Children In Trouble: A National Scandal [Other Printing ed.] 0671772988, 9780671772987

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CHILDREN

IN TROUBLE:

A NATIONAL

SCANDAL

A Blistering Indictment of Our Nation's Greatest Shame By Howard James, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Crisis in the Courts Foreword by Senator Charles H. Percy

"This is a shocking indictment of the inadequacies and failures of our method of handling juvenile problems. It is an alert to the American public of the urgent need for improving the system." —Library Journal

"A hard hitting book that haunts you long after it has been put aside." —Winston-Salem Journal and Sentinel "A sensitive yet shocking study of the juvenile penal system in America which has consigned more than 300,000 children, some as young as four and five, to the deadening brutality of prisons, reform schools and detention homes. Only infrequently does a single piece of reporting contain the skill, integrity, and courage that demonstrate the importance of a responsible free press in an open society. Children in Trouble is therefore an especially encouraging example of the vitality of the muckraking tradition in American journalism. "James presents an incredible equation of unfit parents, abusive police officers, ignorant judges and ill-trained social workers that condemns troubled and neglected children to suffer physical terror and homosexual assault in overcrowded, poorly supervised institutions." -Los Angeles Times "James is a muckraker in the finest sense. He is not afraid to name names. What James has to say is important and should be read." —Cleveland Plain Dealer

"Correctional agencies contribute enormously to the crime rate."

-George McGrath, Chief of the New York City Correctional System

CHILDREN IN TROUBLE : A National Scandal was originally published by David McKay Company, Inc.

Also by Howard

Jones:

Crisis in the Courts

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Children in Trouble A National Scandal by Howard James

This book is based on a series of articles that appeared weekly in The Christian Science Monitor, March 31 to July 7, 1969.

PUBLISHED

BY POCKET iM BOOKS

NEW YORK

CHILDREN

IN TROUBLE:

A National Scandal

David McKay edition published April, 1970 Pocket Book edition published June, 1971 The names of children used in this book are not their real names.

This Pocket Book edition includes every word contained in the original, higher-priced edition. It is printed from brand-new plates made from completely reset, clear, easy-to-read type. Pocket Book editions are published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 630 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10020. Trademarks registered in the United States and other countries. Standard Book Number: 671-77298-8. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 70-107070. Copyright ©, 1969, 1970, by the Christian Science Publishing Society. All rights reserved. This book is based on a series of articles that appeared weekly in The Christian Science Monitor, March 31 to July 7, 1969. Pocket Book edition reprinted by arrangement with David McKay Company, Inc. Printed in the U.S.A.

This book is dedicated to my mother, an inspiration to her six sons and the children in her first-grade classroom.

FOREWORD

The commission of crime by young people is one of the most serious problems confronting our society today. It is a problem with myriad causes, deep roots, and no simple solution. It not only involves millions of youngsters — the dependent, neglected, disturbed, delinquent — but every American citizen. Until we learn how to deal with young people who have no means, have been unable or unwilling to adjust or conform to the demands of society, we will not make measurable progress toward conquering our national crime problem. It is tragic indeed that for most of these young people juvenile crime marks only the beginning of a life at odds with the law. This is not a new problem. What is new is the approach to studying the problem taken by Howard James in Children in Trouble. By focusing upon specific individual cases — rather than cold, impersonal statistics — he emphasizes that we must take into account all the factors involving the juvenile offender— his family, school, and so forth. The book leaves the reader with serious doubts about our traditional approach to combating crime and provides a series of recommendations as to what can be done to overcome this rampaging threat to an ordered society. For those who want to know what the juvenile delinquency problem is really about and who want to read some provocative and thoughtful suggestions for meeting the problem, I recommend Children in Trouble. Howard James has done a brilliant and perceptive job. Charles H. Percy United States Senator, vu

Illinois

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book could not have been researched and written without the help and encouragement of many people. For the unflinching support of DeWitt John, Robert Colby Nelson, and Stanley Hall of The Christian Science Monitor, I am deeply grateful. I know of no other newspaper so dedicated to public service that it would assign a reporter to a single subject for more than a year, underwriting the entire cost of a project of this magnitude. This is in keeping with Monitor traditions. I can only hope that the people of America appreciate The Monitor's daily contribution not only to journalism, but to our society. I am also indebted to dozens of professionals who are devoting their lives to improving the lot of unfortunate youngsters— patiently putting up with inadequate salaries and, too often, stupidity in high places. It has been possible to mention only a few of these men and women by name in this book. Several men in Delaware and in South Carolina deserve special mention. One of these, Albert Baugh, a social worker, had the courage to risk his career at the John G. Richards reform school in South Carolina in order to help the children of his state. In cooperating with me in exposing the evils of that system he found himself the target of those who would have preferred to attack me, had I been within reach. Much credit also must go to T. Travis Medlock, an excellent lawyer and member of the South Carolina legislature, for his dedication to right. Mr. Medlock led the fight for reform. There are others there who deserve credit, including State Senator Eugene N. Ziegler, chairman of the legislative commission that investigated the reform schools, and Solomon Blatt, Speaker of the House of Representatives in South Carolina. One cannot say enough about the efforts of a brilliant young lawyer in Delaware. It was Richard R. Wier, Jr., a ix

x

Acknowledgments

deputy attorney general, who fought for reform in that state when it was found children were being seriously abused in the Ferris School for Boys. Mention must also be made of Governor Russell W. Peterson, who, after listening to my charges, demanded change, and has followed through on those demands. If other governors would follow his lead, this national scandal might soon be corrected. A word about the children themselves. That hundreds were willing to talk so openly and honestly with a stranger about their difficult lives — youngsters still willing to trust, even after so often being let down or misused by adults — should encourage all who desire to bring about change. My thanks to my secretary, Mrs. Ann Lebben, who, although retired, agreed to stay on to help me finish this work — often working overtime. And my gratitude to my wife, Dorothy, who was both mother and father to our children, who shoveled snow and ran our home alone while I traveled, and who calmly and patiently stood beside me when those I exposed fought back.

CONTENTS

Foreword

vii

Prologue

1

1. Who Are These Children?

7

2. Juveniles in Jail

26

3. The Police:

42

Enemies or Friends?

4. Unqualified Decision-Makers

55

5. Probation:

74

An Alternative to Prison

6. Prisons for Children — I

88

7. Prisons for Children— II

102

8. Prisons for Children— III

117

9. Hard Lessons Learned

126

10. Think Small

140

11. After-Care: Negligent or Hopeful?

155

12. How

Parents Produce Delinquents

163

13. The Push and Pull of Peers

178

14. American Values: What Are Our Children Worth?

182

15. The Community:

189

Unkept Promises

16. If Schools Would Change

198

17. Our Sick Welfare System

213

18. "I'm No Good"

228

xi

xii

Contents

19. Attention, Not Detention

234

20. The Tale of Four Cities

246

21. How You Can Help

256

Epilogue

273

Index

277

Children in Trouble

PROLOGUE

In researching this book I visited 44 states. In some I spent weeks looking at courts, jails, reform schools, public schools, welfare offices, police stations, and other institutions and agencies. To several I returned as many as five or six times. Yet in other states I touched down briefly, only to move on* My program was simple: See as much of the system as possible in the year allotted to travel; work evenings as well as Saturdays and Sundays to cover more ground. Institutional people — especially those with dreary and damaging programs — resist weekend and evening visits. It is far more difficult to cover up abominable conditions in these off hours. Thus being forced to work overtime to see this project through was an asset, rather than a liability. Perhaps the greatest challenge was fighting off a feeling of despair that sometimes threatened to sweep over me. "How," I would stop to ask myself as I toured reform schools, prisons, and jails, "can a country as great as ours be so cruel, so heartless, so stupid?" Then it would be time to drive to another city or to fly to the next state where, with local variations, conditions would be about the same as those I had just left. Institutions are depressing places. And yet, just as a mother learns to deal with diapers or a policeman with drunks, a writer simply must do his job. He must stand back and resist becoming too emotionally caught up in a story. This requirement is made somewhat easier by, among other things, the knowledge that in time you will have your say, your opportunity to demand change. And if your words are accurate and honest, perhaps you will be able, at least in small measure, to bring about reform. Then I found something else happening. After many months of daily exposure to agencies and institutions in our 1

2

Prologue

so-called juvenile system of justice, I began to find the reform schools and jails less depressing. I began to grow accustomed to it all. This helped me better understand the men and women who work in these places. Slowly I began to realize that they were not (at least not all) sadistic, brutal, or stupid. In fact, many decent people had simply grown accustomed to the system and saw it as normal. The children's prison was the place where they worked, and they saw their job as keeping the institution running without extreme confusion or breakdown — not unlike that of the man who tends a factory production line. When the system was operating smoothly for the staff — that is, when the children moved about the grounds in an orderly manner; when they assaulted only each other; when the runaway rate was low; and (most important) when the neighboring townspeople were not complaining — then they felt they were doing a "good job," even when children left the institution as bad or worse than when they entered it. And like factory hands who are comfortable in what they are doing, the staff often resist new methods that disrupt this cozy little pattern. The American public, of course, bears an important part of the responsibility for this. Most people ask only that these children be kept out of sight as long as possible. Few have been inside their state's reform schools, prisons, or jails — if they even know where they are located. Those who have taken guided tours enter with certain convictions: they assume that children being held there are tough, culpable criminals who deserve what they get, and who will respond only to harsh treatment. How often I have heard a citizen say, "Why reward these punks for committing crimes? Why should hoodlums get special training or treatment — paid for with my tax dollars — when my kid, a good kid who never gets in trouble, gets nothing?" One is tempted, in turn, to ask why we spend money to repair the streets with chuckholes instead of resurfacing those that are smooth, or why, in battle, military men assist the wounded before turning to those who are whole. One is also tempted to point out that keeping someone locked behind bars for years is extremely costly, and the cost climbs when no meaningful effort is made to change the individual's behavior. But this logic — if it is logic — is wasted on citizens who be-

Prologue

3

come angry at the thought of spending money on children in trouble. They are in no mood either to listen or to reason. Thus it seems possible that for years to come we may continue to write off those youngsters who violate the law. But what of the tens of thousands in trouble who have never committed an offense that would put adults behind bars? What of youngsters who only seem unable to learn in a dull and punitive school; what of those who have been locked up because they have no family, or have been abandoned or abused by their parents? Must we also write off these children, too? Must we turn them into criminals? It is extremely difficult to understand why so many people who should know better — judges, lawyers, and educators — should support a system that does just that. Why have not judges, in the name of justice, refused to send innocent children into cruel, damaging institutions? Can it be that they, facing re-election, lack the courage to do what is right? Why have the lawyers not battled to set these young people free? Can it really be that they refuse because there is no profit in it? What of the educators, those who have willingly accepted the responsibility for molding our youth? How could they become the partners to such a system, in fact feeding thousands of children into it every day? It was no mere coincidence, for example, that during the New York City school strike in 1968 the number of inmates in that city's dismal Youth House remained extremely low. Or that the detention population climbed when the strike was over and the teachers went back to work. And one must also ask about the good people of America. Especially those who call for "law and order" in our nation. Why do they ignore the fact that we will spend billions on alcohol, tobacco, cars, cosmetics, recreation, entertainment, war, or guns, while turning our backs on our troubled children? Why do they refuse to recognize that the only possible way to succeed in combating crime in America is to solve the problems of children in trouble? Why do they instead demand more policemen, more guns, and the resolution of problems through more violence? Perhaps it is, in part at least, because many Americans are fascinated by crime, suffering, and violence. Nearly anyone

4

Prologue

who has worked for. a local newspaper or for broadcast journalism recognizes this. He has felt the tension and excitement in the newsroom when a "good" story — one involving these elements — has broken. Why else would our nation produce so many financially successful movies, television programs, magazines, and books on these subjects? Does this, then, also explain why our crime rate keeps growing (at least on paper) far faster than our population? Certainly one does not solve a problem by becoming enthralled byit. But tradition also plays a part. For centuries we have locked children — not only juvenile delinquents, but orphans and other dependent or neglected youngsters — behind bars. Also, it is traditional to combat crime with stronger locks on the door, a revolver in a bureau drawer, and a cry for more policemen and bigger and stronger jails and prisons. The controversy over recent United States Supreme Court decisions in the field of criminal justice has served to further obscure the real issues. Like the familiar scene from the old Westerns, when a cowboy put his hat on a stick as a decoy, this conflict has diverted our attention from the true answers. It is a wrong-headed approach which tends to divert us from paths that would do much to keep crime in check. For it keeps us from recognizing that our present methods of dealing with crime are a sorry failure. With or without Supreme Court rulings, the police historically have been able to solve less than a third of all crimes reported to them. Of those who are arrested, convicted, and sent to prison, between 60 and 70 percent of the inmates will be back behind bars within a few months or years after their release. This largely because our system of criminal justice is far mote concerned with retribution than with rehabilitation. Even more significant is our approach to juvenile delinquency. Almost without exception the child in trouble is father to the adult criminal. While both research and logic lead one to this basic conclusion, somehow most Americans either fail to understand it or choose to ignore it. Thus the crime rate grows while thousands of outraged and frightened citizens, who should know better, ask why. This writer, in the past dozen years, has spent hundreds of hours with the police, both in police stations and riding in squad cars. I have visited, studied, and written about the

Prologue

5

courts in all fifty states. In the past two years I have spent long days in jails, juvenile detention homes, reform schools, prisons, and other so-called correctional institutions in every corner of the nation. As a reporter for The Christian Science Monitor I have covered civil rights conflicts in both North and South, and have observed rioting from inside the riot areas in Chicago, Detroit, Louisville, and many other cities. One assignment required my living in a Negro slum for weeks. And I have spent many hours behind bars with both children and adults, as well as with their families outside. Beyond this, I have interviewed experts both in penal institutions and on college campuses. In recent years, from time to time, my wife and I have had children in trouble in our home — youngsters with dark skins as well as white. This, I believe, not only is useful from the standpoint of being able to write with some measure of firsthand knowledge, but is also in keeping with the recommendations Imake to concerned citizens. This book is a direct outgrowth of my experiences and earlier work, including Crisis in the Courts, published by David McKay Company, Inc., in 1968. In that book (also based on a series written for The Christian Science Monitor) was a chapter entitled "Children in Trouble." In researching that chapter I found many hints of the shocking things uncovered in my more recent study. Thus my involvement in this field is not new. This, then, will serve to set the scene for what you are about to read. Those who are sensitive, compassionate people may find it a shocking report. Yet our purpose in presenting this material is not to alarm. Rather it is the hope of awakening responsible citizens from their indolence, spurring many thoughtful people to action. Changes are needed now if we are to end needless suffering.

CHAPTER

WHO

1

ARE THESE CHILDREN?

Small, blond, freckle-faced Peter was driving the tractor on a rural Maine road when his brother fell off and was killed by a hay baler. With reason clouded by grief and anger, the parents openly blamed bright, hard-working, 15-year-old Peter for the accident. Peter panicked and ran, staying away three days. When he returned to school, some of the students began calling him "Killer." His grades dropped. He gave up sports and started smoking. Then he did strange, defiant things in class. Things that upset some of his teachers. Finally he was caught stealing money at school. It wasn't long before a judge found Peter delinquent and committed him to Maine's reform school for boys. Peter is just one of the thousands of boys and girls I found locked up. His story, like that of every child, is unique. Some have committed appalling crimes. Many have not. Thousands are sent to reform school by parents under a law that permits them to declare their offspring uncontrollable. Other children simply have no home. This book is about children in trouble. Millions of children. Not just dangerous young criminals, drug-takers, and members of tough street gangs, but all children in trouble — the homeless, those classified by courts as dependent and neglected, the abused and battered, the mentally retarded, the emotionally disturbed, children living in slums on welfare, and the delinquents and near-delinquents. This book also examines what happens to children when they become entangled in our system of juvenile justice. Or when they come in contact with tax-supported agencies that, at least in theory, help children in trouble. Special emphasis will be given to reform schools — places some frustrated pro7

8

.

Children in Trouble

fessionals cynically call garbage dumps for unwanted children. In some states these are institutions where children may bo brutally beaten. In many reform schools, as well as jails, boys and girls are forced into homosexual acts. In almost all institutions the child lives a cold, unloving life. But to return to Peter, whom I found in the Maine reform school. What will happen to him? It is too early to tell. He has now been released from the reform school, and, in fact, is better off than many children in trouble. He, at least, had a home to return to. While Maine's training school is far from being the nation's best, it is also far from being the worst, so if all goes well, Peter may not be permanently harmed by the experience — as many youths are. Yet the possibility of his graduating from the reform school to an adult prison is high. If the typical American could visit children's institutions across the country, he would be shocked. Who could expect, in a Massachusetts reform school, to walk, as I did, through waves of outstretched little hands, the hands of boys 7 to 9, hands reaching out, pleading, children begging for someone to stop and care. Who would believe, without seeing it, that a tough, ugly member of the Hell's Angels could nearly break down and cry in a California reform school when, in a lengthy interview, his mark of shame was exposed: He could not read. One must meet 17-year-old Sally to understand these young people. She was in the Virginia reform school for girls, committed a week after her mother died in 1967, and she is now serving her second term. Confused, emotionally disturbed Sally tells you how she was once placed in a foster home with five other girls — a farm "where we had to scrub chicken houses and act as servants." To begin to understand, one must see how Sally finds reform-school life more comfortable than much of what she experienced on the outside since her mother's death. One also should talk to Ann, a bright-eyed 13-year-old with a freshly scrubbed look, locked in Seattle's overcrowded detention home, waiting for the court to find a place for her to stay. Ann, the youngest of twelve children, was a child in trou-

Who A re These Children?

9

ble from the start. Her sometimes-married mother was divorced before Ann was born, and Ann never met her father. But her mother's boyfriends were frequent visitors to their California home. When Ann was five, her mother remarried. Not long after that, Ann was sexually molested by her new stepfather. This was discovered after she ran away from home. The stepfather went to prison. The littte girl began visiting a psychiatrist. There was little happiness in Ann's life. At 9 she went to court for the first time when she ran away with some teenage boys. Less than a year later, her mother sent her to Seattle to live with a half-sister and brother-in-law. When Ann ran away from their home, she went to court for the second time. The judge decided to send Ann back to California to live with a half-brother, who, not long afterward, was arrested when it was found he was involved in narcotics traffic, forgery, and other crimes. The little girl ran away again. When she was picked up by police, she was returned to her mother, who was again seeing a series of boyfriends, many of them spending the night in her home. Again Ann ran, and again she went to court. The judge placed her with another halfbrother. This time she ran away with a girl and three boys — one of them 21 years old. They spent two weeks together, became sexually involved, used drugs, and were picked up after robbing a gas station. "I think they'll put me in a girl's institution," Ann told me when I talked to her. "I've been shifted around from family to family. Almost all my mom's kids have been in prison. I'll probably stay in institutions until I'm eighteen. There's nobody left that they [the court] trust, or that I trust." Ann has been sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the detention home because there are not enough beds. What will happen to any individual, boy or girl, in trouble is extremely uncertain, because so many factors are involved. Much depends upon: (1) the person or agency that first becomes concerned about the child; (2) the whims and prejudices of the local judge; (3) the social and economic standing of the child's family; and (4) the resources available in the local community or in the state where the child lives. The attitude of school officials, neighbors, parents, and

10

Children in Trouble

others who come in contact with the child daily also can make an important difference in what happens to the child. If a child first comes to the attention of the police, and there is little interest at home, the child probably will end up delinquent. In many police stations, Milwaukee's for example, the child's contact with the police is recorded on a card. The contact may be because of a serious crime, or simply because he was out ten minutes past curfew. The child's record remains in a permanent file until the child reaches age 21, when, in some cities, it may be burned or sealed. In other cities this juvenile police record remains in the files indefinitely. If the child is first noticed by neighbors, and the behavior is clearly attributed to parental neglect at that time (or the child has broken no laws), then he probably will find his way into the welfare system. This may occur even when the child is as delinquent as those noticed by police. If the child is first noticed by the school, again he may be classified as a delinquent. The schools are even less prepared than welfare departments to deal with problem children (although more schools are beginning to help physically handicapped children and those classified as retarded). The child who acts strangely and is routed to a mentalhealth institution may never become caught up in the delinquency system, although he may end up in an institution for life. Take the case of Stan, from a small town in northwestern Iowa. His parents, after a bitter battle, were divorced when he was 9. His mother told the court her hands were full with the smaller children and she didn't want Stan. So he was awarded to his father. Stan's life was not a happy one. Six years later, both parents remarried, and he was sent back to his mother. She complained that Stan had regular temper tantrums followed by fits. Again she decided she didn't want him, and in early 1966 Stan was sent to live with his grandparents. They couldn't handle him, and so, in August 1966, a judge sent him to the state's Annie Wittenmyer Home in Davenport. That institution houses dependent and neglected children, some retarded children, others who are emotionally disturbed, and some delinquents. There Stan grew more difficult day by day. Finally, on

Who Are These Children?

11

Sept. 5, 1967, he was sent to the Mental Health Institute at Cherokee. In the mental hospital he was placed in quarters with older men. Reports show his behavior grew worse. Deciding he was not the type of child who should be committed to a mental hospital, authorities sent him to the Woodward State Hospital-School, which handles retarded children and uncontrollable epileptics. (Some doctors believe that Stan has slight brain damage and minor retardation as well as epilepsy because of a skull fracture sustained when he was 6 months old.) Woodward officials concluded Stan "too intelligent" for their program. So he was shipped off to a new institution near Des Moines, the Iowa Methodist Group Home. A few weeks later he ran away from there and ended up in court again. One report in Stan's file states: ". . . none of the services available to children in Iowa are willing or want to deal with this difficult problem." The judge sent Stan back to the Annie Wittenmyer School (an institution which felt totally unprepared to care for him) on May 10, 1968. By this time, Stan was reacting violently to what was happening to him. He was often out of control. Twice he assaulted staff members. Officials feared for the smaller children — some as young as 8 and 9 — at the coeducational Wittenmyer Home. The home locked Stan in solitary confinement for weeks. He at least had an outside window, was given something to read, and saw a qualified social worker regularly. Among other things it was suggested that Stan be sent to the state reform school at Eldora. The mental hospital at Cherokee refused to take him back. Finally he was shipped off to the mental hospital at Mount Pleasant. Stan was still there as this was written, but there was some indication that he would soon be sent elsewhere. "We didn't give him any help, and I don't think any one else has," admits James Holmes, superintendent of the Wittenmyer Home. I found hundreds of Stans scattered across America. Thousands of other children — some as young as 7 or 8 — spend months, even years, behind bars for offenses that would not put an adult in jail for an hour. Take James, a 13-year-old Negro from near Savannah, Ga.

;

12

Children in Trouble

In late January he was sent to a state detention home by a judge to await an opening in a reform school. James has committed no crime, other than skipping school. He was placed on probation for truancy last spring and was caught skipping again this winter. State officials say none of his eight brothers and sisters has been in trouble, except for frequent absences from school. The nine children live with their mother and stepfather in an unpainted 4-room shack on a farm owned by a doctor. While they have electricity, there is no inside plumbing, and the only heat is provided by a small wood-burning stove in the living room. Total income for the family of eleven: the $57 a week earned by the stepfather, a man without any formal education, as a farm laborer. James's mother says she went through tenth grade in a Negro school. It is clear why the children, despite the acute poverty in the home, have never been in trouble before. James's stepfather isdescribed by a worker for the Georgia State Department of Family and Children Services as "the definite head of the household," a man with "a very warm relationship with his wife and children." The family regularly attends a Methodist church. And their shack is located in a wooded area with a stream to fish in and plenty of room for the children to play. The state worker who investigated the case explains the truancy this way: There "seems to be the lack of understanding on the part of the parents of the necessity of attending school regularly. James's [stepfather] never attended school regularly and yet managed to support his family. Consequently, he felt the boys had enough school education and did not think it necessary that they stay in school regularly." Not all children locked up are legally held. In Rhode Island I found fewer than ten of the children held in the training school were committed there. Their status was a kind of limbo called "FOC" — further order of the court — for months. In Milwaukee one 11 -year-old child locked in the detention center — a jail for children — by the welfare department was forgotten for three months. Jailing homeless or mistreated children is, unfortunately, a too-common practice. The judge in Milwaukee echoed the words I have heard in other cities:

Who Are These Children?

13

"Somebody should teach the welfare department a lesson by charging them with neglect." Like adults, many children are locked up to await their court appearance. The National Council on Crime and Delinquency estimates that "every year in the United States over 100,000 children from 7 to 17 inclusive are held in jails and jail-like places of detention." And, the council adds, "the significance of this situation is not merely the large number held, or the fact most of the jails in which they are detained are rated unfit for adult offenders by the Federal Bureau of Prisons' Inspection Service, but rather that many of these youngsters did not need to be detained in a secure facility in the first place." For some children the offense is having no family, or a family so inadequate they cannot be returned home. At the Lyman (reform) School for Boys in Massachusetts I found David, a very depressed youth, sitting head in hands on some steps. Asked why, the tour guide said David, who had no parents, could have been released more than a year ago if the school could only have found a place for him to go. One staff member suggested he should never have been sent by the judge in the first place. There are thousands of Davids locked up. In several states, training-school superintendents told me they would send a third, even half, of the children home the day they arrived if they could. Not all institutions are bad. A number are conscientiously doing the best they can with their inadequate staffs and limited budgets. A handful are doing a great deal of good. Others are horrible beyond belief: In a South Carolina reform school I found, among other things, boys being beaten with fists, rubber hoses, ropes, broken hoe handles and broom handles, and other weapons. Beatings were administered both by staff members and by large bully-boys appointed to do the job. Fortunately, when I revealed what was happening, the state legislature, under the leadership of T. Travis Medlock, who joined me in my investigation, quickly acted to correct conditions.

In a Delaware boys' school I found children being hit in

14

Children in Trouble

the face. This was the authorized institutional policy for disciplining a child, established by an ex-football star of the Forties, Caleb Van Warrington, Jr., who has run the school. He publicly called it a "new way" of handling children. The policy was authorized by the Delaware Youth Services Commission. Mr. Warrington had been promoted to executive director of that commission. Several youngsters, I found, had punctured eardrums as a result of this practice. This too was stopped after I made my findings public. Until O. J. Keller, new Florida Youth Commission director, put a stop to it, youngsters in the boys' school at Marianna were brutally beaten with a weighted leather flogging strap. I found children being beaten in several other states, as will be shown in the later chapters of this book. It is common for some professionals dealing with children to deny these practices exist. Some lie about it brazenly. When confronted with evidence that their statements are false, some officials try to justify brutality by complaining that the state provides too little money, or offer some equally weak excuse. Many go to great lengths to hide brutality and other serious shortcomings. In North Carolina, when I asked to visit reform schools on a February weekend in 1969, I was supplied with a driver and car. My guide was a former minister. On Saturday afternoon we drove across the state, from Swannanoa to the Stonewall Jackson School for Boys. I wanted to interview youngsters at Stonewall, but somehow we became hopelessly lost and arrived too late to talk to youngsters before they went to bed — lost in an area where my guide had been pastor of more than one church, and where he had lived much of his life. The following morning I was permitted to visit a carefully selected cottage and talk to one youth before being told that if we were to stick to my tight schedule we would have to leave immediately. At the girls' school, as I began my first interview (with much opposition from one of the school's officials) I was called out to meet two schoolteachers from another reform school who had dropped by. That ended my interviewing there. On November 12, 1969, I visited the State Vocational Training School for Boys in Pikeville, Tenn., a mountain community north of Chattanooga. In 1969 Bob Smith of the

Who Are These Children?

15

Kingsport (Term.) Times News had made charges of brutality against this institution, and later Dr. David Dzik, president of the Juvenile Court Commission of Hamilton County, made his own investigation. When I visited Pikeville I was accompanied by H. Ray Graves, director of court services for the Juvenile Court of Hamilton County; Prof. Harold E. Conway, who teaches sociology at West Georgia College, Carrollton, Ga.; and Roger King, a senior at West Georgia. We found more than ten boys with scars on their legs. In the presence of Mr. Hayslett, Assistant Commissioner of Corrections in Tennessee, and those touring with me, the superintendent, Harold E. Jones, admitted beating youngsters on the legs with a leather strap when they ran away and at other times for violation of rules. He also admitted boys were forced to run a gantlet of three or four staff members armed with heavy wooden paddles. Glenn Hughes, new assistant superintendent of the reform school, said he was very much opposed to the beatings, and that it had been his assignment to bandage the Only time will tell whether these acts have Mr. Hayslett did tell the group present that use not department policy and that it would again

boys' wounds. been stopped. of a strap was be banned.

Who, again, are these millions of children in trouble? I found that the average citizen has little or no idea who they are. Most picture the youngsters as gun-toting hoodlums and their hard little molls — the Bonnies and Clydes of the Sixties. It is essential to recognize that only a small percentage of the several million children in trouble have committed serious crimes. These millions of youngsters fall into eight often overlapping classifications: (1) the dependent and neglected — including battered children; (2) those considered mentally retarded; (3) the mentally or emotionally disturbed; (4) children with serious school problems; (5) the one-parent child; (6) youngsters with intact families who are fighting to survive in bigcity slums and other destructive environments; (7) the physically handicapped; and (8) the outright delinquent. Juvenile delinquency is serious. But the American people are too often frightened and misled about it. One theory is that this is part of a growing effort to pressure the Supreme

16

Children in Trouble

Court of the United States into reversing rulings of recent years in the field of juvenile and criminal justice. The most reliable statistics are seriously outdated, for they are based on 1960 census reports. And the figures show only a fragment of the total picture, since children are shuffled in and out of institutions daily, but the census is representative of a single day in 1960. On this representative day in 1960 there were 306,325 Americans under the age of 21 living in various kinds of institutions. Of these, roughly a third (101,420) were in so-called correctional institutions: 44,366 in reform schools; 28,325 in prisons and reformatories; 17,598 in local jails and workhouses; 9,903 in detention homes (juvenile jails); and 1,228 in centers awaiting placement in reform schools. Another 73,393 were in welfare homes for dependent and neglected children; 78,333 in homes and schools for mentally handicapped youngsters; and 21,986 in adult mental hospitals and residential treatment centers. There were 28,380 children in institutions for the physically disabled, with the largest number, 11,207, in homes and schools for the deaf. A total of 2,813 girls were in homes for unwed mothers on that day in 1960. It is especially important to note that this is only a fraction of all children in trouble in any category. Because of constant turnover in some institutions — especially jails and detention homes — the total is many times larger. Nor are children always as quickly institutionalized as the Maine youth involved in the tractor accident. In fact, many who are mentally ill or retarded or are dependent and neglected may wait for months or years for bed space. Meanwhile, others who have committed minor infractions of the law find themselves in reform schools. There is little doubt that juvenile crime is a growing problem in the United States. But the fact is that most children in trouble have either skipped school, run away from home, been in a series of fist fights, stolen small quantities of candy or clothing or toys or jewelry, or been caught drinking on several occasions. Of those held for more serious offenses, most have either stolen cars for a ride or burglarized closed stores or homes

Who Are These Children?

17

when the owners were out. Only a very small percentage have been convicted of armed robbery or have physically harmed others. Yet frightened citizens are being furnished incomplete information from such agencies as the Federal Bureau of Investigation— information which is easily distorted by its impact in headlines. In 1967 Prof. Marvin E. Wolfgang, graduate chairman of the Department of Sociology, University of Pennsylvania, wrote in a little-noticed report published by the U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare: "There is little more than faulty and inadequate official delinquency statistics to answer basic questions about the current extent and character of youth crime." He continued: "The public image of a vicious, violent juvenile population producing a seemingly steady increase in violent crime is not substantiated by the evidence available." The Uniform Crime Reports, published by the FBI, often used to show a soaring juvenile crime rate, really only show that more juveniles than adults are being arrested, Professor Wolfgang pointed out. "Most police officers agree that it is easier to effect an arrest in cases involving juveniles than in cases involving adults," he explained, adding that the FBI statistics are based on roughly 30 percent of the serious crimes reported to or uncovered by the police that are eventually solved by arrest. The remaining 70 percent of serious crimes reported are never cleared up by police and so it is impossible to guess how many are committed by adults and how many by juveniles. "In addition, very often crude legal labels attached to many acts committed by juveniles give a false impression of the seriousness of their act. "For example, a 'highway robbery' may be a $100 theft at the point of a gun and may result in the victim's being hospitalized from severe wounds. But commonly, juvenile acts that carry this label and are used for statistical compilation are more minor. "Typical in the files of a recent study were cases involving two 9-year-old boys, one of whom twisted the arm of the other in the school yard to obtain 25 cents of the latter's

18

■

Children in Trouble

lunch money. This act was recorded and counted as 'highway robbery.' "In another case, a 9-year-old boy engaged in exploratory sexual activity with an 8-year-old girl on a play lot. The girl's mother later complained to the police, who recorded the offense as 'assault with intent to ravish.* "Nothing now exists in the official published collection of crime statistics to yield better information about qualitative variations of seriousness," Professor Wolfgang concluded. My just-completed yearlong study clearly indicates that what Professor Wolfgang said in 1967 remains true today. One must also remember that even tough young thugs were not always that way. If someone somewhere had offered a helping hand at the right time, these young delinquents might never have gotten into trouble and society would have been spared both the harm inflicted by the youths and the cost of supporting them in institutions. Unfortunately, our schools, churches, welfare departments, and other agencies fail these young people week after week, year in and year out. Further, once a child is in trouble — locked behind bars — it is likely that he will be in trouble again. For each of us has a self-concept, a self-image. Accurate or inaccurate, it plays a major role in shaping our lives. A child in trouble, with few exceptions, thinks of himself as almost worthless. Too often he considers himself stupid, a failure, not worthy of being loved, and as a tattoo sometimes suggests, "born to raise hell." These attitudes are often reinforced daily by those in the home, by kids on the corner, neighbors, teachers, policemen, probation officers, judges, and others who come in contact with the child. But when a child is finally "sent up," he knows for sure that he is "no good, a criminal." My interviews indicate that most youngsters committed to an institution for the first time, even those who constantly battle authority, feel down deep that adults in authoritative positions know what they are doing. This feeling reinforces the youngster's conviction that he is "bad" and makes reform (or rehabilitation) extremely difficult. For reform must include a marked improvement in one's self-concept. If I can draw a single conclusion from all of this, it is that our society has a production system that turns out delin-

Who Are These Children?

19

quents, and eventually adult criminals, just as an auto-maker turns out cars. The great difference is that when the public doesn't like a Hudson or a Packard or an Edsel, it knows how to stop production. But too often the American people unwittingly encourage the production of criminals. That production begins with the basic raw material of the infant. The infant singled out by circumstance for delinquency is stamped, formed, molded, developed by a series of production-line stations. The first station is the home. I have found, after reading case histories prepared by professionals, and after interviewing hundreds of children in trouble, that nearly every delinquent has had an inadequate home. Sometimes parents are too young and selfish or too ignorant to care properly for their children. Others have serious handicaps, like alcoholism. Often the child is rejected, or thinks he is rejected. I have found hundreds who feel this way. Many blame themselves for parents' divorces. Or they have been beaten so badly so often that they feel totally unloved. Girls have been sexually molested by their fathers. Sometimes a mother or father picks out one child in the family and treats it like the sow who weeds a runt out of the litter. Ask any farmer about that phenomenon. Other parents who have recently climbed socially may put more pressure on a child than the child can stand — and the list of things that can happen to a child is obviously much longer. Beyond the home is the school. Our public schools produce delinquents every year almost as if it were planned. They do this through inadequate teaching in the lower grades, by letting certain children become classroom goats, by refusing to recognize that there are "hand" children as Well as "head" children, and by kicking children with school troubles out of school. Further, education is not made exciting; it is dull. (A head child is one who deals easily with abstractions — with theories, concepts, ideas. Or he may be able to memorize words from a book. A hand child is the youngster who is more practical, often more physically active, more concerned with immediate rewards, more caught up in material things than in vague concepts.) As the child goes through school, either making it or failing, his exposure to his environment grows, and the larger social environment becomes another of the stations in the

20

Children in Trouble

production of the delinquent. In a big-city slum the child is probably familiar with prostitution, the numbers racket, illegal liquor sales, rolling drunks, and so on before he is 10 years old. I have seen children as young as 7 or 8 pimping, running numbers, or delivering illegal merchandise. This cannot always be blamed on the parents. Slum mothers often learn to be even more protective of their offspring than those in middle-class suburbs. But delinquency isn't limited to the slums. You find it in the suburbs, too. Here children live in neighborhoods where they are not known, because of frequent corporate transfers of their fathers. They do not fit in with the "right group" at school. They have parents who are never home, or give them so many material things that the child does not develop a sense of valites. And suburban children can escape from the areas where they are known quickly because they have the mobility of automobiles. Suburban children in trouble steal for kicks. They lash out at society or their parents by vandalism: painting stop signs, toppling gravestones, stealing light bulbs from Christmas decorations, or smashing windows. The community fails them just as the home fails them. The community does not provide meaningful alternatives to delinquent behavior. Through emphasis on the good life (which means the easy life) in home training, the educational process, television as a means of entertainment, and because of child labor laws, we do not give our children a meaningful role in our society. There was a time when children were needed. They did chores on the farm. They washed dishes. They cut grass. Today technology has replaced manpower with machines, and middle-class society too often looks down on manual labor. (Which explains why our schools only serve head children and look down on hand children.) The police also contribute daily to delinquency. There is little question that they do an essential job in our society. But too often we do not pick men who can do that job as it should be done. Policemen are picked because of height, weight, and the ability to handle themselves when the going gets rough. They are asked to have the same skills as Marines. That is enough if you are dealing with hard-core delinquents or adult criminals. But children who have been beaten by their parents, who have been neglected, who have been torn

Who Are These Children?

21

between parents getting a divorce, or who are striking out blindly from other frustrations may well be harmed by gruff, rough treatment. Once a child learns to hate policemen, both the police and society are in for trouble. Our welfare departments help cause delinquency. In many parts of the nation children are locked behind bars by welfare workers — not because the children have broken the law, but because they have been mistreated at home. This is true in the State of Washington, which has some of the nation's better reform schools. It is true in the enlightened city of Atlanta, Ga. And it is true in most other states. I can show you examples of this not more than a 10- or 20-minute drive from where you are sitting. What we do to these children is unbelievable, and yet it is happening right now, as you read this. Our courts — operating in secret — damage many thousands of children each year. I doubt that there are more than a hundred judges in America qualified to deal with children. And that figure may be a gross exaggeration. For while many juvenile judges are good lawyers or nice fellows, they operate from ignorance. Too few visit the reform schools where they send children; yet they publicly announce that they are acting in the interest of children as they pass judgment behind their closed doors. In theory they act as substitute parents, but if parents treated children the way judges treat children — locking them in closets for days, letting them be beaten or homosexually molested, or otherwise ignoring them — the parents would be charged with criminal neglect. We have court probation departments, but most children are fortunate if they see a probation worker one hour in a month, although some probation officials will defensively lie about that. And when all of our agencies and institutions fail — as they so often do — we ship our children off to what can only be described as prison. At the reformatory at Cheshire, Conn. — a prison for youthful offenders — I met Jerry, a tall, thin, white boy of 17, who had become involved with a gang of youths who broke into buildings, stole cars, and committed other offenses throughout Connecticut. He was in the reform school in 1966 and 1967. Jerry began getting into trouble in Hartford at 8, through

22

Children in Trouble

the encouragement of his then 10-year-old brother. The brother has also been in the reformatory at Cheshire. "We used to skip church and steal newspapers and doughnuts out of parked cars," Jerry says. His parents owned a small business that kept both the mother and father busy for long hours, seven days a week. The boys roamed the streets. Because Jerry's older brother fronted for him, the parents didn't suspect. When they finally learned of his criminal behavior and took the time to talk about it, Jerry was beyond their reach. And their approach was always simply to say how bad his behavior made them feel. By the time he was 13, Jerry "hit it big," finding large amounts of cash in two apartments. Soon he had several other youngsters interested in the easy money. "Then I decided to stop. I had all I wanted. I even bought a horse and kept him at a riding stable. My folks didn't know. The other kids kept goin' until they got caught. They ratted on me, and I got sent to Meriden [the reform school]. "After I got out of there I was doin' all right for a couple of months. I started workin' at [a drive-in]. Then I met a kid who had a car, and we used to drive around. One day we were both outa money, and I knew how to get some. We broke into a house. The other kid had done it before. I bought a car with the money, and pretty soon we were breakin' in day after day, month after month. He brought in all his relatives and before we knew it there was about ten of us. Finally about five of us got caught in an apartment." Not only city children have problems. The great difference is that those sent to reform schools from small towns often have been involved in far less serious offenses than those "sent up" from urban areas. Bill comes from a small town in Idaho. He was 9 when he was first sent to the reform school at St. Anthony. When I met the blond youngster, he was 12. Bill, who is small for his age, has not seen his father, an ex-convict, for several years. His mother, brother, and sister are on welfare, as is his grandmother. His family moves frequently, and there is town gossip about his mother — although she is also reported to have serious eye trouble and a heart condition.

Who Are These Children?

23

When Bill was placed in a foster home in 1965 he "tore it apart." One Idaho official told me Bill was "learning a good deal of deviant behavior" while in the reform school. And another expects the boy to remain in the institution "until he is old enough to go to the state pen." In a 2-week period before being returned to the reform school, he was accused of enough commotion in his home community to keep the town angry at him for years. A judge reports that Bill was accused of: "breaking the limb of a neighbor's cherry tree; taking empty pop bottles off of a truck; fighting; shoplifting; stealing toys; running through a vegetable garden, pulling up vegetables; entering a dairy and taking small change; stealing a purse from a woman at a laundry; spraying water around a gas station, followed by cussing; getting caught with his hands in a barbershop cash register; getting caught with his hands in a cash register in a laundry; vandalism at a neighbor's; climbing a peach tree, and sassing the woman who told him to stop picking green fruit; and hanging around the railroad station, climbing aboard trains [among other things]." Are children like Bill really delinquent? Or are they actually more dependent or neglected? Experts agree there is a very fine line — often blurred — between the neglected child and one accused of being delinquent. This is also true of those classified as mentally retarded or considered emotionaUy unstable. What is fairly certain is that if Bill's father had been a banker or local druggist instead of a convict, Bill might never have had to leave home unless, perhaps, he was sent by his parents to a boarding school. Money and station in life still play a significant role in what happens to children in trouble. I found many judges base their decisions on whether or not a child comes from a good (meaning financially comfortable) family. But there are other factors involved. A child whose father is a convict, or whose mother is on welfare, often has a lower self-concept. These attitudes are transferred from the parents to the youngster. Thus it is easier for the child to see himself in the role of the delinquent. Beyond that, children from lower income groups, or where the educational and achievement level is low, may have special problems. Some-

24

Children in Trouble

times delinquency becomes a tradition, running through a family generation after generation. Debbie is an attractive blue-eyed girl of 16 from Lubbock, Texas. I met her in the reform school at Gainesville. It was her third time in — each time for a more serious offense. She has had one illegitimate child. Her 22-year-old brother was locked up in the boys' school. Her 20-year-old sister, now a divorcee, has been in reform school. So has her 19-year-old sister, who at present is living out of wedlock with a boy. Debbie's 15-year-old brother is skipping school. Only a 10-year-old sister is treading the straight and narrow and "even wants to go to college." All three of the older girls have had frequent sexual relations with their father. Like her sisters, Debbie was forced to start when she was 12. All have run away from home — as have the brothers. Her father, often drunk, works as a mechanic in a gas station; her mother clerks in a small store. Debbie's father frequently beats her mother when drunk, and he whips the children severely when they misbehave. This simply drives them out of the home and into more serious trouble. These are problems that know no racial, religious, or even regional boundaries. And despite tradition, the number of middle-class and upper-middle-class children finding their way into public institutions is on the upswing. Experts attribute this to many things: the mushrooming drug problem; the costliness today of enrolling troubled children in special private institutions; the greater number of middle-income families than before; increasing number of middle-class divorces; a breakdown of traditional values; plus the high mobility of youngsters in the age of the 2-car family. Suburban teenage vandalism grows day by day. Take Carol, a rather plain girl of 16, who, before being locked up, lived with her middle-class parents in Seattle. I found her in one of Washington State's training schools. She had been there five months, after being arrested for pushing dope and for smoking marijuana. She had never been arrested until she became involved with drugs while dating an older boy who had been in a great deal of serious trouble. He was sent to reform school four or five times for car theft, armed robbery, assault, and other offenses, and has since graduated to the adult prison system.

Who Are These Children?

25

When Carol was 9 she was sexually assaulted by her father. Her mother found out and sent Carol to live with her grandmother for a while. "My experience with my father made everything rotten," she told me. "I felt dirty, and I guess I still don't have too high of an opinion of myself." This is why she became involved with a boy in trouble. She didn't feel she was good enough for better boys. Beth is a white girl of 15. I met her in the Waxter Children's [detention] Center in Maryland, not far from the nation's capital. Beth, who is a chubby girl, had run away from home. She had been in the detention center for two months when I met her. I asked why she had been there so long and was told her middle-class parents said they didn't want her. Sometimes children are locked up through judicial ignorance. One of the most depressing things I saw was the retarded child in the reform school. Often that child becomes the victim of the tough boys who want to commit sexual acts. In South Carolina I met Peanuts, a tiny youth who tests out at an I.Q. of 36, and functions level of a 3-year-old. He was in a reform school with delinquents. Too many reform schools have children caliber.

homoNegro at the serious of this

Equally disgusting is the faulty testing that may place a child in trouble in the "hopeless" category, with little effort made to teach him anything that would help him succeed. There are many normal children in our institutions classified in this way — large numbers of them members of minority groups. In the reform school in New Hampton, N.Y., I met Al, a 15-year-old Negro who was identified as "definitely retarded," and was treated accordingly. Yet I found Al easy to talk to. And just as our interview ended, a staff member entered and gave Al a small trophy. I asked him what it was for, and he smiled and handed it to me. Al was the chess champ of the reform school.

CHAPTER

2

JUVENILES IN JAIL

The russet jail uniform nearly touched 14-year-old Ellen's ankles. It wasn't that the uniform was so big; rather, that she was so small. On the March afternoon that I met Ellen, a vivacious little pixie, she had been locked in the jail (which, while quite clean, reminded me, with its brown tile walls and toilets, of a public restroom equipped with beds and a table) for two weeks and two days. Ellen was in the county jail in Rock Island, 111., because the public welfare department put her there — with the approval of a circuit judge. A social worker had filed a petition stating that the little girl was "in need of supervision" and should be taken from her dull, plodding mother. Since there seemed no place else to keep her until the judge could hear the case, she was jailed. At the hearing, which took place the afternoon I was there, the judge decided the social worker was right, and returned Ellen to jail until he could find another place to send her. Ellen, who has never known her father, has often stayed away from home until late at night. It was reported that she has been picked up by men from time to time, and it was hinted that Ellen was sexually used by these men — although no proof was offered in court. When I talked to Ellen she was bouncing around the jail excitedly. "I was so happy today," she bubbled, unable to sit still. "I got out of this place for court, and I'm gonna go tomorrow to Lutheran Hospital. They're gonna find out about my I asked her about school. LQ." "Oh, I just hated school," she said, as if it were the distant past. "In kindergarten I missed 125 days. In first grade I was 26

Juveniles in Jail

27

absent two months. I missed 'bout two months in second. In third I only went four months the whole year. I played hooky like that most all the way through school. But I was real sick once, too. I should be in eighth grade, but they put me in seventh. I guess they did that because I've missed so much." If Ellen is not found to be retarded (she was bright and quick when I talked to her), the court will try to place her in Namequa Lodge, a home run by the county. The final decision will be based on an interview with those who run the institution, and on bed space. Wherever Ellen is placed, if she runs away she may be sent to reform school. Even if she does not run, her jail experience has had a negative impact on her. For in jail Ellen has become a close friend of 18-year-old Betty Ann, a member of a local sex and motorcycle gang. Betty Ann likes to talk about having had intercourse with twenty-five different men and boys — often with several in one night. Now Ellen says excitedly: "When I get out of jail I'm going to join a motorcycle gang, too — I want to do that more than anything in the world." There are thousands of Ellens in jail or in jail-like juvenile detention centers in the United States. The National Council on Crime and Delinquency (NCCD) estimates that mote than 100,000 children are held in these facilities each year. A total of 2,800 counties (93 percent) in the United States have only jails or jail-like facilities for holding youngsters in trouble with the law, according to NCCD data. "Detention," the NCCD asserts, "even if it is only overnight, may contribute to delinquency by confining some children unnecessarily. These youngsters, when placed with more sophisticated law violators, are given additional delinquency status." Yet some system of holding children in trouble is necessary. Some youngsters are so violent or are so caught up in criminal behavior that they must be restrained to protect both themselves and society. Others must be protected from parents and other adults who mistreat them mentally or physically or both. But the key is in who is held and how.

