, the very walls of our prisons had become beds of infection. Doctor J. B. Ransome, of New York State, finds that from forty to sixty per cent of the deaths in all prisons are from tuberculosis; at times the mortality has run as high as eighty per cent. He tells us also that in the United States to-day there are twenty thousand tubercular prisoners, most of whom will return to the congested districts and stuffy tenements where the disease is most rapidly and virulently spread.[15]

He urges as of the utmost importance that infected prisons be destroyed, and that convicts be given work in the open air when possible; and that light, air, exercise, more nourishing food, and more healthful conditions generally be substituted for the disease-breeding conditions under which prisons have always existed. Thus, apart from all humanitarian considerations, public health demands radical changes in prisons and in the lives of the prisoners.

The automobile, the autocrat of the present day, has little of the missionary spirit; but it has made its imperious demand for good roads all over the country, and legislation now authorizing convict labor on State roads is not only responding to this demand but is partly solving the vexed problem of the employment of convicts.

How far the men responsible for the revolution in the management of prisoners have studied these trends of the times I do not know. Most of these men have doubtless builded better than they knew. All the winds of progress, moving from every direction, seem to be concentrating in one blast destined to crumble the walls of our prisons as the walls of Jericho are said to have crumbled under the blast of the trumpets of the hosts of the Lord. It may even be that the hosts of the Lord are back of these winds of progress.

The introduction of this reform movement required men of exceptional force and ability, and in answer to this demand just such men are coming to the front. The United States has already developed a remarkable line of captains of industry, but not less remarkable men are taking this humanitarian field to-day.

The pioneer in revolutionizing prison-management was neither penologist nor philanthropist. The first step was taken for purely practical ends. It happened, when the twentieth century had just begun, that Mr. John Cleghorne, a newly appointed warden of a Colorado penitentiary, found that the State had provided neither cells nor workshops within the prison for the number of convicts sentenced to hard labor. To meet this exigency this warden decided to put a number of men to work outside the walls, organizing a camp and putting the men, then in striped clothing, on their honor not to escape. The experiment was altogether successful; but so quietly carried on that it received little attention outside the borders of its own State until the appointment of the next warden, Thomas J. Tynan, who recognized the beginning of true reform in the treatment of convicts and openly advocated the changes from humanitarian motives.

While to Colorado is given the precedence in this movement, a notable feature is the nearly simultaneous expression of feeling and ideas practically the same in widely separated localities, from the Pacific coast to the Atlantic, and even on the shores of Panama. Naturally the movement started in the West, in newer States less trammelled by precedent than the older States, where traditions of prison discipline had been handed down for two centuries; but the time was ripe for the change and it has been brought about through men, some of them trained penologists, others practical men of affairs, but all united in faith in human nature and in the one aim of fitting the men under their jurisdiction for self-supporting, law-abiding citizenship.

Sceptics as to the effect on the prisoner of this liberalizing tendency are silenced by the amazing response on the part of the convicts in every prison where the honor system has been applied. This response is unquestionable: a spirit of mutual confidence is displacing one of suspicion and discouragement, and in supplanting the old antagonism to prison authorities by a hearty sense of co-operation with them an inestimable point in prison discipline is gained. We hear much these days of the power of suggestion, and the suggestion, conscious and unconscious, permeating the very atmosphere of these progressive prisons is hopeful and helpful.

Never before in the tragic history of prisons has a spiritual force been applied to the control of prisoners; and yet with one consent the first step taken by these progressive wardens is to place convicts on their honor: not chains and shackles, not bolts and bars, no form of physical restraint; but a force indefinable, impalpable, invisible, applied to the spirit of these men. In bringing this force to bear on their charges these wardens have indeed "hitched their wagon to a star."

[14] Morrison I. Swift, Atlantic Monthly, August, 1911.