My life in prison

Front matter

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Chapter I

I was broke. I had not eaten for three days.

I had walked the streets for three nights. Every fibre of my being, every precept of my home training protested against and would not permit my begging.

I saw persons all about me spending money for trifles, or luxuries. I envied the ragged street urchin as he took a nickel in exchange for a newspaper and ran expectantly to the next pedestrian. But I was broke and utterly miserable.

Have you ever been broke.?

Have you ever been hungry and miserable, not knowing when or where you were going to get your next meal, nor where you were going to spend your next night.''

Have you ever tramped holes in your shoes in a tiresome, discouraging effort to get work, meeting rebuff and insults in return for your earnestness and sincerity, and ejicountering an utter lack of an understanding of your crying necessity in those with whom you have pleaded for a chance.''

Have you ever felt as though the world Itself were against you and that a mistake had been made by Nature in inflicting you with life ?

If you have not felt each and all of these things it will, perhaps, be futile for you to read what they brought to one who has felt them, and it will be difBcult for you to tolerate any thought of extenuation for what happened.

Thousands of persons have felt these thoughts, have sufl'ered these experiences, but very few have done what I did; at all events, very few have done what I did and then told about it, as I am going to tell.

Few crimes are committed from choice.

The number of professional criminals is small, amazingly small, in comparison with the number who are criminals of circumstance. But society makes no distinction; the man who steals because he is hungry, and too proud or squeamish to beg, is classed with the thug who waylays you at night and takes your money by persuasion of an ugly .44-caliber "smoke-wagon" held within an inch of your brain, and with money jingling in his own pocket at the moment.

The first is an unfortunate human being driven to commit an act which he abhors; the second a dangerous menace to humankind and organized society.

I belonged to the unprofessional class. And despite a long term in prison, I am not yet a criminal.

Every atom of my body, each vibration of my mind, revolts at the thought of crime. Yet I committed burglary; also I have a big, warm tolerance for other men who have committed burglary, or other crimes, no matter who they may be. Do not mistake me — ^I am not seeking to apotheosize the oifender against the law; far from It. But I know that all men are human — even the men in convict stripes and shaven heads.

Why shouldn't I know.'' Haven't I been one of them?

Didn't I violate the sacredness of a home in the dead of night, and didn't I spend long years in the penitentiary?

Who knows if I don't?

As I look back I wonder what has been accomplished by my imprisonment.

Perhaps before this series of sketches is done some of you may discover what has been accomplished in my individual case. But what is being accomplished in the thousands of other and more unconscionable cases?

Perhaps you do not care ; possibly you may feel that it is none of your concern ; that you pay taxes for protection, and that you cannot be held accountable for the shortcomings of others or for the inhuman and illogical system that enhances the certainty of still greater violation of man-made laws.

Be that as it may, you are still responsible; and you are not protected.

I was broke and utterly miserable. True, there were thousands of others just as miserable — I realized that — ^but I was myself, I was no one else save myself, and I had a nickel with a hole in it in my pocket.

Never mutilate a coin of the realm. It may fall into the hands of a starving man or woman and prove the last argument in favor of crime — or suicide.

It was Hearing midnight and the possibility of escaping another night in the streets growing slimmer with each passing moment. Somehow I felt that something must occur to relieve my crying necessity.

Subconsciously I had buoyed myself over three breadless days and sleepless nights with the unframed thought that something must turn up.

Put yourself in my place. What would you have done?

Suddenly, almost with the effect of an unexpected physical blow, it came upon me that hope was a chimera, that I must do something for myself.

I had made every reasonable effort consistent witH my individual temperament and physical capability to get employment.

I had passed display stands where a careless dropping of the hand might have yielded an apple or a raw potato. But now the time had arrived for action.

What should it be?

Suicide instantly presented its hideous features — a vivid picture of the dock and the muddy green waters closing over a drawn human face arose before me.

I was not shocked, not even surprised; merely awed. It seemed a natural solution. Yes, that was it — suicide.

A dead man's stomach was insensate — ^its clamorings were done — it was filled to repletion forever and forever.

Unconsciously my footsteps quickened, for such is the effect of decision of the mind on the body, and I turned toward the bay.

As I did so my fingers closed over the damaged nickel in my pocket, and a new thought occurred to me. The hole in the coin suggested crime; why I do not know.

I stopped and reflected. Yes, I would leave it to the nickel — the bogus nickel. Why not? It was a matter of life and death — essentially a gamble.