28

Children in Trouble

"Children cannot be stored without deterioration," NCCD experts explain, "unless program and staff are provided to make the experience a constructive one." Too often all that society provides is storage — like ripe peaches in a warm cellar. Take Tina, a little girl of 12, half -white and half -Negro. I found her locked in a cell in the Yakima, Wash., detention center (better described as a juvenile prison). Officials said Tina grew up in a shack, living off garbagedump pickings. She was jailed for her "own safety" after being sexually molested by an uncle. She might better be held in a foster home, but none is available. The Yakima detention center is probably the cleanest facility of its kind in America. And it can best be described as awful. It is the classic example of what the experts say damages children and causes crime — even while the public thinks that it is being protected, or that the children are being helped. In Yakima, children spend an average of twenty hours a day in solitary confinement awaiting court action. During this time they have absolutely nothing to do but sit behind thick cell doors. They are not even permitted to read. Don Rolstad, director of the Yakima County Juvenile Department, calls the situation tragic, but adds that it is better now than in the past. Today only dependent and neglected children 12 years or older are held in the center. "Until recently we had kids two, three, four, and five years old locked up," he says. "I fought with the welfare department four years before we could change that." Children are not as well screened as they should be, he says, because "I've got one person doing the work of four." Many youngsters spend weekends in the center because no one is authorized to send them home. "We know what's happening to these kids," he says. "A lot of them were rejected and depressed before they came. And then we put them in a cell, and it's like locking them up and throwing away the key." Since my visit there, Mr. Rolstad has been negotiating with the local school district, hoping to get classes started in the detention home. So far efforts have failed. A few women vol-

Juveniles in Jail

29

unteers come in to work with girls, but most do not come regularly. Perhaps most shocking in Yakima is the fact that of the roughly twelve hundred children jailed there each year, fewer than three hundred are found to be delinquent by the court. It is obvious from the Yakima example that the quality of the institution cannot be judged solely on the condition of the building. Yet when youngsters demolish cells and otherwise damage the building week after week, it is fairly certain that the institution is overcrowded, creates hostility in aggressive youngsters, and has an inadequate staff and activity program. (It may also mean children classified as mentaliy ill are being held for long periods of time.) The superintendent of the Audy Home in Chicago refused to let me study it except on a "guided group tour," which I rejected. The home has been called a brutal place by juvenile experts such as Joseph R. Rowan of the John Howard Association, a nonprofit prison-reform and correctional-service organization. In Atlanta I found a horrible detention home behind an attractive fagade in the shadow of the new $18-million sports center, and near a multimillion-dollar expressway complex. The home is constantly overcrowded. On the February morning I was there, 191 children werfe locked up. Built for 144, it houses delinquent children, retarded youngsters, and those classified as dependent and neglected, including babies too small to walk. All children over 10 years of age are mixed together. Thus those who have been abandoned or mistreated by parents, and who have never committed a crime, are locked in with tough hoodlums. The boys' section is constantly being torn apart by angry youths, who sometimes seem to be in control of the institution. One boy was stabbed with a plastic toothbrush handle that had been rubbed into a stiletto on a cement wall. Toilets are constantly overflowing as youngsters plug them with toilet paper and anything else they can get their hands on. Rooms were built for one child, but they house two. Youngsters on the upper bunks kick the ceilings out. Security screens are constantly being ripped from windows. There is

30

Children in Trouble

only one man to make repairs, and he is always days behind in his work. I found one boy locked in a solitary-confinement cell without a bed. (This is all too common around the nation.) The room reeked with the stench of urine and feces. Garbage, apparently several days old, littered the floor. The youngster insisted he was kicked in the stomach because he refused to follow orders. The guard, a mammoth man, contended that the child was pushed, not kicked. There are four day rooms, but because of lack of funds only two have been furnished. Classroom space is totally inadequate. Thus most youngsters have nothing to do but sit for hours each day. I saw one boy of about 12 or 13 sitting with his hand in his mouth. He has, I was told, an I.Q. of around 40, which means he is severely retarded. He is not dangerous, they added, except to himself. Why is he locked up? "He just drifts around town," it was explained. "He isn't dangerous. It's just that nobody can control him." Downstairs, in a less depressing section, the small dependent children are housed. But there are only six inches between the double bunks that line the girls' dormitory. In the room for babies there are nine cribs. "We try not to get youngsters under a year old," an official explained. "But we have problems on this with the welfare department. We can't get them to provide emergency care." John S. Langford, a conscientious juvenile judge, was handling the entire Atlanta court caseload alone until Jan. 1. He said he is appalled at conditions in the detention home. "We have been begging and pleading for more space," he says. Girls are better off than the boys, but not much. A little 11 -year-old white girl who was pregnant was locked in with the rest. Frightened, angry, resentful, she tried to assault a matron and take the keys. Some girls have been held in Atlanta's children's jail for a year. One was waiting five months for an opening in a reform school. During bad weather there is no place for the children to exercise, though I was told that a gym was to be built eventually. The outside wall in the play area was recently raised from eight to eleven feet to cut down on escapes.

Juveniles in Jail

31

It was here that I met Millard, a very talented 16-year-old, who was sculpturing a bust of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. in clay in the art room — one of the best features of the institution, though one which obviously could be developed further. A sensitive boy, Millard was placed in a foster home four years ago because of parental neglect. The oldest of five children, his brothers and sisters are scattered in other foster homes. Millard was jailed with various Atlanta hoodlums by the welfare department because he had arguments with a foster mother. Yet he had not broken the law. The woman simply decided she couldn't deal with a rebelling teenager. After being locked up a month, he was returned to the same foster home that had refused to keep him. Mrs. Helen Fuller, the excellent probation officer who handled the case while Millard was locked up, points out that the youth is now a full month behind in school, and it is "touch and go" whether he will stay in or drop out. The same day I met Millard, I found Beth, a beautiful white girl of 15, sobbing outside the Atlanta courtroom. Her father, a middle-class executive who traVels for a large corporation, had insisted she be locked up. Until this school year Beth had been a straight A student, although she was deeply disturbed by her parents' unpleasant divorce two years ago. The father had been given custody of all the children. Things were not right at home, and Beth's 13 -year-old brother has started to get into trouble. Beth had run away in the middle of the night, stolen her father's car, gotten drunk, and had relations with boys. Psychiatrists said she stole compulsively. The father wanted Beth sent to a mental hospital. Instead Beth had a complete psychiatric examination. As a result, the court ruled that both she and her father needed psychiatric help. The judge added that a mental hospital was not the answer. After being locked up for five Weeks, she was returned to her father. No one can force the father to seek help. In addition to her other problems, Beth is now far behind in school. officer said she expects to see Beth back in probation theHer detention center soon.

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Children in Trouble

Many other detention centers are as overcrowded as Atlanta's. Los Angeles's Juvenile Hall processes as many as two thousand children a month; occasionally they are as young as 6 years old. While there is space for 400 boys and 162 girls, the day I was there I found more than 500 boys and 200 girls locked in. On an earlier visit I had found more than 200 youngsters sleeping on mats on the floor. I was told this is not uncommon. The Los Angeles detention home, like most, feels prisonlike. All those housed there have been accused of delinquency, although some are considered mentally retarded or mentally ill. A few youngsters are held three, four, five or even six months, usually awaiting a place to go. There is a school on the grounds, but far too little play space. A second swimming pool was under construction when I was there. But most children live in drab, cell-like rooms, and there are sleeping mats stacked in every unit for the overflow. Back in 1961, adequate detention homes were spending between $10 and $20 a day on each child, according to the National Council on Crime and Delinquency. Yet in 1969, I found children in jails that budgeted less than $1.50 a day per child. Some detention homes and jails do not measure up to state minimum living conditions. In Davenport, Iowa, the detention home failed to pass state inspection five years running before it finally was shut down Jan. 1 through the urging of concerned citizens and Judge Bertram B. Metcalf. Children under 10 now are taken to a church-run home, while the older youngsters go to a state-run school for dependent and delinquent children located in Davenport. Dependent and delinquent children are mixed. Yet most of these children go to their own home school every day. But a few Davenport area youngsters still go to the Scott county jail. And the typical child may be held several days or weeks because Judge Metcalf is so overworked. In many jails, especially those where the sheriff is paid so much per inmate per day, food is horrible — this because the sheriff is able to pocket whatever he can save on meals. In one South Carolina jail youngsters were fed thin soup

Juveniles in Jail

33

or beans. In another they got only cornbread and powdered milk for their evening meal seven days a week. This policy also encourages locking children up, for the more inmates, the more the sheriff can make. It is rather common for boys to be homosexually assaulted by adults in jails. This happens frequently in Chicago and Philadelphia, among other cities. Yet in most states jail is where boys over 16 usually are held — even if they are small or weak. Carl was 19 years old, a college student and the son of an oil-company executive stationed overseas. A small, thin youth, he was arrested in a stolen car. He eventually found his way to the county jail in Albuquerque, N.M. For two weeks he was locked up with eighteen men, and fought with them for several days to avoid being gang-raped. Carl was eventually able, through a lawyer, to get moved into juvenile detention, whefe he had been held five weeks when I met him. While the Albuquerque detention home is old and not very clean, it is run by a pleasant woman who may well do more to rehabilitate the children in the days or weeks she has them than the best reform schools can do in months. Mrs. Eula Farrow does it with little help or money and has lived in the center for seventeen years. Her population runs to three hundred fifty children a month. Sometimes children even enter voluntarily. Not long ago, a boy from a middle-class home rang the bell and she let him in, notifying the parents. As in Davenport, Iowa, a number of children go by bus from the detention home in Albuquerque to the public schools. One of the nation's better detention homes can be found in Wilmington, Del. Called Bridgehouse, the facility is more homelike than most. It was neither overcrowded nor understaffed the day I was there. The difference in Delaware, as elsewhere, is the quality of staff, length of stay, and use of the facility. One of the nation's most unpleasant detention homes is found in Memphis, Tenn. It reminds one of an adult prison. Children are under the supervision of uniformed guards. Some live in traditional prison cells — inner rooms that look

34

Children in Trouble

out on a corridor with windows beyond. A metal bed is attached to the wall. Cells have a steel bench and desk. Children, when they are locked in, leave their shoes and other clothing outside. This is to prevent them from hanging themselves. Others sleep in dormitories with beds roughly a foot apart. The library is small and inadequate. Uniformed boys sit for hours in a day room where they can either read or watch television, but where talking is not permitted. Others work, keeping the place clean. There is some recreation twice a day. No attempt is made to help the youngsters keep up with their schoolwork, as is the case in the better facilities around the country. Fortunately a separate institution houses most dependent and neglected children if they have not broken the law. A few states have taken steps to resolve the problem of where and how to house children in trouble by building regional detention centers. Unfortunately this is only a partial answer. Children must travel miles to court. They are held long distances from their families. This curbs visiting. These centers are subject to the same flaws found in local detention centers in that they often are crowded with little positive happening to the child. Centers may well be inadequately staffed. Many of these centers are overcrowded and overused, and state legislatures are seldom more liberal with their funds for child care than are local units of government. In Massachusetts the regional detention homes — especially the one in Boston — have been under heavy criticism for these reasons. I discovered that the overflow from these institutions was being moved into the training schools. And in the Lyman (reform) School for Boys near Worcester, Mass., I found children being held for court locked in the institution's punishment cottage with the school's troublemakers. Treatment is severe and punitive in this cottage. State officials in Boston at first denied that this was happening. When I proved to them that I was correct, I was told a directive was being sent out to change the practice. The detention center at Worcester is one of the rare institutions where statistics are gathered:

Juveniles in Jail

35

More than 95 percent are white youngsters — mostly sons and daughters of blue-collar workers. In the eight years the center has been open, between three and four thousand youngsters have been locked in. Built for twenty-five children, it often holds forty on a typical day, says Paul Leahy, the superintendent. The most recent study shows that of the boys held there, slightly less than half (47.1 percent) live with both parents. The largest number of boys — 16.3 percent — were brought in as runaways. The next largest group — 15.9 percent — were charged with larceny, while 15.6 percent had stolen a car, usually for a ride rather than to sell it or strip it. Parents had locked up 11.5 percent of those held under the "stubbornchild" statute. Drunkenness locked up 7.9 percent. Another 7.2 percent were school truants. Five percent were charged with breaking and entering, while 1.1 percent had been accused of assault with a deadly weapon. The poorer the neighborhood, the more youngsters were locked up — and the more often they were returned to detention. Even this does not really tell the whole story. At 10:14 on the night I was there, Sharon, a slender girl, was brought in by the police. She had fifty cents in her pocket, hadn't eaten for some forty-eight hours, and had turned herself in after wandering the streets for three weeks. Her mother and father have been separated for several years, and her mother is now living out of wedlock with a very unpleasant man. Both are heavy drinkers, and home life for the six children has become intolerable since he arrived. At age 10 she was raped by a 17-year-old boy, and "after that I didn't want to live any more because my mother acted as if she thought it was my fault it happened." Yet her grades in school are above average. Sharon really didn't want to run away. In fact she walked the streets, trying to be noticed by policemen, hoping to be taken to court "so I could get into a foster home." After three weeks of walking past policemen she finally called her mother's welfare worker, who suggested that she turn herself in. "A child has to be arrested to get in here," Mr. Leahy, head of the detention center, explained. Unfortunately Sharon is not assured of a foster home now.

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Children in Trouble

Instead, she may well be returned home by the court, or may find herself locked up in a reform schooL Georgia also has regional detention centers. One of the best was opened in Rome, Ga., just below Chattanooga, Term., on Nov. 20, 1967. In an attractive modern building, there are two pianos in the large recreation room, plus ping-pong and pool tables. Youngsters are permitted to play with old typewriters, work with yarn, read, and listen to radio or watch television. Of the 500 who have passed through the center, 88 percent have been white; 12 percent Negro, says C. D. Rampley, the superintendent. I found the center staff to be better than most. Yet in one report I read that an 11 -year-old Negro girl was whipped with a belt when she misbehaved. I found several girls locked in their rooms for hours because during a meal they "looked at the boys" who eat in the same dining area. Youngsters are held for long stays — days and sometimes weeks waiting for court and months for a reform-school opening. And many, had they been picked up by the police in a major city, might not have been locked up at all. John, a 14-year-old Negro, had shoplifted a pair of gloves with his 12-year-old brother, who is also locked in the center. He said he needed the gloves because the weather turned cold and "Mamma gets social security, but she drinks it up and don't feed us much and don't buy us clothes." He has been in trouble before, once for taking a bicycle gear and twice for "fightin' and cussinY' He much prefers the detention center to home. "It's better here than home. Some mornin' I get up, don't get no food. I don't have money to pay for lunch or nothin'. They used to give us a lot of free lunches, but they don't this year. I come back to the house, she still don't give us anything. She's layin' in bed drunk and the house is all nasty and dirty. She has lots of men in the house. Right now she got a man stayin' with her that's been on the chain gang." How does John do in school? "I can read a little, but sometimes I have eye trouble. I look at somethin' and I can't see, so I shake my head a little bit. The doctor says I got infection. My brother [age 12] does better in school than I do."

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The Rome detention center is fortunate because it does not get many of the angry, bitter youths that are ripping up the Atlanta detention homes. "We get a different breed of child," Mr. Rampley explains. He is at least partly right, but perhaps underestimates the importance of the way children are treated in relationship to the way they act. This is most obvious in New York State, where I observed tough ghetto youngsters in their upper teens working happily in knee-deep snow in a Division for Youth forest camp. Some of these youngsters had been in deep trouble in New York City and were behavior problems in the detention complex in the Bronx. It was the staff and setting that made the difference. New York City's Youth House, which holds youngsters from 7 to 16, has often been described as a "hell hole" by concerned citizens. The staff is generally poor. There are at least two reasons: Pay is extremely low, and those who can't find a job elsewhere are too often hired. Nor are staff members tested before they are hired. There is little status in the job. The dedicated men and women are maligned with the worst by public generalization. Some of the youngsters are held for nine months to a year in this jail-like facility as they await placement in institutions. "Some kids come here six or seven times for serious things and they go back home, while another kid has to stay here for playing hooky," an employee complains. Youngsters interviewed individually in New York institutions located miles apart complained, without prompting, of being lured into homosexual acts by staff members. Almost always the same names are mentioned. "If you give them what they want they'll bring you liquor or dope or whatever you want," one girl insisted. Her charge is not new, and an interview with one of the Youth House employees suggests that there may be substance to it. In the girls' section of the detention complex there have been several riots. Older youths — those between the ages of 16 and 21 — are carted off to a prison on Rikers Island, where they are herded into cellblocks like cattle. "We have a designed capacity of about eighteen hundred,"

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Children in Trouble

says Morris Oslyn, the deputy warden, "but we have had a population as high as thirty-two hundred. They come in anywhere from five minutes to four months or more to await court action. We have three teachers for 16- and 17-yearolds, and they go to school about three hours a day, but it hardly begins to touch our needs." There is really no rehabilitation program at Rikers Island for those awaiting a court appearance. Young men simply go from bad to worse as they mill around the cellblock with little to do for days, weeks, months. The noise level is so high, the towering cellblock so depressing, and the humanity so dense that after half an hour a visitor feels crushed, overwhelmed. It is like being caught in a stock-yard stampede with nowhere to run. Thefe are other jails and prisons as bad or worse. I found 175 boys between the ages of 16 and 18 locked in the House of Correction in Philadelphia. The iron-barred cells were filthy, and the paint was peeling. Connecticut is talking about tearing down its old jails — and with good reason. Little change has taken place in them since the Civil War. Boys in the Hartford jail pass through a series of steel doors to reach the four-tiered cages where they are kept for days and weeks awaiting court action. Until recently there was not even a shower in the section where they are held. Seattle's detention home is a tolerable jail at best, but when children act up they are thrown in a basement dungeon. Joe, a 13 -year-old white boy, was one of those I found in a cell in the basement. "I don't got any parents," he told me. "My parents are dead. But I been with three sets of foster parents." Joe has been locked up eleven times, usually for fighting or refusing to obey. Already he has "been kicked outa school." Frightened, hostile, feeling unloved, he strikes out at people, sometimes with fists, sometimes with words. And each time he has been placed in the center he has done something to get placed in the basement cell — a cement room with only a steel cot and a blanket. The center is overcrowded, and often boys wind up sleeping on the gym floor.

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Walk through another door off the central upstairs corridor, and you discover pathetic toddlers and older girls who have never broken the law. These children are better treated, but must face not only the severance of family ties, but the stigma of being held in the detention home. Like most children's jails, the detention home in Dallas is an awful place. The new addition being built will help cut down overcrowding, but it will not change the atmosphere. Because Texas institutions for the mentally retarded are jammed, children in this category7 are sometimes locked up here for six months or a year. But in Dallas normal children who have not broken the law are among the best treated in the nation. About a hundred yards west of the detention home is a welfare-departmentrun shelter care home. Children under 10 who are accused of delinquent acts are also held in shelter care — a beautiful new building with a gentle, kindly staff. William E. Portwood, the social worker in charge of the center, believes in "meaningful structure" (rules, discipline, adult attention), but is able to control the children without beating them or locking them in solitary confinement for long periods. Every possible effort is made to return the child home, or place the youngster with relatives. If this fails, an attempt is made to find a foster home. Failing this, a child may end up in an institution. Sometimes local juvenile jails are used as community reform schools. This kind of institution can be found in Kalamazoo, Mich. There is some merit in this approach, if the local institution is properly constructed and staffed with competent people able to conduct the right kind of programs. At least the child is not shipped halfway across the state, miles from the family he must return to. And if the institution's rules are not too rigid, his mother and father, if they are at all interested in the youngster, may visit him regularly. The staff may even work with the family — an essential ingredient in any successful program of rehabilitation. Unfortunately, these local institutions too often have the same (or worse) flaws as the state-supported schools: a shortage of skilled workers, a prisonlike setting, a turn-of-thecentury approach to the problems of children, inadequate

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Children in Trouble

recreation space, heavy use of solitary confinement to maintain so-called discipline, a tendency on the part of a judge to overuse the facility simply because it is there, and no effective method attitude. of bringing about meaningful change in the inmate's This certainly seems to be true in Kalamazoo. The detention home, which is used as a reform school, is extremely depressing — even the new unit that recently was opened. The institution is patterned after an adult prison, with some youngsters designated "trustees" permitted to work outside the walls of the building. Youngsters who misbehave are placed in basement cells, reminding one of practices in the dark ages. Children's hair is whacked off, apparentiy because someone in authority thinks this will help keep children in line. While a preliminary hearing is held within forty-eight hours after the child is placed in custody, it may take "two or three weeks, a month or six weeks" for a full court hearing, according to a spokesman for the institution. A girl who entered the Kalamazoo juvenile jail on May 5 had her hearing on June 4. A boy who was picked up on May 23 had his day in court on June 10 — and was sent home. Since this is fairly common, it suggests that the jail may be used for punishment without adjudication, or that the preliminary hearing means little, or perhaps there is some other breakdown in the system. Dependent and neglected children — that is, those who are picked up because they have bden abused or neglected by their parents — are also housed in this institution. And yet there is a fairly good academic program with very small classes, suggesting that Kalamazoo's juvenile jail is what it is because someone simply does not know any better. A number of youngsters were going home the day I was there because it was the last day of school. These youngsters had been locked up because they couldn't make it in the outside public schools, clearly delineating the punitive approach of even a good school system, and the unthinking cooperation it receives from the judiciary. The National Council on Crime and Delinquency criticizes the use of detention centers to: (1) keep the child on hand for the convenience of the authorities; (2) protect officials from criticism should a child abscond or commit another

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offense; (3) "shock" the youngster before his court hearing is held and thus assure immediate punishment. "The case against the use of jails for children," says the NCCD, "rests on the fact that youngsters of juvenile court age afe still in the process of development and are still subject to change, however large they may be physically or however sophisticated their behavior. "To place them behind bars at a time when the whole world seems to turn against them and belief in themselves is shattered or distorted merely confirms the criminal role in which they see themselves. Jailing delinquent youngsters plays directly into their hands by giving them delinquency status among their peers. "If they resent being treated like confirmed adult criminals, they may — and often do — strike back violently against society after their release. The public tends to ignore the fact that every youngster placed behind bars will return to the society which placed him there." Buildings make a difference. A child held behind steel bars will act as if he is in prison because he is in prison. Youngsters from big-city slums, who have had to fight to survive, may well be tougher, more violent, than their rural counterparts. But the most important key to decent detention is decent staff. That plus community concern. This is the reason Salt Lake City's detention center is better than many, despite occasional overcrowding. I spent a Saturday there with Claude C. Dean, who treated children like a kindly grandfather. The children responded openly, honestly. Salt Lake City is fortunate in having a strong and growing citizen-volunteer program. But the real solution is to find ways to prevent delinquency so that children's jails can be closed.

CHAPTER

THE POLICE: ENEMIES

3

OR FRIENDS?

It was a dark, windy night in late October. John Carroll, a plainclothes St. Louis policeman, listened intently to the call on his car radio: "robbery in progress." Quickly he flipped on the siren and the switch that makes his high-beam headlights flash, then pressed down on the accelerator. The five black teenagers riding with him grinned as the car moved swiftly through the light traffic. It was the moment they had been waiting for. Slamming on the brakes when he reached the address mentioned on the police radio, he jumped out of the car. The five youngsters piled out behind him. Inside, the store owner was being treated for a lump over his eye. Two marked squad cars had arrived minutes before. Already they were gathering information and starting their search of the neighborhood. The youngsters were obviously excited. St. Louis is just one of the cities trying to change teenage concepts of the police. John Carroll is a community-relations officer. In the past seven years he has given hundreds of youngsters an opportunity to tour the police headquarters, ask questions, then ride for a night in an unmarked police car. Yet ironically, the police car itself may be a symbol of the gap between youngsters and the police: The officer who spends his time behind the steel walls of a squad car loses contact with the neighborhood. These are difficult times for the American policeman. Not many years ago a young school dropout from the wrong side of the tracks could win instant status by putting on a blue uniform and a badge. Today the policeman finds himself under attack from many sides. 42

The Police: Enemies or Friends?

43

There are several reasons for this. Just a generation or two ago, the "good people" of a community had few, if any, negative contacts with the police. Today, thanks to the crush of automobiles on our streets and continued emphasis on police issuing parking and traffic tickets, nearly everyone who drives has had an unpleasant experience with a policeman. This has resulted in changes in the way we think about law enforcement Now when Mother is in a hurry and wants to violate the speed limit, she tells Junior to watch for cops out of the back window of the family station wagon. Or when Dad comes home with a ticket for making an illegal left turn, the children hear the police berated at the dinner table. The civil rights conflict has taken its toll in damaged public opinion of the police. In the early part of the past decade idealistic young people who had been taught to believe in the slogan "equal justice for all" watched white policemen mistreat black Americans in the South, sometimes literally getting away with murder. More recently they saw Negroes gunned down in the streets of the North during riots in our cities. In February of 1968 they saw South Carolina highway patrolmen fire wildly into a crowd of black students at South Carolina State College, killing three and wounding thirty. Nine months later they learned that a Federal grand jury refused to indict the officers. Then during the 1968 election campaign they read of policemen wearing "Wallace for President" buttons, while other officers admitted membership in the Ku Klux Klan. All this began to take on the shape of an ongoing pattern of racism among policemen. This had not changed a year later when, during a dispute between white construction workers and militant blacks over jobs in Pittsburgh, the police cheered the construction workers and opposed the Negroes. But it was the conflict in the streets of Chicago during the 1968 Democratic National Convention, when police seemed to attack young Americans with nightsticks almost demoniacally, beating them until they were bloody, that convinced many doubters that the police were on the side of evil and represented all that was wrong in America. Nor have individual incidents done much to change that view. A few months after the convention a 52-year-old Chicago police sergeant was suspended from the force for five days for beating a 15-year-old student at a dance. The youth,

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Children in Trouble

who attended a school for physically handicapped children, sustained a fractured skull in the beating. At about the same time an attorney for the American Civil Liberties Union filed charges against two Chicago policemen who were accused of beating four children. The suit alleged that one of the officers shouted at a 17-year-old deaf-mute, who ran when he saw the policeman coming, and then, when he caught him, stood over the boy using his nightstick as a bludgeon because the youth refused to answer him. A second boy was allegedly beaten when he ran up and tried to tell the officer his victim was deaf and dumb. In New York City in the fall of 1969 a group of welfare mothers and their children held a demonstration outside a school building. When rocks and other objects were thrown at them, at least two of the policemen assigned to the demonstration whipped out their revolvers and pointed them at the women and children. Fortunately, a sergeant saw them and ordered them to return the guns to their holsters. A few days earlier in Oak Lawn, 111., Larry McCarthy, a 17-year-old high school honor student and star basketball player, was shot and killed. Larry and ten or twelve friends were holding a back-to-school beer party in a vacant lot when they heard policemen approaching. After the slaying, one of the officers said he had been chasing a burglary suspect and insisted the youth was hit by a stray bullet. Other witnesses said Larry was shot in the head by a policeman as he ran away. In the spring of 1969 a young machinist spent thirteen days in jail in Forth Worth, Tex., charged with rape. Police released him when they found they had made a mistake — after a 17-year-old suburban youth admitted the offense. In Chicago a young man spent more than a year in jail awaiting trial on a murder charge. He, too, was released when another man confessed and pleaded guilty to the charge in court. Almost every day of the week, somewhere in America you can find a newspaper story about similar blunders. As a reporter working in this field, I know that only a fraction of these incidents become public knowledge for a variety of reasons. And yet it seems clear that a police force generally reflects what a city wants of it. This is certainly true in the juvenile field. One study, made by Dr. Nathan Goldman and published

The Police: Enemies or Friends?

45

by the National Council on Crime and Delinquency, contends that "in general, police will attempt to reflect what they consider to be the attitudes of the public towards delinquency." This helps explain why in the communities he studied, 12.4 youngsters between the ages of 10 and 17 were arrested for every 1,000 youths in that age bracket, while in another community the arrest rate per 1,000 young people was 49.7. For "in some communities citizens are more apt to complain about minor offenses such as trespassing, mischief, and disorderly conduct," while these problems "are disregarded in other communities." He estimated that half the children who come to the attention of the police for law violation are taken to the police station. He also found that almost twice as many Negro children picked up by police go to court as white children, and that more Negro children were in court for minor offenses than white. Racial prejudice in police ranks remains a critical problem not only for young people but for Negro policemen. In Chicago, for example, I interviewed four black juvenile officers one evening and all complained of mistreatment from their fellow officers and of brutal treatment of young Negroes. I will never forget the night I stood at a police roadblock in Louisville, Ky., during a riot there in the spring of 1968. While interviewing a policeman, we spotted looting down the street. This officer was under orders to maintain the roadblock, so he radioed for help. When the first carload of white officers rolled up, asking for directions, then took off again, tires screaming, the officer at the roadblock said, "Somebody's gonna get shot." I asked why he was so sure and he told me that one of the policemen in the car had said earlier, in the station, that he was "gonna get me a nigger" before the night was out. Just then the brake lights flared and a shotgun popped. I ran down the street and found that the officer had stuck his shotgun out of the car window and had fired even before the car had stopped, wounding a teenage boy seriously in the back. I then interviewed several adult witnessess, and all insisted the youth had been standing in a neighbor's yard watching was only getting out of the policemen's way the looting when he wasandshot.

For those who support law, order, and justice, incidents like these, even if they were rare (and we hear of only a

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Children in Trouble

fraction of these unfortunate occurrences), are, at the very least, a public-relations nightmare. If the police continue to be classified as "the enemy" by thousands of young Americans, can we hope to restore tranquillity to our streets? Can we check crime? These questions force us to re-examine traditional methods of combating crime. Slowly we are recognizing that even if the police regain public confidence, even if they are given all the money and power they ask for, even if we stationed an officer on every corner, the police will never eliminate crime, because they cannot deal with the causes of crime. It is like asking them to swat mosquitoes year after year without permitting them to dry up the breeding grounds. Like it or not, our present system of criminal justice must be rated as a failure. Even in the best of times, police are able to close the book on less than 30 percent of the crimes reported with arrest, trial, and conviction. That means police fail more than 70 percent of the time. And of those criminals who are caught and sent to prison, between 60 and 70 percent will be returned eventually for another offense. The very approach is wrong — something we should have learned during the Prohibition era when crime was not just tolerated, it was glorified. The chase, questioning, fingerprinting, and all the rest may be an American tradition, and it may make good television drama, but it cannot put an end to crime in this country. This is not to suggest that we should close down the police stations, courts, and prisons. Instead, we should recognize the limitations of this system, do what we can to make them as effective as possible, and then put our energy into projects that will solve the crime problem. For I was constantly told by police officials, judges, lawyers, and prison superintendents that to curb crime we must, among other things, bring stability to our homes, battle poverty, improve our schools, challenge prejudice, change the welfare system, and give young people a meaningful role in society. Unfortunately, too many politicians and some police officials perpetuate the myth that we can end crime simply by giving police departments more men, money, and power. There is an interesting parallel between this and what some politicians and generals told us about Vietnam. Slowly Americans are growing convinced that those who said we could

The Police: Enemies or Friends?

47

win that war if they had more men, money, and power were wrong. And one can see much similarity in the war on crime. In both instances the enemy believes he is in the right; he is hard to recognize because he blends in with the rest of the population; he prefers hit-and-run tactics; and he feels he has much to gain, while knowing the other side has much to lose, if the chase and battle can be prolonged. One can find other similarities between military leaders and the police (though we must recognize that all generalizations are flawed). Both tend to split the world into two groups: us and the enemy. Both apparently believe they are fighting holy wars — the military (at present) battling the international Communist conspiracy, the police standing almost alone (or so they believe) against the forces of evil at home. And both seem to think that the only solution that works is physical force, unconditional surrender, and stern punishment. This is why many policemen look down on fellow officers on the "Mickey Mouse" (juvenile) detail. And why policemen are so often at odds with judges who seem more concerned with helping children than punishing them. It is also the reason so many so-called juvenile officers are really detectives using traditional police methods, rather than crimeprevention specialists. Yet one can understand the policeman's problem in this. Soldiers do not let themselves grow sentimental about the enemy. If they did, they might crack up. And we would be certain to lose the war. What is most needed, if we are to make our police departments more effective, is a better screening process for police officers — although many officials argue that with the present shortage of policemen they must be satisfied with what they get. While I met dedicated, socially aware officers, I also found a surprising number of policemen who said they joined the department at least in part because they like guns. Many wear gun tie clips. Too many policemen, it would appear, are hired not because they know how to deal effectively with people, but because they were (or would make) good Marines. And this may well be what the American people most want. Frightened by almost meaningless statistical reports

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issued by the FBI and local police departments, and feeling threatened by both Negro and student rioting, more and more citizens seem to agree with those who advocate near-Neanderthal methods of control. This is evident in polls taken after last year's Democratic National Convention, polls that show a majority of citizens supported the violent tactics police used to quell the Chicago demonstrations. The shortage of manpower, poor screening processes, and apparent public approval of violence (as long as the good guys are dishing it out) can result in both inmature and unbalanced men being hired as policemen. Many policemen enjoy a high-speed chase. (Some even seem to enjoy the shoot-out.) One who visits police stations at shift-change time may find an officer who has chased a teenager at speeds approaching ninety or a hundred miles bragging about it. His fellow officers elevate him almost to hero status — even if someone was seriously injured or killed. I also found that a large number of youngsters — especially the more immature teenagers — enjoy playing "cops and robbers" as much as some policemen do. Vern, a small, 19-year-old Connecticut youth, was serving time for car theft and burglary in the Connecticut Reformatory in Cheshire. His response was typical. "It isn't I hate cops," he said. "I like the chase. I always knew I'd get caught sooner or later. When the cops are after me with their sirens and stuff, I feel good. I don't know why." I found the greatest hostility toward police among the highly visible minority groups — not only black, Puerto Rican, and Mexican-American, but also white teenagers with long hair and strange costumes. Many of them had been stopped and searched by police for what the youngsters called no reason — "we were just standin' on the corner." This is a common complaint in slum neighborhoods, and it can be verified both by minority-group adults and by policemen themselves. Police must recognize that they have an added responsibility when dealing with children in trouble. When such youngsters come in contact with police, they are far more likely to go to reform school than those who are handled by other agencies — mental health, for example. This even when offenses are identical. Why? Because, except in cities where the probation staff

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does the screening, the police decide who goes to court and who does not. Thus the police play a judgelike role. It is common for police to handle half or more of their cases through "station adjustment." This may involve a lecture and release, or calling the parents in for a conference — both acceptable practices. But in many cities police bypass court and convict a child — sentencing him to so many months of reporting to a policeman. Few officers have either the training or temperament to deal with these children. Too many ignore the problems that shove a child into trouble because they think of that as social work, and social work is for bleeding hearts. When a child does not respond to lectures and threats, he may well find himself in jail heading for court and reform school without ever receiving the help that he desperately needs. The most meaningful study on teenage attitudes toward police was made at the University of Cincinnati by Dr. Robert G. Portune, head of the department of secondary education. Dr. Portune and his team of researchers started in by measuring attitudes toward police of youngsters between the ages of 12 and 16. They found that not only were young people "ignorant of the nature of law and the mission and function of law enforcement" but that "police officers who have initial contacts with these youngsters were ignorant of the nature of early adolescence." Among the study's other findings: • When youngsters enter the seventh grade, their attitudes toward the law and police are significantly more favorable than when they finish ninth grade. • Attitudes vary by socio-economic level. The lower the level, the poorer the attitude. • Attitudes vary by sex. The attitude of girls is significantly more favorable than that of boys. • Attitudes vary by race. White attitudes toward police are considerably better than Negro. • Attitudes vary by ability groups in school. The poor students have more unfavorable attitudes.

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• Boys who go to church regularly have attitudes more favorable than those who do not. Girls who attend church seem to have the same attitudes as those who do not • It takes approximately two years for a significant change in attitude to occur, and when this does occur it is in an unfavorable direction. • The school curriculum has nothing built in to change attitudes in the direction of respect for law and law enforcement. • Police training curriculum has nothing specifically designed to change attitudes or to inform the officer as to the nature of the early adolescent. The researchers' next step was to design educational programs both for police officers and for junior high schools. A conference was called in 1966. Juvenile police officers and junior high school administrators from fifteen states attended. Soon appropriate material was produced. For the youngsters, emphasis is on the student discovering the need for rules, laws, and law enforcement on his own. A classroom of eighth-graders, for example, is given balls of various colors, sizes, and shapes. The teacher prepares a place for scoring on the blackboard. Then she writes down the word "start." But there are no rules. First the youngsters stand around staring at each other. Then chaos develops, says Dr. Portune. "Within about three minutes the youngsters are ready to sit down and discuss what is wrong with the game, and why there can be no winner. From this they begin to see the necessity for rules — fair rules." In April 1967, the curriculum was placed in seventh-, eighth-, and ninth-grade classes in twelve greater Cincinnati schools. A good cross section of both suburban and innercity, hard-core children took part. The seventh-graders now study the "World of Rules" — from the laws of gravity and motion to rules in the home, the school, and the community — which is incorporated as a 6week course in standard social-studies classes. One assignment involves studying school rules and then changing a rule by

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approaching those who make and enforce them — whether student council or administration. In the eighth grade the subject is called the "World of Games," and not only includes discovering the need for rules to play games or in organized sporting events, but the need for someone to officiate. This eventually includes "The Game of Life in the Community." The ninth-grade unit is called the "World of Laws" and involves discovering the necessity for laws. Among other things, students plan a school SAP assembly. SAP stands for "subtract a policeman." Emphasis is on making sure youths don't do things that subtract a policeman from his normal duties in the community. All children were tested to discover their attitudes about law and law enforcement. Then they were divided into the group taking the 6-week courses and a control group that received no special curriculum. Eight weeks later all students were retested. The experimental classes, in every instance, significantly changed toward a more favorable view of law and law enforcement. Those in the control groups did not change their views or grow more hostile toward the police and the law. Not only could this be shown statistically, but a student-bystudent analysis showed every child in the experimental classes had an improved attitude toward police and the law. Because of the success of the program in Cincinnati-area schools, a conference for pofice-training officers and schoolcurriculum directors was held on the campus in the summer of 1967. Then more Federal funding was made available, and the project was tried in Rochester, N.Y., Tampa, Fla., and Fort Smith, Ark. Now some six thousand students have been involved, always with the same results. Several hundred schools have asked for material. In recent years leading police officials have been trying to bring about change in their field. But too many have not understood the problems. Men like Chicago's Orlando W. Wilson (now retired) saw the answer in highly sophisticated equipment, computers, more squad cars responding faster, better weapons, and greater professionalism. Professionalism is still often considered the "new" approach in the police field, and too few of

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the forty thousand independent police departments scattered across the United States have training programs beyond a few hours on the pistol range. What is clearly needed is more careful screening, and then training that will make policemen more effective human beings. This is stressed by Dr. John D. Gerletti, director of the Delinquency Control Institute at the University of Southern California. He suggests that training for interpersonal relationships isfar more important than learning how to shoot straight. "We tend to look at law enforcement in terms of control, rather than prevention," he says. "But the solution is not through suppression. Education and [delinquency] prevention has to be the answer. And I think the average policeman is quite capable of handling this wider role." The highly effective Delinquency Control Institute was developed twenty-three years ago. Each year fifty to sixty police juvenile officers have taken part in a 12-week program on the campus. Next year it will be expanded to a hundred policemen. Yet this program and a few others scattered across the country scarcely make a dent: It is estimated that there are more than 400,000 policemen in the United States — many of whom come in contact with juveniles. Dr. Gerletti reports another problem: "We pull a man out of a police department and in twelve weeks we get him turned on. Then we send him back. Unfortunately, the community and the police chief too often don't know how to use him." Now the institute is working with police chiefs and with communities, hoping to turn them on, too. In the fall, twelve officers from Ventura County — from local police departments, the state, and the sheriff's office — will study as a team three days a week and do research in the county two days a week. If this is effective, similar programs will be tried in a Midwestern state and an Eastern city. Each summer a seminar is held at the University of Minnesota for those dealing with youngsters in trouble — including policemen. Richard Clendenen, professor of criminal law administration, who heads the program, places great emphasis on helping officers understand human behavior — both their

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own and that of others, especially youngsters from minority groups. While those who attend return home with helpful insights, too few of the nation's police are involved. More cities have opened police academies in recent years. Existing recruit training programs have been improved. And in-service training programs are being beefed up. In New York City officers now receive some sixty-five hours of instruction in delinquency and the causes of delinquency, says Lt. Michael J. McNulty of the advanced and specialized training section. The program is designed to teach officers that: • They often represent the first agency to identify and confront delinquent youngsters; • This confrontation plays a vital role in shaping the youngsters' views toward the law, police, and courts; • Police contact with errant youngsters frequently occurs at an age before the commitment to delinquency is strong, and thus proper intervention can help these children; • For this reason officers must be alert to the needs and problems of the youngsters; • It is imperative that policemen focus their attention on negative forces in the social environment and ferret out corruption and criminal influences that threaten the healthy development of young people; • Prevention of delinquency is the goal of police-youth programs. Chicago's police department, like many others, is working to develop an effective community-relations program, encouraging those who live in a neighborhood to help grapple with delinquency. An "Officer Friendly" visits elementary schools. In South Pasadena, Calif., and in other cities policemen often accompany the Welcome Wagon hostess to help greet newcomers. They briefly discuss local laws and ask to shake the hands of the children in the family.

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Flint, Mich., pioneered the use of police officers in schools — not to maintain order, but to serve as counselors. Other cities have modified this program. In some schools, policemen teach classes. This and other programs springing up raise important questions about the role of the policeman in society. More and more he is being asked to function as a social worker. It is clear, then, that he must be better trained. Further, there must be greater coordination between police departments and other agencies involved with juveniles — the welfare departments, mental-health departments, public schools, and juvenile courts. Obviously the policeman cannot, by himself, solve all of society's pressing problems — slums, family breakdown, hunger, alcoholism, poor correctional institutions. But he can become more effective as a human being. This is why policesponsored Boy Scout troops, boys' clubs, Little League teams, and other such organizations are beneficial. One of the most interesting experiments along this line can be found in New York City. "Police- Youth Dialogue" sends ten policemen and thirty youngsters to a camp each weekend (a different precinct goes each week). The project manager, Sgt. Alfred Toefield, explains that the youngsters are picked because they are leaders or potential leaders. They are often those an officer is having trouble with on his beat. The camp is located on the grounds of Fort Totten in Whitestone, Queens. Each Saturday morning policemen who have volunteered to take part drop by to pick up the youngsters. The youngsters (also volunteers) have parental consent to go. All ride together to camp by bus. Stolen bicycles that have not been claimed are used around the camp. Youngsters fish for flounder and eel from a pier, go into neighboring parks, visit a historical monument being built, play baseball — all with the police officers. In civilian clothing, the officers function as big brothers or counselors. Then in the evening the group gathers around for a healthy give-and-take discussion. Youngsters ask policeman why some beat children, why other officers are crooked, why some have double standards, or why they have to play the tough role. In turn, the policemen challenge the youths on their be-

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havior — shouting taunts from a half -block away, sniffing glue or using drugs, fighting police. It is this kind of open dialogue that holds the most promise. Every police department in the nation could profit from such a program.

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If a South Dakota mother locked her daughter in a closet for weeks . . . If a Connecticut father forced his son to skip school . . . If California parents made a disturbed or retarded child associate with hoodlums seven days a week . . . If a Virginia mother saw to it that her daughter was placed in an environment that encouraged homosexuality . . . Or if a Delaware or Indiana father turned his son over to men who punctured the boy's eardrums or beat him with a leather flogging paddle until he was black and blue . . . Most of these parents would be condemned by the community— even charged in court with criminal neglect. Yet, too often that is what thousands of judges — serving under the law as substitute parents (parens patriae) — do every time they dump children behind bars. Some of these children have never even committed a crime. Few judges visit reform schools or jails. Those who do, however, often complain they are given nice little tours that gloss over the actual conditions. Some of these facilities are so frightful that forward-looking correctional officials like O. J. Keller, head of the Florida Youth Commission, call them "schools for crime." Yet judges across the country keep shipping children off to these institutions — and then wonder why the crime rate soars. That's like sending a group of young men to barber college, wondering why the number of barbers in town has inthen creased.

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One who studies this nation's juvenile courts quickly becomes convinced that very, very few judges are qualified for the job they do. The better judges admit this. For in the juvenile court one finds a hodgepodge of law, the behavioral sciences, traditional penal concepts, and finger-in-the-air-to-seewhich-way-the-wind-is-blowing guesswork. I also found, among other things, that: 1. Few judges or lawyers aspiring to become judges want to work in the juvenile court. 2. The typical juvenile judge (with some significant exceptions) would, if sitting in a court of general jurisdiction, get extremely low marks from fellow members of the bench and bar. 3. While personality quirks and other human failings may have limited impact in higher courts where there are jury trials, skilled lawyers, and the opportunity to appeal illegal or otherwise faulty decisions, these safeguards do not exist in the juvenile courts. 4. Too often youngsters are locked behind bars for weeks or months awaiting court action. 5. Because judges tend to come from the white middle and upper middle class, they are far more lenient with children from this group than with those whose parents are poor or from minority groups. 6. Hundreds of judges who piously demand that children obey the law to the letter or go to jail blatantly ignore the law themselves by refusing to follow recent U.S. Supreme Court rulings. Why is it hard to find competent judges for juvenile court duty? Partly because the juvenile court ranks low on the judicial ladder and provides little prestige or opportunity for advancement. Often the pay is below that of other courts. Like the business-school graduate who wants a top management post and avoids low-status, dead-end jobs, the ambitious lawyer seeks a post that "has a future." Many skilled lawyers avoid the juvenile court because they have never practiced there. An attorney gets little money for defending a fatherless waif accused of skipping school and busting windows. Not only that, but until recent Supreme Court rulings opened the door a crack, most juvenile courts preferred to function in secret, and judges often worked hard to keep the lawyers out.

