Woodview Detention Center [1961/Grandpa’s House]

Left

Scene: A detention center cell at the Woodview Detention Center in St. Paul, Minnesota, the summer of 1961. The cubicle, cell, or room, however one wants to look at it, is equipped with an iron cot, and I, the occupant; I’m 14 years old and I’m supposed to be here for my first 24 hours in the facility before I go to a bigger cell with (maybe) other kids (or, as they call us, criminals). The cell is clean, maybe too clean, and there isn’t much in it. The floor is shiny, like a tile substance, as are the walls, brick-style. It’s late at night, a breeze lingers, bringing a chill, a hint of fog perhaps from the nearby Mississippi River.

I’m quiet in my cell, a little intoxicated, a little disoriented, dazed with a t-shirt on, a worn pair of jeans, my hair must be messy, I really can’t see it clearly, although the door window with a screen through of the; I can see the thought of the other cells, and I seem satisfied with my appearance, my appearance. I am well toned, my muscles that is, from weightlifting, athletics and gymnastics. No tattoos; He considers me a pretty boy, for the most part.

–My brother, Mike, went to Redwing, a few steps above me, in the prison camp, compared to ‘Boys Town,’ I guess (he’s two years older than me).

In a few days I am going to go to court for underage drinking–the judge, he is the key here, my mother will be with me, in particular the judge is going to want to give me leniency (my first offense), but I am going to say no!’ to this offer of kindness (perhaps at this moment I saw it as pity); this will be the only time i’ll ever see my mom cry in her life (i know she ((maybe)) has cried before her, but i’ve never seen her do it.

“Why?” asks the judge “do you torture your mother like that and attack me with pride?”

He had told the judge to send me to jail, Redwing, like my brother, who was there at the time. The judge said with difficulty trying to decipher me, “The police found him sitting on a crate of beer in the Cayuga Street playgrounds, next to his house, called ‘Indian’s Hill’, drunk, and the only thing he had to say was: an old drunk bought the beer for you”.

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 the way so I left him no choice but to lock me up And here I am standing in this cell looking left and right, down and up the hall.

Part II

Odd. Chick or Dennis, as they called me [ds]. Nobody seems to get much fresh air in a cell, and it’s worse in the summer. I paced the floor, knowing there was no way out. I counted the bricks in the cell on either side of the walls, 245, that’s when I stopped counting and heard the sounds of the corridor. People snoring, talking, staff doors opening and closing, flashlights monitoring everyone, including me; all night. Hearing Pat Boone’s new song “Moody River” at 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 across from my bed, and left.

I was surprised that morning came so quickly. I got to thinking: is there a guardian in this place? Then I saw people being herded into the back outside area, fenced off of course, to play sports. I saw a bit of envy, and yet I had another 18 hours to spend in this cell before I could join the rest.

At this time of 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 two weeks, my attitude would change. I learned from this experience, if anything, 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 holding 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 a point, and he did.

The interesting thing I discovered was that I begged to be allowed on the second day, to clean the entire building, the facilities, the floors, just to be out of the eggshell. And since they came the few Sundays I went to church, to get out of my cell, and on Saturdays I went to the craft store for the same reasons. When I was locked up, I felt like I wanted to vomit, I was short of breath. I said to myself, calm down, be calm, like everyone else, and I did, I went to the big aquarium, the cell at the end of the corridor with the four teenagers, like me; I thought it was a great reward.

Written on 5/18/2006, at Café Angello, Lima, Peru