I would take the nickel from my pocket. If my eyes encountered "heads" I would commit crime; if "tails" appeared I would hurry to the jumping-off place.

I drew the coin from my pocket and looked at it unconcernedly, impersonally.

It was too dark to see. Holding it firmly so that the test might be fair, I walked rapidly to the corner and under a gas lamp.

The head of Liberty stared me in the face. I flung the coin into the gutter and buttoned up my coat. I had suddenly become a criminal.

Why I should have decided that burglary was the 03aly

Donald Lomrie 5

crime open to fulfil my needs it is hard to say. Looking back over the desert of years I seem to recall that I was actuated by a recollection of something that had occurred during ray boyhood. Inadvertently we had left the back . door open one night and a nocturnal prowler had taken advantage of it. That childhood incident came back to me, and the fact that I decided to emulate the unknown gentleman who had appropriated my father's watch tends to strengthen the claim that man is a simon-pure imitative animal.

Two hours after I had arrived at my decision I found myself skulking along the quiet, tree-fringed streets of the residential section. A sense of guilt permeated me. I felt that I had already taken an irretrievable step, a step from impecunious respectability to impecunious dishonor.

I had no desire to abandon my intention, and yet it occurred to me that it would, after all, be more honorable to beg than to steal. But humiliation before my own self seemed far more preferable and endurable than humiliation before others, for, of course, I did not expect to be caught.

As for the penalty, that never occurred to me at all. It would not have made any difference if it had.

I walked several blocks farther, turning each corner that opened into the obscure and remote reaches of the neighborhood, but it was a long time before I mustered sufficient courage to turn and cross a lawn. When I finally did it was with startling suddenness, as though at the direction of some external agency, and this feeling was emphasized a moment later when I found myself standing before a partly raised window, concealed from the street by a friendly ros» l?ush. It seemed as though I had come directly from my starting point to this window.

After a brief wait to satisfy myself that I had not been observed entering the grounds, I proceeded to raise the sash. Very slowly and noiselessly I pushed the sash upward until there was sufficient room to permit the passage of ray body. My mind was already inside, counting returns. I stood still a moment, listening acutely. No sound broke the sombre stillness. The great world was so quiet that I imagined I could hear the circulation of my own blood. A moment later I was inside the house.

A street lamp some distance away sent a dim light through the front windows, and I saw that I was in a parlor. The piano looked inviting — that was strange, wasn't it.'' But instead of yielding to its lure I sat down and rested. I was quite cool.

All the burglar stories I had ever read had distinctly stated that the burglar removed his shoes and examined his "trusty" revolver before proceeding into the more menacing regions of the domicile which he entered. But I was without a revolver, and the squeak had long since been ground out of my shoes. As for a dark-lantern and "jimmy," I had never seen either accoutrement of my profession and I shouldn't have known what to do with either had they been at hand.

While sitting in the parlor I saw the form of a man flit past the house. Instinctively I knew he was the night watchman for that district, and hugged myself that I had arrived just when I did. I was also surprised to find myself so much at ease. I had been more upset and fearful while on the street than I was now. Surely I would not i find it terrifying to enter other rooms and seek the money ' and valuables that I knew awaited me. Again, my mind 1 preceded my body. I arose and followed it.

Turning into the hall, I had an awful moment — a moment that stiU gives me the creeps. As I stepped forward I became conscious of another man moving close beside me. My blood seemed to solidify ! For an instant I went senseless with horror, but the reaction was prompt and I sprang back with a smothered cry.

The man sprang back with me and disappeared. I stood there trembling, but could hear no sound.

I must get to the window, and quickly. As I moved I noticed a glare on my right. The next instant I realized what had occurred. I had been dodging my own reflection in the hall mirror.

After the first revulsion of feeling had passed I was thankful that I had not a "gun" on my person, for I had felt one awful moment ; the thought of self -protection had been strong upon me. Had I been a professional crook I would certainly have shattered a useful and inoffensive mirror during that moment.

It required several minutes for me to regain my self-possession, and then I ascended the stairs, instinctively keeping close to the wall in order to circumvent the creakings that had heralded my use of the first three steps.

I wondered if I had ever done this same thing before — it seemed so strange that I should know just what to do.

On the upper floor I paused at an open door. The slow, regular breathing of a sleeper came from within the room. I stepped across the threshold and stopped.

It was pitch dark. I listened tensely. Presently I located an objective point — the soft, yet jubilant, ticking of a watch — ^a little machine at work while mankind slept.