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Unqualified Decision-Makers A juvenile judge also needs a great deal of imagination if he is to do his job well — a commodity that is in short supply among lawyers, according to some of the more thoughtful members of the bench and bar. Those who have it are too busy getting rich to run for office, and those who don't prefer to work in courts where both the law and rules of procedure are mof e rigid and clear, and where emphasis is on interpretation of the law rather than on creative decision-making. But there are other reasons. In Seattle, four judges rotate — taking 6-month terms in juvenile court, while a fifth judge fills in when the presiding judge is gone. This is done, according to Morell E. Sharp (who was on the bench the day I was there), because "the emotional and physical strain is such that six months is about all a judge can take." Judge Sharp is highly regarded by his fellow judges. He is youthful, bright, polished, and knowledgeable in the law. He cares deeply about people. And he is frustrated. "I feel I am not really accomplishing much when I deal with these children," he explains. "I have a deep feeling of futility. Broken homes, poverty, and other factors found in juvenile cases are outside my jurisdiction. There is so little I can do. We don't even have enough probation staff to do the job. So often We would prefer strict probation to institutionalization." As in other cities, the juvenile court is not a popular assignment in Seattle "because of the strain." "Given a choice, and assurance some other judge will do the job properly, most judges request some other assignment," Judge Sharp admits. "No judge I know really likes working with children," says Judge Harvey Uhlenhopp of Hampton, Iowa. "You work in a gray area all of the time. You never know when you are right. "Children's problems are never simple. And the juvenile involves the infusion of behavioristic science besides the law. A judge doesn't have time to become an expert. I really don't understand all the things the social workers, psychiatrists, psychologists, and others are saying. The whole field is much too complex." judges are always in danger of becoming emJuvenile broiled in controversy.

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Take the case of Judge Thomas Tang of Phoenix, Ariz. He is one of the most careful, thoughtful judges in the nation. Not long ago he had great public support. Now he is under fire for releasing two boys involved in the death of another boy. Judge Tang sent both home to their parents instead of ordering them held at the depressing Phoenix detention home. An investigation by the court staff indicated that the boys were not violent and that the parents would be able to control them and assure their appearance in court. But the Phoenix problem went deeper. Explains another judge: "There is a disgruntled group of former employees [of the detention home] led by a lawyer who was working for the probation department while in law school. The fellow was canned and he carries a grudge and is determined to dump [Judge] Tang." In too many sections of the country, especially in rural areas, juvenile judges work only part-time. Max B. Harrison is a busy lawyer as well as juvenile judge in Blytheville, Ark. (His brother is circuit judge.) He has not studied recent Supreme Court rulings, could not even recall what cities his state's reform schools are located in. He says his hearings are "very informal" and "we get most of our referrals either from another court or a peace officer." "They have already made a determination of guilt," he says. "Then the juvenile officer gets information from the family, church, and school records. We hold a hearing, and the probation officer relates information about the law and the violation. He presents it to me. If it is a larceny he tells me the facts. "Ninety-nine out of a hundred admit their guilt anyway. If somebody charged with larceny said they didn't do it, then I'd hear the evidence and decide whether they did it or not. Now, we're generally ill-equipped to do this. The juvenile officer is not an attorney, and he's not familiar with the laws of evidence or procedure. "I don't know his [the probation officer's] background, but he is a very conscientious man, and he does have eleven years' experience. "We're not equipped for formal hearings. I don't have any authority to appoint anybody [a lawyer] to come up here and represent [children]. Those who want an attorney, well, they

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can get one. We don't give free counsel; we don't give them Miranda warnings [against self-incrimination]. I think that's mostly taken care of before it gets to me." Judge Harrison is paid on the basis of the number of hearings he holds — plus travel expense. When I asked him about Supreme Court rulings and other legal procedures, he replied: "I'm not compensated sufficiently to handle all that detail work. This more nearly approaches a service to the county. Besides it takes so much time I couldn't get anything else done. And it's not punishment anyway." Many juvenile judges are not even lawyers. In Marianna, Fla., I met Judge R. Robert Brown who had been a newspaper publisher before taking the bench five days earlier. Concerned, trying to do his best, already he had passed judgment on several youngsters with the help of his clerk, a woman who had worked for the previous judge. Judge Brown openly admits he needs help. Another nonlawyer handles juvenile cases in Obion County, Tenn. In addition to being judge, Dan McKinnis is chairman of the county court (the county board), county fiscal officer, director of the budget, county purchasing agent, and probate judge. He does not have a probation officer to help him, but sends about a dozen children a year to reform school. "The majority are good children, but they are neglected," he says. "They don't have a proper home environment, and so they get into trouble." Sometimes Judge McKinnis takes the law into his own hands. Many say he is the law in his county. He tells of an incident when "a very attractive" young woman — an unmarried barmaid — took off with a boyfriend on a Friday afterloon. "The police informed us about 6:30 or 7:00 that she left ler four children alone," he says. "My wife and I went over o her place. The oldest child was six and the youngest was hree months, and she was just suckin' on an empty bottle, rhere was no cookstove, no heat, no milk in the house. "We carried the children to our home and we kept them >vernight and the next day and the woman still didn't show ip. So I declared the children abandoned, and I gave them o four families, and when the mother came back I wouldn't ell her where the children were and I wouldn't let her see

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them, and I suggested that if she had any more children they'd be taken away from her." Despite strong objections from the young woman and her mother, the four children were eventually adopted by the families that had been caring for them. Legal purists as well as certain behavioral scientists could raise many questions about the handling of the case. The personal involvement of the judge and his wife might well be frowned upon. Splitting up the family without trying to rehabilitate the mother, who was only 21 years old, could raise professional eyebrows and bring warnings that the children may face emotional problems because of this. And yet the youngsters may well have been spared much suffering by the judge's decision. In either case, this is the thorny kind of problem that a juvenile judge faces constantly, and it helps explain why so few lawyers want to work in the juvenile court. In fact, law school does little if anything to prepare a man to deal with juvenile problems. Even if it did, most judges lack alternatives when a child cannot be sent home. Judge J. McNary Spigner of Columbia, S.C., is exceptionally able and understanding — the kind of man who belongs in the juvenile court He is assisted by a competent and concerned chief probation officer, John H. Bostic. Both face frusdaily because of our nation's unwillingness to help children trations in trouble. Take the case of 13-year-old Pauline, who appeared in Judge Spigner's court in February 1969. A check by court workers disclosed that not only was her mother a drunk, but she was also a tramp who took up with every man who came along. Often the neighbors saw her chasing the child, halfninning, half-staggering, screaming and swearing and beating her with a broom. The youngster was growing up without proper food or clothing, living more like a wild animal than a human being. Then Pauline began hanging around with Susan, a 20-year-old unwed mother. Both were picked up when a neighbor complained that Pauline and the older girl smashed her windows and harassed her in other ways. This brought Pauline to court, and eventually she was sent to reform school. In committing her, Judge Spigner said, in his order: "This Court has no place for this child. It cannot find a

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foster home that will accept her. It has no home of its own where this child can stay. So she is committed to the School for Girls [a reform school], which in this instance is being used as an orphanage. Substantially, the child is being punished for the misdeeds of her mother. The Court knows this is wrong, but it has no alternative." Little wonder that even those judges who care deeply about children may try to avoid assignment to juvenile court. Yet others ask for the assignment, sometimes for reasons less noble than helping children. Judges, after all, are human. This means they may seek the office to fulfill personal needs. Such men can be divided into several categories: judges who have theories about juveniles in trouble and want to experiment; men who want to be judges and find less competition in the juvenile field; those who want to build monuments to themselves in the city they live in; lawyers looking for publicity for a variety of reasons; others who can't make a living as lawyers. Perhaps best known — and most controversial — is Judge Lester H. Loble of Helena, Mont. Judge Loble has gained wide publicity for pushing a "get tough with kids" policy, locking them in jail, publishing their names in newspapers. He has been in great demand as a public speaker. Yet in talking to other officials in the Helena courthouse, I was told that he seldom practices the hard line he preaches. One who talks to him gets the impression he is really a very compassionate man. Says one official who likes Judge Loble, "He wanted to make a national name for himself. He finds kids jobs; tries to keep them out of the reform school; really doesn't lock many in jail; and only publishes a few names — those who commit serious crimes. You can't blame a little man in Montana for wanting to be nationally known." The official "juvenile crime rate" is down in Helena. But Judge Loble refuses to take cases that show up by the hundreds in most courts. In a letter to me on Aug. 26, 1968, he wrote: "I expect the police in Helena intrusions on flower beds, broken fistfights, bicycle thefts, and the regularly include in their annual

will continue to handle the taillights, curfew violation, other minor offenses they report, without sending the

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offenders to me. I am not so concerned about these trivial matters." Yet the majority of children in reform schools in every state in the nation are locked up for such offenses. Judges across America cringe at the mention of Judge Loble. They are under public pressure due to the publicity given his "get-tough" recommendations. Many judges oppose even this kind of publicity. They feel juvenile hearings should be closed to the public as a protection for the youngster. Yet, there is an argument for opening the juvenile court to the public. Often judges do things in secret they might not do if they were being watched by the public. Take Albert, a bright, 13-year-old Negro. Twice he was locked up for shoplifting a few cents' worth of merchandise. The Nassau County, Fla., jail where he was placed was a filthy hole with heavy steel bars, steel bunks welded to the walls, and without an outside window in the cell. (It has since been cleaned up some.) I checked at Albert's school. His principal, R. T. Anderson, Iced when he learned the boy was twice jailed for nds. Mr. Anderson said the boy was "not a troublemaker" and was an average student. I visited Albert's home — a modest but clean dwelling being purchased by his parents. His father works the shrimp boats, and his mother sometimes does cooking. They have not been on v he adds. i the youngster been the son of a banker or store owner, the judge would not have dared to treat him in this way. And public pressure might well have prevented the second jailing — had the citizens of the community known what the judge was doing. Other judges receive criticism for other reasons. Perhaps Philip B. Gilliam is the second best known juvenile judge in the United States, this because he spends much of his time away from his office making speeches. While researching this book I accompanied a group of outof-town judges on a tour of the Denver detention facilities The visiting judges looked at Judge Gilliam's posh office with all of its fancy decor, carpet, and tiled shower — all paid for by the taxpayers (he has another office in the courthouse as well) — saw his portrait hanging in the lobby, listened to his

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pitch about the "Judge Gilliam Trust Fund" and all of the other "Judge Gilliam" programs. And then each received a gift set of cuff links that had been manufactured by the children — along with the suggestion that these gifts are important in influencing both politicians and local citizens. A few of the visiting judges were impressed. Others spoke derisively of self-aggrandizement and of using children for political ends. But most seemed saddened that a judge should find this necessary to win community support. Judge Gilliam has, in addition to providing himself with a splendid office, made life more bearable for the children he locks up. For through his efforts Denver has provided the detention home with both programs and facilities they would otherwise not have made available. Judge Gilliam is a piker compared to Judge Kenneth A. Turner in Memphis. He has a full-time public-relations man, a portrait of himself in the lobby, his picture in all juvenile court offices, and even a photo of himself printed on interoffice memo pads. Some joke about his egotism. He says he "thinks" he once read something about the Gault decision, but he pays no attention to it. Yet, he has written a handbook for juvenile judges in Tennessee, has efficiently organized his court, removed dependent and neglected children from the juvenile jail, built up a strong volunteer program, cracks down on fathers who skip child support payments, and has won the support of many in his community and state. In the past few years he has done more for children than most judges do in a lifetime. In many communities the situation is just the opposite. Judges take too little interest in their work, or they are bored by it. In Chicago's huge circuit court, judges are usually assigned on the basis of preference and seniority. As could be expected, the juvenile court in that city is jammed with impossible cases that constantly spring from miserable slums and fourthrate inner-city schools. Since no judge can resolve the problems these children face, the juvenile court offers hard work and little satisfaction. It is not a popular assignment. Often when a judge has been in the juvenile court long enough to understand the job, he also has enough seniority to ask for a transfer — leaving the court filled with judges who know far too little about juvenile justice. The children in Chicago, as

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in so many other cities, are more often harmed instead of helped by the juVenile court — even as that city prides itself on establishing the first separate court for children. New York City, with its Family Court, does not have the turnover problem found in Chicago. The judges reach the bench through political appointment, and more than a few hacks are awarded these jobs. When I visited the Family Court over a period of several days I was extremely disappointed. I found some judges bored. Others rushed hearings. Fact-finding was often shallow. Interviews in the reform schools later indicate that few children were convinced they had a fair day in court, and too many had little idea what was going on in court. Even though hearings are split in four parts, partly to provide a smooth flow of cases, partly to comply with Supreme Court rulings, and partly to reduce tedium for the judges, I found many delays. Too often children spend weeks in New York's deplorable Youth House. When one watches Several judges working in a single court system, he is reminded that our laws are not blueprints, they are rough sketches filled in by circumstances and the judges' personal whims and prejudices. I watched one judge talk quietly to children, asking them to promise not to run away or misbehave while awaiting a probation-department investigation. Not far away another judge shouted, pounded the tabletop, and sent children to the detention center to "learn a lesson." New York City Family Courts are among the filthiest in the nation. In Queens the American flag tacked flat behind the bench drags on the floor and is so dirty that one can scarcely tell the white stripes from the red. Yet New York juvenile judges constantly criticize parents for filthy homes and rail at youngsters for lack of respect. Few judges have seen the bitter squalor that is home for many children who find their way into court. Most judges live in white middle-class neighborhoods, and seldom if ever see the world of the poor — though they may drive by it on the way to work. And social standing prevents meaningful contact with the parents of these children. Thus the typical judge — who decides the future for these children — has no concept of their problems, their needs, their potential. Asking this middle-class judge to deal with these children day after

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day is not too different from telling a hairdresser that he is able to coach the Green Bay Packers. I was reminded of this in the summer of 1969 while speaking to the juvenile judges of Wisconsin. Among other things, I urged the judges to seek alternatives to reform school. This would include halfway houses and foster homes. Some judges countered that they had tried foster homes — good middleclass families — and it didn't work out. Sometimes the youngsters caused problems, and others ran away. I learned about this problem several years ago when I invited ablack slum youth to visit my home, after knowing his family for some time, visiting them frequently in their home. He was with us only briefly before he wanted to leave. He seemed unable to sit down with us for a meal- — becoming ill and rushing out of the room three times a day. He had trouble sleeping, and seemed nervous while awake. We kept in touch with the family, and three years later my wife invited the youth's sister for a visit, hoping things would go better. But the girl, then 13, acted just as her brother had, although she seemed excited about the visit when it was suggested to her. The reason: cultural shock. Neither child had been away from home before. Neither had even been in a white neighborhood. Their home has no yard. It is built on the sidewalk and an altey, with buildings on the other two sides. The streets are noisy night and day, and except in extremely cold weather, are filled with people. Our neighborhood is quiet, even in the daytime. Both the young man and his sister always slept with three or four others in the same bed — eleven live in four small rooms. At our house they shared a room with one of our children, but had a bed to themselves. And both preferred to stay up past midnight and sleep until mid-morning, while we were up for breakfast no later than 7:30. While the meals my wife served were simple, we ate at a table as a family. In their home there is only the curb or a broken couch to sit on. When a child is hungry he goes to the stove. If times are good, he may find chicken or cabbage or greens cooking in a pot. When money is short he finds only baking-powder biscuits. These children remind us of crippled birds brought into the

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house quivering and withdrawing — frightened by our most sympathetic efforts. Little wonder that children in trouble sometimes run away, hide in their rooms, or cause other problems when they are taken from their homes — no matter how bad their homes may be, even while a judge grows angry because he does not understand. Abuse of power in the closed juvenile court is a common fault of judges. With virtually no supervision from anyone, working behind closed doors, and without ever being challenged, some become petty tyrants — even believing that they are above the law. In a majority of states, judges interviewed have never read the Gault decision handed down in 1967 by the Supreme Court of the United States to protect juveniles from judicial abuse. In the Gault case the Supreme Court decided that children have the same constitutional rights as adults — that they must not be forced to incriminate themselves, that the court must provide the child a lawyer if his family cannot afford one, and that the child's lawyer must be allowed to cross-examine witnesses. It was not a decision that might have shifted in the other direction had one or two liberal members of the court been replaced by conservatives. For eight of the nine justices stood behind it. While assuring children of their constitutional guarantees and making clear that the old parens patriae concept could be abused (as it frequently is), the high court did not suggest that juvenile courts should return to the practice of treating children as adults in punitive criminal courts. The Supreme Court also declined to outline the exact form the juvenile hearing should take. Nor did it rule on two other questions: Must juvenile judges provide transcripts of hearings? And do the child or his parents have the right to appeal a judge's decision? These holes, in part, lead to abuses. But more important, many judges refuse to follow the high court's ruling. Ohio judges, for example, have openly opposed it at meetings of the National Council of Juvenile Court Judges. I remember being asked to interview an Ohio judge on closed-circuit television at the annual Juvenile Officers Institutes for judges, policemen, and institutional people at the

Unqualified Decision-Makers 67 University of Minnesota. The judge involved admitted before his colleagues that he sometimes "ignored" the Gault decision and other rulings in certain cases — even while demanding that children who appeared in his court follow the law to the letter. In South Carolina I found that some children are sent to reform school without their parents knowing what has happened to them. Officials there told me that a child may be picked up at night, jailed, taken before a justice of the peace or other minor magistrate early in the morning, and hauled handcuffed to the reform school before lunch. Training-school officials then call the parents at home to tell them their children will be locked up for several months, according to George O. Compton, superintendent of the South Carolina School for Girls. He tells how an officer came in from Myrtle Beach a few years ago with five boys from "substantial families" living in the neighboring state of North Carolina. The boys were accused of siphoning gasoline from a car so they could return home. It and took home. lawyers "three or four months" to get the boys released Even with full-time, thoughtful juvenile judges, problems develop. In the Family Court in Providence, R.I., children are almost never committed to the reform school, and yet the reform school is full! Some children are held FOC (further order of the court) for a year or more without being found delinquent. The day I was there only 5 of the 186 children in the reform school (boys and girls) had been legally committed. Many judges and lawyers interviewed across the nation believe the Rhode Island policy of holding children in this manner, without formal commitment, is illegal. The court's theory seems to be this: If the child is sent to the reform school as a delinquent, then he must face this stigma for life. But if he is simply held FOC, never having been legally declared delinquent, the child's reputation is protected. This procedure also gives the court final say over when the youngster is released. In some states some judges ship children to Reform school without the child ever appearing in court. In the State of Washington a number of children in the re-

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form schools told me this. It was so unbelievable I checked it out; not only did the superintendent of one school say that it was true, he even produced court records to prove it. Many judges threaten a child with commitment in a way that undermines the reform school. At the same time some judges appear stupid to the children. "The judge kept telling me how horrible this place [the reform school] was and he said he was gonna send me here if I didn't straighten out," said one New York inmate. "Then when he finally decided I was bad enough to send up he told me that it wasn't such an awful place after all, and that he was really helping me. What a jerk!" While judges often insist that the juvenile court is not a criminal court for juveniles, it is often used that way. It is rather common for a judge to use the suspended sentence to try to keep youngsters in line, although some states have abolished the practice since the Gault decision. One of the flaws of a suspended sentence or commitment is that often no hearing is held on the second offense. In Ames, Iowa, I found that a youthful probation officer had a young secretary who attended a beer party in a nearby town. There she saw a boy under suspended commitment. She immediately called her employer, who picked up the boy and hauled him to the home of District Judge Ed Kelley. Judge Kelley signed the commitment papers in his driveway. The probation officer confirmed that this happened. Judge Kelley became angered when asked about the case and would only say that "the kid had a full hearing." Several Iowa judges and lawyers told me later that Judge Kelley was one of the state's best judges. The Gault ruling was supposed to guarantee a child a lawyer — even if the state must pay for one — if the child is likely to be locked up. And yet I have talked to many judges who argue that their community cannot afford it It is interesting that these same counties can find funds to repair roads or to hold a fair each falL All can afford a jail. I was surprised that so many juvenile judges vigorously oppose permitting lawyers to enter their courts for other reasons. Part of the problem is that long-standing theory that the judge is a substitute parent, and a parent would not harm his child, thus a lawyer only gets in the way. But the substitute-parent (parens patriae) theory breaks down because a

Unqualified Decision-Makers 69 good parent expresses love, while a harried judge may show about as much love towards a youngster as a car jockey shows toward a car in a Pittsburgh parking lot. A number of judges told me that confession is good for the soul, thus childfen should tell the truth and face the music. The typical lawyer, they add, is only interested in getting his client off — not in truth and rehabilitation. This would carry more weight if a judge could honestly say that he has the resources to help a child who tells the truth. Judge Florence M. Kelley, who heads the Family Court in New York City, has another complaint about private lawyers. "Too many are crummy guys who are only interested in beating a fee out of the parents," she told me. And she is right — at least in many large cities. The availability of lawyers for juveniles is on the upswing around the country as new judges take office and as more training sessions for juvenile judges are held. Some of the larger courts have long had free lawyers, often called public defenders, standing beside youngsters in court. These men and women may be both concerned and aggressive. But others have far too little time to do the job. They whisper briefly with the child in a corner of the courtroom, then walk before the judge — without any investigation or real knowledge of the case. Many are green lawyers cowed by a sometimes domineering judge. The same can be said for many who serve as prosecutors in juvenile cases. Neither the child nor the state is adequately represented in most juvenile courts. The nation's best use of lawyers in a juvenile court can be found in Eugene, Ore. There I watched a case in which both the mother and father, who were separated, had lawyers. Among other things, the dispute was over custody of the children. So a lawyer was appointed to represent each child in the case. The nation's leading juvenile judges — men like William S. Fort of Eugene, Ore. — believe that as a result of the Gault decision a hearing must be divided into two parts: the adjudicative hearing and the dispositional hearing. During the first hearing the judge determines if he has jurisdiction in the case and decides whether the child is delinquent. At this hearing judges who adhere to Gault follow rules a little like those in the criminal court — listening as objectively as possible to evidence.

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Once a judge finds there is need for the court to intervene in a child's life, a second hearing is scheduled. In some communities the dispositional hearing — that is, deciding what to do with the child — is held a few minutes later. But in others there may be a delay of days or weeks — and sometimes children are held behind bars for many months. For, as I will often point out, the greatest problem in the system of juvenile justice is the lack of alternatives to reform school, and conscientious judges may spend a great deal of time searching for answers for individual children. While splitting hearings in two parts, avoiding any question in the first session except whether the child is guilty as charged, is considered the standard for a good court today, some judges ask probation officers to conduct a prehearing investigation before a child appears in court, and the judge then listens to this before a hearing is held. Lawyers in Dover, N.H., Dallas, and in dozens of other cities, complain about this. Many of the better juvenile courts do have probation officers prepare reports. But this information is not used until the child is found delinquent on evidence. And often the information is not gathered until after the child is found to be delinquent, since a probation officer asking questions about a child at school and in his neighborhood puts a stigma on the child. Most experienced juvenile judges feel such a report is essential to decision-making. If a child has a somewhat stable home, then the child may be put on probation. But when the father is gone and the mother is an alcoholic, or the child is having trouble in school, the judge may send that child to reform school. Thus the child's future is tied to the kind of home he comes from. One New York City Family Court official, Morris Goldstein, the very fine clerk in Queens, estimates that at least half of all children brought to court are screened out by probation intake workers. Since the youngsters have already been screened by the policemen on the beat and in station houses, this suggests that a very small percentage of the cases get before a judge. In the light of this it is amazing that so many of these cases one hears about involve minor offenses. It is also interesting to note that a child brought to the probation department by the police who admits his guilt is

Unqualified D ecision-Makers 71 usually handled informally by the probation department if it is a first offense or a minor charge. This, says Mr. Goldstein, is done to avoid giving a youngster a court record that might keep him out of some branches of the military, out of law school, or make it impossible to apply for certain jobs. On the other hand, the child who insists he is not guilty must go to court where he is not protected by some of the safeguards found in the adult criminal court, and thus runs the risk of getting a record he may not deserve. The reasons for probation-department screening before a child goes to court are many. With big-city courts jammed, a social worker can reduce the pressure on the judge. If a parent brings in a child, the worker may try to resolve the problem through informal counseling, for example. In Los Angeles and a number of other cities the shortage of judges is eased by appointing juvenile court referees. This practice is frowned upon by some legal purists, who feel only a judge has the right to make the hard decisions involved in a juvenile's case. But I found that carefully selected referees may be better trained to deal with the complex problems of a child in trouble than the typical judge. I was especially impressed by some of the women working as referees, for they seemed to understand the children and their problems more clearly. I sat in on sessions of both the school run by the National Council of Juvenile Court Judges and the Juvenile Officers Institutes at the University of Minnesota. These are both extremely valuable programs and both should be expanded. Perhaps it should be said that judges, like the police, will never wholly solve the problems of these children. And yet, if judges provided the leadership needed, many improvements could be made. If more judges had the courage of the judges in Richland County, S.C., reform schools might be improved. For after I exposed conditions in the John G. Richards reform school, one of them, Augustus T. Graydon, announced that, "I would not consider committing any minor to that school at this time until and unless I am satisfied that the conditions at the school have improved. ..." A similar statement was issued by Judge J. McNary Spigner. If judges can ship a child off to reform school or prison, or otherwise intervene in his life — in some cases taking him

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from his parents and putting him up for adoption — why could they not intervene in other ways? If the school is at fault, could not the judge demand special classes for a child? If the youngster does not have food and clothing, should not the court find these things? When a judge keeps a map showing where children in trouble live, he almost always finds a cluster of pins in one spot. Should not the court order an investigation to find out what is causing so much delinquency in that neighborhood, and then take steps to alter the pattern? If the child's parents are alcoholics, should not that be dealt with — instead of punishing the child? Why not order inadequate or damaging parents to attend special classes not unlike those given to traffic offenders in some communities? There is a critical need for a true family court — that is, a court that deals with all of these problems. Too often a child may be in juvenile court for stealing even while his parents are in another court getting a divorce, and the father faces charges in a third court for public drunkenness. Who protects the children in bitter divorce disputes? No one, in most communities. And yet I found that many youngsters committed their first delinquent act either while a divorce was pending or shortly after the family was severed in court, and that in these cases the youngsters were automatically awarded to the mother without real investigation. What the juvenile court needs is leadership and imagination. Perhaps it will be necessary to change laws, but why not? If citizens are as concerned about law and order as many politicians believe, then it is time to make changes that will solve the law and order problem. In many cities — Eugene, Ore., Pontiac, Mich., Memphis, Term., Boulder, Colo., Scottsbluff, Neb., to name a few — judges have taken leadership roles, making speeches, awakening the citizens, asking for funds, opening halfway houses, calling parents into court when necessary. But in too many other cities judges are either afraid to take a stand, or they don't care, or they don't understand the problems involved in delinquency. It is far easier to send a child off to reform school than it is to think about ways to reform the system, even when it is obvious that the system is failing. Yet there is hope. Even those judges who, when they ran

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for office, offered simple solutions that appealed to unthinking, frightened voters, can change. I found that many of these "get-tough" judges had changed after they faced the impossible problems one finds in juvenile court, and discovered simplistic answers fail. Take, for example, Milwaukee County Juvenile Judge George Bowman, who ran as a get-tough candidate and easily defeated the incumbent. Early in office Judge Bowman was quick to ship youngsters to a reform school — especially those who skipped school. Even now he maintains a punitive image and has, as a result, strong support from such agencies as the Milwaukee Police Department. But Judge Bowman says privately that he understands juvenile problems better now and is, in fact, far more compassionate than when he took the bench. In 1968 he attended a summer seminar held in Boulder, Colo., by the National Council of Juvenile Court Judges. There he was exposed to views of social and behavioral scientists and leading judges. He likes to talk of a philosophy learned there: "firm, prompt, certain treatment." By hard work and the help of a second judge he has cleaned up a serious backlog of cases. Today, he says, more truants are "given an opportunity on probation" instead of being packed off to reform school. Children in trouble are often assigned to special probation officers with low case loads — after a 30-day stay in the juvenile reform school that receives and studies delinquent children. Several Wisconsin professionals who have watched Judge Bowman change were interviewed. "He has seen that there are no simple answers," says one. "When he was campaigning for office, I think he honestly didn't know this. He thought if he had a tough image kids would stop breaking the law to avoid going to court. "Now we see him groping for answers. The behavioral and social scientists in the community fought him from the start. This is unfortunate because Bowman, while he is hardheaded, has changed, and he could and would use their services. "But they must remember that he is an astute politician and he believes he must continue to convey the tough image to retain the support of the police and the people.

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"He has grown in his job, and it is time for the social behavioral scientists to grow, too." Perhaps when a hard-line, know-nothing judge grows a man of moderation and understanding, it is progress. the other hand, it may be only sad, for many children

and into On are

hurt in the process. A judge's power is awesome. His decisions, made in a few minutes in a courtroom, can mean the difference between a life of hardship and crime and a bright future for a child. It may not be enough for a judge to express intelligence and compassion. For what seems most needed, if we are to help children in trouble, is leadership and reform.

CHAPTER

5

PROBATION: AN ALTERNATIVE TO PRISON

It was late Thursday when Mrs. Lenore L. Williams of Billings, Mont., got the call. A mother — a divorcee — was on the line. She couldn't control her husky 13-year-old son, Jerry, she said. When she told the boy he had to be home by eight at night, he used abusive language. Twice he knocked her down. The mother wanted help. Mrs. Williams is a probation officer in Yellowstone County. She agreed to meet Jerry's mother at 6:30 the following morning before the distraught woman went to work. They talked. After the mother left for work, Albert Thomas, chief probation officer, picked up Jerry at home and took him down to the office. Without a court hearing, the boy was told to report to Mrs. Williams* once a week after school. Tens of thousands of children in trouble report to probation officers daily in the United States. Thousands have had to go to court. But thousands of others, like Jerry, have not. They are known in the jargon of probation as "informals." Most correction officials believe that a skilled probation officer with proper services available, and with adequate

Probation: An Alternative to Prison

15

funds, can do much to prevent delinquency. But he must reach a child early enough — before he becomes entrenched in crime. This study indicates that few courts have adequate probation programs. And few children receive attention until they are in serious trouble. Traditional probation that offers too little too late is a waste of taxpayers' money. Such programs do not change a child's way of thinking and acting. They simply delay shipping him off to reform school to be punished. Reform schools are filled with probation-department failures. Yet studies by the California Youth Authority show that well over half — perhaps three-quarters — of those locked up might be better helped at home. The percentage of those who can be helped at home is even higher in rural states such as Vermont, Idaho, Iowa, New Mexico, and South Carolina. This is all the more shocking when one hears the words of George F. McGrath, the highly respected head of the New York City prison system, who holds that prisons and reform schools cause crime: "The public should be told that correctional agencies contribute enormously to the crime rate," he said in an interview. "There a direct relationship between the growing crime rate and our isinstitutions. "The people do not understand that. Public officials do not understand that. But it is unquestionably true." Mr. McGrath believes probation can help solve the crime problem if the money is available — along with qualified officers. "You don't really have probation when the officer is stuck with caseloads of fifty or sixty or seventy or a hundred kids," he says. "All you can do is paperwork. You're not counseling; you're not getting kids back to school; you're not getting them jobs. The success rate depends on individual treatment. And trained workers. "The public is being deceived because they believe we have fancy programs. The public is being misled because we only have blueprints for programs, and the programs are not being implemented." Better probation is not the end-all answer to delinquency, in that delinquency is so deeply rooted in slum living, in home and school problems, and in a large variety of other societal flaws. It is not a quick panacea. But tied to other programs

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that deal with root causes, it can play a significant role and be of great value. Probation originated in Massachusetts in 1887. The theory: Work with an individual before he is locked up and hopefully he will never need to go to prison. What does a skilled probation officer do? If he does his job well, he helps fill in as a father to the child who has been damaged by a bitter divorce. He is the sounding board for frustrated youngsters who need someone to talk to. He is a kind of minister who, without preaching, helps the child with ethical and moral questions in a materialistic, uncaring age. His job is to patch together fragmented families so that children can survive in their homes. He sees that a child gets proper dental and medical care. He makes sure youngsters have proper clothing for school. He insists on special education for children with learning problems — finds a tutor when the school balks. He finds jobs for children when they have been stealing to get food or pocket money. He takes deprived children on outings, helps them build a positive self-image. In short, the ideal probation officer is a firm, steady counselor and the child's best friend. And he knows how to get things done. But this isn't the case in most communities. Probation too often is used as a threat to make a child behave. This is clearly the wrong approach, say such experts as C. Eliot Sands, Massachusetts commissioner of probation. For in time the threat wears off without having produced any meaningful change in a boy's way of thinking. Probation officers are too often poorly paid, untrained workers, picked because they helped the judge in his campaign or because no one else wanted the job, or because the would-be worker decided he "wanted to do something about this delinquency thing." As one officer explained it in an interview, "It's tough, but it beats standing up all day on a factory production line." This is unfortunate. Probation plays a key role in what is sometimes called a mongrel system of juvenile justice — a system that is an uncertain mixture of law, social work, psychology, and personal opinion. It can save taxpayers millions of dollars a year when it is effective.

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A highly skilled probation officer is paid between $8,000 and $15,000 a year in the best states. He can work successfully and intensively with up to thirty children. To lock thirty children for one year in even a good institution— one capable of changing them from troublemakers to useful citizens — can cost taxpayers between $150,000 and $250,000. Yet many experts believe it is impossible for any institution to do as much for the child as the probation worker can. An institution can do little to change the environment that produced the delinquent. The best probation workers help rehabilitate whole families. Returning a child to the environment that caused the delin• quency in the first place is like throwing a child who has al■ most drowned back into the water after giving him artificial respiration. It doesn't make sense, and explains why so many youngsters return to reform schools over and over again, the '■ experts argue. \ Children who go to reform schools face an added barrier: the stigma of having been locked up. Other parents warn | their youngsters to stay away from the child who has been I sent away. At school, teachers and student leaders may be cool or even hostile. Other youngsters may give the boy new \ status as a tough. It is essential to help children in trouble • before they see themselves as criminals. Once this happens, it • becomes doubly hard to bring about change. t But probation officers must be highly skilled to do the job. X They must understand children in trouble. "You can't just take some old deputy sheriff and make him • a probation officer," says Judge Harvey Uhlenhopp, of Hampi ton, Iowa, who recalls one probation officer who took a i "pretty good kid by the collar, shook him, and said, 'You • S.O.B., you shape up!' " \ Probation officers also investigate cases for judges. They try } to learn what is wrong in a child's home so that changes can be made. And they work hard to keep youngsters from being locked up. A good probation department comes closer to $ being a delinquency-prevention agency than anything in our -society — except for good homes. This is why, when parents il are unable to bring about change, early and intensive probation is usually considered the best solution to the delinquency S problem. A few states have seen the light.

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Since 1963, Ohio has encouraged counties to increase probation staffs (or hire their first probation officer) by offering matching funds for salaries. To qualify, a county must hire additional workers, using the 1959 staff size as the base. Ohio has mote going for it: The state also subsidizes schoolteachers who function as part-time probation officers. These teachers work with children in trouble in their own schools. The state also pays up to $2 a day in matching funds for foster care of delinquent children without homes or those living in an environment that encourages delinquency. George W. Jeffries, who heads the bureau of probation development for the Ohio Youth Commission, says fifty of the state's eighty-eight counties participate. Of the thirty who do not, Lucas County (Toledo) is the largest. There the probation staff has been cut since 1959. A number of the other counties not in the program have delinquency problems. In the past fiscal year Wood County (Bowling Green) shipped twenty-one children to reform schools while fourteen others were sent to the Ohio Youth Commission for evaluation and study. James Thompson, Wood County juvenile probation officer, has had a case load of "around one hundred eighty" youngsters. The court is now in the process of providing additional help. Ross County (Chillicothe) committed twenty children to reform schools in the same period. Ross County has only one part-time probation worker. It seems certain that Ohio taxpayers would have saved money (not to mention children) if these youngsters could have been helped early by highly skilled probation workers. But the counties are not totally at fault. Ohio has only come partway. Probation officers are subsidized only up to $2,400 a year, while the state will pay up to $3,000 for supervisors. Both figures should be doubled. Ohio probation case loads still run fifty or sixty or more children per worker. This should be cut even further. The state's taxpayers would still be money ahead. California grew concerned over cramming children into institutions in 1965 when a record 6,174 were sent to the Youth Authority. The following year the State Legislature launched a probation-subsidy program. Counties are paid to keep troubled children at home. After two full years of oper-

Probation: An Alternative to Prison

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ation, officials found 3,814 youngsters had been kept out of reform schools. To have put these youngsters, in institutions, California taxpayers would have paid out $15 million. The cost of the probation-subsidy program: $5.7 million — just over a third. Yuba County (Marysville) is one of the latest to sign up. Two new men have been hired. Each handles a case load of no more than twenty-five boys and five adults. Next year a female officer will work with twenty-five girls and five women. Methods are improving, too. The traditional probation officer sits in his office waiting for the probationers to file in for a few minutes' conversation. Under the new Yuba County program, the two probation officers spend as much time as possible out of the office. Emphasis is on teaching by example rather than by words. The officers have taken two or three youngsters at a time into the mountains to ski. Or they may take several others on a weekend fishing trip. A ride to Sacramento for a concert or an evening at a pizza parlor, followed by a game of pool, can replace traditional counseling sessions. Summer camping is planned. Children in trouble need strong, positive ties with adults, the experts explain. They need the guidance and help they haven't received at home because of parents who don't care or are too permissive or too rigid or in trouble themselves. The program also includes what is known as "guided group interaction" — a cousin to group therapy used in mental hospitals. It is similar to the kind of give-and-take bull sessions found on college campuses. Two things are emphasized: selfknowledge and helping one another. Yuba County's new program is a good example of what probation subsidy is all about. To qualify, a California county must reduce a worker's case load to fifty or less. The money is also used to provide "counseling, psychiatric treatment, and job counseling," says Allen F. Breed, director of the California Youth Authority. But there is more. In four areas of the state, experimental Youth Service Bureaus are being established. Yuba and neighboring Sutter County opened one of four last summer. Emphasis is on preventing delinquency. Schools are being asked to find problem children and their families in the elementary grades. Services of existing agencies are being offered:

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Boy Scouts, Campfire Girls, the ministerial association, credit counselors for families with money problems. Parent education programs are being taken to the neighborhoods— using churches and schools for meetings on why Johnny can't read or Billy throws stones at his sisters. Lacking public transportation, the two counties have decided to bring recreation programs to the children, again utilizing school grounds. There are creative probation programs scattered across the United States. Minneapolis is noted for, among other things, its exciting probation-sponsored raft trips down the Mississippi River. One of the best-known programs is the Citizenship Training Group in Boston — now in its thirty-fourth year. Boys placed on probation attend a 12-week session for two hours every day after school. They are examined for physical, academic, and emotional problems, and take work-preference tests. Youngsters participate in both calisthenics and competitive games with staff members. The program also includes elementary handicrafts, working with leather and paper. And children are shown films and become involved in group discussions about their role and obligation as citizens. Judge Francis G. Poitrast, chief juvenile judge in Boston, uses almost any alternative to reform school: "We pay $8,000 or $12,000 per child per year— whatever is needed to help that child," he says. But few counties provide their judges with enough funds for adequate probation departments. But what of the typical probation officer? I found that most are overworked and underpaid, and that few are aware of the exciting things happening in their field. It was found that most had never had training of any kind, nor had they read any of the better-known books written about their profession. There are exceptions, of course. One finds the best probation departments (in most instances) in the same cities where one finds the exceptional juvenile judges. But the typical probation officer seems to read little more than the current TV Guide, the sports page of the local newspaper, and some hunting and fishing magazines, at best. His knowledge of his job probably has come from a 2-week break-in period with the man he replaced.

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Even where probation officers understand their jobs, they may do a poor job because they are seriously overworked. This is true in most states, including Massachusetts, where probation was invented. Until 1968 Albert J. Moquin had the help of only one woman to work with a case load of over three hundred in two cities — Fall River and New Bedford. This doesn't include the "informals" — those not found delinquent by the court. "You see as many as you can as often as you can, but you can't do much," Mr. Moquin says. "And when one of us is on vacation or out for some other reason — well, you can guess what happens." In November 1967, a man was added to his staff. Last July another woman was hired. But the case load has grown to over four hundred, plus "informals" — which means each staffer must work with a hundred youngsters. When children are in school, the time available for probation conferences is limited. Seeing a hundred youngsters or even sixty or seventy every week — as least, in a way that will alter delinquent behavior — is impossible. And one finds this is common in state after state. Calvin Weldon, who works with delinquents for the New York Division for Youth near Syracuse, was once a probation officer. "I've always felt that if there was just some way to keep these kids out of serious trouble for a couple of years, they'd make it," he says. "A lot of the kids we put in an institution could be kept in the community if we only had the manpower to work with the family. All some of these kids need is somebody to sit down and listen." Similar comments echoed across the nation. What can one man in a rural community with little budget do? Plenty, if he has talent and imagination and likes children, say such experts as Paul Keve, who heads Minnesota's Department of Corrections. The probation officer may be an outdoorsman. What better way to channel restless, troublesome, children into wholesome activity while building a positive relationship? The probation officer may be a skilled auto mechanic who can work with boys who like cars. He may be able to teach them welding or some other skill. Or his hobby may be golf, swimming, weight lifting, or archery.

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Women can help girls on probation make clothing or cook. And vigorous sports like swimming and tennis should not be overlooked, experts add. Michael G. Fleming of Livingston, Mont, proves what one probation officer can do. He has a bachelor's degree in business administration. He is a skilled magician and ran a magic shop for several years while working part-time as a probation officer. "I felt I was falling so short of what I thought could be done with kids that I asked to go on full time," he said. Two years ago he was paid $6,000 a year. His maximum salary will eventually be $9,000. Every year he goes around to the schools and puts on a free magic show. He makes no pitch — just lets young people get to know him as a good guy. He also has a radio show from 7:30 to 8 every Thursday evening. Sometimes he talks about the law; often he invites local youngsters to take part in a panel — usually without being identified. They discuss their views on drinking, haircuts, clothing styles, how to act on a date, or parent problems — basic questions that are too often ignored at home or at Sunday school. Sometimes listeners call to discuss personal difficulties. Both teenagers and Mr. Fleming may answer the questions. The program is well received by both young people and parents. Once a serious family situation was helped when a boy blurted out that he hated to go home because his father was a drunk. The father was listening and was able to take the criticism and face up to his problem. He might never have listened in a direct confrontation. Parents often visit Mr. Fleming's office in the courthouse basement to discuss their children. And youngsters with problems at home sometimes go to "Mike the Magic Man" instead of running away. He also writes a regular column, "Ask Mike," for the Livingston Enterprise, and covers subjects from curfew to use of BB guns to dropping out of school. Unfortunately, men like "Mike the Magic Man" are rare in probation. Too many lack skill and imagination. Instead they sit at their desks, hand out rules, and wait for children to break them. In too many sections of the country thefe are no probation

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officers. This is the frustration of Judge Alan McPheron in Durant, Okla. "I guess you might say I act as my own probation officer," he says. "I make it a practice to give the first offender a suspended sentence, and if he gets into trouble again, I send him up to the penitentiary. "I've started accepting a plea of guilty and deferring the sentence six months. I check in the community to see how he's doing. If he's doing well, I defer the sentence another six months, and if he's still doing well, I withdraw the plea of guilty and enter a not-guilty plea." Judge McPheron has been trying to establish a tax-exempt foundation to raise funds for a probation program. And he hopes some day to get community people to volunteer to help. But now he has few alternatives. A youthful offender is sentenced to two years, then shipped off to the state prison for sixty days, with the other twenty-two months deferred. Not everyone agrees that probation is worthwhile. Many policemen feel as Chief Howard J. Diehl, of Altamont, N.Y., does: "The courts just slap their wrists," he said one fall night as we sat chatting in his patrol car. "Couple of weeks ago a 15-year-old stole two cars. He was already on probation for stealing one last year. His attorney pleaded him guilty, and the judge just put him back on probation. "Last year kids put a lot of stuff on the railroad tracks — barbed wire, barrels, planks, things like that. We caught the kids — and they were just put on probation. "We got narcotics around here. We arrested a 17-year-old who had some marijuana and some LSD when he was picked up. He was put on probation. "Crime has increased tremendously around here — in our town [a suburb of Albany], it's gone up 21 percent, and 70 percent of those involved are under the age of 25." Chief Diehl is a big man (six feet, five inches), and he is respected by officers in neighboring towns. He works seven days a week, and is "on call constantly." There is little question that he is dedicated. Or why he is frustrated. But most corrections officials argue that the answer is not locking more youngsters up for longer periods of time. Rather it is in more effectively using probation and other correctional tools. This is as true in large cities as in rural areas.

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This reporter found that in New York City, while there are some exceptional officers, the probation program is woefully inadequate. What worker, however skilled, can in a 2-hour conference each month compete with the influence of the streets of Manhattan, Harlem, the Bronx, or Brooklyn? Phoenix, Ariz., has the same problems as other cities. But it is trying to do something extra. "Our community is concerned because so many kids believe they can commit a crime and get away with it," says Harvey Grady, rehabilitative program director for the juvenile court. "Thei^e are too many youngsters to give each one personal attention. Our court has 24,000 referrals a year. "A youngster may be picked up in March for curfew. The police take him home. Two weeks later he's picked up for the same thing. This office [probation] may send out a letter to his parents. But he may be picked up for three or four curfew violations or several times for shoplifting without anything serious happening because of the lack of staff. So he feels he can get away with crime. "We began STOP (Short-Term Orientation Program) on Oct. 2, 1968, to get at this. The parents bring the boy down in the morning. They are frightened, and they want to avoid court. "We counsel them as a group. We tell the parents we want to give them immediate help. We ask them to voluntarily set up their own treatment plan in a written statement of specific guidelines to follow." Emphasis is on making the parents responsible for preventing delinquency. This usually involves referral to a community agency that hopefully can help. While it is too early to evaluate the plan, Phoenix officials call it "promising." One advantage, Mr. Grady says, is that under this program probation people aite more likely to uncover "severe emotional disturbances, psychotic tendencies, or family disintegration." Such cases are then referred to appropriate agencies. While some argue that a single morning session will not be enough, other professionals suggest that prolonged probation for a child also causes problems. "For a juvenile a year seems like an eternity," says Alfred Thorup of Carroll, Iowa. "There's such a thing as overkeep,

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and the youngster may give up if he doesn't get some time off." For "not too serious a crime" he believes a child should be on probation "not less than three months and not more than six." Most probation officers prepare written rules for youngsters — a point of debate today. Mr. Thorup usually tells them not to ride in a car — except when driven by their parents or in a school bus — for the first month. He will let them associate with youngsters only one year younger or older. He emphasizes church attendance. Except for older youths, they must attend school. Many experts now argue that rigid rules are unrealistic. If the probation officer skulks around hoping to spot a violation, then he is playing a grim little "catch-me" game with the child. Finding ways to send a youngster off to reform school often becomes the goal. Mr. Thorup's concern, like that of others in the field, is lack of alternatives. He would like a halfway house — a small group home for children who can't live with their parents or have no parents. He tells of 13-year-old Tommy, whose father was "a drinker and a woman-chaser." When the home split up, Tommy was sent to a church-run home for two years before being sent back to his mother. Unfortunately, he preferred his father, whom he looked on as "seven feet tall." But his father didn't want him, nor would the church home take him back. He quickly got into trouble and at last check was in reform school. It is this kind of boy who could profit by a probation-run group home, Mr. Thorup explains. Most probation officers also suggest that foster homes are an answer. In a foster home one family cares for a child. The lack of one sent two Fremont, Neb., sisters to reform school. The girls' father has been a constant failure. The family has moved from one rented house to another. The father drinks heavily; the mother is an extremely poor housekeeper. Both girls have run away — once in the family car. While probation didn't work, neither girl has committed serious crimes. Yet, for lack of a better place to send them, they were shipped to the reform school. Putting children in reform school when they might be

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helped by strong probation services is a common practice in the United States. With help, Vera, who lives in New Mexico, might have been able to remain at home. An illegitimate child, she was raised by her elderly grandmother. By the time Vera was 12, her grandmother could no longer control her. Then several men in the neighborhood began using her sexually. Vera was sent to the New Mexico Girls' Welfare Home in Albuquerque. Her future is not very bright, even though she is not yet 13. Tommy, 11, refused to attend school in the small North Carolina town where he lived with his mother and three brothers and sisters. Whenever his mother took him to school, he ran away. While a bright child, he was two years behind the other children in his age group. Tommy's mother and father were divorced after several years of fighting. His mother will not permit the father, an alcoholic, to see the children. She works full-time in a hosiery mill and has almost no control over her children. Tommy's older sister was the first to be sent to reform school. Six weeks later a judge committed Tommy and one of his brothers. Officials in the reform school at Swannanoa, N.C., say he is doing well and is simply "the product of a disrupted family situation" with no "pathological problems." The reform school has a good remedial education program, but this will not solve the problems at home. I found hundreds of children like Tommy and Vera. I found them in every state. Speaking at a meeting of the Citizens Committee on the Juvenile Court in 1967, Maurice O. Hunt, first deputy commissioner of the New York City Department of Welfare, talked about this problem: "All over this country, in every nook and corner, not just in the cities but in little towns, and out in the rural areas, we have kids growing up in families where they just aren't going to make it unless in some way the people about them, the representatives of the communities where they live, recognize their problems and get help to them in a radically different way . . ." He then suggested that "in every community there ought to be some one clearly designated place where people can turn to get some help for youngsters whose parents just don't seem to be quite up to the job of caring for them . . ."

