Left
Scene: A cell in a detention center at the Woodview Detention Center in St. Paul, Minnesota, the summer of 1961. The cubicle, cell, or room, however you look at it, is furnished with an iron cot, and I , the occupant; I am 14 years old and I must be here for my first 24 hours at the facility before going to a larger cell with (maybe) other children (or as they call us, criminals). The cell is clean, perhaps too clean and there is not much in it. The floor shines, like tile substance, as do the walls, brick style. It’s late at night, a breeze lingers, brings a chill, a tinkling of mist perhaps from the nearby Mississippi River.
I stay quiet in my cell, a little intoxicated, a little disoriented, confused with a T-shirt on, a pair of worn jeans, my hair must be messy, I really can’t see it clearly, although the small window in the door with a screen through him; I can see the thinking of the other cells, and I seem satisfied with my appearance, my appearance. I am well toned, my muscles ie from weightlifting, running track and gymnastics. No tattoos; I am considered a handsome boy, for the most part.
“ My brother Mike went to Redwing, a few steps from where I am, in the prison camp, compared to ‘Boys Town’ I guess (he’s two years older than me).
In a few days I will go to court for underage drinking: the judge, he is the key here, my mother will be with me, in particular the judge will want to give me mercy (my first offense), but I will say ‘No!’ to this offer of kindness (perhaps at this moment I saw it as a pity); This will be the only time I’ve ever seen my mother cry (I know she ((maybe)) has cried before, but I’ve never seen her do it.
“Why?” the judge asks “Do you torture your mother like that and attack me with pride?”
I had told the judge to send me to jail, Redwing, like my brother, who was there at the time. Said the judge with difficulty understanding me: “The police found him sitting on a beer crate in the Cayuga Street playground, next to his house, called ‘Indian’s Hill”, drunk, and all he had to say was : An old drunk bought you the beer. “
I’m not sure if it was a question or a statement, but I didn’t say a word, I felt bad because my mother was crying and the judge was right, my pride had gotten in my way, so I left her no choice but Lock Me Up . And here I am standing in this cell looking right and left down and up the hall.
Part ii
Odd. Chick or Dennis, as they called me [ds]. Nobody gets a lot of fresh air in a cell, it seems, and it’s worse in the summer. I walked across the floor, knowing there was no way out. I counted the bricks in the cell on each side of the walls, 245, there I stopped counting and listened to the noises from the corridor. People snoring, talking, staff doors opening and closing, flashlights controlling everyone, including me; all night. I heard the new Pat Boone song, “Moody River”, it fit this time and place, it was like it was written and sung just for me. They must have been playing in the office down the hall.
Morning. “You want breakfast?” said a voice standing outside my door; I got up, “Yes!” I said, and the door opened and he put the test on a steel gray-looking desk in front of my bed, and left.
I was surprised that morning came so quickly. I got to thinking: is there a warden in this place? Then I saw people being taken to the back outside area, fenced off, of course, to play sports. I saw a little envious, and yet I had another 18 hours to go to this cell before I could join the rest.
At about this point in my incarceration I had asked myself “why” and left it at that. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would spend two weeks here, almost a death sentence for me. And at the end of the two weeks, my attitude would change. I learned from this experience, in any case, you change, or there will be people willing to spend a lot of time trying to change you. But that, of course, would require a readjustment of mindset and / or way of thinking.
Eggshell
I felt like I was in an eggshell, with two windows, and I was watching the world go by. I knew I was in a detention area after a week, and the judge was going to come out to see me. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to stay here for two weeks, but I was wrong, the judge wanted to make one point clear and he did.
The interesting thing I found out was that I begged to be allowed on the second day, scrub the entire building, the premises, the floors, just to be out of the eggshell. And since the few Sundays arrived, I went to church, to get out of my cell, and on Saturday, I went to the handicraft store for the same reasons. When I was locked up, I felt like I needed to throw up, I was gasping for air. I said to myself, calm down, calm down, like everyone else, and I did, I was able to go to the big aquarium, the cell at the end of the hall with the four teenagers inside, like me; I thought it was a great reward.
Written on 5/18/2006, at Café Angello, Lima, Peru.