I compared myself with the watch. Was I not working also, or was I? Was I not facing a possible ignominious and sudden separation from life? Was I not — in a certain sense — earning whatever I might get — even a "package" from his Honor? Yes, indeed. Already, I considered the watch as my own property — ^also as ?ny friend.

Three cautious steps, a moment's fumbling at a clothes' rack and the watch was in my hands; no4 only the watch, but also a man's purse that was gloriously heavy.

Bending, I laid the rifled garments on the floor and slowly backed from the room.

Going downstairs I heard the parlor clock strike four and a milk wagon rattling faintly on the next street.

At midnight I had been an honest man. Now I was an outlaw, a burglar. Still, no one save myself knew it, and no one ever should know it. I felt justified in having done what I had.

On the lawn outside, in the shadow of a rustling palm, I paused to empty the purse and count the money. There were three twenty-dollar gold pieces and some silver. Exultingly I slipped them into my pocket. The purse I flung into space.

A few steps took me to the street, and I walked rapidly away, head erect and full of vigor. *

I had re-established my right to live.

While eating breakfast downtown an hour later — ^my first meal ; in fact, the first food that had passed my lips in eighty-four hours — I reflected on what I had done. Somehow I felt that there should be a reaction, that I ought to be horrified at the thought that I had committed a crime; but the food tasted natural and I was happy, actually and unqualifiedly happy. I felt absolutely no qualms of conscience.

After all, a criminal, so-called, is not such a desperate, dangerous, despicable creature. The patrons in the restaurant did not regard me any differently because I had committed a burglary an hour before. Why.? Because they did not know.

I wonder how many persons there are walking the streets, riding in the cars, sitting next to you at the theatre, who are undiscovered, undetected, uncaught criminals ?

Have you ever violated the law yourself.? Have you ever passed a counterfeit coin that has been palmed off on you? That is a felony, you know, punishable by imprisonment in the penitentiary.

True, it doesn't stack up with burglary, or robbery, or forgery, or passing a fictitious check. But it is none the less a crime.

My meal finished, I bought a twenty-five-cent cigar and strolled down the street; nor did I forget to tip the waiter. Though I had been dead tired and weak for want of sleep at midnight, I now felt wide awake and alert, I seemed to be intoxicated with the success of my temerity, drunk with the knowledge that I possessed nerve and initiative, proud that I had solved the riddle of my predicament and come out the winner. My fingers toyed with the watch in my pocket and I turned into a side street to look the timepiece over. It proved to be an eighteen-karat, full-jewelled Swiss.

"Worth not less than a hundred," I thought, "and a dangerous article for me to keep. I must pawn it."

The thought was no sooner conceived than I decided to act on it. Surreptitiously I fastened the watch-guard to my vest and looked for the familiar three balls.

Five minutes later four $20 gold pieces were grudgingly shoved toward me by the cadaverous individual behind the pawnshop counter, and I signed my name. He had looked at me very searchingly during the transaction — so searchingly that I felt uncomfortable and apprehensive. But when I reflected that the theft was only a few hours old and that he could by no possibility have an inkling of my guilt, I became reassured and said something about "cutting the poker game for a time."

"There ain't much doubt of that," he answered significantly. I did not detect the menacing sarcasm of the remark at the moment, but now— ten years later— it rankles.

10 Tilly Xlfe m "Prison

I remember groping my way from tHe place, and oiS reaching the street tried to hasten my steps — ^Hut the need of sleep had come over me with brutal suddenness. My feet seemed laden with lead.

Glancing at the signs ab'ou? me, I discovered a rooming house and turned to enter. As I did so I felt a strong impulse to run. The next instant a hand was fumbling at my coat cuffs, and before I realized what had happened a pair of nippers closed around my right wrist.

It is always the right wrist that feels the nippers. Still, policemen have been shot by left-handed men. A voice full of exultation was at my ear.

"I guess the chief wants to see you," it said.

Turning faintly, I encountered the gray eyes of a thicK-set, florid-faced man, his hat on the back of his head.

Impulsively I drew back.

"Come along, kid ; no fuss !" he admonished,

I wonder if you can appreciate the awful revulsion of feeling that smothered me. A moment before I had been a free being; now I was an apprehended criminal. I offered no resistance, but turned and accompanied my captor without a word. No one but he and I knew of the arrest then.

At headquarters I was led into the presence of the Chief.

"A live one," commented the man who had arrested me, removing the nippers and starting to go through my pockets.

I had not yet spoken a word. I was fighting with myself, trying to determine what course I should adopt.

Should I refuse to talk and let the police officers find out what they could — ^what they were paid for doing — or should I tell the truth and sue for mercy?