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In most communities the job is left to the juvenile court and its probation department. Large numbers of children are dealt with informally by the probation staff. This happens in cities large and small. "Where the behavior problem isn't serious we see it as unnecessary to take a youngster before a judge," explains Billings, Mont., Judge Ernest E. Fenton. "We would have to increase the number of juvenile judges to a terrific extent if we had to take eVery juvenile case to court." Yet this writer found that a probation department can provide a direct route to the reform school. Thousands of children each year, on probation for minor offenses, are shipped off for breaking probation rules. The best answer seems to be a separate agency — outside the police department or juvenile court — to deal with youngsters who have not committed crimes. This agency should be designed to help parents and children who come in voluntarily, as well as those referred for minor offenses by school officials and police. Too often the only way a child can get help is to break the law. And then it may be too late. Far too little is known about how to deal with children in trouble. There is a great deal to be learned through more basic research. There are many opinions and few facts. Kenneth Polk of the University of Oregon says that too often with probation "all we can offer is words," and children in trouble "need a lot more than that. "You talk and then they go right back to the same old school, which is organized for the college-bound student, and to the same slum, the same parents, and all of the other things that have caused his delinquent behavior. What is accomplished?" And yet Wilbur LaBorde, a New York City probation supervisor, makes a strong case for the other side. "When we talk with a child it may be the first time anyone has talked to him man-to-man — at least in terms of selfdetermination and his future." I believe both men are right. Which still proves that our present criminal court system for juveniles is wrong, for it is a punitive, rather than a helping, system. James Lamb, who heads the Youth Development Center —

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a "reform school" — in Warrendale, Perm., points out that "you can't solve these problems by building institutions." And J. D. Fleming, chief juvenile probation officer in Atlanta, who pessimistically notes that "some institutions are harming children less than others," steps out of the detention home and stares across at the city's $18-million stadium. Then he asks, "We say our correctional system is weak because we lack funds; but is it possible that our society has become adept at hiding behind this excuse?"

CHAPTER

PRISONS

FOR

6

CHILDREN— I

Robert P. Heyne opened his file drawer, pulled out a worn leather flogging strap, and held it up. It appeared to be at least two feet long, as broad as a man's hand, half as thick as a finger. "Okay," he said. "You're right. We're using it again. We've got nothing to hide." Floggings were common at the Indiana Boys' School until 1966. In that year, Mr. Heyne's superior in Indianapolis announced the strap would be retired. The no-strap policy continued through mid-January of 1969, according to Anthony S. Kuharich, who was removed as Indiana Commissioner of Corrections when Governor Edgar D. Whitcomb (R) took office. The flogging quickly began again, although fewer children were being beaten than before the ban, according to Mr. Heyne. Mr. Heyne says boys are strapped only five strokes on their bare buttocks. The floggings also ait often tied to thirty days in solitary confinement. A boy described his flogging to me. (This was later confirmed by a staff member.) 'They took me into the room where we watch TV. I was told to bend oVer the table. A security man held the strap. Mr. Heyne and some others stood around watching. They told me to drop my drawers. I kept looking around, and the

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security man slapped my face. Then he hit me with the strap. I went down to my knees. They pulled me up and hit me again. I went down to my knees. That happened five times. I couldn't sit down for three days. I couldn't lay on my back for a week until the welts went away." Audie E. Langston, an employee of the Florida Division of Youth Services, witnessed past floggings at the Florida School for Boys in Marianna. He describes them as "sickening." "A young boy [was] taken into a stark, bare, dimly lit room where he was compelled to lie on a small cot and receive licks with a heavy leather strap. At the time the strap was being wielded by a man who was at least six feet, three inches and weighed well over two hundred pounds. . . . The child quivers and writhes. . . ." Robert M. Peterson, also an employee of the Florida Division of Youth Services, told of working at Marianna some ten years ago. He recalled walking a child back from a flogging. The boy, he said, "was bleeding profusely." The superintendent of the Marianna school was fired when he said publicly that he wanted to begin using the strap again. He was quickly reinstated by another state board that said his firing was illegal. It is hard to believe that in the late twentieth century the American people would sanction such brutal treatment of children. Perhaps the human race is not far removed from those animals that attack their young. One can safely compare what happens in some reform schools with the process used in converting virile Africans into shuffling slaves in the early days of our nation. One sees this same head-hanging shuffling in certain juvenile prisons in North and South Carolina, in Ohio and Indiana and Illinois, or in Washington and Oregon — and at points between. Testimony of members of the Pueblo's crew indicates they were treated littfe worse by their North Korean captors than are some inmates in the Indiana Boys' School, the Indiana Reformatory in Pendleton, the Arkansas prison system, the John G. Richards School in South Carolina, the Florida School for Boys, and other institutions across the United States. Mr. Heyne's explanation for resuming severe punishment at the Indiana Boys' School: The runaway rate exploded from 79 in 1965 to 306 in 1966, and has been almost that high since then. Runaways rile citizens and government officials.

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"The community and state have been on our necks," he says. Like juvenile judges who shake their heads in despair because they see no alternative to institutionalization, correctional officials often feel forced to resort to corporal punishment when under public pressure. Indiana is not alone in this. Citizens of Marianna, Fla., became furious when the runaway rate climbed after state officials took away the strap. In states like California, Ohio, and Illinois, some institutions are surrounded by high fences. Slapping was used to control boys in Delaware until I found five boys with punctured eardrums. Officials have complained that the runaway rate is up. South Carolina officials also complain of discipline problems now that beatings have been abandoned after being exposed. Leaders in the correctional field say flogging, slapping, and inhumane confinement can cut runaway rates. But this does not resolve the basic reasons for flight, which are: Inadequate staff; far too little operational money; institutions that are too large; the mixing of tough hoodlums, emotionally disturbed youths, retarded youngsters, and children who are only dependent and neglected; and a bankrupt rehabilitative program. "What is truly tragic is that the public closes its eyes to the forces and lack of resources within the institution which made these youths want to flee," says Milton Luger, president of the National Association of State Juvenile Delinquency Program Administrators. "Futhermore, the public focuses upon its short-range, immediate protection rather than being concerned about the additional hostility and hatred being engendered within these youths as they are subjected to brutalization to keep them confined." Mr. Luger also has said that "with the exception of a relatively few youths, it [would be] better for all concerned if young delinquents were not detected, apprehended, or institutionalized. Too many of them get worse in our care." It is in keeping with the statement by George F. McGrath, who heads the New York City correctional system: "Correctional agencies contribute enormously to the crime rate."

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Or the comments of Oliver J. Keller, who recently took over as head of the Florida Division of Youth Services: "We are working in a terribly primitive field. Primitive. Punitive. Brutal. I don't like large institutions. I don't like what happens to children in them. One of my men says living in a training school is as cozy as living in a wash bay of a filling station. I agree. The child is returned to the streets with none of his family problems solved. And he's more sophisticated in crime." All of this points to the core of the matter: the public is poorly informed, and often frightened. The result is two clearly conflicting goals: The people and their elected representatives tell correctional officials to help these youngsters — but keep them locked out of sight. Don't take risks. Don't spend tax money on foolish frills like strong programs and skilled workers. Drab walls and tough guards are enough. In a report to a governor's study committee in Connecticut, Dr. Earl S. Patterson, consulting psychiatrist to the Connecticut School for Boys at Meriden, wrote: "[This] school has been a wastebasket, and inevitably what is pitched into a wastebasket is thought of as waste. The boys are in a program of criminality. The school may be held responsible, but it is carrying out the desire of the public, which, at the point of commitment, is hostile and punitive toward the boy. "The boy knows it and we know it, but the public only knows, 'Get him away from us, and don't bother us with the gory details.' The net result of the way the school is being used is that the state's philosophy (which carries public approval) isin direct contradiction to the actual policy (which follows public demand)." While the public is initially at fault, this does not absolve institutional heads of blame for stupidity, sadism, and neglect. Take the Indiana Reformatory, a 2-hour drive east of the Indiana Boys' School. Young men 15 to 30 are kept there. Late in 1968, Hershall Thomas took over as superintendent after a series of riots and other unbelievable events. Gangs of tough prisoners roamed the cell houses, forcing smaller boys to submit to gang rape, he says. There were murders and beatings. I met one 19-year-old Negro youth from Indianapolis

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hesitant to talk about the way they were treated. Finally one youth got down on his stomach and peered under the closed door to see if anyone was listening. "They hit us," the boys said. When conditions in Delaware were made public, the head of juvenile institutions there, Caleb (Tex) Van Warrington, Jr., twice threatened me and told a television reporter that I was a "damn liar." When Mr. Heyne was interviewed by the press in Indianapolis he called my charges exaggerated and accused me of sensationalism. In Tennessee the head of a juvenile correctional institution covered up the brutal beating of a youth by a guard by involving ajudge in the whitewash. Many superintendents defensively lie about brutality. But not all of them do. Some are open and honest. In Rhode Island, Superintendent Joseph P. Devine has tried to eliminate staff brutality, but says so far he has failed. Corporal punishment is still authorized in Tennessee, Idaho, Montana, and other scattered states. Least evidence of physical brutality can be found on the West Coast, where more money is being spent on qualified staff. Psychologists, psychiatrists, and others who work in the field say flogging or hitting children is only one form of brutality. Children in reform schools often are verbally abused by sarcasm, ridicule, and disdainful attitudes. Attempts to take away the child's individuality — so common in institutions — can be damaging. So is the extreme use of solitary confinement (anyone who doubts this might ask someone to lock him in a closet for a few days). I found hundreds of boys and girls around the nation locked in solitary-confinement cells for days, weeks, even months. While some of the finest institutions for children in America can be found in the state of Washington, Green Hill (reform) School for Boys is a depressing one. Solitary confinement and maximum security are heavily used for minor offenses. Superintendent Robert D. Quant says, "Any person on the grounds has the right to place a boy in isolation for any reason, and he will stay there until the program committee meets." That can mean four days without review.

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One boy was locked up for fifteen days because custodial people felt he had a "bad attitude." The maximum-security unit is a prisonlike heavy iron bars on the cells. One boy had been two and a half weeks for stealing cigarettes ruckus in his cottage. Another one had gotten

structure with held in a cell and raising a in a fight and

broken a boy's nose. Others had run away. In the Iowa Training School for Boys at Eldora, a riot in 1955 resulted in the construction of a bleak security unit Boys peeked at me through small holes in steel doors. Reconstruction was under way when I was last there. In most reform schools, emphasis is really not on solving a child's problems or on helping him reenter the community as a useful citizen. Rather a little game is played. The rules vary, but the key is whether the child "adjusts" well to institutional life. This, even though institutional living has little to do with survival in a poor home or in the streets of Harlem, Chicago's West Side, or in rural slums. Even in the institutions using a "reward" system (rather than punishment), the payoff is for conformity. Dr. Patterson explains how this works at the Connecticut School for Boys. While his report was written about the school in 1967, it is still accurate, he says. And this writer found it could apply to most reform schools for boys or for girls in the United States. "At present boys admitted to the school are expected [by the staff] to reach a high level of conformity to [the institution's] pattern of procedures. Delay by the boy in doing so will bring punitive action against him in increasingly severe types, delay in classmanship advance [a system of rewards], physical punishment, isolation. Continuing failure to conform will produce continuous isolation and finally release or, in the past, transfer to another institution. "A boy who conforms . . . will soon be labeled as changed, adjusted, or improved . . ." even when the conformity is a sham. Dr. Patterson adds that some boys who refuse to conform are given a "superior" rating and released just to get them out of the institution. In other instances staff will "bend the rules to create special privilege in order to win the boy over to an appearance of conformity."

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What do boys who either conform or pretend to conform learn from this? Dr. Patterson answers with six points: 1. Lying, dissimulation, and pretense in order to placate persons in positions of strength. This implies no need or intent to change and denies personal responsibility for behavior. 2. The usefulness of power over weaker persons to control them or force them to certain ends. 3. The legitimacy of physical assault in order to effect goals. 4. Use of ridicule and humiliation to control a psychologically weaker opponent. 5. Rules are made to be bent — if not broken. The only ethic that truly applies is "don't get caught." 6. Hypocritical subterfuge to make an apparent attainment of a goal. What is real is what people can be fooled into accepting. "Saying will make it so." This further reinforces what children in trouble already believe about the world around them: that adults are inconsistent, that society is guilty of hypocrisy, mistrust of others is well founded, that this is a world of broken promises and broken rules, that first loyalty should be to the peer group, because peers can be trusted, that there is no need for internal responsibility, and physical strength and cunning are most important, he adds. It is clear that children understand the institutional game. Dozens of youths interviewed told me they were just "doing time," and that if they followed the rules they would do "easy time." In the Los Guilucos School for Girls in California I found a Negro girl from a terribly deprived home who refused to conform. She had been locked in her room four days for this and for losing her room key. I questioned the psychologist who had her locked up. The woman not only admitted that the girl "probably should never have been sent here in the first place," but added that she herself might rebel if forced to conform to a group in a closed institution. Girls are usually better treated than boys for a variety of reasons. This is partly because women run the institutions. But largely it is because most girls are locked up, not because they have snatched purses or stolen cars, but rather because they have run from intolerable homes or have become sexual-

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ly involved with men at an age considered to be too young by society. Miss Regina Flynn, superintendent of the New Jersey State Home for Girls, puts it this way: "Girls, unlike boys, offend more against themselves than against other persons and property. Their offenses are usually first noted by schools in the form of truancy, then staying out late, running away from home, and involvement with boys." Miss Ward E. Murphy, who runs the girls' school and women's prison in Maine (and worked in Virginia prior to that) estimates that "not more than 10 percent are criminals." Take Sally, a Maine girl. Her mother traveled and had several children by different men. Sally was given to her mother's sister — a home where both husband and wife were constantly drunk and Sally was mistreated. Sally kept running away. On April 5, 1961, she was sent to a private school for emotionally disturbed children. On July 1, 1962, that institution decided treatment was not successful. So she was sent to a psychiatric hospital. After five months she was discharged and turned over to the welfare department On that same day she was sent to Stevens Training Center, a reform school for girls. Officials say there was no other place for her to go. At the feform school she was "rude, impudent, defiant" She ran away fourteen times. Then on Dec. 4, 1963, she was sent to the reformatory for women — although Sally had never committed a crime. Sally's experience is too often typical of the process by which society helps make criminals. Fortunately, in her case the reformatory had something which most lack: a halfway house on the grounds. Sally entered the local public school wherte she completed eighth, ninth, and tenth grades. During the summer she worked at resorts. She dated a boy — a high school graduate — for a year. When he completed two years in the Army they were married and now have a baby. It became clear as I visited this nation's reform schools that not only is rebellion against regimentation normal — especially for a child who has been fighting for survival for ten or twelve years — but also that running away from these institutions is normal.

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Children in trouble often are compared to dogs that have been kicked and beaten. They trust no one, and when someone raises a hand they either cower in a corner, fight back, or slink away. This helps explain the runaway problem. Some children have been running away from unpleasant experiences or pressure all of their lives. This is the way they react when threatened. This is true of both girls and weaker boys. It was shocking to discover that most youngsters locked in solitary confinement are not the assaultive brutes. Instead they are the weak ones who have either run from the homosexuality found in these institutions, from assaultive staff members and inmates, or have become so homesick they cannot stand it. (Almost every runaway from a training school heads for his home.) Yet those who run the institutions seem not to recognize this. Officials continue to flog these frightened children or lock them in solitary confinement, while the rough are rewarded because they "conform." As one tours correctional institutions, it becomes clear that few administrators are imaginative people. Mr. Luger lays this in part to the public, which only asks that children in trouble be kept out of sight. "Why then should program administrators seek to be creative?" he asked sadly, when he testified in Washington recently. "Why should they not settle for custody and control instead of treatment? Why then should not the goal of institutions be a trouble-free tour of duty rather than true attitudinal change on the part of young offenders?" But this is only part of the answer. Working in a correctional institution gives one little status, and in fact may result in being looked down upon. Pay is extremely low. Institutions often are located in rural areas where bright college graduates find life dull. Dealing with the dregs of society is not pleasant work. "What multimillion-dollar industry could survive in a competitive market with executives paid the salaries of trainingschool superintendents (from $5,000 to $15,000) and without sufficient funds for research to improve their product, eliminate inefficiency in production, and to seek new facilities for

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more acceptable products?" asks Sherwood Norman, director of Youth Corrections Services for the National Council on Crime and Delinquency. Homosexuality is often a problem at training schools; one finds it more prevalent at girls' schools — though the girls usually revert to normal activity once they are returned to mixed society. The most blatant example was found at the Bon Air School for Girls in Virginia. There large Negro and small white girls walked, arms entwined, across the campus — the Negro girls playing the male role, the white girls the female. The problem is common from Massachusetts to California, and in some schools stronger girls are very aggressive. In New Jersey and in other states girls developed "phantom families" with one playing the mother, another the father, while others were children, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Many have been rejected by their own families. Girls schools also are sometimes so protective that they may never help inmates come to grips with their basic problem— a craving for parental love that they have never felt. This often results in promiscuity, according to those working with delinquent girls. Interviews with both girls and staff at the Gainsville School for Girls in North Carolina indicated that the girls are never given a chance to face up to their problem. Those working in other girls' schools asked how — when a girl is locked up for being promiscuous — this problem can be resolved if it is never discussed with them by their counselors or in group meetings.

One of the worst weaknesses of institutions is lack of activity for active children. The night I visited the Ferris School in Delaware one staff member was absent and two cottages were combined with only one man to supervise. Boys were crowded into two noisy rooms with little to do. In South Carolina boys went to their crowded dormitories and sat on their beds in their underwear after supper. In Indiana teenage boys were put to bed at 8 p.m. because of lack of staff. There is an inoperative swimming pool on the grounds and a gym. Staff members take boys out to play for

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Children in Trouble

short periods after *supper "when they are in the mood." For some guards this means once every week at best. I was urged not to visit the Indiana Boys' School on Good Friday because employees get the day off and the institution is "shut down." That means a skeleton crew and no program. Even at Maple Lane in Washington, one of the nation's finest reform schools, there is little activity on a Sunday afternoon. The Sunday I visited Maple Lane I found girls deeply depressed because they had no visitors. In every training school I toured, I was told weekends are the worst. This is partly because of nineteenth-century visiting practices. In North Carolina, for example, the rules read: "Each student is entitled to one 3-hour visit per month by members of his or her immediate family after a 30-day orientation period in the school." Young men at the State Correctional Institution at Camp Hill, Pa., are allowed two hours of visiting per month. The visiting privilege is withdrawn m most institutions if the youngster's behavior is poor. And yet in more progressive systems officials say they permit visiting as often as the parent will come and they also encourage social workers to hold conferences with both parents and child present so that they may help uncover conflicts that hinder rehabilitation. In the past, boys with a variety of problems were thrown together, all to be treated in the same manner. This is changing. The trend today is toward careful, individualized diagnosis of problems by trained professionals. Unfortunately, this is not always coupled with a meaningful program. In Illinois the Diagnostic and Reception Center for Boys has a liberal visiting policy, and the diagnostic staff is often praised. Twenty of the two hundred youngsters being held are getting a little help from some very skilled nuns who teach in nearby schools. And there is an effort being made to get more volunteer programs going. But 90 percent of the boys are held in sterile tiled rooms. There they sit for weeks playing cards or staring at television while a guard leans against a wall or sits with his feet up on a chair. The smaller youngsters do go to an arts-and-crafts

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room, but only once or twice a week. Discussion groups are held for only an hour or so weekly. What normal, sane mother would lock her children and fifteen or twenty neighborhood youngsters in a room for hours week after week with nothing to do? What the boys most need is help in learning to read and in developing improved attitudes. Yet, too much of their time is taken up with "busywork" — like making beds and polishing floors till they glisten. When I asked why the present custodial staff couldn't do more than lean against the wall, watching the kids — or at best occasionally playing ping-pong or cards with inmates — I was told that they either were not qualified or not interested. And yet I did meet one guard, Bennie Thompson, who was being constructive. He was teaching children to read, to spell, to grow plants in a tin can. He had to bring in his own materials, paid for out of his own pocket. But he was doing it. Other guards opposed him. When I asked Charles Handley, the institution's bright young superintendent, why the children had no reading material, he said it was available — there was a library — the children just weren't interested. I asked to see the library. It was a small room, an office in regular use. Behind the door was a bookcase with some torn books, year-old Reader's Digests, a few Better Homes and Gardens, an old Saturday Evening Post, five or six comic books, and some other magazines with the covers torn off. It is doubtful that even normal youngsters would find these ragged adult magazines interesting. Fortunately, Mr. Handley, who was defensive at first, reversed himself a few days later and indicated changes would be made. But in looking at correctional institutions one always comes back to the American people and their elected representatives. As the National Council on Crime and Delinquency's Mr. Norman points out: "With the rise mands to relieve ing schools, busy to the problem — "It should be

of delinquency statistics and increasing de* overcrowding in detention homes and trainlegislators give way to the easiest 'solution' build more and larger institutions. obvious that if more effective community-

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based treatment is made available, fewer youngsters will be committed to the state. In spite of these facts, the major trend is the perpetuation of the correctional rut we are in. "Legislators are seldom aware that large institutions actually contribute to delinquency."

CHAPTER

PRISONS

FOR

7

CHILDREN— H

One never knows what he will find hidden behind a locked reform-school door. At the Florida School for Boys at Marianna I found Jim, a frail 16-year-old. His pajamas were covered with blood. In his hand he held a glass diffuser pried from a recessed lighting fixture. Jim had used it to gash his arm a dozen times from wrist to elbow. No one seemed to care. The night before, while in a large day room supervised by two guards, he had eaten a light bulb. No one seemed to care about that, either. As punishment he had been locked in solitary confinement — a common practice in institutions with neither qualified staff nor facilities to handle emotionally disturbed children. Jim's life has been filled with people who seem not to care. He has a "bunch" of stepbrothers and stepsisters he has never met, the result of his mother's living with various men. Welfare officials labeled him neglected, and the court placed him in a series of foster homes. He always ran away. He was first sent to Marianna at age 12 and was held two years and two months. During that time he was hit by guards and was twice beaten with a flogging strap, once for fighting with a larger boy who was trying to force him into a homosexual act. After living in a foster home for a year and a half, he was returned to Marianna for running away from another foster home and for sniffing glue. Jim had been locked up the

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second time for more than a year when I met him. He now was being punished for sniffing gasoline fumes at the school. After a lengthy interview I asked a school official to talk to Jim. Suddenly the boy began to shake, tears poured down his face, and he talked compulsively. "My whole life I've been slapped and kicked and beat," he said. "When things get too bad, I run. I just kept runnin' and runnin' and runnin'. I never broke into a place — I was too scared. I never stole a car — I don't even know how to drive." He talked for nearly half an hour. When he stopped, he seemed less tense. As he was led back to his cell the program director turned to me and said with no little surprise, "This is the first time that boy has ever opened up." It was not the only time that happened as I toured the nation's reform schools. Too often staff members have no time to talk to children. Many youngsters are reluctant to discuss delicate matters with officials who can punish them or prolong their stay. Some workers believe they are paid to be guards — nothing more, nothing less. At the Gainsville School for Girls in Texas one official said staff members are under orders to talk only of trivial things. Many employees are thrown into battle without training. I watched a very unpleasant young guard order small children around at the Fairfield School for Boys in Lancaster, Ohio. He was disciplining some by having them stand with their noses pressed against lockers for long periods. When I asked Morris J. McCoy, deputy superintendent, about this he said the guard was new and that he had never seen him before. Not that staff or administrator can be totally blamed. Some who become involved with these children find themselves emotionally exhausted. Normal middle-class teenagers in an average home can be trying at times. And one underpaid worker assigned to twenty or thirty or fifty or more children in trouble obviously cannot find time to listen to each child at length. Yet too often workers are indifferent. Jim's case was a typical example. The school nurse didn't learn that Jim had eaten a light bulb until I told her, twenty-four hours later. And I was the

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one who informed her of the cuts on his arm. No one else bothered to tell her. Even then she was not permitted to see the boy. A guard was supposed to check on Jim and the other boys locked in solitary on the far side of the building every halfhour. To prove he made his rounds the guard was to write down what each child was doing. In talking to a conscientious night man — a new guard — I discovered that he was under orders from his superior to fake the report. The boys had never been checked during his 8-hour shift for the several months he had been there. Faking reports in reform schools is not unusual. Nor is negligence of duty. At the Indiana Boys' School, for example, men working as social workers (most are social workers in name only and are not really qualified) were to check on boys in solitary confinement daily. An official there seemed surprised when I told him boys were fortunate if they saw their social worker once a week. He said he would try to change that. Too often administrators fail to understand that their goal is to help children in trouble. Like inmates who stay too long, officials become "institutionalized." They believe smooth operation and staff comfort are ends in themselves. This is the case in Delaware, where officials are more concerned with staff morale than boys with punctured eardrums. Even when administrators understand their goal, few can reach them. Some lack leadership ability. Guards — sometimes men who barely read and write — "run" institutions by banding together and threatening to quit. In rural areas the pressure can be great because cousins, aunts, uncles, and neighbors are hired. Robert T. Grey, superintendent at the Connecticut Reformatory in Cheshire, complained that some staff members "are harder to handle than the inmates." If there is one common cause of frustration at training schools it is staff. Leaders in the field agree that guards or cottage parents spend the most time with children and thus are the most influential people in the institution. "I'm sick and tired of getting nothing but emotional rejects," says Joseph P. Devine, the exasperated superintendent of the Rhode Island Training School for Boys. "What do you expect to get when you pay $3,100 a year

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for a 60-hour work week?" asks a South Carolina official explaining deplorable conditions in reform schools there. "We don't have standards for staff. All we get is a warm body," says Francis A. Ordway, superintendent of the Lyman School for Boys in Westboro, Mass. "Male cottage parents start at $86 a week and females get even less. Sometimes the boys [when paroled] can make more money than that. "The boys we get have failed in society. But the people we hire have, too. All we get are the leavings. Oh, we have some good staff, but that's not because of something we've done." At the Fairfield School for Boys in Lancaster, Ohio, guards — the staff members who spend the most time with the children— are required to have only a tenth-grade education. They start at $96 a week and in eighteen years can work up to $129. There are fringe benefits at Fairfield. Children provide a form of slave labor for staff. Youngsters in the auto shop, for example, work on an employee's car for fifty cents an hour. Of this, twenty-five cents goes to the boy's account and twenty-five cents goes into the school-entertainment fund. Youngsters also spend considerable time running a farm to supply fruit and vegetables for their school and other institutions. They operate the laundry and do other menial tasks — a common institutional practice. There is controversy on this point. For while on the surface letting children work saves taxpayers money and may be good for the children, many experts ask if this is sufficient to bring about a meaningful change in a child's behavior. If youngsters hoeing weeds fail to gain a better self-image and then graduate from the reform school into more serious crime — and thousands do — then a few dollars saved on vegetables can be costly. And giving children farm work is often the only effort made to rehabilitate them. For a youngster locked up, the break provided by farm work does have therapeutic values but accomplishes little in the way of changed attitudes. At the Youth Development Center at Warrendale, Pa., one of the state's more forward-looking institutions, farming was discontinued by Superintendent James Lamb because he does not believe it helps resolve deep-seated problems. At the Iowa Training School for Boys, Anthony P. Travi-

1 06

Children in Trouble

sono, superintendent at the time of my visit but now in Rhode Island, said, "We sold the farmland three years ago. We get very few farm kids, and we don't see much value in storing kids on a big farm." Dale E. Swenson is superintendent of Echo Glenn Children's Center in the mountains above Seattle, one of the nation's finest training schools. Mr. Swenson opposes use of children as institutional maintenance workers. 'Take these kids off work details in most institutions, and the institution would collapse," he says. "Work is valuable only as a learning experience." What are children learning? Take the Youth Training Center in St. Anthony, Idaho. Classroom teachers and other staff members stuff them with stories about how work is virtuous. But when they misbehave, the youngsters are assigned to work crews as punishment. Other experts add that perhaps farm work was meaningful thirty years ago, because reform-school graduates might find farm work after release. Some, like Mrs. Elizabeth Bode Van Waters, superintendent of the Massachusetts Industrial School for Girls at Lancaster, take the opposite view. She says, "I have a thing about farming, about the feel of the good earth." Her girls farm because she believes it is a "healthy, productive, fundamental occupation." Some institutions consider work as job training. At the Illinois State Training School for Girls at Geneva, inmates who work in the laundry may live on the grounds and work in laundries in town, although at reduced wages. At New Hampton, N.Y., several boys have been taught to weld. They earn $100 a week in town while living at the training school. The program is new. The controversy over children farming, or learning a trade, and over corporal punishment and solitary confinement, as discussed in earlier chapters, indicates the confusion found in the juvenile field. Everyone — layman or professional — has a theory. But in a field as barren of research and as complex as this one, no philosophy has won out. Treatment methods change as often as hair styles. The majority of reform schools have — in recent months —

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used Federal funds under Title 1 of the Education Act of 1965 to set up elaborately equipped reading laboratories. Many try to help boys and girls learn a trade or skill. Most turn out short-order cooks, welders, auto repairmen, printers, butchers, or lawn-maintenance workers. In some institutions, older youngsters may, if they stay long enough, earn state certification as barbers and beauticians. In many schools the superintendent defends his current program — often a combination of work, schooling, and discipline— as "the answer." He points to whatever yardstick he can grasp as "proof." others reform schools. Often he will criticize the programs of Conflict over which "panacea" is best has been going on for years. This, according to Allen F. Breed, head of the California Youth Authority, develops when various professions "come into vogue," pushing other disciplines aside. "One can recall that time which might best be described as the moral training period when the idea of discipline and re^ pressive confinement was thought to enhance personal controls," he says. "Then there was the vocational training period when institutions developed their entire program around the concept that by teaching a youth the skills of an occupation he could be released to find his rightful place in industry and again be accepted into community life. "We also had the recreational period when playground directors told us to teach a boy how to play and you have taught him how to live with his fellow man. "About that time the 'life can be beautiful' era came into bloom and its advocates preached the relaxed permissive atmosphere and the idea that a happy child is a well-adjusted child. "Academicians pushed their way into the scene claiming that school achievement governed the social adjustment and the panacea could be reached by teaching delinquents to read better. "Next we had the period of diagnosis and the social scientists came out of the ivy-covered halls of learning and left their parlor games of testing to become our messiahs of methodology to determine why Johnnie acts the way he does. "More recently, the good doctors from Topeka, Vienna, and points east came forth to lead us into the psychiatric pe-

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riod, in which we thought of our clients as sick people in need of medically oriented care. 'This has been followed with the therapeutic community, which in the broadest sense of the term incorporates all of the disciplines and all of the members of the institution community— staff and inmates — in the treatment process." This last point involves a team approach — social workers, psychiatrists, guards, schoolteachers working together. But does this happen? No, says Mr. Breed, because workers do not share a common goal. "Most of our supervisors [guards] see their jobs as controlling inmates and preventing serious problems from occurring. "Most of our teachers see their jobs as producing academic or vocational growth. "Most of our counselors see their jobs as processing the necessary paperwork and 'counseling' boys around major problem areas that may occur. "Maintenance, feeding, farm and other service personnel see their jobs as meeting the production demands of the institution." None of these activities is the primary goal, he says. "We must recognize that the basic goal of all of us should be to change delinquents into nondelinquents." Until staffs recognize this and work as treatment teams with common goals, "treatment will not take place," he adds. But even this may not be the answer if large institutions are, in fact, poor places to help children. As has been stressed in this book, institutions fail, in part, because they cannot deal with the basic causes of delinquency. What can a reform school do about an alcoholic home? Poverty? The breakdown of the family? High mobility that gives children few roots? The failure of the church to meet the challenge of an age that worships money, cars, big houses, clothing, toys, and other goods? The pursuit of pleasure as a national pastime? The trend to escape in drugs, alcohol, even television? The withering of the tradition of helping one's neighbor? Most children in trouble read at a level at least three years below other children of the same age. Some cannot read at all. Most have a strong dislike for school. Some are mentally retarded. Others are hyperactive. Some are emotionally ill.

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While boys are generally normal in appearance, although some may be small for their age, a high percentage of the girls can be described as very plain or overweight. Many children in trouble are immature and extremely selfish. Bed-wetting is fairly common — even for tough city youngsters 14 or 15 or 16. Some teenage girls still suck their thumbs. Many have dental problems. Girls usually have been sexually active. Both boys and girls are usually starved for affection and attention. Permanent homemade tattoos often are applied with needle, thread, and ink or with a ball-point pen while in a detention home, jail, or reform school. Other youngsters have ugly scars. To prove their courage some placed lighted cigarettes on their arms. Few children in trouble ever have succeeded at anything except irritating parents, teachers, neighbors, policemen — most adults they come in contact with. They do not make their school ball teams; they do not make high grades. Often they have not had an opportunity to earn money with a parttime job — although many are excited about the prospect of working. A reform school only emphasizes these failures and makes it more difficult to help the child. "When you take the child from his parents, from his home and neighborhood, the court and community is telling the child, 'We don't want you — we don't need you,' " explains Washington State's Mr. Swenson. "You put the child in an environment of tainted people with no positive models except the keepers — men and women who may themselves be distorted within — and then call that corrective." Reform-school administrators too often lack alternatives. They have a school and/ or work program, and if this doesn't fit the child's needs, that is too bad. It is like having only one shoe store in town, and that store carries only one size of shoe — seven A. Everyone in need of shoes must wear that size regardless of what he needs. A reform school may be prepared to deal with Billy, a 14year-old with reading problems who comes from a poor home and was caught breaking into a filling station, or Sharon, a bright girl who runs away from home. But what will they do with:

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Children in Trouble

• Debbie, a huge, poorly coordinated 12-year-old Galveston, Texas, girl with an I.Q.- of about 60, who sometimes sees birds flying out of walls. • Sandra, a 15-year-old Washington girl who, after being sexually used by her father since she was 11, developed homosexual tendencies and is a prostitute because she "likes the money," and has not been in school in two years. • Carl, a 7-year-old California boy who compulsively lights fires and burned down a neighbor's house. • Beth, a bright, 16-year-old middle-class girl from Salt Lake City who started taking LSD and ended up leaving home. • Harold, 15, who has never broken the law but has been in Massachusetts reform school three years because his father has disappeared, mother else doesn't want him. him, and the judge decided there was hisnowhere to send These are all real cases. The Texas girl might be sent to a special school for retarded children in Denton. But she is eightieth on the list, officials say. The child who is No. 1 on the list has been on that list two years, they add. This problem is typical nationally. In Illinois, for example, one official estimates some two to three thousand retarded children are waiting to enter institutions. The emotionally disturbed child often has nowhere else to go. Few mental hospitals are prepared to help youngsters. Many have become dumping grounds for unwanted children. It is easy to lock up these children. But if they are to be salvaged, then they must be able to return to the community. Recognition of this has led thoughtful men and women dealing with children in trouble to urge redoubling of efforts to help children in their home communities. In line with this, John A. Troike of the Illinois Youth Commission suggested that the best answer to the reform-school problem is to "bulldoze them to the ground." So far no legislature has had the courage to follow this advice— even when men like Washington State's Mr. Swenson say with conviction:

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"The institution is the worst form of treatment there is." Assuming that reform schools, prisons, and other institutions for children remain in use, then the stopgap answer must be the improvement of these institutions. Physical plants afe poor in much of the East and Midwest In some sections of the South and most of the Far West they are better. But an institution cannot be measured by its buildings. As in a university, the key is the staff. The public must see that institutions are headed by the best possible people; that they are kept small — fifty is often considered the ideal size; that they are designed to help a variety of children with a variety of problems; that workers are intelligent, compassionate, skilled people. Mr. Breed, of California, sees two advantages of holding children in institutions. This "guarantees their attendance" in programs and makes it possible to coordinate services of a variety of professionals. But first the institutions must find qualified professionals, and those in institutions must be backed up with help in the home communities. Administrators constantly complain that the psychologists and social workers they hii'e "have more problems than the kids." But the social workers and psychologists complain, too. Many deal with a hundred children or more. Often they have little or no background information on the children. "We're supposed to have field workers who send us information about the child and his family," says a social worker at the New York State Training School for Girls. "I've had kids here for three months without any data. And even those who call on the homes aren't doing their jobs. They tell us how many other kids are in the family and whether the home is clean or dirty — things like that. But they don't send us information that means anything. And they're not helping parents. "Last Sunday there was a woman up here who said, 'Hey, I thought somebody was supposed to tell me how to help my daughter.' " Usually the community court is supposed to supply training schools with a report. Says one official at the Iowa Training School for Boys in

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Children in Trouble

Eldora, "We're supposed to get reports from the county that sends the boy, but frequently we don't get anything." Shortage of professional staff can be readily seen at State Correctional Institution at Camp Hill, Pa. The day I visited last summer there were roughly eight hundred boys between the ages of 15 and 21. Because it was summer, the number was down. The staff consisted of 140 guards, 1 psychiatrist, 4 psychologists, and 4 social workers. While the Boys School at Green Hill, Wash., can pay a better salary than most institutions, and its table of organization calls for eight psychiatric social workers, it has only two who are actually qualified. Not only does staff have to be adequate, but there are other considerations. One is extremely simple but is consistently overlooked: Staff and children must be matched. This is true not only of social workers and guards but of parents, schoolteachers, and all others who come in contact with children. Dr. Rita Q. Warren, a social researcher with the California Youth Authority, has developed a scale ranging from one to seven to measure the social maturity of children — making matching easier. It is based on one's relationship to others, or "I-level" (for interpersonal relationships). Lowest on the scale: the infant who is totally dependent and self-centered and who knows only that when he cries he gets help. Next, the child who recognizes a basic relationship between himself and another human. And so on, up to the opposite end of the scale to the individual who has great insight into his own behavior and the motivation and behavior of others. The "six or seven" is a rare individual who is aware of the many roles he and others play day by day and is not self -centered. Individual staff members are measured for their strengths and to discover which kinds of children they work best with. Some are tolerant of the extremely immature child, but do not work well with the sophisticated delinquent. Others may not be able to stand the hyperactive child, but are very patient with plodders. Most delinquents fall into the two, three, or four category, while workers tend to be fours, fives, and occasionally sixes. Too few correctional workers — even the trained professionals— really understand the children they deal with. In a book-

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let published by the Office of Juvenile Delinquency and Youth Development, a division of the U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, the lack of understanding of the problems of children has been spelled out. Called Analyzing Delinquent Behavior — A New Approach, the booklet argues that what is delinquent behavior for a white suburban child may be normal behavior for a youngster from the slums — whether urban or rural. It was written by John M. Martin and Joseph P. Fitzpatric, professors of sociology at Fordham University, and by Dr. Robert E. Gould, a professor of psychiatry at New York University and senior psychiatrist in charge of adolescent services at Bellevue Hospital psychiatric division. "Delinquency in a given neighborhood is not simply the acting out of personality defects, but rather largely represents patterns of behavior that should realistically, because of cultural and other structural reasons, be expected to occur in that setting," they suggest. They add that to really solve the problems of children it is probably necessary for professionals to "know the delinquent within the context of his own community. Otherwise you don't really know him at all." This might help explain why so few psychiatrists are able to help delinquents in reform schools. "The training of psychiatrists, psychologists, and social workers ... is not geared to train practitioners to scrutinize human behavior from this perspective," the authors explain. One of the most controversial areas at present is the heavy use of tranquilizing and antidepressant drugs on children in trouble. This is known as chemotherapy. Two institutions, the Iowa Training School for Boys and the Juvenile Evaluation Center at Swannanoa, N.C., have used drugs most extensively. In North Carolina I found many children getting hypodermic injections every two weeks and "booster" medication taken orally after meals. Officials explained that mental hospitals have been using drugs "for oVer fifteen years." The drugs slow down overactive children, pep up those who are sluggish, says Harold W. Stephan, director of the clinical division at the center. He says it has cut the runaway rate, reduced fighting, and helped children "become consistently happy." "We have the most disturbed children in the juvenile cor-

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rectional system," he says. "Many have serious emotional disorders." While at the institution they participate in remedial reading, special education, vocational training, and other programs. Many youngsters, when they are released, are expected to continue taking the drugs indefinitely. But some psychiatrists and physicians call the use of these drugs "dangerous," and others contend that it is an easy way out — that the youngsters on medication are turned into "zombies" who never come to grips with their problems. Who are the children being controlled with drugs and why are they locked up? This varies greatly. Here are three case histories from the North Carolina files. Joe was 1 3 when he was admitted to the Reception Unit in February 1968. A few days later he was transferred to the Residential Unit for evaluation and treatment. Joe is part Indian and lived on the Cherokee Reservation with his parents and three brothers and sisters. Active in tribal, church, and community affairs, the family is respected in the community and has tried to "work with the school and social agencies" to solve Joe's problem. "Joe's trouble appears to have started at about age 7 when he showed quite a bit of nervousness and is reported to have suffered from an intestinal condition which necessitated frequent trips to the bathroom," the report states. "By the time he was 11 years old he was presenting such a disciplinary problem to the school that the principal asked the United States Public Health Service to consider referral to a psychiatrist. This referral was not forthcoming and something had to be done. The social workers had had a number of contacts with Joe and observed a low tolerance for frustration, extreme immaturity, and erratic behavior. Some of the things Joe did were to stay out of school, form a gang and steal from the local merchants. He is known to have become so intoxicated that his parents had him locked up for his and their protection. The parents were frank to admit that Joe was beyond their control and the training school seemed to be the only logical solution. "Joe's attitude to all of this and his problems is one of contrition [that is, he feels remorseful]. He readily admits that he was out of control of himself as well as his parents. There may be a good chance of reaching this young lad.

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"He finds himself in trouble primarily because of a reaction to adolescence along with the impression given by Dr. : Chronic Brain Syndrome, associated with focal epilepsy, cause undetermined. He is receiving \Vi grains of Dilantin after breakfast and supper along with Thorazine 50 mg. four times daily." Curt's story is quite different. In February 1968 he was sent to the grim Stonewall Jackson Training School for being "out of control" and for glue sniffing. Three months later he was transferred to the Residential Unit in Swannanoa, where chemotherapy has been used. Curt is 16; his parents have been separated for several years. His mother works as a waitress at a motel from 3 p.m. to 1 1 p.m. His father is an alcoholic and lives in Florida. Although Curt's mother has a home, Curt and his 5V^year-old illegitimate sister have lived with their grandparents — the mother of the two children visiting daily and on weekends.

i

Curt's first contact with the law came in the spring of 1967 when he was hauled into court for stealing a car, then breaking into a school and taking two microphones. The youth, then 15, was put on probation. The following fall the assistant principal at the school he attended caught Curt and three other boys sniffing glue. The case was continued until his mother took him to court on the charge that Curt was "out of control" — this because he continued to sniff glue and was skipping school. He was sent first to a local hospital and then to the reform school. The counselor assigned to the case at Swannanoa wrote, "We have here a boy from a broken home who has not known parental love or guidance. The instability which he has experienced has resulted in a stunting of normal emotional growth. There has been a lack of adequate models for proper ego development. In this case it seems the stress that has been placed on him is slowly building into a psychosis. Curt has ambivalent feelings toward his mother. Probably some of this is due to her having the illegitimate child. "Curt has already been seen by Dr. and placed on medication. He is a good guitar player and this should be encouraged. At one time he had indicated a desire to attend Brevard College and study classical guitar, but has now

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changed his mind. He should be referred to Vocational Rehabilitation." Swannanoa is one of the few coeducational reform schools in the country. This is an important breakthrough in the South. One of the girls there, Laura, a thin redhead of 15, arrived in the summer of 1968. When she was tested, officials found her I.Q. to be 127. Her parents are separated, apparently because of her father's heavy drinking and violent and abusive behavior. Ten years ago her mother had a nervous breakdown, and she is still undergoing therapy at a mental health clinic. "Laura was an excellent and popular student" at the high school she attended, according to her counselor at the reform school. "While there she met, and began to date at school functions, a Negro boy, then a senior. This went on for about eight months, and when her mother found out about it, she took [Laura] to the mental health clinic for evaluation. Dr. found nothing emotionally wrong with Laura and felt this was something that could be expected in an integrated school. He felt the relationship would come to a natural end after the boy went to Western Carolina University. It was felt the boy was trying to terminate the romance, as he stood Laura up two weekends in a row. On the second Saturday Laura attempted suicide in the short time her mother was away from the home while at a friend's home. Her mother returned to find her unconscious and she was taken to the hospital following a massive dose of assorted pills. Laura says she did not really mean to go so far, but felt the need for someone to notice her situation and help her. She says she found her parents' marital problems intolerable and also felt her father cared nothing for her. "Following Laura's release from the hospital she was committed to the Juvenile Center immediately. . . . She was diagnosed as passive aggressive personality by Dr. and placed on medication. Since being here at the Center, Laura has more or less minded her own business. She does not form close friendships and does not become involved in activities. She has given no serious problems other than trying to manipulate workers in securing an early release. In therapy, she is obviously reaching out for a close relationship, which we have been attempting to fulfill . . ." The final line of this report is the most telling about chemo-

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therapy. For the counselor wrote, "It might be interesting to see how she would respond without medication prior to her release." Experimenting on children in institutions is common — whether in the use of drugs or with other forms of "treatment." In California those from the behavioristic school of psychology are setting up an experiment at one school of four hundred boys, while those who believe in insightive group therapy are working with another four hundred at a companion school. The behaviorists will try to change children with only material rewards — money, a pat on the back, whatever a child responds to. The theory seems to be that every child has his price, and if he is paid off, he will do whatever the staff wants him to do. The group therapists are interested in giving the boy insight into his "inner self' — believing that if a child gains this kind of knowledge he will be able to control himself. Both approaches are being used — without Research attached — at scattered institutions around the country. Richard Sowles, chief of psychological services at the Utah State Industrial School, was quite candid. He said he took the low-paying job because he could experiment with children. He hoped this would help him gain a national name, which could lead to a better position. While many argue that this is the only way to learn how to deal with children in trouble, it raises questions about the use of children as guinea pigs.

CHAPTER

8

PRISONS FOR CHILDREN— III

"This is something we're not proud of," Paul J. Spata said as we walked up the cement steps of one of the tired brick buildings at Boys Training School at Lansing, Mich. "We've been trying to get a $40,000 emergency appropria-

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tion from the legislature for six months to do something about this god-awful detention unit. So far we haven't been able to get the money." Dr. Spata, who was coach at the school before becoming its director about five years ago, had reason to be disturbed. Six ugly steel doors lined the east wall of a short corridor. Open one of these doors and you find a cubicle with high ceilings and walls of chipped and scratched brown institutional tile. Opposite the door a little light leaks through a high window that is partially covered with sheet metal and screened with wire mesh. Beneath the window a cement platform has been built, and at night it holds a mattress. A ceramic toilet was attached to the wall of the cell I entered, but the sink had been ripped off. There is nothing else in the room; nothing to read, nothing to do. the"Mr. doors.Spata, Mr. Spata," a boy called from behind one of "Okay, just a minute," he said, unbolting a small steel flap about halfway up from the floor. Two small faces appeared at the opening. "Do you know when I'll get out of here?" one of the boys, a very small 12-year-old, asked. "No, but we'll be discussing it at a meeting tomorrow," Dr. Spata replied. "We'll let you know then." The little fellow was locked in because he suffers from what Carlton Peters, director of group care and counseling at the institution, calls flight syndrome. That means the youth runs away. After we left the building, Dr. Spata turned to me and asked a question I have heard in many states: "How can you deal with chronic runners in any other way? I hope you have an answer, because I'd like to brick that place up and never use it again." The question points up where we are in the juvenile correctional field. It shows how little we know about children in trouble. It suggests the short distance we have come from the days of medieval dungeons. And it again makes clear that the people of this nation are more interested in cold storage of children than in helping them. The reform school in Lansing is not one of those bitterly brutal places that I found scattered around the country. Instead it fits somewhere toward the bottom of that broad

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middle group of institutions where too few children are really helped and too many are hurt, despite heroic efforts of some dedicated staff members. "Our runaway rate is probably one of the highest in the nation," Dr. Spata says. "Right now we're averaging two a day." The old brown brick duplex "cottages" sleep between thirty and thirty-five youngsters in a single room. An ideal cottage at the nation's better schools houses between eight and twelve boys. The youngsters do much of the work to keep the institution running — scrubbing floors, maintaining the grounds, working in the kitchen and laundry, whatever needs to be done. While some traditionalists argue that this is therapeutic, most experts believe it does little to change a youngster's behavior. There is an excellent field house — larger than that of many high schools, with space enough for five full-size basketball courts under one roof, if needed. And there is an excellent indoor swimming pool. An old gym has been converted into an attractive chapel. There is an old vocational building, but the program is "primitive," Mr. Spata admits. "We're only one step beyond making buggy whips." Lower-echelon staff members are paid "about the same as sweepers" who clean the floor of Lansing factories. From time to time a worker will lash out and hit a child. "I would be highly suspicious of anyone running one of these schools who denies this happens," he says, noting that he is presently preparing a case against an employee who was fired for this. The worker, under civil service, is fighting his Removal. "You sometimes get a call at home at night, and you come down, and it makes you sick enough to want to turn your back on the school and leave it for good." All employees sign statements that they understand corporal punishment is against the rules. There are bright spots, like the academic school. All of the teachers are qualified in special education. I found them bright, imaginative, and skilled. Most are very pretty young ladies who wear current styles. This has solved many problems, according to Dr. Spata, and he recommends that other schools go this route. Class sizes are limited to ten boys per

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teacher, and teachers' aides are being used. The school also is making use of team treatment, and decisions are made by line staff rather than administrators, who are not dealing with youngsters day by day. The very successful "Hooked on Books" program was developed at another Michigan reform school by Dr. Daniel N. Fader, and it is followed in Lansing. Boys, some of whom have never owned a book, are encouraged to carry paperbacks in their pockets. This and a remedial reading program mean that some youngsters may advance as much as two years in a 6-month period, working at their own speed with individualized attention. Federal funds have made it possible to buy equipment like projectors, recorders — even a closed-circuit television system. Youngsters who make various athletic teams compete against students from smaller high schools in central Michigan. Some staff members are starting to take more youngsters on off-grounds field trips. Yet, in addition to the horrible detention unit, two locked cottages house runaways, and there is only one teacher in each. It is an unpopular assignment, and staff members in these cottages are too often either the newest or the less able, but the teacher is considered to be "as good as any we've got." Because he must work with forty youngsters, there is "far too much idle time," however. The institution also has a halfway house on the grounds for "about fifteen kids" who attend the local high school and work part-time or full-time in the community. Their employers include hamburger stands, auto dealers, retail stores, and printing firms. While the training school in Lansing is horrible, compared to those found in the best states, it is fairly typical of schools in the East and some sections of the Midwest. In one area Michigan is far ahead of most states: the use of small institutions, camps, and halfway houses. In addition to the halfway house on the training-school grounds, there is another open unit for twelve boys a short distance from the Capitol in Lansing. And there are two in Detroit, two in Flint, one in Kalamazoo, and one in Muskegon. The state is also trying to find more group foster homes — families that can take from four to six youngsters who cannot live in their own homes.

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Vergil M. Pinckney, who heads the several branches of the Boys Training School, points out that 18.9 percent of all delinquents committed to the school were placed elsewhere. But there are no funds to see how many of these boys have succeeded and how many eventually were transferred to institutions. The case builds against the large institutions when one crosses Lake Michigan to Wisconsin. For while training schools there are new, well-staffed, and innovative, results are still little better than in states that spend far less. Far too many boys are returned again and again, and I found, as in Michigan, heavy use of grim cells for boys who run or break rules in other ways. The Wisconsin School for Boys west of Milwaukee at Wales is located in rolling, wooded country some distance from town, but within easy expressway driving distance for parents. The Wales school was opened in 1959. The Lansing institution, which is in a residential district, is 104 years older. Superintendent Roland C. Hershman is one of those rare individuals who can call almost all of the 300 inmates by name, and can discuss intimate details of their personal problems without pulling out a file folder. Because the institution is surrounded by a high fence, boys have free run of the grounds, and they are relaxed and open. There is a traditional school program because "we have to return these boys to traditional schools." Perhaps the most unusual subject is driver training. Youngsters are frequently taken off the grounds for field trips — usually as rewards for good performance. This may be to the theater and a restaurant. There is an "honor cottage" where boys have a great deal more individual responsibility — like waking themselves up in the morning. But even those youngsters in the regular program have private rooms and they are permitted to have many personal objects, even their own television sets. "These kids have to accept the fact that there will always be kids who ride to school in Cadillacs and kids who don't even have bus fare," Mr. Hershman says. As in so many other states, the school is the dumpingground for a wide variety of troublesome and unwanted children, including some classified as retarded and others as

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brain-damaged. But even here emphasis is on letting every child experience success. "One defective with an IQ of around 30 is assigned to put the flag on the flagpole each day," Mr. Hershman says. "Each day he learns that he can do at least one thing right." As in most institutions, there are success stories as well as failures. The successes are more often youngsters who are not locked into a pattern of delinquency by frequent brushes with the police. Ron is 17. He was 2 when his father left his family. Eventually Ron's mother was granted a divorce. She remarried; the man sired three daughters, became an alcoholic, and the marriage broke up again. Ron, living in a house with a woman and three little girls, had little concept of what a man should be. Three times he ran away from home, the third time to California to live as a flower-child for a year. Eventually he returned and was sent to the school at Wales. He couldn't stop talking about an experience there — a 5-day canoe trip. "It was fabulous, and I had time to think about myself and about my relationship to other people," he says. I met Ron in midsummer. He would get his high-school diploma in time to enroll for the fall term at the University of Minnesota as a "high-risk" student, he said. He had expected life to be miserable at the reform school, but found it to be just the opposite. And until now he thought college was just a dream — a place where kids with fathers went. But Tony, 16, felt differently. He was first sent to Wales when he was 14 for "hangin' around the wrong people, burglary, armed robbery, stuff like that." He came back as a parole violator. "Only thing I'm tryin' to do now is get out of this place," he says. "You ain't got no freedom up here. The only girls you see are the teachers and the social workers. I used to get mad easy. I had a temper. But not any more. You get mad and they keep you longer. I figure I know how to beat the system now." An even newer school, Kettle Moraine, was opened in 1962 halfway between Milwaukee and Green Bay near Plymouth, Wis. The day I was there 303 youngsters were on the grounds, although the school was built for 287. Boys go on fishing trips, snow-mobiling in the winter, and on home visits. Young-

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sters even build soapbox derby cars and compete for a chance to go to Akron, Ohio. Boys may be locked in their rooms for minor infractions. I found one locked up for not having made his bed. Others are locked in detention cells. Most inmates find the academic school "better than back home." Boys who have trouble learning find that "the teachers here help you a lot more." Many youths insist that "if the school on the outside was like this, I wouldn't mind going." Cottages at Kettle Moraine are clean, comfortable, wellequipped for group living, recreation, and studying. Staff members on the whole seem to be as good as those found anywhere. But even with this, too many inmates are returned within a few months after they are released. Thus the reform schools in Wisconsin and Michigan may be at the extreme ends of the broad middle group of institutions that would include, among others, those in such states as California, Oregon, Idaho, Utah, New York, Virginia, Georgia, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Maine, Pennsylvania, and Iowa. They are neither as bad as those found in Indiana, South Carolina, or Delaware, nor as good as Echo Glen in the State of Washington or the Weeks School in Vermont (both coeducational). But all of these institutions fail more than they succeed day after day, month after month. As has been pointed out before, the reasons are clear. At best they fail to deal with the environmental things back home that produced the problem child. Also, an institution gives too little warmth, understanding, and love — the things almost all these children need. And while a child may learn how to read or to stop fighting, too seldom does true, permanent attitudinal change take place. What hope, then, is there for the large institutions? Many experts suggest they are a waste of taxpayer's money. Yet a pragmatic person must assume that after spending millions to build these places, few states will turn them into state parks or junior college campuses. What to do? Harry Vorrath, a former Marine, policeman, law student, seminarian, and in rectent years social worker with a master's degree, strongly believes large correctional institutions should be shut down. But he also believes there are answers within their framework as long as such institutions exist.

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Mr. Vorrath was given the opportunity to prove that his ideas worked with small groups in Kentucky, Washington, D.C., and in scattered spots across the country. The projects were successful. He was able to turn small groups of tough delinquents around. But Mr. Vorrath wanted to try his program at a large institution. He got his chance in 1968 after things fell apart at a rather average reform school at Red Wing, Minn. Youngsters rioted and ran. Mr. Vorrath was called in. Using a technique that might be described as building a culture of caring, Mr. Vorrath divides the boys into groups of ten each. Every member of each group is responsible for all the boys in his group. Thus positive peer pressure helps delinquents learn to care for themselves and others. Fortunately, Mr. Vorrath had the strong support of Superintendent Milton S. Olson and his staff. They turned the institution around in seven months. Runs have nearly stopped, along with other problems. It was done without staff members beating youngsters. More important, depressed, hating boys have been turned into young men who care. "I'm one of the old-time guys here," says white-haired Mike Reier. "I used to think the only way to handle these boys was to crack heads, to use force to make them behave. And to prove it, I've got a bad leg that came from a tussle with two boys. "I've never seen anything like this. I used to watch the boys every minute. Now they go out and cut the grass without supervision. We've been letting the boys saw the bars off the windows." Edward Bruggenman, also a long-time employee, puts it this way: "For the first time we've really got something to work with and to work for." Mr. Vorrath believes that this "something" is teaching tough, troubled boys to care deeply enough for each other so that they will help each others." His program is built kind," he adds. "I'm makes a Marine crawl

other to stop "hurting themselves and on love — "not the sweet, sugar-coated talking about the unselfish love that on his belly into enemy fire to save a

wounded buddy." Mr. Vorrath began to develop his program while working

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with tough delinquents at Highfields in New Jersey, one of the first places to use group therapy to deal with delinquency. There can be little doubt that the program works. At Red Wing I talked to boys sprawled on the lawn playing chess on a warm Sunday afternoon. Others batted a baseball around — all without supervision. The boys learn to help each other stay out of trouble. Two-, three-, and four-time losers agree that before Mr. Vorrath arrived they could "con" the staff into letting them go home by pretending to conform to institutional requirements. No attitudinal improvement took place. All this is changing. Under Mr. Vorrath's program, youngsters can't return to the community until they learn to care. "We decide when it's time for a guy to go home," said one 15-year-old, who has been in institutions for a third of his life. "You can't con a con." There are still important questions to be answered. Will Mr. Vorrath's culture of caring — what one finds in a strong, happy family — last after Mr. Vorrath has moved on to other institutions? Can he teach others to build this culture? And can youngsters so absorb this philosophy of caring deeply for others that they can survive on their own in the harsh, dogeat-dog world they came from? Minnesota has given Mr. Vorrath a chance to prove that all this can happen. When Oliver J. Keller, Jr., director of the Division of Youth Services in Florida, visited the school late in the summer of 1969, he quickly wrote a letter to the governor of Minnesota announcing that it was the first large correctional institution he has seen that he has liked. Other professionals who have visited Red Wing apparently agree. Since then I have talked to many who have not seen it, and they remain skeptical. "There are always fads in this field," said one old-timer. "I read that Vorrath's program hasn't done much for the chronic runner. They still lock those boys up at Red Wing. I'll decide whether I should look at it in a year or two. If people are still raving about it then, well, maybe he's got something." Adds Mr. Pinckney, who heads the Boys Training School in Michigan: "My objection to the Vorrath program is simply

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that it is the only program in the institution, and with a variety of children I believe you need a variety of approaches." Whatever the criticism, I was more heartened by what I saw at Red Wing than by anything else going on in large institutions anywhere in America.

CHAPTER

HARD

LESSONS

9

LEARNED

It is my hope that this chapter will serve as a rough guidebook to those of you who seek reform of brutal treatment of children in institutions. But it also must serve as a warning that you may find yourself denounced as a liar or worse, former friends may try to discredit you for political reasons, thousands of persons will ignore what you say, and you and your family may be threatened. All this happened to me. This, then, is the story of my experiences in three states: Delaware, South Carolina, and Indiana. It is best to begin with the reminder that I began working full time in our system of justice in 1966, when the editors of The Christian Science Monitor asked me to research and write Crisis in the Courts. That series ran in The Monitor in the spring of 1967, and David McKay Company, Inc., published the book a year later. One article in the series was on juvenile justice, and that chapter in the book was called "Children in Trouble." It was in 1968 that I decided to devote my full time to this subject. By November 1968, I had visited institutions in the Pacific Northwest, the Rocky Mountain states, the Southwest, a few Midwestern states, New England, and part of the Eastern Seaboard. Now I was working my way south. In investigative work one never knows how long he will spend in a state, for that is determined by what he does or does not find. Now and then I could make appointments days in advance. But more often I was forced to enter a new state without having made any contacts. Because Crisis in the

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Courts had received some measure of attention from those in the legal profession, I usually got in touch with judges first, having found that that was the best way to avoid wasting time. It was around midnight on Dec. 9, 1968, when I pulled my rented car into a motel a few miles from Wilmington, Del. Early on December 10, I called Albert J. Stiftel, presiding judge in the Superior Court, a man I knew and respected. I was told that he was ill, but two other judges invited me out to lunch and I accepted. I was also given the name of Judge Joseph P. Hurley of the Family Court. I called him, and he agreed to let me visit him immediately. We talked about court records, procedures, problems. Then I was ushered into the courtroom of Judge Herbert L. Cobin to observe a judge at work. He appeared both knowledgeable and skilled — a better judge than most I had observed in this field. Later, in his chambers, when I asked him about his background I found out why. Not only was he a lawyer, but he had training as a psychologist and had worked in that capacity in World War II. Also he had been president of the Delaware Correctional Council, a group dedicated to prison reform. He understood his job as judge and the problems of children more clearly than most across the nation. As my interview ended, I explained that I wanted to visit Delaware institutions, but had not had an opportunity to make contact with the appropriate officials. Judge Cobin then asked his secretary to see if Robert Burton, contact for the Ferris School for Boys, was in the courthouse. He was, and Mr. Burton made arrangements for me to visit Ferris that afternoon. Before I left for my luncheon appointment, Judge Hurley and Judge Cobin invited me to return at 8:30 the following morning to attend their weekly meeting with one of the family service agencies in the community. After lunch I drove to the reform school and was cordially received by the acting director, Robert Shortall. We talked and then he gave me free run of the institution — a step that gave me the impression that all was well. But I quickly changed my mind when I visited the academic school — one of the worst I had seen. Even in states where the institution as a whole is poor, the academic program is often excellent. This is partly because

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Federal funds have been made available, partly because even the worst superintendents understand that most children in trouble have serious school problems. But at the Ferris school, where 202 boys were housed the day I visited it, there was little or no equipment; I was told that three thousand dollars had been spent on library books, but these books were still in unopened boxes; there was a shortage of classroom space and teachers; there was no remedial reading program; and the principal, who had never worked in a public school, did not seem to understand many of the questions I asked him. After this depressing visit I had dinner with the boys in the cafeteria. There I asked why the boys were so quiet, and I was told that they were not permitted to talk. I also noted several had shaved heads. And youngsters were marched about the grounds in a fashion frowned upon by leaders in the juvenile school field. It was when I began interviewing youngsters that I discovered hitting boys in the face was the approved method of discipline. Then I found some with punctured eardrums, others who had been hit in the face with a belt, and many complained that when staff members were angry they did not stop with a slap to the face, they threw punches, kicked, and did other things described in better reform schools as "brutality." Conducting interviews with delinquent children is a risky business for those who are inexperienced, but by now I had talked to hundreds of youngsters across the country. I found that by working slowly, making it clear that I cared about them as human beings, asking first about their mothers and brothers and sisters (a child can quickly sense insincerity), I could get them to tell me the truth. By watching a child's eyes and hands, and by taking him back and forth across the same ground again and again in the questioning process in a non-threatening way, I could soon tell if they were being honest with me. In a group interview I could also watch other youngsters react to a child's statement. A fleeting smirk, a negative head or body movement, or some other sign would convince me that I should probe further. Beyond this, I would call in other boys mentioned as witnesses to beatings and other forms of mistreatment. With each I would follow the same process, taking an hour or more,

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finally asking questions that would provide the answers needed to confirm or deny a charge. When I finally left the reform school I went back to my motel room and thought for several hours about conditions in the Ferris school, wondering what I should do. For children were being hurt. Ferris was the worst institution I had seen. Yet those who ran it were selling it as the best in the nation. The following morning I returned to the family court to sit in on the meeting with representatives from agencies who deal with the court — in this case, two women from the welfare department. (This is a practice that all courts might consider.) After the meeting I started to leave, but on an impulse asked Judge Cobin if I could see him in private. It was at this time that I told him of what I had found and how I felt obligated to try to stop the brutality, even if it meant destroying my story. Judge Cobin was shocked. While he had not met me before, he had read my book and, of course, knew the reputation of the newspaper I worked for. We talked at length, and then he asked me to put the charges in writing, assuring me several times that the "Youth Services Commission is made up of fine, dedicated people who will want to stop this brutality. I know that they will thank you and the people of Delaware will thank you. There will be no whitewash, I can promise you that." When I returned to Chicago on December a letter to Judge Cobin. I wrote:

16, I dictated

I want to thank you again for permitting me to visit your court last week. I left your chambers with a good feeling about Delaware. Unfortunately this did not carry over to my visit to the Ferris School. There I found conditions shocking. I am writing you about this because I am in a peculiar position. As a reporter I have quite a story. Evidence of vicious brutality. An inadequate school program. A training school that may well be the worst in the nation. Strong copy. But my series is not scheduled to begin until April. And conditions are so bad that something needs to be done now. Apparently members of the Ferris staff are permitted to hit children. Several youngsters told me they were receiving medication for punctured eardrums and for other injuries. The damaged

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eardrums are caused by hard slaps with the open hand across the ear. There is evidence that children also are disciplined with belts. In some instances they are being hit in the face. I discovered that in at least one cottage when a boy runs, several other boys are taken out of the school to track the missing youngster down. While this in itself is a questionable practice, the boys tell me that when the runaway returns, the boys who were hunting for him are stripped to their underwear. Then they are permitted to kick and beat the boy for 10 or 15 minutes. Homosexuality — much of it forced — is a growing problem. This is especially true in the "jug" — the cottage where the more troublesome youngsters are placed. It is my understanding that all new arrivals are held in this same confinement area for several days, and many youngsters who have been committed for minor offenses are being sexually attacked by the more experienced inmates. As for the school, it is clearly fourth rate. I was told that it is accredited. This indicates to me that either (a) all Delaware schools are poor, or (b) the accreditation board is not doing its job. Normally I would print the story and that would be that. However, with a deadline more than three months off I feel something should be done now. I write you because I believe you will understand my concern and because you may be in a position to bring about change. I should add that the acting director, I believe his name was Robert Shortall, was more than fair in opening the school up to me for my visit. I would appreciate hearing from you on this matter as soon as possible. I am contemplating another trip to Delaware in January to gather more data. Sincerely, Howard James Chief, Midwestern News Bureau Judge Cobin held the letter for several days, wondering what to do with it. Later he told me he talked to a number of people, including the chief justice of the state supreme court. Then he sent it out with a covering letter to out-going Governor Charles L. Terry, Jr., incoming Governor Russell W. Peterson, and to Hugh J. Murphy, Jr., chairman of the Youth Services Commission.

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Between Christmas and New Year I received a call from Wayne Pollari, a school vice principal and a member of the commission. A 3 -man committee had been formed to investigate my charges, he said, and wondered if I would be willing to return and work with them. Again assured there would be no whitewash, I agreed to return on Saturday, Jan. 6, 1969, to meet with these men. Since the National Council on Crime and Delinquency was studying juvenile institutions for the state, I called Willis O. Thomas, eastern regional director, and asked him if he wanted to sit in. This, I found later, was a wise decision on my part. I arrived Friday night and met Mr. Thomas Saturday morning for breakfast. As we were eating, a representative of the commission found us and told us that the meeting was about to begin, adding that the commission had rented a meeting room in the motel. When I reached the room I knew I was in trouble, for instead of three men, I found a dozen present, including Ciro C. Poppiti, attorney for the commission, two men from the attorney general's office, Mr. Shortall, and Caleb (Tex) Van Warrington, Jr., executive director of the Youth Commission. A tape recorder had been set up in the center of the table. Mr. Pollari opened the meeting and Mr. Poppiti took over the questioning. It was quickly obvious that most of those present were determined to discredit me and collect damaging evidence that would neutralize anything that I might write. Some also hoped to build a case against Judge Cobin for his part in the investigation. For I found later that at least one of the officials believed that the entire thing was a plot cooked up by the judge. I was grilled for roughly six hours; lawyers, commission members, and others taking turns at the questioning. They led me back and forth over the same ground in hopes of catching me up. The inquisition had begun around 9:30 a.m. (More than four hours were recorded before officials ran out of tape.) We had no lunch. We finally finished after 4:00 p.m. Several times I protested — explaining that I had been invited to meet with a small committee from the commission, and that I believed I should have a lawyer under the circumstances— but to no avail. I could have walked out, of course, but felt convinced that should I do that, there was little hope in helping the victims of brutality in the school.

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When the session finally ended Mr. Warrington brought in two inmates, a nurse, and two counselors from the institution to talk to me alone. This was a continued effort to undercut my case, with the counselors and nurse telling me how much I had hurt the staff by my charges (which I had never made public). Then I was approached by Richard R. Wier, Jr., a young deputy attorney general, and the only man beyond Mr. Thomas who seemed interested in getting at the truth. He told me that in his opinion the only chance I had of bringing about change was to trust him and turn over my notes. I refused to do this for a number of reasons, not the least of them the attitude of the other man present from his office, and his superior, Chief Deputy Attorney General C. Edward Duffy. I talked to Mr. Wier for perhaps an hour over lunch and slowly began to feel that he was sincere. He had heard several people admit that slapping children in the face was official policy of the Youth Services Commission. Officials had admitted that two youths had punctured eardrums, and mentioned their concern about this, suggesting that at least slapping might be stopped, if nothing else. Before I left I gave him the names of the boys I had interviewed so that he could check the records. This, I knew, could do no further harm, because an official already had tracked down these youngsters. The two he brought with him made that evident. I returned home that night feeling that I not only had let my paper down, but had destroyed any hope of bringing about reform. In late January I talked with Mr. Wier, who had done enough checking to feel that more time on the case was justified. We agreed that I would meet him at his home on the evening of January 29. We talked for several hours, then arose at dawn and arrived unannounced at the door of Mr. Shortall at 7:00 a.m., finding him still in bed. Mr. Shortall permitted us to begin questioning boys. Then he called Mr. Warrington, who soon arrived smelling of fresh shaving lotion, red with anger, demanding that I get out immediately. Thrashing about, stamping, sometimes throwing his arms up as if he were going to defend against a forward pass, he demanded that Mr. Wier call Mr. Duffy. This Mr. Wier did.

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A few minutes later Mr. Wier returned to the room looking a little red-faced, and I thought that the investigation had been called off. Instead he said that he was to go ahead, but felt it best that I let him work alone. For several hours I sat in a chair in Mr. Shortall's apartment, at times with both Mr. Shortall and Mr. Warrington trying to argue with me. At one point Mr. Warrington threatened me and my family, saying, "I'll get you if it's the last thing I do," and promising to dig into my background to find out "who you are sleeping with," or get something else on me that would ruin my career. When he left for a meeting in another part of the state I asked Mr. Shortall about the threats, and he told me to ignore them, adding that Warrington was "like that" but really didn't mean to harm me. Later in the day I was permitted to rejoin Mr. Wier. But our work ended when Mr. Warrington's secretary barged into the room to stop the investigation. First Mr. Shortall and then Mr. Warrington tried to remove her. Mr. Warrington later said she gave him the choice of carrying her out or firing her. He did neither, and the investigation was halted. For the next several weeks Mr. Wier continued to probe, and found evidence from medical records that several boys had punctured eardrums. I heard nothing from any other official until I called the governor's legal adviser at home in early March. Meanwhile, Governor Peterson had met with the Youth Services Commission to discuss the budget and other matters, and had been told that I had admitted that my charges were grossly exaggerated, and that I had backed down, planning to forget the whole thing. When I told Peter Stone, the governor's aide, that this was false, explaining that The Monitor series would soon be published, and that I would like the governor's side of the story, Mr. Stone promised to call me back. Mr. Stone had been an associate of Mr. Wier's in the same law office, and he quickly found that I was on solid ground. Meanwhile, Joe Pope, reporter for WHYY-TV, had been tipped off about the motel meeting and caught up with me by calling my wife, who in turn reached me in Iowa when I stopped at a roadside phone to let her know I was en route home.

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A few days later I was invited to meet Governor Peterson in his office in Dover on March 13. I was told that the governor felt that he had not received accurate information from the Youth Services Commission. Mr. Stone and Mr. Wier met me at the Philadelphia airport, and we talked about the case and possible improvements at the school as we drove to Dover. When I met the governor he apologized for my treatment by the Youth Services Commission and told me he was thinking of asking for the resignation of all members. It was then announced that Mr. Pope was outside with a television crew, and I was asked if I would appear with the governor. I agreed to this, and stated my concern, with Governor Peterson thanking The Monitor for its efforts, and promising to use the full power of his office to stop brutal treatment of children. He also said that he would not permit a whitewash. There was an immediate flurry of excitement in Delaware, Mr. Warrington told Mr. Pope that I was a "damn liar," and others began to discredit me. A few days later Mr. Wier filed a preliminary report which indicated that my charges about slapping were correct. In a press conference, however, it appeared that Governor Peterson had, in part, backed down — something certain members of his staff had encouraged — on my other complaints. On March 20 the Youth Services Commission met and ordered that the policy of hitting children on the face be suspended until an investigation on corporal punishment could be made. One of the officials suggested that slapping be abolished and that instead youngsters should be hit with a paddle. Then things began to drag, although William P. Frank, a reporter and columnist for the Wilmington News-Journal with long experience in the correctional field, continued to press and probe. On July 23 he published a hard-hitting open letter to me saying that, "The truth is that there have been no fundamental changes since you came here last December. . . ." He also pointed out that Mr. Buckson had expressed great confidence in Warrington, while Mr. Wier, who worked for Mr. Buckson, stated "There isn't sufficient evidence to warrant prosecution." With that kind of news, again I began to wonder if there was any hope. Yet the News-Journal pursued the story and Joe Pope continued to probe. Meanwhile the Correctional

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Council of Delaware, a prison-reform group, was conducting its own investigation. (Judge Cobin had tried to get them involved earlier, but they seemed reluctant until the governor personally asked them to.) And Mr. Wier continued examining the medical records of all the boys in the institution, and following all leads with interviews. And there was the National Council on Crime and Delinquency report that, while less than hard-hitting, at least indicated that changes were needed. Then things heated up again when the Correctional Council's report, prepared by Joseph M. Dell'Olio, a dedicated young professional who was determined to bring about change at Ferris, was released. Among other things, the report recommended "sweeping change" in the "leadership and administration of the Youth Services Commission." It was a positive report, and suggested several other needed improvements. Governor Peterson had been active in the council before he was elected, and undoubtedly knows more about correctional institutions than almost any other politician in America. He had said he was not pleased with the way the commission had responded to Mr. Wier's report. Perhaps the final blow was the commission's demand that they be told the names of those threatened by one of the officials under investigation. One threat was reported to have taken place in a washroom during a commission meeting. The Governor asked the commission to resign. The two Republican members (Governor Peterson is a Republican) did. But the seven Democrats refused. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Warrington announced that he would resign and give up his post on Oct. 1, 1969. Is the battle in Delaware over? The political intrigue continues. In September ninety persons held a testimonial dinner for Mr. Warrington. Among those taking part: former Governor Charles L. Terry, a man defeated by Governor Peterson in 1968; Attorney General David P. Buckson; four family court judges; and Herbert A. Lesher, a member of the Delaware House of Representatives and chairman of the Joint Finance Committee of the General Assembly. Mr. Buckson is quoted as calling Mr. Warrington a "great public servant" who was retiring from his post only "temporarily."

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The story in Delaware may yet have another chapter with Mr. Warrington and his policies playing a major role. Even while the Delaware brushfire was beginning to work its way into the nearby forest, a match was being struck in South Carolina. Again, this was not planned. It simply happened. But this time, when it happened I was ready for I had part of the experience of Delaware behind me. Now I was certain that functioning as a reporter would not be enough to help the children. I had discovered what down deep I already knew: To solve these problems one needs political muscle. On February 3, I found the John G. Richards School to be even worse than Ferris in Delaware. Youngsters were being beaten with rubber hoses, hoe handles, ropes, fists, and other weapons, and most of the staff members were using them. And there were other atrocities. I had the opportunity to meet a number of thoughtful people in the juvenile field the following day, including some judges who again knew me through my earlier work. They asked me what I thought of their reform schools and I told them what I believed: If I were a judge in South Carolina, I would never send a child to the John G. Richards School. This time I did not write a letter. When pressed on my statement I explained that I had been burned once in Delaware (this was after my session in the motel, but before my meeting with Governor Peterson) and that I wasn't foolish enough to stick my fingers in the fire again. A few days later I received a call in Atlanta from T. Travis Medlock, a lawyer and a highly respected member of the South Carolina legislature. He had learned of my findings, was a member of a joint House-Senate committee looking into needs of the reform schools. Would I return and talk to him? I repeated my Delaware story, explained my reluctance to get involved, finally agreed that a meeting would do no harm. When I finished my work in Florida I called Mr. Medlock. On February 14 he met me at the airport, and we talked at length. Again I felt I was with a man who not only could be trusted, but cared about children. The following morning he called in Jack Shivers, director of the Department of Juvenile Corrections. We told him what I had found and asked his cooperation in the investigation. Mr. Shivers had been at an earlier meeting where I had been

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called upon to talk about reform schools, and he knew I was fairly well informed. He knew that by saying "no" he would be implicated in the scandal when the story broke. He knew and respected Mr. Medlock. But before he agreed to open the doors he wanted to talk to an old friend in the legislature, Senator E. N. Ziegler, chairman of the joint committee. Both seemed concerned that I might use this as a wedge to gain new evidence for my paper. I assured them that I had all I needed, which was the fact that convinced them that my only further interest was in helping children and in establishing facts. Mr. Shivers suggested that we turn to Albert Baugh, a social worker in the John G. Richards School, for assistance. This was extremely useful, for it developed that Mr. Baugh, a fairly new employee, had tried to muster the courage to tell me what was really going on at the institution when I first arrived, but felt certain it would put his job in jeopardy. This was not a selfish motive. Mr. Baugh, a 12-year Marine veteran, was determined to help children. For him it was as strong a career drive as painting is for an artist, or running for office is for certain politicians. When I interviewed the children ten days earlier, they had told me that it was Mr. Baugh who kept them from either running away or "going nuts." He was the only "good guy" to every child I met. Mr. Medlock was shocked by my interviews. It did not take him long to find out that what I said was true. I was collecting reports of brutality on a tape recorder, and he felt that he would be of more value if he toured the grounds. He found hoe handles everywhere; he discovered, as I had earlier, that they were being used by bully-boys who were paid $2.25 an hour to keep the other boys in line. And he returned with a rubber hose used to beat youngsters. The victory in South Carolina was clean, quick, and easy — at least compared with Delaware. We sat on the story as long as we dared, hoping that local papers would not get wind of it and damage my series. But Mr. Medlock had to report his findings to committee members, play the tape for them, and take other steps so that legislation could be drafted. We talked often in the next few weeks, and I agreed to return to Columbia on March 19 to testify before the legislative committee. I also had agreed to give Mr. Shivers a month

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to clean house, and to return for a reevaluation before publishing my story. On that date, after testifying, with a full complement of reporters present, I joined Mr. Medlock in leading a delegation of committee members and the press on a tour of the school. Before I did that I met with Solomon Blatt, Speaker of the House, who promised that he personally would "rectify the wrongs," and promised that "this won't be a whitewash." Governor Robert E. McNair also came out of his office, asked me to comment briefly, but he did not react in a favorable manner. That night I filed a story that began: "The beatings have stopped at the John G. Richards (reform) School for Boys." The bully-boys no longer were armed with sticks, and no longer could force smaller youngsters into committing homosexual acts. Youngsters rushed up to me like a long-missing member of the family, and some blurted out that "We haven't been beat since you left." The horrible detention cells had been cleaned up and painted, and no boys were in them. The assembly room, where more than three hundred sat for hours in bad weather on the cement floor, now had benches. There were other changes. Mr. Medlock promised to prevent any backsliding, as did other members of the legislature. I was assured that more funds would be made available, and that new legislation would be passed. I returned home to continue writing the series, which was scheduled to begin running in roughly two weeks, and left my typewriter only to testify before the U.S. Senate subcommittee on what I had found. It was my plan to save states close to Chicago for the end of my trip, so that I would not be away from home for so long. Living in motels away from one's wife and family becomes wearisome after eight or nine months. So it was not until April 3 that I visited institutions in Indiana. My experience there was further proof that besides exposure of the facts, reform requires political involvement. In Indiana I again found horrible conditions, both in the reformatory at Pendleton and in the reform school at Plainfield. (My findings appear earlier in this book.) I tried to bring about a solution like the one arrived at in South Carolina, by calling the office of Indiana's Governor, Edgar D. Whitcomb. He was new in office, and I felt that he

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would not feel responsible for conditions, and thus might be willing to take a positive stand for reform. I also wanted his side of the story. When I called his press secretary I received a brusque dismissal, and was told "write anything you want; we're able to defend ourselves." I was now writing each article only a few days in advance of publication. My trips to Delaware, South Carolina, and Washington had severely cut into my lead time. So I shrugged and mailed the story to The Monitor office in Boston. One could only do so much. I had tried. When my story appeared there was a small flurry of excitement, but when Mr. Heyne, head of the boys' school, was questioned by the local press, he said that I had exaggerated and was not telling the truth. And that was that. I found out later that Judge William T. Sharp, a man I admired and counted as a friend, was at the time Governor Whitcomb's adviser on law and order and related subjects. He seemed offended that I had not consulted him before writing the story (having been on the road for so many months, I had no idea he had resigned from the bench to become involved in the campaign) and had taken the governor's car to the boys' of town. school for an investigation, the governor being out Mr. Sharp said he interviewed several staff members and had been told that when I left the reform school I said that it was "one of the best I had seen." (I had said just the opposite, and detailed the charges point by point so that he could respond before I left.) Mr. Sharp dismissed the matter as exaggeration and falsehood on my part. Twice in the fall of 1969 I met with Governor Whitcomb's aides, trying to end the conflict, even while continuing my investigation. These men seemed most concerned over the fact that I had written that the strap and other forms of corporal punishment had been reinstated after the governor took office. They deny this, but do admit that the strap was being used until after the Monitor's story ran. Because the F.B.I. investigated the two institutions, apparently after reading the series, officials became extremely uneasy. Mr. Heyne now states that he was never a party to the beatings — either as a participant or observer, and he asserts my original story is not accurate. Among other things, he objects to the use of the word "flogging." Governor Whitcomb's

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aides told me they prefer the word "spanking." They have also accused me of trying to get Mr. Heyne fired. On the surface, because of this conflict, it might appear that my efforts in Indiana have failed. Perhaps they have. However, some people close to the reform school report that every effort is being made to correct the shortcomings there. It seems clear from my experiences in these three states — South Carolina, Delaware, and Indiana — that the best way to assure reform is to somehow gain the support of the key politicians involved. Hard lessons learned.

CHAPTER

THINK

10

SMALL

Two aluminum canoes bobbed beneath soaring cliffs in the Buffalo River wilderness area in northern Arkansas. Redbud and dogwood blossoms sprinkled the humped hills like sequins on a green gown. Smoke from a campfire drifted through the warm April air. Small boys whooped happily as they rode hickory saplings to the ground. A Boy Scout canoe trip? No. Seven boys 10 to 12 years old. All in trouble or on the edge of trouble in Dallas. All failing in school. In some cities they would be prime candidates for reform school. But not in Dallas. For they were spending twentyeight days away from home and school with two carefully selected adults — an outing sponsored by the Salesmanship Club of Dallas and supported by both teachers and parents. Two months earlier in the Rockies west of Denver, ten black street-gang members from Chicago's South Side, all in their late teens, fought their way through ice, snow, and stinging wind to the top of 13,000-foot Bison Peak. The climb was part of a special 21 -day course offered by the Colorado Outward Bound School. A private organization, Outward Bound normally provides adventurous summer trips for youngsters from middle-class and wealthy families.

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At the Yellowstone Boys Ranch, near Billings, Mont., boys fed cattle, swept out the academic school, worked in the dining room, slopped hogs, gathered eggs — all for pay. Most have savings accounts. If they insist, they can squander the money they earn and hopefully learn a lesson — just like most middle-class children. At Boys Town, Neb., boys worked after school to earn money for clothing, soft drinks, after-shave lotion, and other extras. Some worked on the farms. Others delivered papers, worked in the bowling alley, or the soda fountain. Hundreds of miles to the east, in Syracuse, N.Y., children in trouble made their beds in their rooms in an old 3 -story apartment building owned by the New York State Division for Youth and then left for school or for work. In neighboring Auburn, hard-core delinquents living at a Division for Youth START (for Short-Term Adolescent Residential Training) center painted a National Guard armory in a program that emphasizes community service. On Staten Island, girls at a START center crossed the street to work in a hospital. START centers house twenty boys or girls for four to fourteen months, some up to two years. The emphasis is on serving others. The atmosphere is relaxed and open, although most of the youngsters have been in serious trouble. Burglary, car theft, robbery, and assault are among the offenses. Many have committed more serious offenses than some youngsters found in the state reform schools. Yet the evening I visited the Auburn START center, the boys were permitted to spend a half -hour on their own in a shopping center while the superintendent, Calvin Weldon, and I talked in a restaurant. We had dropped three others off at an evening automechanics course downtown. Near Ithaca, N.Y., tough delinquents from the Bronx, Harlem, Brooklyn, and other rough areas stood knee-deep in snow, happily wielding axes and saws for the Conservation Department. Teenagers in trouble also were working in the woods in California, Washington, Ohio, Michigan, Connecticut, Illinois, and other states. LIn New Jersey, youngsters with long police records finished

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breakfast and then rode to a state hospital to empty bed pans and garbage cans and to do other chores. At a former Nike missile base thirty miles west of Chicago, eighty delinquent boys between the ages of 9 and 14 attended a special school. There they were learning to read. They worked to catch up with students of the same age in public schools. Scattered across the nation are other small state- or privately-run ranches, schools, and camps for boys and girls in trouble. Many provide promising alternatives to huge, grim institutions. In interviewing individuals who are most successful in helping children in trouble, one finds agreement on three basic premises : 1. Almost all unacceptable behavior — whether stealing, lying, drinking, promiscuity, inability to perform in school, temper tantrums, withdrawal, and even hallucinating — is "learned." It is not innate and would not have developed under a different set of circumstances. 2. Thus, all children — given loving, individualized care that meets their needs — can be helped. 3. The best way to change delinquent behavior is to improve the environment that caused the behavior — the home and parents, the neighborhood, the school, the child's friends. Lacking the ability to do this, the only answer is to give the child strengths needed to cope with the destructive environment. This is the promise of the small institution, which may succeed where so many traditional state-run institutions constantly fail. When properly run by people with the right motives and goals, small institutions have several virtues: • Sometimes they can reach children early, before they face the shock of being arrested, thrown in jail, or hauled into court. Once these things happen the job of rehabilitation becomes far more difficult — although the traumatic experience may jar some middle-class children into acceptable behavior. • Instead of being "sent up," which clearly communicates to the child that he is "rotten," the child may play a role in choosing where he goes. This gives him incentive to succeed.

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• Small institutions can be selective — accepting only children they feel confident they can help. This starts the child off right since he feels wanted, even privileged to be there. And the staff members expect the child to be helped. • Small institutions may specialize, where large institutions too often must deal with all kinds of children from the normal to the retarded or deeply disturbed, from shrinking violets to animalistic brutes. • With proper staffing, a small institution can give a child individualized attention. In large state institutions, children become faceless numbers. • Usually there is far less stigma attached to the small institutions. • They save taxpayers money. Milton Luger, of the New York State Division for Youth, has estimated that group homes, for example, can cut the cost of institutional bed space in half; that group homes can be run a third cheaper than traditional reform schools. One of the most articulate and outspoken advocates of small institutions is O. J. Keller of Florida, formerly of Illinois. Head of the Florida Division of Youth Services, he has studied costs and other factors carefully. He argues that construction costs are far lower for small facilities than large institutions. "A brand-new halfway house for twenty-five boys can be built for $200,000," he says. "That's $8,000 per child in capital outlay. In contrast, a training school for delinquent children has a per inmate capital cost of $20,000. For example, the new training school in Gilchrist County, Florida, will cost $4,000,000 for 200 children. "The same kind of savings is noted in operating costs. Criswell House, our halfway house in Tallahassee, has a per diem cost per child of $10. The training schools, by contrast, have a per diem cost of $15. [In most Northern states the cost is far above this.] In other words, the halfway-house program is one-third less expensive, while offering a far richer treatment program for the children in its care. The reason,

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of course, is obvious. Instead of creating schools, chapels5 gymnasiums, warehouses, hospitals, etc. — all of which exist in an institution — the correctional agency is able to use all of the services that exist in the free community. Our Criswell House boys, a typical, rather than select group of delinquents, attend public school in Tallahassee. "The very size of most training schools is at odds with treatment. The larger the institution, the more routinized it becomes. Delinquent children, who need attention and human contact desperately, do not receive the care they need in institutions. Congregate living is impersonal and anonymous. The mass herding of children from one building to another is not conducive to treatment. "In large institutions the delinquent subculture of the inmates is at odds with staff goals. Even when some children want to 'do right,' other stronger inmates can discourage and threaten them. In most institutions the bullies among the inmates really 'run' the cottages. They pressure weaker boys for sex, cigarettes, commissary items, and parcels from home. "The chances of establishing treatment change delinquent attitudes are minimal only does the delinquent subculture work but sufficient numbers of clinical people

programs that truly in institutions. Not against staff efforts, are rarely available.

"In a small residential facility delinquent children can live almost normal lives. They avoid the stigma of training-school placement. They are within reach of parents, relatives, and friends. They are able to earn money through part-time employment. Not only can they take advantage of community resources, but staff efforts can be concentrated on treatment. The key people at Criswell House, for example, are those who conduct the nightly group discussions. Since the boys are not surrounded by fences or guards, the young people are truly aware that the correctional agency is affording them as much dignity and privacy as possible." Mr. Keller also points out that "when children are isolated from society in huge institutions it is easy for the average citizen to forget them." Yet in our society citizens have a responsibility to others around them — including youngsters in trouble. "At Criswell House or at the Fort Clinch Youth Camp [near Jacksonville], townspeople are aware that delinquent boys are being helped in nearby programs. At Fort Clinch the

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townspeople have asked the state's permission to erect a small, one-room school building next to the camp. This will be done completely through private efforts, at no expense to the state. For it will be built from private funds and donations of labor." Even with this strong endorsement, it must be said that small institutions are not the universal panacea so many people are looking for. The real answer lies in improving conditions in homes, doing something about destructive parents, schools, neighborhoods, and institutions. But this is a long, drawn-out process. Many skeptics suggest it will never be accomplished. Thus small, specialized institutions are considered the only available answer. And when this is discovered by community leaders — men and women devoted to freeenterprise answers — things happen. Important things. Take the Salesmanship Club in Dallas. Now made up of four hundred fifty business and professional men, it was founded in 1921. From the start the club has been interested in youngsters. Since 1946, under the leadership of Campbell Loughmiller (now retired), the emphasis has been on children in trouble — especially those with deep emotional disturbances. The core of the program is a unique, rugged, year-round camp in northeastern Texas. Boys sleep outdoors winter and summer in shelters they have built of canvas saplings. The camp is divided by age into four groups of ten boys, with the youngest boys 8 or 9 years old. Each group is guided by two sensitive, rugged young college graduates, who may be trained in anything from chemistry to pre-law. Youngsters stay in the program up to two years. During this period they will climb mountains, canoe, fish, hike, and learn to survive in the wilderness. Stress is placed on group therapy — a process of talking out individual or group problems as they develop. This means stopping in the middle of a meal, or just before pushing canoes into the water — talking wherever and whenever problems arise until a solution is found. The camp is backed up by social workers who deal with parents, and by an 8-boy halfway house in town for those who can't go home. Two years ago, under the current executive director, Billy B. Trigg, Adventure Trails was added as an experiment to see

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if more boys could be helped with short-term programs. These boys hike, climb mountains, paddle canoes, or take 28-day trips down major rivers on rafts they have built. Each group is limited to eight boys and headed by two young college graduates. The emphasis again is on teamwork, individual attention, and group therapy. The current Salesmanship Club budget is $330,000. A third of that is raised by the annual exhibition game between the Dallas Cowboys and Green Bay Packers. The club nets another $50,000 from the Byron Nelson Golf Classic. Income from the club's permanent investments brings in roughly $60,000. The United Fund once donated half the budget, but this year has been asked only for $35,000. Donations and dues bring in some money. And parents contribute what they can afford — from nothing up to $360 a month. Problems range from extreme withdrawal to aggressive delinquency. Mr. Trigg believes that for his program a "good mix," rather than trying to sort out boys by problems, is the answer. For all have one thing in common: They are failing in school. No formal educational program is involved — beyond planning menus, measuring quantities of food or floor space for a new shelter, reading maps, or writing reports and letters. It is noteworthy that nearly every Salesmanship boy — regardless of length of stay — is able to return to school at the grade level normal for his age — almost as if he had never missed school. And he usually does far better than when he left school a year or two before. Referrals come from many sources: the court, welfare department, mental health officials, schools. The Salesmanship Club has been emulating the Outward Bound program as the club develops its short-term Adventure Trails. But Outward Bound, in turn, has learned from the Salesmanship Club, says Joseph J. Nold, director of the Colorado school. Outward Bound officials are reluctant to talk about their work with delinquents. Joshua Miner, III, president of Outward Bound, Inc., headquartered in Andover, Mass., explains that he "lives in deadly fear that we will be tagged as a school for delinquents." This would "frighten parents of normal, healthy kids" and "could kill us." Outward Bound was not set up for children in trouble. It is

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a program for young men from middle-class and rich families who are looking for a chance to prove their manhood. The program lasts twenty-six days and costs $400. Age limits are 16V^ to 21. The course involves severe physical challenge, pushing a youth to his physical limits, coupled with teamwork and campfire bull sessions. In Colorado the young men climb mountains; in Minnesota they go on canoeing expeditions in the Superior-Quetico Wilderness area; in Maine they sail 30-foot whaleboats. Each features a "solo" — three days' survival alone in the wilderness living off the land. This is "the best part of the program," says Mr. Nold. "Something important happens to the boy. While alone he is encouraged to assess who he is, where he came from, where he is going." The advantages such a program can offer youngsters in trouble are obvious. So, from time to time delinquents are quietly slipped into regular 12-member groups — almost always with startling success. Special delinquency programs are run separately during the winter months. Even then, without normal youngsters to help pull the less fortunate along, the results are impressive. As in the Salesmanship program, staff is the key. Mr. Nold seeks out "sensitive, imaginative, tough, strong, masculine men." Even the most difficult boys quickly come to depend on these men — and relate in a positive way to them — when for the first time they stand at the foot of a mountain and begin to climb. The Denver court has been committing delinquents to Outward Bound as an experiment — with good results, according to Judge Ted Rubin. And the Maine Outward Bound school just completed its second winter developing an Overlander program at the Lyman School for Boys in Westboro, Mass. New York has been pioneering in the field of small institutions and group homes through the State Division for Youth, headed by Mr. Luger. The New York State Division for Youth, which operates independently of the correctional system, was formed in 1945 under another name. Until 1960 it distributed state funds to communities for street-gang workers, teenage centers, and other facilities for young people.