I decided to hold my own counsel.

"What's y'r name?" inquireH the Chief.

"I wonder," I instantly replied.

Imagine my surprise when he dipped the pen into the inkwell and drew the blotter toward him.

"What's y'r first name?" he inquired. "What's the T stand for?"

"I wonder," I reiterated doggedly.

"Oh, very well," he snarled. "We've got y'r right. You're a dead one. The name don't cut much ice. You can do time under that name as well as under any other." And he wrote "I Wonder" on the record.

When he asked other questions I refused to answer. I was threatened with dire consequences if I did hot "come through," but did not yield. I didn't care. I was tired and sick. At last, realizing the futility of trying to force me to speak, he desisted, and I was led away.

"You'll talk before we get through with you," commented my custodian, as he pushed me into a bare cell in the basement and slammed the barred door. "You'll talk, and be damned glad of the chance.'*

Chapter II

The contrast between being a free creature walking the streets and a captured criminal locked in a cold six by four stone cell, away from the sun and air, was awful. I felt as though the sides, as well as the bottom, had dropped out of the universe. I sank upon the board slat constituting the bed and dropped my head into my hands. At last I realized the enormity of my act. But, no, it was not the enormity of the act so much as the enormity of the consequences.

There is a glaring distinction.

I tried to delude myself that I had nothing to fear, that there was no evidence against me. I had been arrested simply because of my seedy appearance ; perhaps because I looked guilty of having done something wrong.

But why should the plain clothesman have deemed it necessary to use the nippers? Why should such an air of confidence have pervaded the attitude of the Chief? And why had the pawnbroker looked at me so curiously?

Suddenly I recalled that there had been some one standing beside me while I had been in the pawnshop ; also that the pawn ticket which had been taken from my pocket had been labelled as evidence. There was no use in dodging the fact that I was up against it. Even though the burglary had not been reported, it would be — and the fact that the watch had been practically found in my possession a few hours after the crime was insurmountable.

That day seemed unending. No one came near me; no one spoke to me. I could hear the rumble of street cars overhead and far away, and wondered how far I was under the teeming city. Also, occasionally, I heard the clanging of a cell door in the distance.

As evening approached the monotony was broken by the maudlin mumblings of a drunken man whom they placed in a cell opposite mine.

I tried to scrape an acquaintance with him, but he clung to the bars and eyed me suspiciously.

"OiBsher," he shouted, "he's trying to (hie) pick my pockets."

The remark filled me with loathing. Somehow that stupefied brain had recognized me as a criminal — it must already show in my face and bearing.

I slunk back into the cell and sat down. I was thirsty, but could find no water. I also wanted to smoke. As for food and sleep, I had forgotten them.

At last they came after me.

It felt good to get out of the cell, even if it were only for a grilling.

I was led into a IbrilUantly lighted room. Several persons were present. My eyes rested upon the cadaverous features of the pawnbroker's clerk and remained there.

"Is this the man.?" asked the officer at the table, nodding toward me.

"Yes, that's him. He pawned that watch this morning."

I followed the sweep of the witness's hand and saw the watch lying on the table. It did not look so friendly now, and I wished I had never heard or seen it. The officer turned to two persons who were seated at the end of the table — an elderly gentleman and a young lady.

"This is the man who burglarized your house las? night," he announced. "Have you ever seen him before ?" _

The young lady's eyes embarrassed me and I Hung injj head.

"No," they replied, in unison.

"Look closely," he continued. "This is important."

"Stand with your face to the light," he added, gruiffly^ glaring at me.

I did as he commanded.

The witnesses shook their heads.

"No, I have never seen him before," declared the old gentleman.

"And you, miss ?" asked the policeman, expectantly.

"No, I don't know him," she replied.

"Very well; thank you," said the inquisitor; "that's all."

They arose and departed with apparent relief.

Until midnight I was quizzed and threatened, pushed and jostled, subjected to everything save actual physical violence, but refused to talk. The more insistent and threatening they became the more stubborn I got. Nothing would ever make me speak unless I wanted to speak.

Back in the bare, cold cell, I threw myself on the board and slept. When I awoke it was daylight — crepuscular daylight down there in that sepulchral place — and I saw a tin of water and a chunk of bread on the stone doorstep outside.

I arose and drank the beverage greedily and then felt a desire to wash. My face and hands were clammy and sticky.

I could find no sign of water. With a portion of the hot beverage I wet the handkerchief which they had returned to me when I was searched, and managed to wash my face and hands.