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In 1960 it began opening experimental homes and camps for 15-, 16- and 17-year-olds. It is still running most of them, though Mr. Luger says he is not interested in running a system that permanently parallels the correctional system. So far, a group home in Brooklyn and a START center in Amenia have already been turned over to the New York State Department of Social Services. Mr. Luger hopes that eventually other agencies will want to take over the others, so his team can move on to new areas. Several small group homes are scattered around the state. They are for children who cannot live in their own homes. Most Division for Youth programs include group therapy. At the Austin MacCormick Youth Camp near Ithaca, boys work mornings for the Conservation Department and go to school in the afternoon. There is no lockup, no physical punishment. "I useta go to the poolroom, cop a couple bags of smoke [marijuana], and go lookin' for trouble," says a 16-year-old Puerto Rican from Brooklyn. "I useta get sky high and really kick up a storm and didn't respect nobody. Now I'm learnin' to respect others, and I don't do that no more. "They put a lota pressure on you here — treat you like a man. If they treated us like kids, then that's how we'd act." Willis B. White, the superintendent, believes that if "the kids believe you really care what happens to them, then you can change them." Sixty boys live at the camp — about the ideal size, according to some experts. More and more states are using forest camps as an alternative to a reform school or reformatory. It pays off. The Highfields Residential Group Center in New Jersey is considered the model for small institutions using "angry" group therapy. When full, it accommodates twenty boys. These young men, usually with long police records, live in the old stone Charles A. Lindbergh house deep in the woods. During the days boys work at a state hospital. Each evening before they go to bed they sit down and talk about themselves and others in the home. A new boy will tell his "life story." That means he will discuss his criminal activity in detail. Then the other boys talk about why the youth is in trouble — explaining to him that while he may

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come from a deplorable home and poor neighborhood, he is responsible for his own actions. Youngsters also discuss one another — the youth who mouths off, another who does a poor job of making his bed or doesn't keep his room clean, a third who acts like a baby when under pressure, a fourth who has a hot temper. The boys must work on individual problems until they are mastered. Release is based on success of home visits and the decision of the other youths that a boy can handle himself without getting into further trouble. The theory is that these meetings — the process is called guided group interaction — help a young man mature as he begins to understand his own behavior and that of others. And he learns better ways to deal with problems. More and more institutions are using this type of group therapy. When the therapy is done effectively, officials say they are impressed with the results. As already mentioned, Florida's Division of Youth Services has opened two group homes, one only a short time ago. While still perfecting its program, the Walter Scott Criswell House in Tallahassee has had some remarkable successes. Coming from extremely destructive environments, the boys there suddenly found people who cared deeply about them. Don had been in reform schools three times. He recalled that he "was just a number. Here there are people to talk to, people who care about you. You can trust them. I learned that if I act different, then people act different toward me." Don, now calm, steady, relaxed, is one of the most popular youths in the house. Small camps, ranches, and private schools dot the map. Many are run by those who have been with church groups dealing with young people. Franklin Robbie has run the Yellowstone Boys Ranch near Billings, Mont., for a dozen years. He was formerly a Youth for Christ worker and the ranch was a "long-time dream." It is licensed for ninety-six boys. Older boys ride a school bus to town. For the younger boys, the ranch has its own school district. Classes are reduced to twelve students per teacher. The ranch involves about three hundred twenty acres, with two hundred fifty head of cattle in a feeder lot. A 6-acre garden, hogs, chickens,

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and other livestock provide the institution with food. They often win ribbons at the state fair. All youngsters are sent on court order. Arrivals range in age from 9 to 13. The majority are typical of those one finds in reform schools in an average state — somewhat delinquent or with severe problems at home. Boys stay from two to two and a half years. The atmosphere is relaxed, and boys do not feel locked up. While they work hard, they also play hard — swimming in town, riding horses, camping, participating in league sports. Those who go to school in town are encouraged to participate fully in extracurricular activities. Dale, a rather disturbed child, is 13. His mother died before he was one, and his older sister when she was 18. Dale longs for a normal life. He lived with neighbors for a while, but his father refused to let them adopt him. He had been at the ranch one and a half years when I met him. "I've always wanted a real family," he said wistfully. "I want so much to have a family and a home of my own. If I don't get it now I may never have a chance again." These private institutions are usually the first choice of juvenile judges trying to decide what to do with children in trouble. But because of their small size, selectivity, and length of stay, it is hard to find openings. Many judges believe some of the fifty institutions run by the Sisters of the Good Shepherd are among the best for girls. While run by Roman Catholics, they accept girls of any faith, and Protestants are not forced to take regular courses in religion. The girls do study ethics and a "code of right living." They may be counseled by ministers of their own faith. Villa St. Rose, in Portland, Ore., has the following standards: "Girls from 13 to 18 years of age, inclusive, regardless of race or creed, who have a minimum I.Q. of 85 and who . have attained average school achievement. Girls whose physical or handicapping condition is such as to make the following of ordinary institution routines difficult or impossible — or who are pyromaniacs, suicidal, homosexual, or who require intensive, prolonged psychiatric care — are not accepted. We do not accept pregnant girls." Local officials add that because there are so many girls in need, the Portland home can be even more selective. Girls of

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high-school age with I.Q.s of 110 or above and from a middle- or upper-middle-class family are preferred. All nuns are trained in social work. Counseling is available twentyfour hours a day. Villa St. Rose has a capacity of eighty girls, but because of the great need for places for girls — even under the high standards— the home sometimes accepts ninety girls into its program. Undoubtedly America's best-known private institution for children in trouble, and with a strong record of success, is Father Flanagan's Boys Home in Boys Town, Neb. Interdenominational inits work, it was founded in 1917 by a Roman Catholic priest, Fr. Edward J. Flanagan, for "homeless and underprivileged boys, regardless of race, color, and creed." It admits boys between the ages of 10 and 16. Its literature states : "Contrary to an opinion sometimes held, the Boys Town program is not designed to deal with the delinquent boy. Primarily, itis a preventive program, rather than a corrective one. A small percentage of all boys accepted at Boys Town have come from the courts, but not always because of delinquency. . . "When boys with a record of delinquency are accepted at Boys Town ... it is because, in the opinion of the home, the delinquency stems from their homelessness or neglect, rather than from deep-seated emotional tendencies toward antisocial behavior. . . . The Boys Town program is designed for the normal boy, and facilities are not available for intensive medical or psychiatric care." Each year the home receives some thirty-five hundred applications. Less than 10 percent can be accepted. The capacity of the home is nine hundred. To resolve the problem of size, Boys Town is divided into a grade-school section and highschool section. Each section is further divided into small units "to provide an opportunity to individualize the program." The stress is on education — both academic and vocational. The vocational program is emphasized because so few of each year's graduates are able to go on to college or enter business. Before a boy graduates from high school, job placement is arranged for him. Not all private institutions measure up to the high standards of Boys Town. It is extremely difficult to discover which

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do and which do not. There is little or no inspection or evaluation going on. While many private institutions screen out society's worst problem children — those severely disturbed, those classified as mentally retarded, and the tough delinquents — a few specialize in these children, and may charge $8,000 to $12,000 per year per child. Obviously this is out of reach of most families — even when there are openings available. In addition to the new, small state camps and schools and private institutions working with children in trouble, there are county facilities scattered across the nation. These are sometimes far superior to state institutions, though not always. One of the most interesting is the Los Palmas School for Girls, run by Los Angeles County. The school is limited to a hundred girls — ten to a cottage. Each cottage has a woman's college graduate staff member present when the girls are awake; and even the night staff must have two years' college experience. In addition to this, the school has fifteen staff members with master of social work degrees, plus five consulting psychiatrists and two consulting psychologists. Dorothy Kirby, superintendent of the school, says 75 percent of the girls have tried drugs and 20 to 30 percent of these have tried to commit suicide. They are products of broken and destructive homes. "Over 15 percent of the girls in this institution today have had an incestuous relationship," she says. "Out of every hundred we get, fifteen to twenty have been involved, usually with their fathers. We get children who have been victimized for years." To attack problems of the home the school has adopted family group therapy. Groups consist not only of one family, but also eight or nine families at once — partly so they don't feel so guilty in their failure, seeing others have failed, and partly because they can help each other. But not all parents can stand the confrontation, nor do all girls have parents. In addition to high-caliber staff, the school has a strong compulsory academic program, a swimming pool, bicycles, a canteen for refreshments and other items the girls want, arts and crafts, and coeducational activities. Each girl has a private room and can have a radio, record

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player, personal bulletin board, and other normal teenage items. Male staff members have also been added to the program and this has been found helpful. Los Angeles also has eleven camps for boys in the foothills of the mountains, all tied to the Probation Department. The two I visited each had a capacity of ninety-four boys — one for boys 16 to 18, another for smaller boys. But these camps lack staff. Renso Y. Enkoji, director of Camp Afflerbaugh — for older boys — is deeply opposed to group therapy, and it is not used at his school. "I think it is very poor. It tears kids apart. Egos are illformed. I'm opposed to all this verbalization, and suspect that slick answers are turning children into sociopaths. "The adolescent kid loves action. Let him enjoy it. Let him feel it." The camp takes boys with higher I.Q.s than those in most other camps. The emphasis is on education, plus four hours' work in parks and golf courses. The program resembles that of military schools, where more wealthy parents send their children in trouble. Mr. Enkoji is willing to take delinquents but prefers to avoid accepting emotionally disturbed children. For children who are immature, impulsive, hyperactive, perhaps the greatest value of the mountain camp is the quiet. The rush and noise of the city are behind them. A very complex world full of problems has become simplified. But in many states, county camps and schools, like large institutions, are too often ignored by the public. Seldom are there standards. Too many are underfunded. Yet many experts believe that they hold far more promise than huge reform schools — if they are properly staffed and funded. The consensus is that construction of huge state facilities must be stopped. Those that exist should take in only children from neighboring counties to make it easier to work with the families involved. Then these institutions should be broken down into smaller units that can meet the child's individual need — much as a large university is divided into specialized schools. This is being done in scattered places. The brightest spot at the Connecticut School for Boys in Meriden is Cottage K,

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an experimental unit that has taken in some of the toughest youths in the institution. It was developed by Dr. Earl S. Patterson, a psychiatrist, over four years ago. The day I visited the institution, there were eighteen boys there — plus carefully selected staff members. The goal is not to make children adjust to an institution, but rather to take the child into the community and teach him how to live there without getting into more trouble. Dr. Patterson believes in dealing with reality. But the child's reality of slum living or an alcoholic or otherwise destructive parent is different from what most people experience. So Dr. Patterson tries to improve the child's concept of reality. This is done, in part, through taking the boys on outings — getting them off the grounds, especially on weekends when there is so little to do. The boys go horseback riding, to movies, to sporting and cultural events. Four youngsters are attending school in town, others are working off the grounds. They build boats, learn to drive, take Red Cross life-saving classes — anything constructive that will help them in the community. Boys are given much of the responsibility for decision-making, and in fact have even curtailed swearing on their own. "We are trying to build a nondelinquent culture here," Dr. Patterson says. "This is difficult within the larger culture of the institution, which fosters delinquency. A surprising number of boys are hit by staff members — more even than we had realized" [before our investigation of conditions]. Echo Glen, near Seattle, has an impressive staff — including many energetic young men and women. Fourteen workers have master's degrees in social work. There are 215 staff members for 208 youngsters. Staff members work in teams when children are not asleep or in school. There is one worker for every eight children on duty at all times. A fulltime physician and full-time dentist are on the staff. The setting is probably the most beautiful in America — a campus in the mountains thirty miles east of Seattle. A manmade lake is stocked with trout. Each 16-child, 2-wing cottage has a large central fireplace. Children are constantly busy with constructive activities. The school has an excellent library, in-door swimming pool, chapel, vocational programs. Many who are committed prefer the camp to their unpleas-

After-Care: Negligent or Hopeful? 155 ant homes. I met one girl at another reform school in the state who said she had broken the law after being released from Echo Glen in hopes of being sent back there. Emphasis at Echo Glen is on working with families, so that the home can be less damaging to the child. This is a key to success at all institutions — the quality of the parole (or after-care) program. But in almost all states parole is severely neglected. Children don't get the assistance they need — jobs, help in school, help at home, support from their parents. Yet there are bright spots. Parole for juveniles in Montana is unusually good. But more workers are needed. In South Carolina, where reform schools are poor, there is a surprisingly good after-care program — though it, too, is understaffed. Citizens in Charleston, S.C., have established the first halfway house in that state. More are needed across the nation. Sherwood Norman, director of youth correction services of the National Council on Crime and Delinquency, suggests that institutions should have no more than 150 youngsters enrolled, although "for purposes of treatment none should be larger than fifty." William H. Sheridan, of the Children's Bureau in Washington, part of the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, sums it up this way: "A state agency into whose care delinquent children are committed needs to work not only for the diversification of its resources for treatment and care but also for the development and improvement of local community services." This will take place only with citizen concern.

CHAPTER

NEGLIGENT

11

AFTER-CARE: OR HOPEFUL?

So Johnny Smith, the 14-year-old neighborhood troublemaker, has served his six months in reform school. It is time to send him home. What now?

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When the judge sent Johnny up, he had skipped school, stolen a bicycle, violated curfew, and been drunk three or four times. Now he knows how to hot-wire a car when he doesn't have a key, where to sell stolen merchandise, and how to open several kinds of door locks with a plastic playing card. So Johnny is heading home. When he was sent up, his divorced mother worked the three-to-midnight shift as a waitress in an all-night cafe, while her children ran the streets until all hours and got into fights. One of the older girls was called a tramp by neighborhood gossips, and with good reason. An older brother had been in jail. And the police always checked the Smith home first when somebody in the neighborhood reported something stolen or something damaged. Now Johnny's mother works the same shift, his older brother is on probation, his sister is pregnant out of wedlock, and the police always check his home first when there is trouble in the neighborhood. In some states he would be given a stern lecture, a pat on the head, and the telephone number of a parole officer. And that would be that. But in most, more happens. Take South Carolina, for example, a state with a betterthan-average juvenile parole department. A month or two before it is time for a youngster to be released, a parole officer is asked by reform-school officials to check out the home he will be living in. The officer drops by to see the family (many do not have telephones) to see if they are prepared to take responsibility for the boy or girl, and to make sure the home is fit for the child. As in so many states, "fit" in South Carolina often means little more than the fact that an adult will be in the home at least part of the time; that the youngsters will be fed and clothed; and that there will be a place for the child to sleep. For a boy or girl who has been in reform school, there are few alternatives to their own homes or those of close relatives, however inadequate. If the situation is impossibly bad — that is, if the mother is a prostitute or the father mentally ill— the child may be forced to remain in the institution. The same is true of children with no families. In South Carolina I made the rounds with Wallace Attaway,

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a parole officer who covers a large area in the northern part of the state. One of our stops was at a Negro "shotgun shanty" in Rock Hill. The interior walls were painted dark green, but it was extremely clean. Children were everywhere, and there were beds in the living room. They had no phone. No bathtub. To get water they walked to an outside spigot. We talked to the mother of a 13-year-old girl who was about to be returned from Riverside School for Girls. She says she is certain her daughter will behave when she returns home. "She was stayin' out of school, uptown with another girl," she says. "I think that other girl was causin' her to get out of place." Parole officers like Wally try to visit each youngster at least once a month to make sure they are going to school, working, or otherwise making progress. Too often they are not. We caught up with one by accident when we stopped for lunch in a cafe and Wally recognized the woman who waited on us as the mother of a girl he had been looking for. She directed us to a trailer behind a house on the edge of town. There we found a plump youngster of 15, her hair dyed red, watching television. She would not go to school because there's "nothin' in school that I want." I asked her to read the TV Guide to me, and she made many errors, confusing words like "such" and "much." Our next stop is an unpainted shack in town. A little boy opens the door, and a small girl pokes her head out. Their skin is gray, their hands soot-black, their clothing stained and dirt-streaked. The boy goes back in and in a minute the mother appears, broom in hand. ("I've never seen her without that broom," Wally tells me later. "She's always 'just about to clean the place up.' ") We enter. The house is as dirty as the children. So is the mother, who is pregnant again. A coalburning space heater glows red, sucking up the oxygen and putting out fumes so potent that my eyes water. The boy we want to see is "out, but he otta be home pretty soon." There is nowhere to sit, so we leave. Three of the children have been in reform school. All refuse to attend public school. Wally shakes his head. Then he tells me of the little girl he is taking back to the reform school later in the week. "She shouldn't have to go back," he says. "But she has no

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place else to go. She has been living with her mother and grandmother. The home is deplorable. Her half-brother is in jail, waiting to be tried for manslaughter. She can't get along with her mother and asked to go live with a married sister. The sister is 16 and has two children. Before I could check that out — I felt it would be a poor risk, anyway — the girl ran away. I met her on the street and she told me she had been living with a man. Then she broke into a house, and the woman called the police. "Now she's in jail. There's a young man in the cell next to her. They have a solid wall between them, but the cells are open bars on the front. That's the only place they've got to put her. She can't go home because she'll leave again. So I've got to take her back to the training school." Wallace Attaway obviously cares about children in trouble, and he works hard. But he has an impossible job. School officials may refuse to let a child back into the classroom. Other youngsters refuse to go when they are admitted. Parents who failed a child before he was shipped off to reform school fail again when he returns home. In rural areas few services are available to meet special needs children may have. This is true in many states. Parole — or after-care, as it is euphemistically called in some states — fails just as the entire system fails. Sometimes adult probation officers also handle children. Few understand the special problems of young people from horrible homes, and the failure rate is high. These officers seem more interested in catching a child breaking rules of parole than in helping the child make it against fearful odds. In a few states youngsters have new hope as halfway houses provide them a place to live while they go to school or work. But even these do not always succeed. Youngsters released without supervision after living in an institution where every move is watched continue to struggle. In Los Angeles I visited Crawford House, a group home for girls released from the reform school at Oxnard, the Ventura Reception Center and Clinic. An old house located in an integrated neighborhood (it has shifted from all-white to 80-percent black), it is operated by Mrs. Jessie A. Bowman, a grandmotherly Negro woman. She does not live there, however. She has hired another woman to oversee the girls, who stay on the second floor.

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Crawford House has space for eight girls, ten in an emergency. Each room has two beds, dressers, and a sink. There are carpets on the floor. Girls may decorate the rooms as they want to, within reason. A pay phone is in the hall. "Every girl that walks in that door has problems — burglary, prostitution, even murder," Mrs. Bowman says. "We aren't interested in what they have been, but what they can become. "They'll, sneak out sometimes, and sometimes they sneak somebody in. Some of them go to nightclubs, and sometimes they drink. We're not here to baby-sit, although they are supposed to tell us when they go out. They've got to prove to themselves that they don't have to have 24-hour supervision. I don't call their parole officer for everything they do. If they sneak out I ground them for the next night. They may use bad language or tear things up. We lost three who began prostituting. "When a girl comes here from the Youth Authority, we give her a list of rules and we expect her to follow them. She is supposed to find a job, and most of them do. Some of our girls are working for the telephone company. Our job is to help them merge back into society." California is also experimenting with community centers for young people on parole. One that I visited, Esperanza, is located in a Latin neighborhood. Open both during the day and in the evenings, it helps keep youngsters off the streets and out of trouble. Those who need it are tutored by volunteers. Staff members counsel the youngsters; do what they can to keep them from getting in more trouble. Most important, emphasis is on working with their families. While many parole officers have a high case load and much of the time they are involved in police-like surveillance, those who work in the Esperanza program deal with between twenty and twenty-five youngsters. Mike Daily is project director; he is assisted by Henry Corrales. "The difference here is that we emphasize the close, personal touch," says Mr. Corrales. "Our program is very informal. Every person who works here knows every kid in the project. We offer family counseling, marital counseling, individual counseling, group counseling for the boys and girls. "We encourage outings. A staff member may take two or three or five or six kids somewhere. And we have things like

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our modeling and grooming class for girls every Wednesday night." One of the unusual features is the large number of youngsters in foster homes — 53 in a case load of 143. Also, staff members provide their wards with home telephone numbers. "The police department complains close by 8 o'clock at night," says Mr. call us whenever they need us. And they pick up one of our youngsters down to juvenile hall.

that all other agencies Daily. "Our youngsters the police call us when instead of taking them

"We make sure our children don't go to school without breakfast. And you don't see kids waiting out in the lobby. [We have been interrupted several times by youngsters sticking their heads in the door.] We are here to help them, and we are going to see that we are available to them." I talked to three teenage girls to see how they liked the Esperanza project. All agreed that while they could sometimes manipulate the male staff members through coaxing and making excuses, they felt they were being helped. "I can confide in my parole officer," says one. "I can tell him everything, and I know he'll listen and help me." "They won't make decisions for us," another added. "They help us see the choices, and they tell us the difference between right and wrong, but what we do is up to us." Mr. Daily finds his job of curbing delinquency and helping youngsters succeed is more difficult than it needs to be because "the affluent society says 'we don't need the poor — they're millstones around our necks.' " "If a waif came into my middle-class neighborhood, somebody would call juvenile hall," he says. In Salt Lake City I met three young parole officers with a similar philosophy, similar concerns. "We're trying to get away from being policemen," says Joel Millard, the supervisor. "We don't want to return kids to the institution — we want to keep them out. Much of our job is crisis intervention. A family calls, or one of the kids calls — they need help now and we've got to go, whatever the hour, day or night. We want to get him before he breaks into a store — work with him before the burglary. We try to work out whatever is making him push the panic button. When we do that, he has a lot better chance of making it." How does this work?

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One youngster from a broken home was "about 10 when we first got him." Now he is 18, after being in and out of the reform school for assaults, rape, and a variety of other crimes. "Finally he got so he trusted us," says Mr. Millard. "One night at 12:30 he called me and said his world was coming apart. He was crying over the phone. He said he couldn't tolerate his family and they couldn't tolerate him. So I told him I'd set up an appointment with vocational rehabilitation, and that we'd work things out. After I talked awhile he felt better and could go to bed. "Later, I don't know how many months it was, he called again and said he was thinking of committing himself to a state hospital because he was coming unglued. But he really just wanted to talk — to make sure that we were still around and would stick with him." The men in Salt Lake City have an impossibly large case load, but they still are taking on extra duties, including family group counseling. Jeff McBride tells of a typical case: "We have a boy with both parents, who just wasn't making it. His parents are around 50 and they have two older children. The boy has long hair, he smokes, and he uses hippie lingo. The dad comes unglued when the kid won't pay attention to him, and comes on like a bull elk. Then the kid finds ways to push his dad's button while the mother sits there giving the dad instructions, which makes him feel she is siding with the son. And he feels he's not living up to his father-image, which makes him even more rigid. "Our goal is to jack up the relationship between Mom and Dad, and get Dad to quit the war. If we can end the war, then we can do something with the boy." In Helena, Mont, I met John Thomas, director of aftercare for the state juvenile correctional system since the department opened in 1965. Each worker has fifty-seven cases, and he is constantly on the road. "We travel eighty miles per contact, or about an hour and a half," he says. "Our men work seven days a week, and they must be available twenty-four hours a day. We respond to every cry for help. When the call comes everything else is secondary. We get up and go. "I was called out of bed at 1 a.m. Sunday to pick up a boy. He was in a bathing suit in a city jail. He'd been at a drinking party. I got him properly clothed and told him he

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would have to face the consequences of his behavior. I would be there to make sure he got no more and no less than any other kid." Mr. Thomas believes that to salvage a child, after-care workers must deal with the parents. "If the old man is an alcoholic, then we try to get him involved in AA. We had one Helena family where neither the mother or father had worked for a year. We found her a job as a nurse's aide, and convinced him that he had a responsibility as a husband and father to support the family — even if it meant general labor in a factory." Montana has provided funds for room rent for older youngsters who cannot live at home. After-care workers have been able to pay for removal of tattoos on girls. They may take a boy fishing, or "anything else a parent would normally do." "We see that they finish high school — we even send some to college and the state pays the whole ball of wax," he says. "We had eleven enter this year. We ask the parents to pay what they can — even if it's only $5 a month. Then they know they still have responsibility for the child." Some youngsters on parole have cars. Most have girlfriends. Emphasis is on living normal lives. But "sometimes the community insists on remembering the boy as he was — the people won't let him change." Like many other professionals, he objects to the use of the Army as an alternative to probation or parole. For the military cannot solve the problems of a boy hungry for love, or with other needs, and "he fouls up and winds up with an undesirable or dishonorable discharge." Mr. Thomas talks about motivating through love — a word tough correctional people usually avoid. And when one listens to him, or to others who really understand the problems of children in trouble, one begins to believe there is hope after all.

CHAPTER

HOW

PARENTS

PRODUCE

12

DELINQUENTS

"We ought to lock up the parents instead of the kids." As one probes the appalling world of children in trouble, he hears this statement repeated again and again. Reform-school superintendents say it. Teachers and social workers say it. So do policemen, psychologists, psychiatrists, judges, probation officers, and prison chaplains. My study indicates that most of those who work with children in trouble are convinced that these youngsters — whether in reform schools, mental hospitals, or other institutions — are products of their environment. Their unacceptable behavior is "learned." In this learning process, the parents are the first teachers. Peer groups, a bad neighborhood, even schoolteachers and policemen, may later contribute to the process. But the parents usually set the mold, either through action or inaction. My year-long study, including hundreds of interviews with both children and experts, has found: 1. Most children in trouble have an extremely poor selfimage reflecting their sense of their parents' inadequacy. Too often their parents are "losers," unable to make a marriage go, unsuccessful in business, or are alcoholics, emotionally unstable, or have other problems. 2. Troubled youngsters find it nearly impossible to communicate their feelings in a normal way to adults. Running away, striking out violently, giving up in school, and other unacceptable forms of behavior may simply be ways of saying, "Care about me," or "I can't cope." 3. Instead of dealing with children in trouble appropriately, parents cry, nag, bluster, call the child a "dummy" or worse, and generally undermine the child's self-concept. 4. Contrary to public opinion, most children in trouble 163

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have been spanked or beaten over and over again with only negative results. 5. Many children become delinquent for the first time after a shattering crisis in the home involving the parents. This may be a divorce, separation, or death. 6. It is not the single-parent home that causes delinquency or emotional unbalance and other problems. Tens of thousands of widows and divorced women have successfully raised youngsters without a man in the home. Rather it is the inability or unwillingness of a parent (and often the children) to adjust to her new status. 7. Some divorced parents constantly berate their ex-partners. When a child misbehaves he or she is told, "You are just like your no-good father [or mother]." Mothers may whine or cry a great deal. Some parents baby the children — preventing them from growing up emotionally. Others — trying to prove that they are still "desirable" to the other sex — become promiscuous, and the children learn of this. Still others, trying to "make up" for the loss, may smother a child in gifts and favors, or refuse to discipline the child in a constructive way. Others overdiscipline or overprotect the child, or become cold and rejecting. 8. The conditions that drove the spouse away and resulted in divorce — bad habits, extreme self-centeredness, inability to cope, or gross ignorance — may be the very things that also drive the child to delinquency. Thus judges who automatically award the children to a mother — without any comprehension of the real reasons for the divorce — may contribute to the crime rate. 9. The child who is not properly prepared for the remarriage of a parent may rebel by breaking the law. Stepparents may be destructive if they do not understand or care about the stepchildren. Or the child may feel he is competing with the stepparent for his natural parent's "love." This can result in what social workers call "acting out." Some children "act out" by running. Others "escape" by sniffing glue, taking drugs, or indulging in other forms of defiant behavior. 10. Thousands of children in trouble come from what appear to be "normal" homes. But probe beneath the surface, and one may find alcoholism, emotional unbalance, a nambypamby or violent father, or other problems. Some children

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face inconsistent controls — with one parent extremely permissive, the other very rigid. Others cannot live up to models set by an older brother or sister; are under constant pressure to do better in school; or are constantly being compared with "good" children in the neighborhood. 11. When an older brother or sister gets in trouble, often the younger children will also become delinquent. This happens for a variety of reasons: the conditions that produced the first delinquent probably have not changed; younger children often admire an older child and want to "be like him." Teachers, neighbors, and police (even parents) may expect the younger children to turn out bad. Thus they treat these nondeliquent youngsters like delinquents — with the expected results. 12. Neighborhoods which parents are forced into, because of poverty or prejudice, produce children in trouble. If youngsters see prostitution, alcoholism, gambling, and crime wherever they turn, they grow up without knowing there is something better. Delinquent behavior only seems natural. 13. Some middle-class parents strive so hard for financial or social success that they neglect their children or give them "things" instead of what they really need — proper love and guidance. 14. Frequent corporate transfers may also lead to delinquency if certain other factors are present The child who lacks parental support and does not make friends easily sometimes joins the first group that accepts him. This group may be involved in deviant behavior — drinking, drug use, promiscuity, skipping school, shoplifting, and so on. 15. Parents addicted to TV may contribute to delinquency by confining family activities to television watching. This can limit family communication to "be quiet" or "wait until the program is over if you want to ask me something." Eventually the child goes elsewhere for answers, or forces parents to pay attention by misbehaving. 16. The opinions of other young people are extremely important to most teenagers. Without a strong parent-child relationship, the "group" or the "gang" will almost always win out. Some youngsters who have lost battles with parents about hair styles, jewelry, or clothing keep outfits unacceptable to parents at a friend's house or in a school locker. Other things may be hidden from parents. This conflict with parents and

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double life may result in parents' losing control and serious problems. 17. A high percentage — estimates vary from 10 percent up to a third or more — of girls in trouble have had incestuous relationships with their fathers or stepfathers. 18. Many other girls in trouble are so hungry for attention or affection that they become sexually involved with "the first fellow who comes along and pretends to care," the experts add. 19. Parents who constantly excuse misbehavior — and through manipulation, bluster, bribe, or threat put down neighbors, school officials, policemen, or judges — may eventually see their children behind bars. 20. Parental immaturity — usually expressed in extreme selfishness, lack of consistency, cruel teasing, or inappropriate discipline — may cause problem children. 21. Refusing to let teenagers grow up, the overprotective parent can also cause problems. For when the rigid family bond is broken, some children run wild. 22. Conversely, inadequate supervision frequently leads to delinquency, too. Parents encourage sexual promiscuity, use of narcotics or alcohol, and other problems by leaving children home alone. Interviews with youngsters in training schools across the country indicate that many got into trouble in their own or other children's homes — often when the mother works. Many of the foregoing do not of themselves cause delinquency. Obviously there is no such thing as a perfect parent. Lapses in discipline, affection, and interest occur in the best of homes. Fortunately, children are highly resilient and usually shake off minor parental mistakes. It is only the extreme parental abuses — constant rejection, alcoholism, incest, brutal beatings — that by themselves cause delinquency and emotional instability. And this reporter has found that even children who have been treated brutally or who have parents with severe problems usually talk of their strong love for their mothers and fathers. A child's yearning for affection enables him to forgive much. Sometimes this yearning may not give way to disillusionment and bitterness until the late teens. It is easy to generalize about "causes," or to substitute one simplistic solution for another ("lock parents up instead of

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the children"). But when one begins to look at individual cases and apply existing knowledge or techniques, it becomes clear why the problems of children in trouble so often go unsolved. Take Jimmy, a bright-eyed, redheaded 10-year-old from the Los Angeles area. His mother, escaping from an unpleasant home, was married at the age of 17 in November 1956. She lived with her husband a month before she discovered he was already married. Jimmy was born eight and a half months later. Jimmy's mother remarried in June 1958, when he was 1V4 years old. Her new husband drank heavily and beat Jimmy with his open hand, his fist, and a belt. In a fit of rage in 1963 he threw a bowling ball at the boy. Jimmy's mother, who by now had two more sons, divorced this second husband a few months later. He disappeared. He made no support payments, a common occurrence. Soon she went to the Welfare Department for help. She was a proud woman. Having read constant criticism of "lazy welfare mothers" in the newspapers, she decided to go to work. Having married early, she had no special skill. She found a night job as a waitress and with tips made slightly more than what she had received while on welfare. For a few weeks she paid a neighbor roughly half her wages to watch the children until she got home from work at 11:30 at night. But soon her neighbor grew weary of the work. Besides, Jimmy's mother found she couldn't pay both the babysitter and the landlord. Yet she liked the job. She was making new friends and she was out of the apartment, where she had had too much time to think about her troubles. More important, she was meeting men again. Perhaps the boys soon might have another father. Instead of quitting, she fixed supper each night before she went to work and left Jimmy in charge of his two half-brothers. The children often were found wandering alone around the neighborhood well after dark. In late 1965 the Welfare Department stepped in and took her to court. The judge was appalled that not only was she leaving the children alone but that she brought male strangers home from work. He called her a "common pick-up." She could not afford a lawyer, nor could she, with her

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lower-class background and abbreviated education, find the words to make the judge understand her plight. There three boys were found neglected, taken from her, and placed in foster homes. Jimmy's foster parents were decent enough — they just didn't know how to handle a boy who had a need for love and care even while asserting the independence he had grown accustomed to while his mother worked nights. Besides, he missed his mother desperately; worried about her constantly. The forced separation made him angry, hostile. Nor did his foster parents know what to do when he began, in the spring of 1966, to steal bicycles. He was arrested for taking six. Soon he was shifted to another foster home. He "hated" the new foster parents, who lived differently from both his real mother and the other foster parents. Jimmy ran away. He found a car with the keys in it. Police, noticing a small boy hardly able to poke his head up high enough to see through the windshield, arrested him. He was put in a detention home. The judge lectured hirn, but Jimmy didn't listen. He felt adults could not be trusted. Besides, it was a judge who had taken him from his mother in the first place. In September 1966, Jimmy was back in court for stealing candy, cigarettes, and a toy plane. The judge was disgusted, the foster parents had "had it," so Jimmy was moved again. He liked his new foster parents better: He stayed six months, until March 1967, before running away after an argument over a dollar missing from the foster mother's purse. He was picked up, returned to his foster parents. On May 1, after having trouble with a teacher, he ran again. It was raining and cool, and all he had worn to school was a short-sleeved shirt. So he stopped off at a shopping center and stole a jacket. He was caught. The manager, tired of so much shoplifting, demanded action. The court was tired of dealing with Jimmy and shipped him off to reform school. When he "served his time" he was released to another foster home. In a few weeks he stole a car. He had learned to "hot wire" an ignition while locked up. Jimmy's case, while more complicated than some, is fairly typical of that of many children in trouble. Whom should society blame? Who should go to court? Jimmy's mother for marrying too young and for the wrong

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reasons — marrying an already married man she hardly knew? The law doesn't cover that. And what of Jimmy's father? Tracking him down and putting him in prison would "teach him a lesson." But how would it help the boy? It would cost the state more than supporting Jimmy on welfare. The same is true of Jimmy's stepfather. Since he did not adopt Jimmy, his responsibility for Jimmy's support can be challenged. He is responsible for the other two children. The court can put him in prison, too — but it can't make him work if he prefers to serve time. If he has remarried and is making a go of it, then locking him up would only add another family to the welfare rolls and perhaps increase the number of delinquent children. Perhaps, because of the three children, the second marriage should have been blocked. Had the second husband been applying for the role of foster parent or had he been trying to get a child from an adoption agency he would have been carefully screened. Why are stepfathers so different? But will society, with its high divorce rate, let legislators pass such a law? On what grounds could such a marriage be blocked? The stepfather beat the children. But society condones corporal punishment by parents. Drunkenness in one's home also remains commonplace — even socially acceptable in middle-class society. One can also ask about the responsibility of Jimmy's grandparents on both his mother's and father's side. One set apparently pushed their daughter into a hasty marriage. The other raised a son who could not tell right from wrong. Present laws hold few answers that will help Jimmy. Nor are there laws to protect the child from an indulgent parent who may give him everything he asks for, yet doesn't know how to give love. How can the law teach a parent how to love? Mary is 16, with short blonde hair. She ran away from her home in Albany four times. The last time she ran with a 21year-old man and lived with him three months "right in Albany." "I like it better here [at the reform school in Hudson, N.Y.] than at home," she says. "They spoiled me a lot, I

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guess. Up here I feel bad because they still send me things — things I don't deserve. But I don't think they love me. "Oh, they'd say I did good in school, but they'd never say what I did good. I don't get along with my dad. And it seemed like they favored my younger sister more than me. "They don't try to understand you. They never just sit down and talk to you about things like personal problems. I don't even know how to talk to them. "I guess the thing that bothered me most was they didn't hug me. They keep sending me things here, but if they'd come for a visit and just hug me once, maybe things would be different." Most states have laws that permit parents to take difficult children to court and send them to reform school. This is shocking, since there is strong evidence that the problems of children are usually caused by the parents. In New York, one often finds "persons in need of supervision." Other states may list such children as incorrigible. Massachusetts has a "stubborn-child law" that funnels many youngsters into reform school. Patrick A. Creeden, superintendent of John Augustas Hall, in West Boylston, Mass., where boys 7 to 12 are housed, says: "Most of our youngsters are more neglected than delinquent. The courts have ajudicated them delinquent on a stubborn-child complaint. There are no controls in the home, and the kids are running wild. "Many youngsters are here for running away from a bad environment. They may have an alcoholic father or a promiscuous mother. The youngster may rebel at his mother bringing all these guys home. The judge commits them here to get them out of that environment" Take Emily, a 15-year-old I met in the reform school for girls in New Mexico. She is the oldest of four children and rather plain. Her parents were divorced when she was 12 after her father "fell in love" with a woman he met in a bar. Her mother became involved with another mam Emily began having trouble in school and was caught drinking with a gang of older youngsters. The court placed her in a series of foster homes. Her behavior got worse. When her mother remarried Emily was returned home — only to be picked up for drinking again. She also refused to come home on time, and she said she didn't like her stepfather.

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Her mother told the court that she simply could not control the girl. And so the youngster was sent off to reform school as an incorrigible child. Nothing, of course, happened to the parents. Perhaps most difficult to understand is the parent who physically injures his children. Dr. Richard Galdston, a Harvard Medical School professor of psychiatry, gathered data on battered children and their families for five years. He wrote in the American Journal of Psychiatry in October 1966: "Physical abuse should be distinguished from parental neglect. Many abused children are well-fed and cared for. It is striking to see a young child, covered with welts and bruises, all decked out in a fresh pinafore." The abused children he studied ranged in age from 3 months to 2>Vi years. An X-ray would sometimes show "old, healed fractures of the ribs, skull, head, or of the humerus [shoulder]." Dr. Galdston found most parents were young with limited income and education. "Many of the fathers were unemployed or worked parttime, often alternating with their wives, who also worked. The wife cared for the child part of the time and worked the rest, relegating the care of the child to the husband or babysitter. In appearance and demeanor many of the women were quite masculine and their husbands correspondingly passive and retiring." Dr. Galdston said that the parents somehow thought of infants as having the ability to reason and act as adults, and that most of the parents had bitter childhood experiences. Some youngsters never have a chance. Terrence is a 10-year-old Negro who was born in a Massachusetts mental hospital and was given to an elderly woman who was on welfare. He was committed on May 23, 1968, from Boston as a "stubborn child" when the woman, an alcoholic, died. Terrence's mother had been institutionalized when abandoned at age 3. By age 10 Terrence's mother was "stealing, setting fires, and having serious problems at school." She was placed in a series of institutions and private homes, was sent to the reform school while carrying Terrence, then was trans-

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ferred to a mental hospital. She also served time in the women's reformatory and was jailed in Boston as a prostitute and for drunkenness. Terrence once was placed with a great aunt who "loves the boy" but is too crippled to care for him. He lived there with his mother briefly, and was successfully involved in a prekindergarten program. Then his mother left "and he started acting up, failing in school." He "couldn't adapt to the group, had temper tantrums." Terrence "roamed the streets of Boston, begging and stealing," picking through garbage cans to find something to eat When he was 8, two men picked him up in a car, apparently for immoral purposes. The record shows that they pushed him was "hit by and taken to The court

out of the car "on a main highway" where he an oncoming car and then picked up by police a hospital." tried to place him in six private institutions in

New England. All turned Terrence down, stating they "could not cope with his behavior." While some never have a chance, others have the world in a little silver ball, suspended from a pendant. These suffer from the inability to discipline themselves, for they were never disciplined by parents. A pretty college sophomore told me about her high-school days in a wealthy suburb near Chicago. "Mother and Daddy always treated me like a princess. We weren't really rich, but I guess we were pretty well off. I never had to ask for anything. I just went down and charged what I needed. My parents almost never said no to me. I was a pretty good student when I wanted to be, and I really didn't cause them much trouble. I always had boys calling me for dates, and I think they were glad I was popular. My teachers liked me, although some of them said I should work harder. But I wanted to have fun. 'You're only young once' — that sort of thing, I guess. "All of the boys had cars. I had a car when I wanted it, but I never had one of my own. There wasn't much to do where I lived. Most of the time we just drove around or parked, or something. Mother used to tell me to come home by 11, but when I stayed out later nothing happened, so I came home when I wanted to. That was before this big thing

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about smoking pot, so all we did was drink a little beer. I don't know if she knew or not. She never said anything. "Then we started painting stop signs, and once we pushed over a bunch of stones in the graveyard. I sat in the car and watched. We got a little scared when we read about it in the paper the next day, but they never caught us. I suppose if they had, Daddy would have taken care of everything. He knew everybody in town and everybody knew him." This is not just a problem among wealthy children. Take the case of the three Morris (not their real name) children in Valdosta, Ga., a community of thirty thousand just above the Florida line. Martha is 17, Scott is 15, and Debbie is 13. All have been expelled from school, Scott on a "morals charge," and Martha and Debbie for truancy and "walking up and down the halls of the school while classes were in session, cursing teachers and pupils who said anything to them." They also threatened to beat up teachers and the principal, according to a social worker's report. The two Morris girls have spent much of their time with 20-year-old Ruth, who has been in trouble many times and spent several months in a reform school a few years earlier. They were arrested for shoplifting from three local stores and for staying out past 3 a.m., after being picked up by police at an all-night cafe. The police also arrested them in a neighboring town when Ruth was accused of "making an immoral proposition" to a man in that town. All three were accused of "use incident. of immoral, abusive, vulgar, and indecent language" in that The social worker visited the home, found that "both parents love [the two girls] and are providing them with food and the necessities of life." The father held a steady job; the mother was a "lazy" but adequate housekeeper. Both parents got along well, the social worker reporting "there appears to be unity between them." Then she wrote: "The major problem appears to be that both parents have failed to discipline their children properly, have failed to encourage them in their schoolwork and attendance, and have allowed them to associate with persons of bad character and reputation, thus contributing to their disrespect for authority and also their uncontrollability." Interviewing the parents separately, the worker found that the father "seems to be concerned about both of his daughters'

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delinquent acts, but states he does not know what to do in order to make them mind. He states that he has talked to both of them and tried to make them stay home, but it doesn't do any good." As for the mother, she "maintains the attitude that her daughters should remain home at night, but if they want to go out, lets them go out." There is one rule of thumb in saving children from destructive parents: Help them soon enough. Too often we wait until it is too late. Take the case of Cindy, a normal, happy, bright little girl of 8. She was sent to the Iowa Annie Wittenmyer Home in Davenport, but not until after six other brothers and sisters were taken from the parents over a period of several years — one or two at a time. Cindy was saved because it was found that her father was forcing her 14-year-old sister, Carol, to submit to him sexually. The father has also served time in prison for larceny and other offenses. While he was locked up, the mother prostituted in their family home in a small town north of Des Moines, and was jailed for "lewdness." The two little girls, Carol and Cindy, were placed in a foster home while the mother served her time, but they were returned when she was released. Cindy did well while at the home and one report shows she "manifests none of the anxiety present in her older sister." Because the judge terminated parental rights, Cindy was placed in an adoptive home, where she is now living a normal life. It is not always best to remove a child from his parents, however. Many times it is better for all concerned to strengthen the home. But this seldom happens. Take the case of Perry, a 10-year-old from Des Moines, who was picked up by police for breaking into houses and garages, stealing "money and other items." Perry's mother told court officials that she and her first husband were divorced in another state several years earlier, when the boy was quite small. The boy's stepfather was never interviewed, but a court worker decided that, based on interviews with the mother and boy, he "is not doing an adequate job of meeting the needs of the boy as his father." The worker also reported that "this family would appear to

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be having some financial difficulties," although he found no evidence to back this up. In his report he wrote: "According to Mrs. , Mr. earns approximately $80 per week in his employment at and seemingly leaves this family only able to meet their basic needs, even though their outstanding debts are reportedly limited to regular living expenses; they rent an apartment for $50 per month with few if any luxuries. In home visitation and evaluation this one and a half bedroom apartment was found to be adequate for the family needs; however, at the present time they are in the process of looking for another place to live inasmuch as the building in which they now live has been condemned by the City Health Department. Their home is located in the western part of the city, a racially mixed area with some foreseen social problems." The report also said that "the apparent motivation for [Perry's] offense would appear to have been an attempt to provide himself with the attention he so desires." Then the court worker wrote that Perry's "attitude toward his parents and home life is viewed by this officer as being generally satisfactory . . ." To this he added more speculation: "It is this officer's feeling that certain conflicts do exist between Mrs. and Perry," and then concluded that the boy's parents do not "devote enough time and energy to meet the needs of this boy to satisfy his attention-seeking self." This, he explains, is why Perry goes "outside of the home to fulfill this desire." Perry, at 10, was a first offender. He lived in an adequate home, although his stepfather did not bring home a large paycheck. The youth had a satisfactory attitude towards his parents. And yet the court shipped Perry off to the Iowa Annie Wittenmyer Home in Davenport. From there he was returned home. One official at the institution cited the case as a good example of how the court might better have found someone to assist the parents in meeting their son's needs. But this is^ not the way we think in the United States. This is not the way we operate. We think nothing of taking a child from his parents, and seldom consider working within the home. Courts run traffic schools for those who violate laws on streets and highways. Why not ask parents with children in trouble to view films and read material that would be appro-

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priate? Why not make greater use of the homemakers now provided in some sections of the country by the welfare department? But what can be done for the family? One can, by arousing the apathetic public, improve horrible jails, detention homes, reform schools, prisons, and institutions for the homeless, the mentally retarded, and the emotionally ill. One can, by informing the public of the need, find compassionate people willing to open their homes to children in trouble. Children are being hurt daily by divorces, destructive parents, inadequate parents. If, as the evidence indicates, children in trouble come from parents in trouble, the solution would appear to be: Resolve the parents' troubles. This is no easy task in a society where individual rights are sacred and the sanctity of the home must be preserved. Yet the task, however challenging, is not hopeless when people care deeply. What is needed is a national effort — beginning at the neighborhood level — to help families help themselves. Louise Foresman, homemaker supervisor for the St. Louis County Welfare Department, has written that while many parents are immature, inadequate, mentally ill, or otherwise unable to cope with day-to-day problems, most people have an innate capacity to be good parents and really want to be adequate. Also, there is an "inner core of positives," or strengths, in each person, and parents do have the capacity to change. A Michigan organization has come to the same conclusion. The Children's Charter (703 South Westnedge Avenue, Kalamazoo, Mich. 49007) has established volunteer programs in Kalamazoo and Battle Creek designed to help parents realize their potential. "Friendly Visitors" are assigned a family. The visitors work with their adopted family informally, but on a regular basis, offering counsel and assistance without pressure or strings attached. Children's Charter has also prepared a manual titled "Family Preservation," available for $1. It explains how communities may successfully attack delinquency-producing family problems through use of home and family-living courses.

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Groups of ten or twenty mothers are invited to learn about such subjects as how to make a house a home, food preparation, housekeeping and laundry, responsibilities of parents to children, health, and how children get into difficulty. The manual also explains that criticism of these families serves only to make the situation worse; then adds that with the proper approach women "have suddenly shown that they can be good, responsive, adequate mothers once they have an opportunity to learn how." There are many books available for parents who are concerned about their own children. Between Parent and Child by Dr. Haim G. Ginott, published in paperback by Avon Books, has been widely acclaimed. Those interested in the behavioral scientist's point of view might find helpful a common-sense manual for parents, teachers, and others dealing with children — especially children with behavior problems — called Child Management — a Program for Parents. It is by Judith M. and Dr. Donald E. P. Smith of the University of Michigan and is published by Ann Arbor Publisher, 610 Church, Ann Arbor, Mich. 48104 ($3). On the community and state level, too, there are steps that can be taken to short-circuit some of the causes of delinquency. Marriage training might become a required course in high school — to be taught by a minister when parents object to secular education in this area. One might change the marriage laws — especially the remarriage laws— when children are involved. It is often far easier to get a marriage license than a driver's license or gasstation credit card. Yet how to stop production of unwanted children — either in or out of wedlock — remains a thorny issue. Men who produce children either in or out of marriage must be held financially accountable — and they should be made to understand that at an early age. Laws are already on the books but are too seldom enforced because prosecutors — reflecting society's short-term interest in security — are too busy working on criminal cases. Laws that could reduce crime by bringing stability to the family are neglected. Thousands of fathers presently ignore child-support payments in every state in the nation.

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Revision of divorce laws is clearly essential. Judges should stop making a mockery of existing divorce laws. Children must become the first concern of the courts. A law might be passed making it mandatory for parents of children in trouble — whether married or divorced — to attend special classes. This should be done early, long before the court finds it necessary to ship a youngster off to reform school. While these proposals are only a beginning, it is obvious they are better answers than hiring more policemen and judges and building bigger crime-producing reform schools and prisons.

CHAPTER

13

THE PUSH AND PULL OF PEERS

The mother sat rigidly on the unpadded straight-backed chair in the New York City courtroom. Her cotton dress faded, her shoes scuffed and not matching her purse, her hair fighting the bobbypins that held it in place, she looked old and tired. "Judge, I just can't keep him from running with the wrong crowd," she says weakly. "I tell him to stay home, and he says things no boy should say to his mother, and he slams the door and goes I don't know where for all hours of the night I know he's up to no good because of the no-good kids he hangs around with. Judge, God knows I try, but I just can't do anything with him." Standing behind her, his hands jammed into his pockets, her 14-year-old son tilts his head, squints his eyes, and opens his mouth in a mixture of mock astonishment and disgust, shouting without words to all who watch: "She's crazy, and you're crazy if you listen to her." This is the classic conflict for the older child in trouble — parent against peer group.

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One's peer group includes all those considered equals. For youngsters that can mean a history class, Little League team, scout troop, Sunday-school class, or tough street gang. It also involves the larger group — those who are about the same age, or like the same music and clothing and hair styles, or flock to the same drive-in hamburger stand. It is normal for a youngster to have friends, and it is normal for those friends to greatly influence his behavior — even when parents object. This is part of growing up; a step toward the inevitable break of family ties and independence. Nor is anyone really free of peer pressures. The adult who meticulously grooms his suburban lawn while wishing he was fishing may do so because he knows what his neighbors will say if the weeds take over. The same is true of the man who trades in a perfectly good Pontiac because he knows the fellows at work will chide him about his "junker" if he doesn't The mother who complains she has "nothing to wear" to a party is influenced by the same kind of peer pressure that makes her 15-year-old daughter fuss that she just "has to stay out until midnight Saturday because all of the kids are going to." Peer pressure, coupled with other factors, may help a boy become a football star or outstanding debater. Or it may be the reason he becomes the obnoxious class clown or sneering bully. It is a fact that most youngsters commit delinquent acts with other young people. This seems to be as true in the less populated states as in those with huge, teeming cities. A recent report from the Montana State Industrial School shows, for example, that more than 65 percent of its inmates were with one or more "partners" when they committed the act that put them in the reform school. One may ask why some groups of youngsters "go bad," while others never lead members astray. Many theories are offered, most of them right at least in part For generations we have heard that "one rotten apple will spoil a barrel." The implication is that a single delinquent can infect a large number of children and lead them into trouble through close contact. I found, in my interviews, that many youngsters have been talked into a break-in or other criminal acts by a friend who called them "chicken" or used other forms of peer pressure.

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But not every child who is called "chicken" steals from the local drugstore or takes a car because the keys are in it. For the rotten-apple theory to work, the other children being contaminated by the bad apple must be vulnerable. A peer group with a positive value system may be able to change the bad apple into a good one. More often the group rejects the delinquent youngster, and he wanders off to find friends that he feels more comfortable with. There is also the environmental theory: A child of the slums finds so much crime, drug use, and despair surrounding him that he is swallowed up by it. This is too often true. Yet I have found youngsters from bitterly poor neighborhoods who, because of strengths in their home, have been able to resist these pressures. I met a mother whose husband was killed in World War II, leaving her with two preschool children to raise. They lived in a section of New York City that produced many delinquents, and she worked full-time. But never once did her son or daughter get in trouble. Both have now finished graduate school and are on their way to successful careers in professional fields. How did she do it? "Almost every Friday night when I got home from work we left the city for the weekend," she says. "We hiked, swam, climbed mountains, collected rocks and shells until they left for college. And I had someone who took care of them after school until I arrived from work." Most slum children are not this fortunate. It should also be pointed out that millions of youngsters who commit delinquent acts are never caught and locked up. If they were we might need as many jails as schools. The 1967 report by the President's Commission on Law Enforcement and Administration of Justice stated that: "Almost all youths commit acts for which they could be arrested and taken to court. But it is a much smaller group that ends up being denned officially delinquent." More than 90 percent of all youths commit one or more acts that could, if they were caught, result in police records or worse, according to the study. There are those who point out that groups of young people get into trouble because there is nothing else to do. Again there is some validity to this in jammed cities where there are few parks or playgrounds, where vacant lots are covered with

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trash and broken glass, and the streets are too crowded with cars even to knock a baseball around or to play kick-the-can. But what of suburban vandalism, drinking, drug-taking, shoplifting, or promiscuity? Even with several dollars in their pockets and the family Oldsmobile at their disposal, they say they are bored and have nothing to do — as they drive past parks, theaters, bowling alleys, restaurants, and swimming pools. Suburban children have stacks of records, television sets, large family rooms for dancing, refrigerators to raid. And yet they too get in trouble in groups. Again the strengths of the family come into play. High mobility is a factor. A teenager with a car can be miles from parental influences in minutes. Many do give in to temptations under these circumstances, although few will rob or commit other acts considered serious by society. (Use of drugs would be the exception.) The "magnetic" theory perhaps best describes why some groups are constantly in trouble. Like bits of magnetized iron scattered on a highly polished surface, young people with severe home problems, children failing in school, and those with damaged personalities are drawn to each other. In his delinquent group a "nothing" child has status. He's suddenly somebody. And he has found people who see the world as he does — hostile, unfair, dangerous. He needs the group to survive. For as one young man, working with delinquents on New York City's Lower East Side, told me: "They broke up the gangs here. It's too bad. For some kids it was the only security, the only real family they had. I'm sure that's one reason so many are turning to drugs." In several large cities youth workers have redirected street gangs — using them as a positive force to begin to clean up a community. But political ignorance and pressure for a police crack-down from know-nothing editors of large and powerful papers have more often led to wars on gangs. Many adults also tend to misunderstand the larger teenage peer group. They feel threatened by it, especially when their own children ignore their threats and dress as they please. Many confused, middle-class Americans put all teenagers in the same bag. Seeing a boy with long hair, they may conjure up visions of barricaded campus buildings, bearded motorcyclists terrorizing towns, glassy-eyed hippies sprawling

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semi-conscious in cold-water beating, or rioting. Yet that long-haired youth only contact with "grass" is his understanding parents. It is as hard to generalize even those in trouble, as it is

flats, or angry blacks robbing, may be an honor student whose the lawn he obediently cuts for accurately about young people, to generalize about adults. Each

child's experience is unique. Yet all children have certain common needs that must be met by their parents and the larger world around them. These include love, understanding, and status. As one moves from childhood into adolescence, he also needs time to grow up, an opportunity to find his own way as an individual in a society that so often demands conformity. It is normal for more idealistic youngsters to become angry at the hypocrisy, stupidity, and dishonesty they find in adult society — especially when adults seem more tolerant of society's flaws than of the young people who want to correct those flaws. The thing that is, perhaps, most sad, is that idealistic young people finally buy a share in the system and lose their zest for reform. Thus each generation's mistakes tend to be repeated. CHAPTER

WHAT

ARE

14

AMERICAN VALUES: OUR CHILDREN WORTH?

Juvenile delinquency will thrive in the United States as long as certain basic flaws in American society exist. This is the consensus of professionals dealing with children in trouble interviewed for this book. These experts — from nearly every state, and representing a wide variety of disciplines — see many Americans as unthinking, uncaring, and superselfish — a people who desperately pursue dollars and self-gratification. All generalizations are flawed. Yet my study shows that not only do many citizens turn their backs on children in trouble,

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but they also provide a climate that makes crime and vice flourish. Take Mary, a handsome 16-year-old white girl from Seattle. Both her mother and her father (a sometime construction worker) are alcoholics. I met Mary in the Maple Lane School for Girls. It was her second commitment. Maturing early, Mary became a professional prostitute at the age of 13. Her clients were largely business and professional men, although she also saw some prosperous blue-collar workers. She said she intends to return to prostitution when she finishes "serving my time," for she sees it as her passkey to what her clients' daughters have: fine clothing, a decent place to live, good food, an expensive car. What turned Mary to prostitution? Perhaps no one really knows. But one can chronicle the events that led up to it From the start her parents lived in "bad places" — shacks with roofs that leaked and in noisy housing projects. Mast of the children she knew were from families in trouble. Mary was deprived of all of the things a little girl needs — love, attention, proper discipline, decent clothing, good food. Beaten with a belt, left to roam the streets, it was obvious to her teachers that this dirty, ragged child was in serious trouble. But nothing was done about it. When she disrupted a class she was sent to the principal's office. One of her older sisters was arrested when she tried to walk out of a department store with a stolen suit on. Another older sister ran away from home and was never seen again. An older brother was sent to reform school. Clearly a family in trouble. Yet no community organization stepped in to help. No church provided assistance. No governmental agency intervened — except to make arrests. Starved for toys, candy, clothing, and the other things most little girls get from their parents, Mary began stealing from stores when she was 10. But her first contact with the police came when at 12 she started a fire in a vacant lot. To the police it was just another incident — one "cleared by apprehension." After that Mary had a number of minor brushes with the police. She was picked up wandering the streets late at night, was caught shoplifting, frequently skipped school. He father

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was jailed for breaking and entering. Her drunken mother constantly beat her. Eventually, at the age of 13, she was locked up in the detention home in Seattle. There she learned about prostitution from one of the older girls — a homosexual. The girl told Mary of big money she could make. She gave Mary the address of a man who would help her get started. As soon as Mary was released she went to the address, and it wasn't long before she was earning "big money," buying expensive clothing. She also began using drugs. Mary detests the men she serves. It is the money — and the things the money will buy — that keeps her at it. Nor is Mary's story unusual. Not only are there girls at Maple Lane with similar backgrounds, but I also found hundreds like her in institutions scattered across the nation. Are the children in trouble to blame? The experts point out the obvious: Adults engage vulnerable children in prostitution. Adults produce and sell the drugs that turn children into addicts. Adults run the saloons and brew and sell the beverages that turn parents into alcoholics. They make drinking glamorous through advertising. They write and sell the magazines, books, movies, and television shows that provide young people a model for behavior — material that sometimes suggests that crime, sadism, promiscuity, war, and other forms of killing are "normal." Middle-class adults also decide what acts are delinquent When drug-taking was limited to other people's children, use of marijuana was considered a crime deserving a long prison term. Now that the drug has moved into "good" neighborhoods, there is a growing cry to legalize its use. But this is only part of the story. While we debate drug laws, young people are told day after day that taking a pill is the sure cure for all of their problems. Even as I write these words a "humorous" radio commercial pushes this theme. A man who kept cutting himself while listening to the news when he shaved in the morning says he now takes a little blue pill and smiles right through reports of war, murder, and mayhem. In a Time magazine cover story published in late September 1969, it is suggested that between a quarter and a third of all medical prescriptions in the United States are for tranquilizers and pep pills. Then it adds: "Newspaper, magazine and tele-

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vision ads hammer away at the theme that relief is just a swallow away for any condition, from nervous tension to drowsiness. As Sociologists William Simon and John H. Gagon write: 'Modern medicine has made drugs highly legitimate, something to be taken casually and not only during moments of acute and certified stress. Our children, far from being in revolt against an older generation, may in fact be acknowledging how influential a model that older generation was.' " In Mount Vernon, N.Y., a judge, John P. Griffith, set bail at $25,000 for an 18-year-old basketball star and twelve other defendants charged with possessing and selling heroin. The New York Times reported the judge set the high bail because the suspects "are accused of the worst crime on the books." In Massachusetts a legislative study group estimated that 400,000 of the commonwealth's five million citizens were "drug dependent," and that for those between the ages of 14 and 30 drug use has reached "near epidemic" levels. In Cheyenne, Wyo., four university students were charged with buying marijuana from adult peddlers in Laramie. On March 12, 1969, Fred Pass, a reporter for the Dallas Morning News wrote: "The worst offenders among marijuana-smoking, pill-popping teenagers of the Dallas area today are boys and girls 15 and 16 years old, authorities say. And parents who refuse to believe their children are involved, even when officers report they have been caught or are under suspicion, pose a serious problem for authorities who try to stamp out drug activities before they spread." In Bremerton, Wash., a 15-year-old boy died after inhaling vegetable oil spray while trying to get a "high" in his home. In New York City, the police said they curbed drug abuse at Seward Park High School on the Lower East Side when they arrested a 14-year-old boy, an 18-year-old boy, and a 28-year-old dishwasher peddling marijuana from a lunch stand across the street from the school. I traced drug traffic from California to Utah to Idaho while researching this book. Yet officials in one Idaho city were convinced they had no drug problem* Robert W. Hoag, executive director of the Idaho Narcotics and Alcohol Education Foundation, tells audiences that "many people think the teenager in isolated areas is not confronted with drugs, but youngsters who do not live in big cities are just as style-conscious as the big-city kids."

186 Children in Trouble Have times changed? One would think so. And yet the Chicago Daily News recently ran an editorial on the 1920s when "skirts rose from the ankles to the knees. Girls held up their stockings by rolling them. They smoked cigarettes. They bobbed their hair. They drank illegal gin. They snuggled in back seats." Cries then were louder than now, the paper argues. And then the paper continues: "Illegal booze then* Illegal pot now. Funny hairdos then. Funny hairdos now. Ditto clothes. Generation gap the same. Dirty books now. Then erudite students knew about the Decameron, which was thought racy indeed." One could, I suppose, look back to the Gay Nineties for another picture of the wild behavior of youth. Or to other similar periods in history. But the concern here is what we do with children who follow the lead of their elders. Sherwood Norman, who heads the youth correctional services division of the National Council on Crime and Delinquency, reports that "NCCD surveys have shown that at least half of the delinquency referrals to the juvenile court are not offenses which would be considered crimes if committed by adults." It might be useful here to pause for a closer look at the men who are or have been our nation's ideals or heroes. Jesse James is still a name everyone knows. He rates a line in the Random House Dictionary of the English Language. So does John Dillinger. We show far less interest in our great educators. Few, if any, schoolteachers, policemen, probation officers, scout leaders, YMCA instructors, ministers, or social workers are singled out for national honors. Nor are they paid adequately for the services they provide. Historically, the most important medals have gone to explorers and to those who have been skilled at war. Financial rewards have followed a different pattern. Before democracy, wealth belonged to the physically strong — the conquerors. This was followed by the era of landholders. With the arrival of the Industrial Revolution, business became the road to riches. At the same time the professions of law and medicine opened many doors to wealth. These avenues to what is generally considered "success" still exist. But in recent decades a group once looked down upon — the court jesters — have emerged as the most highly

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paid and honored. So have the combatants, although professional boxers have been replaced by football players. On a recent radio interview show in Chicago, a striptease artist said she was paid $1,000 a week to remove her clothing in public. The entertainers — television and movie stars, singers, and comedians like Johnny Carson, Tiny Tim, the Beatles, or Elizabeth Taylor Burton — often earn far more in one year than teachers, policemen, and the others dealing with children make in a lifetime. Another gauge of what society values: The single most important item in many families is the automobile. With a car, the man lost in the crowd (or held down by circumstances beyond his control) can become an equal of all others on the road. He can shut out all others in the world or curse them with his horn. A car offers a feeling of power and progress — passing others by. It gives one "control" of his environment To a child, a car can become the symbol of growing up. Driving, like smoking and drinking, is equated with adulthood. It is not surprising, then, that thousands of children see these objects as desirable — and get into trouble. Auto theft ranks high as a cause of commitment to reform school. Still another way to assess how society actually supports delinquency is in the way a nation spends its money. The Department of Commerce reports that in 1967 (latest figures available) Americans spent $36.6 billion dollars on automobiles and parts. Another $14.5 billion went for alcoholic beverages; while $9.2 billion was spent on tobacco products. Americans spend roughly $2 billion dollars a year on pets. Yet total expenditures for the 110,000 children locked in reform schools in 1967 was only a fraction of that — an estimated $209 million, according to the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. That is considerably less than the cost of a week of the Vietnam war. No accurate data is available on what is spent on juvenile probation. Nor are there figures on what is being spent for emotionally and mentally retarded children. The Federal budget for fiscal 1970 includes spending estimates of $3.9 billion for "farm-income stabilization" — which means paying farmers not to farm, crop price supports, sur-

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plus food purchases. Another $4.9 billion expenditure is expected for highway building. Defense spending will total more than $80 billion — with $27.7 billion earmarked for the Vietnam war. Several billion dollars have been earmarked for politically popular Army Corps of Engineer dams and power plants. The Congress passed a juvenile Delinquency and Control Act in July 1968, and it was signed by the President on July 31. Funds totaling $5 million were authorized for fiscal 1969 — obviously inadequate — but as this was being written none of these meager funds had been released to the states. It has been reported that the Navy authorized five times that much to reclaim the submarine that was accidentally sunk in dry dock in San Francisco Bay in the spring of 1969. The most recent figures for child-welfare services are those for the fiscal year ending June 30, 1967. Local, state, and Federal expenditures totaled an estimated $452.7 million. Of this, an estimated $283.3 million (or 63 percent) went for 283,400 children in 132,700 foster homes. And $128.3 million (28 percent) was spent on welfare department payrolls. Not included in the total spent for child-welfare services is another $29.6 million by state and local agencies for the operation of institutions and group homes for dependent and neglected children. One finds research is extremely skimpy — where it exists at all — in this neglected field of children in trouble. Far more valid research has been done (and more money spent) on raising of pigs, chickens, corn, or cucumbers than on solving the problems of our troubled youth. But as one reform-school official put it: "Farmers have an effective lobby. Children in trouble have no one they can count on. If they had someone, they wouldn't be in trouble."

CHAPTER

THE COMMUNITY:

UNKEPT

15

PROMISES

On a hot summer day a mother of four was strapped in a straitjacket and hauled in an ambulance to a mental hospital. A policewoman had briefly diverted the attention of three of her small children while male officers subdued their mother, but the youngsters saw her carried off, screaming and crying. The fourth child, not yet a year old, sat gurgling in a playpen. For the next several days the four children lived at a neighbor's house. But no professional person called. No agency offered help. Because in the middle-class, Midwestern suburb where they live, little help is available. The woman, normally friendly and cheerful, had been hospitalized earlier, before the fourth child was born, but her husband removed her before treatment was completed because of the horrible conditions in the institution. It was obvious to the neighborhood weeks before she was carried off the second time that help was needed. She had been seeing a social worker for a half-hour every two weeks, but during this time seemed to go downhill more rapidly. Even now the children need specialized help. The 6-yearold keeps setting fires. The 8-year-old girl runs like a frightened deer when a cross word is spoken. They need help, but they are not getting it. Will these children end up in reform school? It is, of course, too early to tell. The youngsters are small. Yet experts would say that danger flags are flying. So far the community has chosen to ignore these signals. Little is done here, as elsewhere, until someone breaks the law. Then they punish the offenders. No concerted effort to prevent delinquency is made. They have Scouts and Little Leagues and other similar groups, of course. A new YMCA building was built less than two miles from their home. But a family membership costs $90 189

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a year — too much for those who need it the most And many activities cost extra. "You pay $4 for this class and $6 for that one — you have to pay something every time you turn around," complains one mother. "Besides, the Y is located next to one of the most dangerous stretches of highway in the United States and there isn't even a sidewalk most of the way. We don't have public transportation. So how is a kid supposed to get there unless he comes from a 2-car family?" Their community has one swimming pool, located at the opposite end of town. Free bus service is provided during the summer. There is also a day camp in the adjoining park for small children. Both the pool and camp are inexpensive for the typical family. But again those who need it the most find the fee too much. Schoolyards and parks are not fenced, but there has been little in the way of supervised recreation. No effort is made to reach those children who are constantly in trouble. There is hope that will soon be changed. In the summer of 1969, a small group of college students and other young people met one Friday evening for casual conversation. Before they left, one young man complained that "it's okay to talk about problems, but what are we going to do about them?" Not wanting to let the opportunity slip by, I pressed him for suggestions. It was agreed that the group would meet again on Sunday evening. Before that session was over they elected a black elementary-school teacher chairman. The group met again Tuesday evening after visiting city and county officials. By the end of the week they held a picnic and launched a pilot project, teaching art and music, and involving youngsters who couldn't make Little League in sports. (The teacher's husband was a star on the local high-school football team, and later at a Big Ten university.) The Park Department promised to provide funds and equipment for future programs. But even this will probably not be enough. Communities with excellent summer programs still have delinquency because they cannot change homes that cause it Nor is anyone else doing this. There are many churches here, of course. They try to gather up children in need of guidance for Sunday-school classes. But there are still many "unchurched" families, and

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it is impossible to force them to attend. An hour class once a week isn't enough. Said one girl in trouble: "They tell us to go pray to God. I don't know where God is. I don't know what He is. The more they talk about it the more they mix me up." The community is little different from hundreds of others in America. Like most, it has not begun to do the job required. And yet experts insist that we can only check crime and delinquency through local community efforts — reaching children before they become ensnared in the juvenile court process. Perhaps it would be helpful, at this point, to review the reasons why we have organized communities. We have formed towns, cities, counties, and states to give order to our lives (at least in theory) and to provide levels of service and expertise that would be too costly if we tried to provide them for ourselves. One need only imagine the expense and confusion if each citizen, with his individual tastes, interests, and ability to pay, were responsible either for contracting for paving the street in front of his house or for the construction of storm and sewer trunk lines. The same is true of public schools, parks, or the fire department. Perhaps the fire department is the best model for explaining how a community can come to grips with delinquency. To begin with, much community emphasis is not on fighting fires. It is on fire prevention. Local ordinances regulate installation of wiring, burning of trash, fire-retardant materials in walls and roofs, furnaces, storage of fuels and flammable materials, curbing smoking in public buildings — whatever is found to be the cause of fires. Inspectors are hired to see that laws are followed. Meanwhile, the fire department stands by to swing into action when preventive measures fail. The men are carefully trained. And they have a variety of tools and equipment — pumpers, snorkel units, hoses, ladders, nets, fans, inhalators, ropes, whatever is needed to do the job. Firemen are not punitive. They punish neither the house nor the occupants, even when a fire starts through ignorance, carelessness, or violations of the law. Their interest is in stopping the fire with quick, efficient, emergency measures.

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Only when there is clear evidence that the fire was deliberately set— provable arson — does the community take criminal action. Communities also take steps to prevent delinquency. Children must attend school until age 16; some communities impose a curfew hour; parks and playgrounds are provided; churches, mental-health clinics, social organizations such as Boy Scouts and Little League provide both counseling, recreation, and positive alternatives to misbehavior. This is enough for most children — those with the support of adequate parents living in a decent neighborhood. But what of children with careless, selfish, ignorant, or destructive parents? What of youngsters who live in neighborhoods where prostitution, gambling, alcoholism, ignorance, filth, poverty, stealing, and violence are the norm — where there are few or no parks, where schools are old and overcrowded, where recreation is what you find in the streets with the gang? It is these children who fill our reform schools, mental hospitals, and other institutions. Like the family, the community (which is really the family enlarged) has failed. The community fails for the same reasons the family fails — carelessness, selfishness, ignorance, poverty. And the community fails because, like the family, it can be destructive — it too often hurts instead of helps. What does the community need to do to help children in trouble beyond the obvious preventive measures — enforcing existing housing laws; improving schools; and providing more parks, lighted playgrounds, tutors, libraries, recreation leaders, and instructors and materials in arts and crafts, music, and other nondeliquent activities? What is needed is an emergency unit, not unlike the fire department (or highway department or utility repair crew), trained and with the proper equipment, that can move in swiftly and solve problems quickly with positive rather than punitive action — solve them before they get out of control. A child is starting to steal? Perhaps he only needs a job or some other source of spending money. A youngster failing in school? He may need a tutor, a quiet place to study, or help in coping with a negative attitude toward education in the home. Perhaps he needs someone to show him how to get along with a poor teacher.

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An angry or violent youngster? He may not have proper controls in the home. He may be going hungry or have an alcoholic father who beats him. What he needs is help — not a lecture from the police or a few days in jail. A child wandering the streets? He may have no one to care for him. (I was surprised to find how many runaway children make an effort to be noticed by policemen — hoping to be caught and thus cared for. I was shocked to discover that much delinquent behavior is a form of crying out for help — children unable to communicate their critical needs in any other way.) If communities are to solve these problems at least three steps must be taken: • Existing agencies and institutions must become more effective in dealing with children in trouble. Staffs must be better trained. • New services must be provided. • Volunteer programs must be begun or enlarged, drawing upon the many and varied talents and interests of citizens. In the 1967 report by the President's Commission on Law Enforcement and Administration of Justice, it was suggested that to end fragmentation of existing services and to reach youngsters getting no service at all: "Communities should establish neighborhood youth-serving agencies — Youth Service Bureaus — located if possible in comprehensive neighborhood community centers and receiving juveniles (delinquents and nondelinquents) referred by the police, the juvenile court, parents, schools, and other sources." Better use of existing agencies might include adding skilled investigators to the juvenile court staff — if the juvenile court is to remain as the keystone of this field. (Many professionals, including some with the National Council on Crime and Delinquency, urge that more and more children be channeled out of the court process.) Whenever a child is reported to be in trouble — day or night, by police or any other agency — the investigator would be immediately sent to the home. If the home is supportive,

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then the child could be returned — rather than spending days, even weeks in jail or detention. If the home is obviously damaging — immediate action could be taken toward correcting these problems by contacting existing agencies. Beyond this, schools might remain open at night and all summer — staffed by volunteers if necessary. Courses should be offered in auto mechanics and other fields that excite youngsters. In Minneapolis a licensed pilot has trained delinquents in navigation. As a final exam youngsters serve as navigators for pilots flying small planes to the Canadian border and back. Policemen might be used as school counselors, as is so effectively done in some Michigan cities. Or sports stars could spend off-seasons doing community-relations work for the police, as has been the case in St Louis. Funds should be made available for camping trips and other outings for children who find Boy Scouts, Boys Clubs, and agencies "square" — or cannot join because they are too alienated to conform to rules and regulations. Every community that sends three or four children to reform school or other institutions each year should build a group home. Smaller cities like Boulder, Colo, (which calls them attention homes), and Idaho Falls, Idaho (both in the thirty to forty thousand population range), are leading the way. No children should be kept in jail, regardless of the size of the community. Small detention homes, to be used only for violent or self-destructive children, should be built. Each should have adequate staff and program. Welfare department shelter-care institutions and short-term-care foster homes are needed for all other children who cannot be returned to their own homes. Older youngsters also need status. They need to be needed. In an earlier age they had responsibilities on the farm or the family business or at home. They had a role. They felt useful. Today many have become almost like possessions — to be loved, cherished, comforted, and educated. Some of the most exciting conversations I have had with youngsters in reform school centered around a 15 -year-old relative of mine who worked as a professional carpenter's helper when his home was being remodeled. After careful

The Community: Unkept Promises 195 instruction he roofed the entire house, then wired the addition — passing the building inspector's check. Children behind bars long for such an opportunity, I found. Young people needs jobs — both after school, on weekends, and during summer vacations. Dropouts critically need employment ifthey are to stay out of trouble. Business groups, service clubs, a housewife with business skill, a governmental or school official, even high school or college students can run clearing houses for jobs. On Atlanta's West Side, young people have developed a successful program called Rent-AKid. Youngsters babysit, mow lawns, wash windows, and do other chores. Youngsters in trouble may need help in filling out application forms. They may need transportation, breakfast, group counseling on how to keep a job. Youngsters should be encouraged individually and in groups to make someone else's life brighter. Reading to the elderly in a nursing home, running errands for those who are incapacitated, painting houses, churches, and other buildings for the poor, and other projects help young people find themselves and feel useful. Usually youngsters are left off local planning boards — sometimes even for teenage centers. Yet many have been known to give useful suggestions and even make the difference between a program's success and failure. Communities must do more for those who are retarded. Take the 10-year-old Boston youngster I found in a reform school. One court official wrote: "[This boy] is not a candidate for commitment to the Division of Youth Services. Subject is in all probability mentally deficient and should be referred either to a school for mental retardates or to the Massachusetts Rehabilitation Commission for Assistance. This is a multiproblemed family and the prognosis for improvement is doubtful." Yet the boy was locked up with delinquents. Because of the generation gap, young people who are "making it" can sometimes best reach other young people. In 1940 a young seminarian in Texas decided that since so many teenagers turned away from formal religion, he would reach them by going where they were — the pool halls, the football field, the soda fountain. Young Life, headed by Bill Starr, now holds meetings in living rooms in many parts of the United States and overseas.

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Ten years ago Bill Milliken met a Young Life worker in a pool hall in Pittsburgh. Bill was given a free trip to a Young Life ranch in Colorado (he reports that fifteen thousand high-school students will go to these ranches this summer) . Bill returned to Pittsburgh, attended the university there, and after two years he and his roommate, a former drug addict, decided to work with youngsters on the streets of New York's Harlem. After developing a successful program there — without funds — they moved to the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Now they are funded by the Eli Lilly Foundation and by Wall Street business firms. The operating budget this year is $125,000. In the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, Bill and a paid staff of twenty-four work with drug addicts — a shocking number as young as 9 and 10 — and with other children in trouble from three housing projects. Bill also trains other street workers. At my request, the New York State Division for Youth sent an investigator to evaluate the program. He was "very much impressed." Groups can do a great deal, but individuals can also help. Many talents are needed. Women with typing skills, retired teachers, art, drama, music, and dance instructors, men and women with interest or skill in fishing, camping, writing, welding, weaving, sewing, cooking, stamp collecting, or judo or Indian wrestling have something to offer. More and more big-city youngsters receive free summer camping experiences. Farm families are taking in ghetto youngsters for a week or longer. A few middle-class couples are including deprived children when they take vacation trips. For any volunteer program, leadership is needed. It may emerge when one concerned person telephones friends and neighbors. It may exist in a club, service, or professional group. Or it may be sought. Large numbers of youngsters can be individually helped in this way. But to turn a city around, to curb the destructive elements built into a community, local government must understand the problems of children in trouble. It must recognize the causes of delinquency and combat these causes. Cities across the nation may learn something from the experience of the Chicago Youth Development Project — a 6-

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year joint effort of Chicago Boys Clubs and the Institute for Social Research at the University of Michigan. The project, largest ever tried in Chicago, was financed by a $1,225,000 grant from the Ford Foundation and $174,000 from the W. Clement and Jessie B. Stone Foundation. Unlike most programs, it was backed up by careful research. (A book, Action in the Streets, will soon be published by the YMCA's Association Press. The book describes the project and its findings in detail.) Using street-club workers who made contact with youngsters on the corners, wherever they found them, and utilizing storefront "outposts" for clubhouses (for youngsters who would not enter or were unacceptable to traditional Boys Clubs) as well as the adult meeting places, the project touched some five thousand individuals. During the six years 1960-1966, the staff has found 750 jobs for 490 young people; returned 950 dropouts to school 1,400 times; made 1,250 appearances at police stations and courts in behalf of 800 youngsters in which cases were either handled by station adjustment or probation; and made 2,700 follow-up visits to homes of 2,000 juveniles arrested during the last thirty months of the project. With those individuals touched directly there was much success. But another part of the project failed. Officials had hoped to make meaningful changes in the project area — a mile and a half square with fifty thousand people in it, including four thousand young men between the ages of 10 and 19. Writes Hans W. Mattick, one of those who ran the program: "Despite the successful efforts of the staff in finding jobs, in returning school dropouts, and intervening in formal legal processes, the youth-employment rate remained at about the same level; the school dropout rate increased slightly; and the arrest rate in the project area increased over [a period of] time, with a lesser proportion of them being disposed of as station adjustments." While the workers successfully helped individual youngsters with their relations with employers, the police and schools could not expand the job market, could not influence the overall behavior of youngsters and school officials in the community, and could not prevent the rate of arrests from increasing.

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Mr. Mattick concludes that despite a skilled staff and the expenditure of a considerable sum (two-thirds of the $1.3 million was used for the "action" portion of the project, onethird for research), the Chicago Youth Development Project's effort "apparently . . . was not sufficient to overcome the systemic production of delinquency" by the community. The Chicago experience shows that one agency — no matter how dedicated — cannot do the job by itself. All elements of a community, public and private, must be working toward a common goal. If one agency sees its role in helping children as rehabilitative while another takes a punitive tack, the community is taking one step forward and another back at the same time. Coordination of resources requires enlightened leadership. That kind of leadership prospers where citizens are concerned. The more people a community can involve in efforts to solve its problems, the more certain those efforts are to succeed.

CHAPTER

IF SCHOOLS WOULD

16

CHANGE

Public schools too often unwittingly produce delinquents. They do this by inadequate teaching in the lower grades, by letting certain children become classroom goats, by refusing to recognize that there are both "hand" and "head" children, by believing they can punish children into learning, and by pushing youngsters with learning problems out of school. In this study I found that nationally, court commitments to reform school drop sharply in the summer months. Commitments begin to climb when schools open in the fall, peaking in November or December, then tapering off, only to peak again in the spring. It has often been pointed out in previous chapters that children are in trouble for a variety of reasons. It is significant, however, that in at least 80 percent of all cases taken to court, one can find that a school problem was an important factor. Teachers know this. At least the more thoughtful teachers

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do. Warnings appear regularly in a student's records. But too often nothing is done until the child is in serious trouble. Robert is a tall, 15-year-old Negro from Brooklyn. I found him swinging an ax at a New York Division for Youth forest camp near Ithaca. At age 4 Robert had lead poisoning from eating paint in a slum apartment. He never knew his father. His mother worked. The home was a mess. He seldom got proper meals. When he skipped school, as he often did, he spent the day alone in the apartment. In June 1960, one teacher wrote on his record: "Robert needs very patient handling and affection and then he is an ideal pupil. Otherwise he tends to withdraw himself and seems very unhappy." In February 1961, another teacher wrote: "Reading is a task he has not mastered." A month later she added: "Robert seems to be very unhappy. He is alone with his thoughts and the beating of his heart. He is unable to adjust to a classroom situation. He did not do any academic work." Because Robert could not adapt, the reports shows, "the Bureau of Child Guidance made referral for home instruction in 1963, but it was never acted upon." Robert by now was skipping school regularly. In April 1964, his teacher wrote: "Unhappy, disinterested child, truant." In May 1965, the teacher only noted: "Persistentiy truant." Then Robert did not return to school the following fall. During the next two years he "sat around home, watched TV, looked out of the window, wandered around the neighborhood." Yet he did not steal or otherwise get in trouble with the police. When he was finally taken to court by an attendance officer he received a lecture and some threats from the judge. But nothing happened. He was hauled into court again and put on probation. The New York City Probation Department is understaffed, overworked, lacks talented manpower, and is generally ineffective. Again nothing happened. Probation ran out. He was returned to court and put on probation again. Still there was no change. In February 1968, after another session in court, Robert listened to the judge's threats, then returned to school briefly.

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The records show that, though he could read only at the firstgrade level and had been out of school two years, he was placed in the eighth grade. He stayed only a few days. In late April he was back in court. The judge then wrote: "I again defer placement [in an institution] in view of the board of education's statement that home instruction can probably be accomplished in three or four weeks." Again, the school system failed to keep its promise. Then summer came. That was followed by a teachers' strike. But when the strike ended and Robert still did not go to school, he was returned to court. Then he was sent to the forest camp — perhaps the best thing that ever happened to him. "I like school here," he told me. "My reading was very bad when I came. I read a little better now. But not good enough. I like the teachers a lot better here. On the outside [back in Brooklyn] they got on my nerves. They keep shoutin' at you. Here they help you." This, then, is the second significant finding in my study of schools and children in trouble: Not only can youngsters given up by the public schools learn — often progressing as much as one or two years in a few months in the right setting — but they like school. At the Los Guilucos School for Girls near Santa Rosa, Calif., the goal of the reading laboratory is to advance a student one academic year in four months. A 16-year-old Negro girl from San Francisco I met at the school had been reading at the fifth-grade level when she arrived six months earlier. Now she was handling seventh-grade material. At the Maryland School for Boys, six 15-year-olds who could not read at all when they arrived were making headway only a few months after the new reading lab opened in September. "Man, if they had this stuff [equipment] at the outside school [in Baltimore] I wouldn't mind goin'," one of them told me as he worked with a tape recorder. Equipment and small classes help, but they are not enough. It takes exceptional teachers to reach children in trouble. And there are too few exceptional teachers available. This leads to a third point of special interest discovered in my study: Almost all teachers who succeeded in reaching

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children in trouble shunned traditional lectures so common in the typical classroom. Almost all worked in small groups. And some touched the children from time to time — touched them on the hand, the wrist, the arm or shoulder in an "I-care-about-you" manner not unlike the football coach as he discusses a crucial play with a star quarterback. A few succeed in communicating without touching by skillfully and probably unconsciously using their eyes expressively. At Public School 148 in New York, a "special school for socially maladjusted and emotionally disturbed children," I watched teachers scream and stamp their feet, even hit a child. But the one teacher who was getting through, Miss Flora Boyd, gathered desks into small groups and controlled youngsters by gently touching them. When she graded work she put an arm around the child's shoulder — lightly, naturally. A few days later I visited P.S. 82, another special school on the Lower East Side. In one room I found students huddled around a small table, shoulders touching. In the next they were tightly grouped at the blackboard. In each room teachers worked closely with the students. In each room students were learning! I asked the principal about this. Joseph P. Del Barto, a clinical psychologist who has specialized in reading, said he does not allow his teachers to touch the children. But he carefully trains all teachers to work in small, intimate groups. In his twenty years of working with children, he had found it the best way to reach them. Wherever I went I found that where children in trouble were learning, the teacher had developed some form of special, warm, intimate relationship with the youngsters. In effect, such a teacher supplies the child with what sociologists call a "primary group" relationship — the warmth and love normally provided by the family and close friends. It was Dr. Eloise C. Snyder, professor of sociology at Columbia College, Columbia, S.C., who helped explain why this is so. She had conducted in-depth interviews with 43 boys who had been in the juvenile court in Columbia, and with nondelinquents from their neighborhoods. Her tentative, cautious findings, couched in the jargon of sociology, were that: "Juvenile delinquents tend to feel more

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rejected in secondary group relationships that nondelinquents. And we think this is the result of their failure to distinguish between the expectations of a primary group and those of a secondary group. They expect all groups to behave as primary groups." A primary group involves "the total personality." A secondary group is one that limits involvement; the normal relationship one has with a clerk in a store, a bus driver, traffic officer, or a teacher who lectures to a large class is a secondary one. Dr. Snyder believes that many delinquent children expect members of their secondary group (teachers, policemen, etc.) to act like those in their primary group (parents, friends). When a teacher, for example, responds to a child in "normal" secondary-group fashion and fails to form an intimate relationship, the youngster sees this as hostility or rejection. This is in keeping with Dr. Rita Warren's I-level (interpersonal relationship) study. Dr. Warren, researcher for the California Youth Commission, found that a large number of delinquents are immature. Even in their teens, these youngsters may relate to others in the same way small children do — searching for attention, support, love. Interviews with children and an examination of reports prepared by social workers around the country indicate that most delinquents come from homes lacking these qualities — homes that are really secondary rather than primary groups. In California delinquency programs, certain groups of children— those classified as 1-3 (immature conformists) — respond quickly to the very supportive, gentle worker. This often results in early discharge from institutions or probation, since progress is so often gauged by conformity. But the failure rate of these children has been high. They could not cope alone. Encouraged to join the Army because officials thought it to be "supportive," many of these boys went absent without leave or otherwise failed. (The Army would be classified as a secondary group.) It was concluded that it was a serious mistake to release these youngsters and that a long-term program (involving a primary relationship) was needed until they "grew up." This, Dr. Warren says, has been effective. It should also be pointed out that Dr. Warren and her coworkers in California have found that certain children do not

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respond well to an intimate or touching relationship — especially those classified as more mature but somewhat neurotic. Dr. Warren emphasizes that children do not all respond in the same way. And the same is true of staff members. Thus the importance of carefully matching children with staff. Schools with children who do not learn to read, for example, could quickly find out (1) if the child responds best in a primary or secondary group and (2) if there is a personality barrier between teacher and pupil. If the child needs an intimate (primary) group, or if his teacher is intolerant of his behavior and there is a clash, then changes should be made. (This screening would better take place prior to assigning the child to a teacher.) What happens in the schools is not too different from the "natural" screening that may take place between employer and worker — who is either fired or transferred when there is a continuing clash. Except with pupils it is called "expulsion." Understanding the matching process and the primary- and secondary-group concept also should prove of value to others dealing with young people. Today more and more people accept the thesis that when children do not learn, it is the fault of the school or the teacher, not of the child. Yet school officials say they are being handed an impossible task: In five or six hours a day they are being asked to tackle problems which the family, church, and community have failed to solve. Educators are being asked to compensate for fractured homes, poverty, slums, stupidity, greed, and all the other environmental flaws that contribute to delinquency. These new tasks being handed to the schools involve such diverse areas as sex education, the hiring of school social workers to deal with home problems, school dental and medical clinics, staff psychologists and psychiatrists, career counselors, free or low-cost breakfasts and lunches in schools, homemaking classes, and emphasis on such things as "socialization" (essentially, learning to get along in the group). As schools take more and more responsibility for the child, two things appear to be happening: 1. The breakdown of the family is accelerated. Parents find themselves either left behind or in conflict with what is being taught in the schools. 2. The schools are diverted from their primary goal: teach-

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ing children certain basic skills that will enable the youngsters to make their way in the world. School systems are heavily weighted with curriculum coordinators, counselors, adrninistrators, and a variety of specialists who prod bright youngsters on their way to college. Yet in most schools there are youngsters who cannot read (at least at grade level), cannot write, and find it difficult to do simple arithmetic and impossible to find a decent job when they leave school. Psychologists complain that too few schools recognize that there are what have been called "head" children and "hand" children. My study shows that the hand child is more often the one in trouble. He may enter school without having held a book, magazine, or newspaper. He has little concept of communicating ideas. Immature, he wants what he wants now, not later. And what he wants more often satisfies a physical need. This is why he is easily manipulated by behaviorists, who have discovered one way to get such a child to learn is to pay him — either with money, candy, or something else he wants. They motivate him with immediate physical gratification. Delayed rewards — like a high mark on his report card or his name on the honor roll every few weeks — don't provide him with any meaningful payoff. Such a child usually responds to the attention he gets in an intimate primary group, but a large class turns him off. Because he gets pleasure from things rather than thinking, he enjoys working with his hands and in "doing." Because a car may represent so many things to him — achieving adult status, freedom from parental supervision, power, control of his environment for the first time, status he has never had — having one may become an obsession. He may steal a car or drop out of school to buy one to satisfy this hunger. What this boy needs is a vocational school. More are being built across the country. Helena, Mont., has recently opened an excellent facility, for example. The Job Corps, too, has been filling the gap. Camp Breckenridge in Kentucky is doing a first-rate job of training youngsters. Many prisons and some reform schools are also offering strong vocational programs. One of the best is at Rikers Island in New York. But children in trouble should not automatically be shunted into a vocational school. Many of these children are

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imaginative, creative. But these qualities have been channeled into delinquent acts rather than into school. Thus children who might make important contributions to society are excluded from high school or college and work at a job that bores them. Instead youngsters who can sit still and feed back answers like robots have a much better chance of succeeding in society. What can happen to the hand child? Joe is a husky, 15-year-old hand child. He lives in Greeley, Colo., ofa Denver. delightful college town of 34,000 some fifty miles* north The Chamber of Commerce boasts of Greeley's many qualities in a nicely boxed collection of brochures in bright covers: abundant sunshine, low humidity, ten public parks, adult band, three golf courses, skiing, mountain climbing, fishing, swimming pool, college and professional football, horseracing, dog racing, stock-car racing and other sports in town or within an hour's drive, an excellent labor market, good newspapers, radio, television, transportation, utilities, councilmanager government, thirty-six full-time policemen, thirtyone full-time firemen with a 75-foot snorkel unit, plenty of drinking water, an economy based on agriculture. Early settlers coined the slogan "Things Grow Better in Greeley," and the Chamber of Commerce unblushingly says this is a fact. One segment of its school system — an all-boy kindergarten and first grade with male teachers — has been written up in national publications. But no one talks about Joe. This summer he turns 16, and it is doubtful he will return to school in the fall. As in so many other cities, between a quarter and a third of the Greeley students drop out of school. Joe has been known to Charles M. Smith, the thoughtful, concerned assistant director of pupil personnel, for five years. He has tried to help Joe — even referring him to a mentalhealth clinic for psychiatric care. (The psychiatrist reported back that Joe's mother, after a few visits, stopped taking him; and, he told Mr. Smith, it is the mother, not Joe, who really needs treatment.) Even before Mr. Smith met him, Joe had been a school problem. In elementary school he was placed in a remedialreading class. He was given more remedial reading in junior

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high. He was also placed in a speech and hearing clinic because his mother insisted he was deaf in one ear. Joe says it is the other ear. And a physician insists Joe's hearing is normal. Like so many other children this reporter has seen, Joe was not the best pupil in elementary school, but having only one teacher, he was able to survive. Then, as he progressed through junior high and high school he had different teachers during the day. Each year he became more of a problem — eventually threatening a teacher, shoving, hitting back when he was hit. During his school career perhaps fifty professionals have dealt with Joe — teachers, administrators, social workers, psychologists— each with his own theory and in his own way. This has ranged from one extreme to another — from aggressive discipline with a paddle by a vice principal to the permissive "poor Joe" approach — often on the same day. Nor did all teachers see him as the same boy. This depended on the teacher's approach (primary or secondary group), personality (tolerance of a child with Joe's traits), subject matter (dull or interesting to Joe), and peer-group response. When his six teachers sat down together to discuss Joe and his problems, their descriptions of him swung from "passive" and "does nothing" to "hostile," "violent," and "I expect him to be a murderer some day." While Joe is battered from pillar to post at school, he has little help at home. Neither his mother, his father (a construction worker), nor his older sister finished high school. Yet Joe can do things with his hands. Mr. Smith has found that he (and many of the youngsters like him) can communicate, can learn in an intimate (primary) relationship away from the school. Greeley cannot really be blamed for what has happened to Joe, in that it has a better-than-average school system and it is doing what most schools do. Yet perhaps this is really not an excuse. Greeley has found the money to equip and ship a handful of boys around the state to play football and basketball. It has fine streets, ten parks, public buildings, and all of the other things listed in the Chamber brochure. It has school officials with enough imagination to start the all-boy kindergarten because it is believed small boys need activity and a male environment in which to learn.