It was at that moment that I became conscious of thi fact that I had ceased to be human.

True, I had committed a crime, but had I done anything warranting society to inflict me with the Horror that I saw crawling on my sleeve? It was Hifferent from any insect I had ever seen. My blood seemed to change into a slimy snake that didn't have room to crawl through my heart. Like a burning iron it came into my brain that I was — lousy. My character had been besmirched by an act of my own. My body was to be defiled also. That was a part of the consequences.

My soul went sick, for even a burglar has a soul. We all have souls. And, in essence, we are all alike. There is no difference save in manifestation. A mangy rat nibbling at the chunk of bread on the door-stone scarcelyj interested me. Rats are infinitely preferable to lice.

After three flays of stubborn silence on my part the detectives gave me up, though not without a promise of "getting even." I have often wondered why they did not man-handle me, for I have since learned that is the common process with the suspect who refuses to talk. I can only account for their restraint on the ground that they intuitively realized that brute force would only have served to seal my lips — that in locking up my body they had also locked the doors of my mind.

On the fourth morning — unwashed and unkempt — I was hustled upstairs to the Police Court. I had not had mj^' clothes off since my arrest, and I felt like an animated week-old cadaver.

I paid little attention to the proceedings. It matters not much what was said and done, for I already saw the future. I knew I was going to spend long years in prison.

Against the advice of counsel, I pleaded not guilty and stood trial before the Superior Court. Before the trial was half over, however, I regretted my decision and would have withdrawn my plea had it not been for my inherent defiance^ — and the lice.

K I would maintain an attitude of indifference and unconcern to the very end.

At last the jury was instructed, principally about "reasonable doubts." They filed from the room with bored iexpressions predominating. In five minutes they returned.

*'Guilty of burglary of the first degree," read the clerk, after taking the written verdict from the hands of the foreman.

I felt a hundred pairs of eyes focussed on my face, but sat unmoved. No one should know how I felt. My lawyers spgHce a few apologetic words to the judge and sat down,

"Sentence 10 a.m. Saturday," announced the judge.

Back in my cell at the jail I paced the floor in my stocking feet and smoked innumerable cigarettes. What would the sentence be?

According to the peroration of the District Attorney, I was the greatest scoundrel unhung — a vicious wolf masquerading in sheep's clothing. Every burglary that had occurred during the past six months was inferentially laid at my door. If this address had impressed the judge as it seemed to have impressed the jury I could hope for nothing less than the maximum penalty — 15 years.

Yes, that was it^ — 15 years — 180 months — 780 weeks — 5,475 days.

I had entered a private dwelling in the dead of night, "armed to the teeth and ready to commit murder," according to the People's representative. The fact that no burglar's tools had been found in my possession, nor a revolver on my person, and that I had, unprofessionally, taken only a small portion of the valuables contained within the home I had desecrated, had been overlooked entirely. Even my own attorney had failed to make capital of these facts.

During the intervening days between my conviction and sentence my thoughts were wholly occupied with what I would get. The preceding Saturday a professional "pete" man had slipped into court, "taken a plea" and returned exultingly to the jail with a six-year "jolt." He had been caught in the act of blowing a safe at midnight and was already a "three-time loser." But he knew "Gold Coin Mike," the boss of the ward where his mother washed clothes for a living. That made a big difference.

Saturday at last arrived and I found myself standing before the "bar of justice." I wanted the ordeal over, yet dreaded it. But at precisely 10 o'clock, even as the hour tolled dolorously from the court house tower, his Honor bustled in from his chambers and took his place on the bench. He bowed mechanically to one or two prominent attorneys and wiped his spectacles abstractedly.

Strange to say, I liked "his Honor." Intuitively I knew he was a man with a heart. Once during the trial he had caught the smile with which I had interpreted what had been intended as a serious assertion by the District Attorney. I had endeavored to suppress the smile when I saw him observing me, but felt immensely relieved and grateful when he smiled in return.

A man who could sense that I had intended no disrespect or levity, and a man who could think in the same groove as myself certainly could not deal with me un-

Immediate events did not justify this conception of "his Honor," but subsequent events did — -I was not at fault in believing him to be a man of heart.

I was exceedingly interested in all that transpired. Why shouldn't I be interested? Was not I the particular delectation scheduled for that morning's gratification of the rows of morbid spectators behind me?

In blatant tones the bailiff announced that the court was in session. Immediate quiescence settled over the room. Only the hoarse cry of a fruit peddler on the outside violated the solemnity of the moment.