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I found in my visits to more than forty states that there are tens of thousands of children in trouble because the schools have failed to meet their needs. And, as in Joe's case, their parents have often failed, too. The nation's prisons and reform schools are full of these failures. This society is willing to pay eight thousand dollars a year or more to keep a child in an inadequate, punitive institution while spending only a few hundred dollars a year for his education while he lives at home. Schools deserve much of the blame. Many find it far easier to expel a child than to deal with the youngster's difficult behavior. And perhaps as much as anything it is a financial problem that prevents change in some cities. School districts are finding it harder to pay for basic programs than in years past. Taxpayers are fighting back. If funds were made available through state and Federal grants, more school districts might be willing to work with troubled youngsters. Scattered here and there across the country are impressive new school programs designed to help children in trouble. In Burlington, Vt., Project Aspire has just entered its fourth year. Ten to twenty students in trouble — dropouts or potential dropouts — are taught by two exceptional teachers, Charles (Chick) Ash and Leo Le Cours. The day I was there students had been out on the shore of Lake Champlain gathering moss, lichens, and other plants for a science project. While there, they found a family of mice in a hollow log. These were placed in a terrarium. Suddenly these active hand children were opening books to learn about their find. The guitar-playing Mr. Le Cours teaches English, social studies, and music by having the youngsters write historical folk ballads to be sung in class. When the project first started and was funded by the Federal government, the class studied the Everglades by buying tickets and flying to Florida to see them. (This expensive part of the program has been discontinued.) Last year youngsters built a full-scale model of Snoopy's "Sopwith Camel" — a biplane depicted in the popular "Peanuts" comic strip. Both teachers admit they "changed as much as the kids"

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during the first year — and Aspire has made them far more effective as teachers. But it was found that many youngsters who suddenly blossomed under Messrs. Ash and Le Cours began to fail again when, the following year, they were returned to the traditional classroom. To bridge this gap two more "warm, sympathetic" teachers were picked to help ease Aspire students back into the mainstream. More important, says principal Glenn M. Fay, the other teachers in the system began to see how effective the new approach could be. He says that Burlington High School has changed and that fewer teachers are worried about their status and rigid professional role. "More are working with kids, if not as equals, at least as real human beings," he says. In Seattle I found another hopeful program — Project Interchange. In an old building once used for dependent and delinquent youngsters, school dropouts and other boys in trouble go to class five hours a day, then spend the rest of the day working in nursing homes, a school forest, or other vocational and work programs. Project Interchange, a work-study program, is funded by the Job Corps in cooperation with the Seattle public schools. But, unlike the traditional Job Corps centers (some of them frightening places with many of the shortcomings of reform schools, and where I found white youngsters often have been driven away because of physical attacks by black student trainees), Project Interchange keeps the boys at home. The academic program includes emphasis on remedial reading and math. But in early 1969 the program was broadened to include science, health, language arts, and social studies. Programmed learning with individual instruction is used. There is no limit to the time a student may take — fast or slow, he works at his own speed. Ten boys are involved in a graphic arts course — taught in a high school after regular students leave for the day. A halfdozen others go to two nursing homes where they serve trays, help people into bed and wheelchairs, give baths, take guests on walks, and just cheer them up by talking. Still others landscape the grounds of the school, paint, clean, and learn to do other maintenance jobs. Some work in the school snack bar, while others are in training to work in

// Schools Would Change 209 gas stations. About a dozen go to the Cleveland High School Memorial Forest, where they are building a nature trail and shelters. (Students are paid $1.60 an hour.) Emphasis, says Richard Case, the center director, is not only on academic subjects and work skills but also on counseling. "If we can build their self-confidence, give them greater insight into themselves and help them establish goals, then the other comes easily," he says. Like so many experimental programs, the project has been fighting for financial life. The cost: roughly $1,800 per student per year, far more than a traditional school program, but a great deal less than a similar program in a reform school or in the live-in Job Corps centers where it is reported to cost $8,000 per youngster per year. Typical neighborhood pressure on the school also drove it from its original location in a white, middle-class neighborhood. Residents complained that youngsters cut across lawns, sometimes used offensive language, and wandered about the neighborhood. Starting with fifty youngsters, Project Interchange was recently enlarged to one hundred thirty-five. But because between fifteen hundred and two thousand young people drop out of school in Seattle each year, it hardly dents the community's need. In Albuquerque, N.M., I visited the Esperanza School. Translated, esperanza means "hope," and that is what the school offers children in trouble, many of them from Mexican-American backgrounds. Roughly a hundred boys doing work in grades 1 to 11, reading two to six years below their grade level, are being helped, says Eddie Castillo, who heads the school. Four unusual teachers have been selected at this school. One, Jack Williams, has a Ph.D. in administration. Another, Charles Groffman, has a degree in anthropology and has traveled abroad widely. Earl Johnson is a retired Army colonel. Betty Starkey taught in a traditional classroom for ten years, then worked with dropouts in a Federal manpower-development program. Mr. Groffman's colleagues call him "fantastic." I found his

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students excited about learning and making surprising progress. Classes are held in old World War II officer's quarters and two metal "portable classrooms." While both traditional teaching methods and programmed learning are used, each teacher is permitted to employ the technique he finds most effective. A quarter of the boys have been referred to the school by the juvenile court; roughly 43 percent were sent because they were failing in the public schools; 15 percent came because they or their parents asked that they be admitted; 7.5 percent were in the program, went back to the regular school, and have returned; while not quite 10 percent were referred by welfare officials. One of the nation's most exciting high schools can be found in the tiny peach-growing community of Hughson, Calif., out in the warm San Joaquin Valley a hundred miles east of San Francisco. In 1959 Hughson Union High School barely passed state accreditation. Lacking a librarian, with inadequate science equipment and materials, with a poor program for students not going to college, and with several other flaws, it was typical of many high schools in rural areas. Today hundreds of educators from California and other parts of the nation visit Hughson, its faculty is training other California teachers, and the school is being used as a model for those in other communities. It began with the determination to "do it better" than traditional schools. This led Hughson officials to study other California schools. It eventually led them to the highly regarded Nova schools in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Nova agreed to serve as a "mother school," training Hughson's teachers and offering advice. With a 3-year, $357,000 Federal grant and the help of his teachers and school board, Robert R. Reeder (who arrived in Hughson in 1947 to teach social studies and in 1960 became superintendent) made drastic changes. It is hard to describe Hughson Union High, because it is so different from what most people are familiar with. Only the buildings are typical — though even these have such modern features as flexible walls that alter the size of the classroom as students come and go. Hughson officials call their program "continuous-progress

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education." While it vaguely resembles programmed learning, it might best be compared with the traditional Boy Scout merit-badge program in that students perform a series of learning tasks at their own speed. When these tasks have been successfully completed they have earned their grade. Mr. Reeder holds that many children have trouble in traditional schools for two reasons: frustration and boredom. "Some kids are given assignments they can't handle, while others are being held back." The Hughson student is given a number of options. To pass senior English, for example, students have twenty-three possible areas of study, but they choose only eight. These are called learning activity packages or LAPs. Each LAP is written expressly for the school in lively language that will appeal to young people. It is run off on special printing equipment and packaged in booklet form. Each LAP begins with the "rationale"— that is, an explanation of why the student should learn what he is about to learn. After further explanations and a discussion of what the student is expected to achieve if he is to complete the LAP, he is then given the opportunity to take a test if he feels he already knows the material. If he does not, then he goes on to complete a series of activities— some required, some optional. The day I was there students studying fables in an English-literature class had adapted one to perform as a play. Other students in the same class were working on other subjects they found more interesting. It is up to the student to decide when he has mastered a LAP and is ready to take the test. If he fails the test, then he studies areas where he is weak and takes the test again when he knows the material. It is almost impossible for a student to fail a subject, since he is permitted to repeat immediately. In the traditional high school he would have to wait a year and take the entire course over. Equally important, the teacher who once spent his full time lecturing to a class now works with individuals or small groups either in a classroom, the library, or out on the patio. He thus becomes more effective as a teacher. For those with special problems there is a remedial-reading laboratory.

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The school also. has modern equipment — including a language lab run by a skilled linguist, Tomy Loomis, a graduate of Principia College, Elsah, 111. Mr. Loomis uses recording equipment to teach several languages at once and at several levels. Students were learning Spanish, Portuguese, German, Hebrew, and Italian the day I was there. In another innovation, students were using a natural-science textbook from Venezuela, translating it, and getting credit not only in Spanish but in their science course as well. A student may earn two years' credit in one, or only a quarter- or half-year's credit — depending on his ability and interest. Much progress has been made in vocational education. "The school was college-prep oriented," Mr. Reeder says. "We had no vocational shop facilities, not even a typewriter under ten years old, and yet 70 percent of our students did not go on to college." Now several vocational programs are offered. Eighth-grade students — boys and girls — are brought in from the junior high to study art, drafting, electronics, and either home economics or wood shop. These subjects are also required in the ninth grade. All students take a semester of typing. One exciting aspect is community involvement. The chemistry lab and other classrooms are open at night, with parents chaperoning. Parent volunteers also help out during the day, typing, proctoring tests, and freeing teachers from other mundane chores. Those with special skills may even help teach. Cordie Qualle, the school-board president, who runs a construction company, says that for the first time "adults feel part of the school — they feel wanted." What does this mean to children in trouble? Many problems have been solved at Hughson. Jerry Carpenter, curriculum coordinator, reports a marked drop in student vandalism, broken windows, kicked-in lockers, and other minor incidents common to most schools. Fights have stopped and students have even established their own dress code. The improvements can be traced to a system that stimulates self-reliance: Students work at their own speed, finding it almost impossible to fail. They are given the opportunity to choose from a variety of interesting materials. They know exactly what is expected of them. Each can develop his individ-

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ual talents. And, perhaps more important, one-to-one help from teachers is available when needed. Another major dividend: The dropout rate, which averaged between twenty and thirty a year, has been reduced to zero in the past two years. It is too early to know if this trend will continue. But it is significant that last year thirteen dropouts returned to graduate — a few of them parents sitting in class with their children.

CHAPTER

OUR

SICK WELFARE

17

SYSTEM

Marilyn, 14, was deeply depressed. It had been mid- August when she and her 16-year-old brother were picked up by police. Both had been living in a mobile home where their father, a retired Army sergeant, had abandoned them. The police had hauled the youngsters off to the Phoenix detention center — a crowded, shabby jail for children. The court found Marilyn to be dependent and turned her over to the welfare department. Two months later she was still in detention. In those two months a caseworker had visited Marilyn only once. Now that caseworker was on vacation and could not be reached. Eventually the police found her mother, an alcoholic, in a saloon. She was in no condition to care for her children. Nor did she have a right to take them, for the judge had given them to their father during a divorce some months before. "Dadhome was henever Marilyntwo says. whenhe he come was home," drunk. About weeks"And before left did he caught me with a boy. He beat me and threw my boyfriend and my brother's girlfriend out. "Then one day me and my brother were sittin' in the living room and Dad say, Tm gonna take off — if I don't I'll go crazy.' He got his clothes and gave us each $5 and left Somebody called the police. I been here ever since."

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While Marilyn was locked up, Mrs. Hazel Bell, a concerned probation officer, kept calling the welfare department. "I know it's hard to find a foster home for a teenage girl like Marilyn," Mrs. Bell says. "I suggested that they place her at a girl's ranch. Just before [the welfare worker] went on vacation she said she would try." At least Marilyn was getting dental care — paid for by welfare. A very plain girl with a poor complexion, Marilyn was especially ashamed of her teeth. Alan Margolin, state director of the Arizona Division of Child Welfare, at first denied that children were being locked up by his department for two months or more. Later he called it a "communications breakdown," explaining that he had ordered dependent and neglected children removed from detention. He also complained that the Arizona Welfare Department has neither enough money, proper facilities, nor staff to care for children in trouble — especially those who have had contact with police. Many, he said, were being found delinquent in court just to have a place to put them. "We had a 4-year-old boy who was committed to the state as a delinquent," he says. "He needed help, and it was the only way we could get services." This 4-year-old was the youngest "delinquent" child I found in my study. But thousands of other youngsters have been locked up across the nation because welfare departments have nowhere to send them. Welfare departments have dual roles: One set of social workers hands out money, then plays "policeman" checking on people who are given doles. (This is slowly changing.) Other social workers are assigned to protect and assist children through child-care services. Too often the money hand doesn't know what the child-care hand is doing. Child care has long been the province of private agencies — usually church sponsored. But these agencies lack funds, staff, and other means to deal with problems of the magnitude of those found in our nation today. Sponsoring churches are having their own struggles. Beyond this, it is often pointed out that Protestants have never provided services to children on the scale offered by Roman Catholics and Jews. Especially neglected are Negro children. Nor have public child-care agencies been able to do the job.

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While almost all of the case workers assigned are compassionate, concerned, dedicated, they lack the means to help children. Facing an extremely critical shortage of foster homes and with almost no way to upgrade existing homes, they tend to function as placement people — searching for openings in the overpacked private child-care facilities. The "money of awelfare perpetuate instead of end it.hand" At best welfare tends dole to offers little morepoverty than survival — enough money to keep you from starving; a little clothing to protect you from the weather; grim shelter so that you do not have to sleep in doorways. Public welfare is a promise that has not been kept. People flounder in squalor generation after generation. Many of these, interviews show, see themselves as worthless, unwanted, defeated. This feeling is quickly absorbed by their children. And these are the children who too often end up in jail, reform school, or prison. Many American taxpayers seem not to understand this. They are too busy being angry at welfare mothers to give much thought to children in trouble. Too few people seem to realize that large numbers of women on welfare were themselves deprived and damaged as children; that they have been abandoned by the men who fathered their youngsters; and that little girls growing up in welfare homes may soon draw welfare checks of their own because large numbers have babies in their early teens. Little attention is paid to the boys who sire these children — young men from the middle class as well as welfare families— "sowing wild oats." Few of these boys are old enough, or well educated enough, to support their offspring — even if someone held them responsible. This writer found welfare children are fed, half -clothed, more or less housed, but too seldom helped. And frustrated welfare workers are first to acknowledge this as they fight their way through governmental paperwork and red tape. These children in trouble live in the shadow of the myths believed by taxpayers who do not understand — citizens who seem unaware that welfare spending is insignificant compared with the billions of tax dollars that go for war spending, soaring educational costs, highway building, a wide variety of projects and "needs" created by public demand, pork-barrel-

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ing by politicians vyho know spending tax dollars will get them re-elected, and the ballooning Federal bureaucracy. In one year the United States spends $28.8 billion on the Vietnam war — enough to support AFDC (Aid to Families with Dependent Children) for eleven years. It is difficult to pin down the myths that have sprung up; harder to convince those who believe them that they are mistaken. Myths that scheming women produce illegitimate children so they can make enough profit to buy luxuries like color television. Or that able-bodied men sit home waiting for the mailman to bring them welfare checks. One who visits welfare homes finds little evidence to back up these myths — perhaps two or three examples out of a thousand cases studied. Some officials trace the stories back to memories of programs run during the Depression days of the 1930s. Others say there is confusion over welfare and payments for unemployment compensation, social security, medicare, and medicaid. A spokesman for the Massachusetts Public Welfare Department explains that in some instances people with "some means" have received assistance with medical bills since medicaid went into effect in June 1967. He tells of a man who received a kidney transplant costing $15,000. The man was able to "pay about half the bill, while medicaid paid the rest." There are few able-bodied men on welfare. Men who get doles are usually blind, disabled, or aged. Edmund McCarthy, a Massachusetts welfare official, tells of how, when he was a welfare supervisor in Lynn, Mass., he was asked by city officials to comb the general-assistance roles for men to help clean streets in the spring. There were two hundred men and women on general assistance in that community of more than ninety thousand people. Checking each case he found only three men who could work — one a part-time college student who should have received assistance from some other agency, and two men who "were just about capable of following instructions to sweep streets." All of the other men either had physical problems or were in work or training programs, including a group of alcoholics. Nor is welfare a program solely for Negroes. The majority on welfare are white. Federal study shows that there are roughly nine million

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white children classified as "poor" in the United States. This compared with six million young poverty-stricken Negroes, Indians, Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans, and members of other minority groups. Of these 15,000,000 poor children, a total of 4,646,000 receive AFDC grants. Another 1,569,999 on AFDC are adults — the vast majority mothers. A few are unemployed fathers. Can welfare mothers afford color television? In California a typical welfare mother has two or three children. Her AFDC grant is roughly $176 a month. Yet a United States Department of Labor study indicates that a family of that size in Los Angeles needs roughly $350 to $400 a month to live at what is best described as a very low but decent standard of living. The typical AFDC mother in New York gets about $249 a month; in Illinois $213; in Michigan $191; in Texas $87; and in Alabama $64. Each state is different — with different standards very loosely tied to some basic Federal guidelines. And yet the Labor Department suggests that in New York City, Detroit, or Chicago a family probably needs between $300 and $400 to live at a low level; in Texas and other parts of the South the minimum amount is perhaps closer to $300 for those living in cities. What of the larger family? A mother in Massachusetts gets about $6.75 a week extra for each child under the age of 7 — less than $1 a day. For those 7 to 12, she gets less than $10 a week; and for those between the ages of 13 and 20 she gets roughly $12 a week. That is to cover all expenses — food, shelter, furniture, clothing, school money (medical costs are not included). Some states provide slightly more but most pay less, with Mississippi, Alabama, and Texas providing only a few cents a day. Most citizen complaints come from people who "know someone" who saw a welfare mother cashing a check in a supermarket. To the woman running a cash register for $60 or $70 a week, a check from a woman with a large family can seem huge. A woman with a dozen children in the states in the higher range may receive a monthly dole of $500 and more. Yet based on subsistence standards, most welfare mothers receive less than they need.

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Those who complain about welfare doles also demand that welfare mothers be as good or even better money managers than typical housewives. This, of course, is not realistic. Further, I found prices in slum stores higher than in middle-class neighborhoods. And women on welfare must too often deal with "easy-credit" shylocks for major purchases. Many pay double or triple fair-market value for shoddy furniture that will fall apart before the last payment is made. (These stores are often the first targets in a riot.) Many welfare mothers behave in a manner unacceptable to middle-class society — which expects them not only to be exceptional money managers, but to be extremely virtuous. Some welfare mothers drink heavily. Others have casual affairs with men. These women live in ways not too different from that depicted on the afternoon television soap operas — except that welfare mothers live at the poverty level, rather than in middle-class homes. One cannot condone this behavior in the poor any more than it should be approved of in the middle class. But listening to welfare mothers talk at least helps one understand why they behave as they do. For they are a product of their environment. "It's common to have a man to help supplement the income," says a welfare mother and president of a citizens' advisory board for a welfare office in Chicago. "Maybe for months you eat nothin' but beans, and you decide you want a little bottle of perfume or some toothpaste. Along comes some man who says, T like you, how about my coming to see you.' So you let him because he'll bring you something nice. "He may come over just once, or you may see him a few times a week for a year or two. I could name twenty welfare mothers I know, and seventeen are having sex with one man, or more than one. They're searching for love, companionship — the things any woman wants. "And if your children are going hungry — and a lot of children are here — well, I guess if you're a real mother you'll do almost anything to put food in their mouths." Outside her window it was bedlam — children without a proper place to play, screaming, fighting, throwing stones. "I want to go to work," she says. "When I'm home I'm irritable— I can't seem to help my children. But I'm forced to stay home because there's nobody to take care of my children.

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If I could get out and work, when I came home at night I'd feel like helping my kids. I can't stand this," she said, gesturing at the neighborhood, the noise, the confusion, the squalor. A neighbor who has dropped in gives her views. "You don't have cleanser to do housecleaning right. We know how to clean houses — we been doin' it for you people [whites] long enough. But I reach for cleanser in a store and I know I'm takin' food out of my baby's mouth, and I got to decide which child won't get fed. "A mother's got to get away from her broken-down apartment with the rats and roaches. A welfare mother gets so little she can't give her kids the things the kids next door get. You get tired of giving them hand-me-down shoes. You have all you can take of rats and roaches and kids, and you go find a man who'll buy you something to drink. "What goes on here affects everything you do. It affects your mind. You can't think straight when you live like this, and if you don't want to go crazy you gotta get outa here, so you find some man. What we really need is good jobs and day-care centers." The woman is excited now. "Even if you didn't want to work, maybe you need an hour without all the crying and yelling — an hour just to sit in a bathtub and feel like a woman. "But if we had a proper center it would have to be a place where you don't just leave the kids. It should be a place where they learn something." These are the things welfare mothers want for their children: day-care centers with education for preschoolers, good schools, job opportunities, a decent place to live, a place for youngsters to go other than on street corners. The same things any mother wants. David L. Daniel, who heads the Cook County Department of Public Aid, says not long ago his office asked women on AFDC if they were willing to work. Of 4,400 replies, some 2,500 mothers said they could solve their child-care problems themselves and that they wanted to go to work. Mr. Daniel's office invited Chicago businessmen to discuss the need for jobs for welfare mothers. The thirty-four firms that came to the meeting pledged five hundred jobs — often including job training. When welfare officials sent in three hundred job orders these firms hired two hundred women.

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He suggests that finding work for welfare mothers may be one answer to breaking the cycle of poverty. Yet proper facilities for children while the mother works are essential, he adds. Many who say they have places for their children to go would leave the youngsters "with a neighbor, an old grandma, or an immature baby sitter." And a major reason for welfare mothers to quit work is the failure of child care to work out, he adds. While working mothers may solve some problems, new ones are created. As I have pointed out, many children in trouble have gotten in trouble in their own homes when the mother is out And youngsters wandering the streets are the most delinquency-prone. Rural problems are not too different from those of the city — except that there is more fresh air and play space for children. Mrs. Evelyn Smith is a welfare mother in Rock Springs, Wyo. She finds the white women she works with hardest to reach because they are "functioning just enough to stay out of the mental hospital." "I've worked in three counties," she says. "The few Negroes we have still have desires and wants and are willing to fight for them. The Spanish Americans know they will make it. But the whites are really at the bottom. Many live on the fringes of towns, and they are almost completely invisible. Some whites don't — they don't even I discovered the less of race. Mrs. that I observed in

react at all when you go into their homes get angry. They are completely flat." poor behave in very similar ways regardSmith finds the same things in Wyoming every state I visited.

Families on welfare — especially whites — have an "overwhelming feeling of insecurity — a feeling of inadequacy of their own personality," she says. "They find it difficult to relate to other people meaningfully." Most of the homes are "miserable," she adds. The women usually "act out sexually — sometimes sleeping with whatever man is interested." And they "pass their problems on to their daughters." It is clear that money really isn't the whole answer to families in trouble. This is why the guaranteed annual wage — presently being considered by the Nixon Administration — will not of itself solve the welfare problem.

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Most welfare officials agree with this. But they add that with a guaranteed annual wage they would have more time to resolve their clients' deep-rooted problems instead of being accountants and detectives. Playing this unpleasant role is a major reason why so many young college graduates leave the welfare departments. Mrs. Wilda Mooney, who heads the Garfield District office on the west side of Chicago — which covers an 8-square-block area housing between nine and ten thousand people, roughly a third of them on welfare — is budgeted for forty case workers. She has twenty-nine. "Many of our people are very idealistic when they come to us," she says. "But then they find out they have discouragingly large case loads; the pressures are high; the paperwork almost overwhelming; and they have very little time to work with people as individuals." Pay is a problem. In Chicago a young college graduate starts at $550 a month. Other agencies — schools, probation, mental health — are competing for the same workers. The family court starts probation officers at $700 a month. Many social workers aren't really social workers — they have degrees in music, liberal arts, or some other subject. Most come from middle-class homes and have little idea what it is like to be hungry or to live in teeming squalor. While many are both dedicated and idealistic, others — especially some of the men — are misfits trying to find themselves. Emotionally they may have as many problems as their clients, sometimes more. And while the best may see a welfare mother once or twice a month — even more often — few have time to work with children. Nor can they do much to solve the problems of the families. "We go from one emergency to another," says Eugene McKenna, assistant director of child welfare in Greeley, Colo. "There is a strong correlation between ADC families and delinquency. We get the families when their problems begin, but all we do is work with symptoms. There are things we would like to try, but we need smaller case loads." In New York City, Commissioner Jack R. Goldberg says essentially the same thing. "We are really treating only the symptoms," he says. "We have not put enough time into causalities.

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"We call the welfare system a 'helping' system, but primarily we dispense money. And that is not really rehabilitative. Money in and of itself isn't enough. And yet we need more money to do the things that really need to be done. "What we see of institutionalization of kids tells us this isn't the answer. The choice is either to maintain the child and his family or provide a substitute family. We have too long tended to rely on institutions. They cost a great deal and give very little. "We've got to strengthen what family there is for these youngsters. The answer is to be selective — to discover which children can be helped at home and which ones should go into foster homes. "That brings up another point. We've got to juice up the pay for foster parents. We've got to get more foster homes. And better foster homes." Mr. Goldberg sees welfare working more closely with schools to prevent delinquency and end the poverty cycle. "How do you help the poor family get into the mainstream of American life? We've got to do a better job of preparing the kids for the work world. He turns 1 1 or so, and he begins to see everybody older dropping out of school. Somebody has to pick him up at this point, because this is where these kids start to fall through the crack. Either the school has to pick him up or they have to bring us in." While foster care is almost always better than cold, overcrowded, brutal institutions, more and more people are challenging the welfare department on their neglect of children placed in these homes. Some girls become unpaid servants; others are mistreated, rejected, and ignored. Just as youngsters in detention homes and jails are forgotten by caseworkers, it becomes clear that those in foster homes may not be seen for months, unless the child runs away or the foster parent complains about the youngster's behavior. In New York City the welfare department contracts fostercare services with a large number of private agencies — a number of them seriously understaffed. Many of these agencies neglect casework, according to a lengthy memo circulated at a high level in the welfare department but not released to the public. The memo also points out that the welfare department

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itself has long neglected "providing casework services to children living with parents or relatives in their own homes." Then it raises other questions that can be asked nationally: 1. Why is one child in foster care when his brothers and sisters are being cared for by their own parents? 2. If removal of one child involved questions of neglect, are there similar problems with respect to the children remaining at home? Has an evaluation been made currently of the care being received by the children at home? 3. Conversely, if the parents are providing adequate care for children at home, why do one or more children remain in foster care? Is it possible, through giving parents help with financial or other problems, to return the child in care to his own family? Far more work must be done with the parents when a child is removed from his natural home. The goal is to upgrade the child's home so that he can be returned. Standards for child-care service developed by the Child Welfare League of America note that "it is essential to recognize the conflicting feelings aroused by [the parent's] inability to fulfill the parental role, by the necessity for placing their child away from his own home, and by the child's and their own relationship with the foster family. "Appropriate services should be made available to help parents with health, economic, marital, personality, and other problems so that they can resume their parental responsibilities. . . ." Many, many more good foster homes are needed if children in trouble are to be helped. In New York City, where most children are placed through private agencies, many dependent and neglected children are ignored until their behavior is serious enough to send them to reform school. The memo mentioned earlier reports a shortage of homes for: • "Negro and Puerto Rican infants who are available for adoption or who do not have functioning families. • "Children aged 12 and over who need foster care for the first time. Many remain in shelters or in situations of neglect at home. Older teenagers may be lodged in furnished rooms without adult care or supervision.

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• "Children of large family groups. Foster homes are hard to find; several institutions have age limitations or serve boys only or girls only, thus separating brothers and sisters. • "Physically handicapped children. Those who are blind, deaf, have cerebral palsy, or use crutches are not generally accepted, even though otherwise free of problems. • "Children with medical problems, such as diabetes or heart disease, who require special supervision or care. • "Children with serious emotional or psychiatric disorders, especially if diagnosed psychotic, or with history of statehospital care, or of setting fires. • "Retarded children who are not defective enough for state school but who need special educational planning and help in learning daily tasks. • "Children with a combination of the above characteristics or 'problems.' " [The memo might have added all youngsters who have been picked up by police — even for minor charges. This is a problem in nearly every city.] As already noted, a guaranteed annual wage could provide one step toward improving the operation of welfare departments. This should be set high enough, experts say, so that families can live at more than a subsistence level, yet with incentives to encourage them to help themselves. But beyond the guaranteed wage, welfare leaders see a need to reorganize the entire public-welfare systm. They would like to see all helping services under one umbrella: education, mental health, physical health, counseling, family planning, perhaps even probation and parole. The juvenile court should be used only as a last resort — if at all. As previous chapters have pointed out, few juvenile judges are prepared to resolve complex family problems and too often solve them in hurtful, simplistic ways. Since all children go to school, the reorganized welfare services should be attached to the school. Each service, including education, should be made available to all parents and

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children alike. It should be made mandatory (through the court) in extreme cases. Beyond this, existing services should be expanded: Head Start for preschool children, day care for mothers who must work, and homemaker services for the home that is not functioning as it should. Mr. Goldberg, of New York, like so many others, stresses the value of homemaker services as an alternative to taking children from parents. "It must be broadened and expanded," he says. "Emergency intervention in this way is a significant part of the answer." In several sections of the country, homemaker services are being used when there is a physical crisis in the home and the mother is ill and cannot clean, cook, and otherwise care for her family. A booklet issued by the United States Department of Health, Education, and Welfare points out that "losing a parent and being placed in strange surroundings is an unhappy experience for any child. He may become extremely upset or seem apathetic and in a state of shock. Homemaker services allow the child to keep his familiar surroundings rather than experience the hurt of placement during a stressful period in his life." Not only are these services used when the mother is ill or out of the home, but "in many other situations which upset families: when a new baby arrives; when the mother is absorbed in the care of a member of the family who is seriously ill or handicapped; or when a mother's poor housekeeping skills result in neglect of the children and conflict in her marriage. "The homemaker is usually a middle-aged, motherly woman, selected for her ability to get along well with others and for her love of children as well as for her housekeeping skills. The agency employing the homemaker gives her some special training, and the child-welfare worker counsels and advises her during the time she is caring for the family. The worker also continues to help the family during the homemaker's stay in the family. "The length of time a homemaker remains in a family varies with the family's need for her services and agency poli-

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ties. All variations are found: short-time, long-time, and indefinite arrangements. "The homemaker does not supplant the mother but tries, when possible, to carry on the plan of living that the mother has established. Behind the homemaker service is the idea that the family is important in our society. "The use of a homemaker can often swing the balance in favor of holding the family together during times of crisis." Some welfare officials suggest that the homemaker service could be the first step in a career ladder for women who are on welfare and want to work. While being trained to help other families, their care of their own families would improve, and when they begin bringing home a paycheck, they become productive members of society, rather than a burden to taxpayers. The cost of housing one youngster in even a mediocre re* form school is, in 1969, roughly $8,000 a year. One homemaker paid $5,000 or $6,000 a year can not only care for several children in one family but may be able to serve two or more families in a year. And in addition to the institutional cost, other figures in the traditional system must be considered: police, probation, court staff, detention, parole — not to mention the damage a child can do that leads him into the court process, or the damage the court and correctional process does to the child. Thus an effective homemaker could become one of the most economical ways to help children in trouble — especially before serious trouble begins. This service is just one suggestion being made. Michio Suzuki, chief of the social-service division of the California Department of Social Welfare, points out that many children who are in foster care have no homes to return to. He notes the value of giving aid to adoptive parents — people who are good, loving foster parents but are financially unable to adopt and care for a child without outside help. This reporter found hundreds of children without homes locked up in reform schools longing to call someone "Mom and Dad." John Ballard, executive director of the private Welfare Council of Metropolitan Chicago, sees traditional welfare fail-

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ing because society has had a "negative, repressive attitude" toward families in trouble. "What we spend is too little, and it is pouring money down a rathole," he says, "because of the absence of any caring for that child." Beyond putting helping services under one roof, he would set goals. Instead of scattered shots — the current antipoverty program's approach — careful, thoughtful planning would follow the goal setting. Then the appropriate steps would be taken — methodically doing what is needed to eliminate slum housing, to check crime. In my year-long study of children in trouble it has become convincingly clear that this — along with greater citizen involvement— may be the solution, the panacea so many people are seeking. And the cost would not be prohibitively high. There is far too much waste in existing programs — uncorrected projects full of cracks that children slip through, as Mr. Goldberg points out. Existing programs are top-heavy administratively, bogged down in producing paper, inefficient. But the framework for change is available: the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. One solution to much of the paperwork is being considered: the guaranteed annual wage. And effective programs are known: schools like those in Hughson, Calif.; day care and homemaker services; halfway houses, foster homes, and small, specialized institutions like forest camps; and local volunteer community involvement. The Nixon Administration has already touched on some of these points. But much more is needed. The Kennedy Administration will be remembered for setting a space goal: men on the moon by 1970. That goal has been reached. The present administration has an opportunity to set an even more important goal: doing something meaningful about the problems of children in trouble.

CHAPTER

18

"I'M NO GOOD"

If I could only be a clock I wouldn't be just something to see 'Cause if I were upon a wall People would look up to me Anonymous Inmate Boys Training School Lansing, Michigan

Query the more thoughtful child-care workers in America and you would probably find that they all agree on three characteristics common to most children in trouble: (1) a poor self-image; (2) a negative concept of the world; and (3) the desire to be somebody. This is generally true of youngsters locked up for skipping school, of those who have been shoplifters, burglars, or worse, and of children who are classified as dependent or neglected. Often, as I interviewed boys and girls in trouble, I would search for the right moment to ask the question: "What do you think of yourself?" Almost always the answer would be the same: "I'm no good." I will never forget Wilma, a little white girl from a small town in Virginia. I found her in the reform school at Bon Air. She had given birth to two illegitimate children by the time she was 15, and was obviously disturbed. "I feel I ain't no good," she told me when I asked her what she thought of herself. "Never will be no good." Then she blurted: "When somebody makes me mad I could just beat their head in and enjoy seein' the blood run out." Wilma was 6 when her father "left and went to Kansas City." Before they were divorced, her parents "carried on a 228

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lot about his goin' with another woman," and Wilma would get upset. "I always went into a corner and cried, or went outside when they started fightin'," she recalls. "Sometimes he hit Mom pretty bad. He blackened her eye all up once, and knocked a couple of her teeth out." Wilma is a middle child in a family of ten youngsters, four the product of her mother's second marriage. She insists she has never liked her stepfather, who says "She isn't my kid, and I don't want anything to do with her." Wilma was 13 when her mother remarried, and "my stepfather wasn't nothin' but 29," she says. Her mother moved into her new husband's apartment, leaving the children with the grandparents. "I used to cry and beg to let me live with my Mom," she recalls. "Then I started stayin' out late, goin' around with other girls. That's when they sent me up here the first time. I was gettin' drunk an' smokin' and bustin' things up. "I was up here a year. That's when I learnt about sex. Some of the girls would touch you and things because there weren't no boys. They used to talk about sex all the time, and pretty soon I wanted to get out and see what it was. "When I got home I waited about two months, and then in April I went out with my old gang again. Some of 'em were 17, and they were doin' it. We was all drinkin' and this married man in his twenties come up to me, and his wife was home." When Wilma's mother found that her daughter was pregnant she told Wilma "you're gonna turn out just like your Daddy," and she said "I weren't no good," the little girl recalls. With her mother, stepfather, and "all my kin" calling her "names," sometimes Wilma would "get so mad I would break windows or tear somethin' up." "They made me give my baby up for adoption. I loved it. I didn't want to give it up. But my mother said she didn't want any little so-in-so in her house." The first child was born in April 1967, the second in September 1968. "I just had the baby for spite," Wilma insists. "It was outand-out meanness towards Mama, Stepdaddy, and that probation officer." A moment later, after thinking about it, she adds: "The

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second one I wanted more than the first. We lived together for three months, and I was gonna get married, but he chickened out when I got pregnant." There are many girls like Wilma in our state reform schools. Feeling rejected and unloved, used by men, most are convinced that they are "no good." One's self-concept clearly plays a major role in how one behaves. Take David, a huge, ugly bear of a youth from a Los Angeles suburb. I met him in a reform school after he was "busted" for "doing his thing." David's thing was riding with a tough, dirty, long-haired motorcycle gang, getting drunk on cheap wine, and occasionally shooting rock salt at hippies with the sawed-off shotgun he always carried. Like other "bikers," David lived off what his "mama" could earn. That means his girlfriend was a prostitute. David, like his friends, thinks of himself as an "outcast." "We just don't fit in" with the rest of society, he explains. And as you talk to him you feel that he has never fitted in. David's mother is a Mexican-American, a member of a group looked down upon in California. His father works for a small salary in a department store — a dead-end job that keeps him away from home twelve hours a day, six days a week. Like most youngsters in trouble, David began in a small way — occasional fights, drinking, causing a ruckus at a drive-in restaurant. But his real trouble was school. Huge, awkward, slow, poorly dressed, he was often the butt of jokes, almost always the pupil with the lowest marks, the last boy chosen for games. Some teachers belittled him constantly before the class. Others ignored him. A few tried to help. But no one gave David the help he needed most. For he was promoted to the ninth grade without being able to read. It was at school, at a dance, that the turning point came. Maybe it was David's fault. Maybe it wasn't. Whatever the case, he got into a shouting and shoving match with a youth in a letter sweater. Several of the athlete's friends waded in, shoving David into the street. Alone, depressed, angry, David walked a few blocks. Then he met a biker he had known in school who asked what was wrong. David told his story, and the biker told him to get on

"I'm No Good" 231 the back. He introduced David to the other members of the motorcycle gang. Within an hour they decided to get revenge for their new friend. Armed with chains, they rode to the school and mauled the boys who had pushed David around. Perhaps the most significant point in David's reply to my question as to how he felt about the melee was the emotion he expressed when he answered: "It was the first time I ever felt good in my life." David couldn't make the team and win a letter. He couldn't make friends. He was a failure in the classroom. He couldn't even read. To use his word, he and the other members of the motorcycle gang were "outcasts." In the human family, they feel as if they add up to little more than zero. Like the boy who wrote the poem that opens this chapter, they may see themselves as mere objects, rather than as individuals with a meaningful place in society. But by joining a gang — youths who are tough, ugly, mean, and feared — they feel they command a new respect. When people cower, these youths believe they are being looked up to. I have talked to boys across the country who cut up in school, stole, baited police so they would be chased, or fought other youths to prove that they were "big men," deserving status and attention. A New York City Negro talks about being "big and bad." A swaggering Kansas boy says he's "making a name for myself." A youngster in an Ohio institution says "every cop in town knew my name." A kid from Massachusetts explains that classmates learned "you don't laugh at Tim McCarthy more than once." And a Minnesota girl accused of being a "tramp" by her neurotic mother talks about becoming promiscuous because "if you got the name, you might as well have the game." As I have pointed out in Wilma's case history, status and self-image are related to reasons girls may long to have a baby. Not only does giving birth mean a girl has someone to depend upon them and look up to them, but it gives her status. A mother is somebody. This is, of course, only a childish dream; a longing that cannot come true. Girls who become pregnant out of wedlock in our society are condemned. Their status drops even lower than it was before, as Wilma found. And a girl's self -concept may well hit bottom when the father of the child turns his back on her.

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Cathy's story is not too different from that of so many children I met. She was an Atlanta girl whose father died when she was small. Her unhappy mother could not care for her, so Cathy was placed in a home for dependent and neglected children. Finding little of the love she craved in the institution, Cathy kept running away until her mother agreed to take her back. But her mother was not really the woman she had been dreaming about. "My mother wasn't what I thought she was," Cathy says now. "She was completely different from what I had expected. She had remarried. She was an alcoholic. She had five other children. She made me quit school when I was 16 to go to work. She was going to bed with different men. So I ran away." She lived with a group of hippies, and then with various men who provided her with a place to live. Eventually she was picked up and taken to the reform school west of Atlanta. That was eighteen months before I met her. "When I came here I felt like a filthy whore," she says gently, her eyes filling with tears. "I felt rotten, no good. I cried a lot. I cut my wrists three times. I was three months pregnant, and then I lost my baby. I had V.D. I wanted to kill myself. "They bought me a new dress and I cut it all to pieces because I didn't think I was good enough to get it. What good is somebody when they feel not loved, not respected, not wanted? What use is somebody to other people if she can't give these things — love, respect, understanding?" Slowly Cathy is gaining an improved self-concept. With the help of understanding social workers at the Youth Development Center, she is beginning to gain a new concept of the world. Why do we, as a nation, fail to understand that this is what children in trouble most need? In a paper published by the U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare in 1952, a paper presented earlier at a conference on delinquency, Dr. George E. Gardner, director of the Judge Baker Guidance Center in Boston, said these troubled children view the world as "aggressive, destructive, and primitive." "The delinquent's concept of the human beings in the world is that they are definitely not human in the sense that we believe them to be," he says. "In their eyes, although they do

"I'm No Good" 233 not realize it, human beings have in great abundance the attitudes, attributes, and methods of operation of the preda= tory animal." But not only is the delinquent's concept of the world different from that of many of the rest of us. Dr. Gardner adds that: "His nuclear concept of himself is that he too is a hostile, aggressive, predatory animal, driven by urges he does not completely understand to wrest from this environment of humans whatever he can. . . ." Then he asserts: "It probably goes without saying . . . that punishing an individual who has this self -concept not only will not alter the concept itself, but on the contrary will go far in confirming within the child the very attitude which is the motivation and source of power for his antisocial behavior." Where does the child develop a poor self-image? A. Alfred Cohen, superintendent of the Warwick State Training School in the State of New York, writes: "School has been the scene of the boy's most obvious and painful failures. It has been at school that he learned to see himself as stupid, incapable of learning, and worthless." But even before that these children were learning about themselves. "Our boys come from overwhelmed, rather than rejecting families," Mr. Cohen suggests. "Their parents have not been able to cope adequately with life's problems due to their own denials as children and their own stunted personality development. Poor health, emotional disturbances, mental illness, poverty or a loveless existence dominates the lives of the significant adults around each child in these homes. Being unable to cope with their own problems, they are incapable of helping their children to cope; they are, in fact, experiencing the same failures and inadequacies their children are experiencing. It is an endless circle. The inadequate child becomes the inadequate parent, able neither to help himself nor his child." This is what our nation must recognize if we are to effectively combat crime and delinquency. More policemen, more judges, and bigger and stronger jails and prisons will not solve the problem. Punishing children is not the answer. The only possible solution is to help our young people in trouble or on the edge of trouble gain a higher concept of the world. A higher concept of themselves.

CHAPTER

19

ATTENTION, NOT DETENTION Marian was 12 when she was arrested for forging checks and passing them at a clothing store. A small, plain girl with long black hair, she would have been a prime candidate for reform school in many communities. But not in Scottsbluff , Neb. For in Scottsbluff people care about children in trouble. Marian is 14 now. For the past two years she has been living as a foster child on a 13,000-acre ranch on the Wyoming border. She has her own horse, is active in 4-H, and is strong, suntanned, and happy. Marian was born of an incestuous relationship between her father and her older sister, who was twice committed to a mental hospital. When Marian was six, she saw another older sister, who had been caring for her, shot to death by the sister's husband. Until she was arrested for buying clothes with the forged checks, her life had been confused, even desperate. Marian's case — and dozens of others — show that being arrested in Scotts Bluff County can be the best thing that ever happened to some youngsters. Much of the credit must go to the county's highly effective juvenile probation officer, James L. Miller, a former policeman and narcotics expert. Mr. Miller is compassionate yet firm. He can deal effectively with children in trouble because he has been there. His father and mother were divorced. He describes his childhood home as "tough, with a lot of drinking." Things got so bad that he was placed in a series of foster homes. From this background he made it through two years of junior college. Unlike many probation officers with police backgrounds, he understands that sending children to reform school can do 234

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more harm than good. Thus institutionalization is limited to extreme cases. At present he has found more than fifty foster homes. They are scattered across western Nebraska. And while some foster parents are given a small amount to care for children, either through the Nebraska Children's Home or through the Welfare Department, many provide foster care free. This is the case with Marian's foster parents, who have fourteen children of their own. In fact, when Marian's father passed on some months ago and she began receiving $53 a month social security, her foster parents decided they would bank $50 for Marian's higher education, giving her the $3 a month to spend. When I visited Scottsbluff recently, I found that not only did Marian's foster parents have her and two other foster children, but that they had agreed to accept four more — all from the same family. Scotts Bluff County is an unusual model for the rest of the nation because it is small, rural, isolated, with limited financial resources, and has serious problems. A large number of poverty-stricken Mexican- Americans live in rundown shacks on Scottsbluff's fringes. And teenage drug use has been growing through out-of-town students who attend Hiram Scott College — a new 4-year institution. (Marijuana grows wild along the roadsides and creek beds.) Slightly more than thirty-nine thousand people make up this high, dry county that is split diagonally by the North Platte River. Half of those live in the adjoining towns of Scottsbluff and Gering. Scottsbluff is located just east of the Wyoming line, about midway between the South Dakota and Colorado borders. The nearest major center is Denver, some two hundred miles to the south (and slightly west). Cheyenne, a hundred miles southwest, is the nearest medium-sized community. Cattle ranching and irrigated row crops are the major source of income, with sugar-beet processing the main activity. Until about four years ago, Scotts Bluff handled its juvenile problems in a rather traditional way. County Judge Richard S. Wiles did what he could with limited resources, but far too many children were locked in the awful children's section of the county jail or shipped off to reform school.

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Judge Wiles then formed a juvenile-court advisory committee made up of local citizens. A year later he hired Mr. Miller as his probation officer. For more than two years the advisory committee struggled along. Then a new minister in town, the Rev. James F. Landrum, was persuaded to take the presidency. The Rev. Mr. Landrum had once taught Sunday school in an Indian reform school and had helped form two private institutions (Illini Children's Christian Home, St. Joseph, and Indiana Children's Christian Home, Ladoga) for youngsters. Imaginative, determined, he began to devote most of his time to Scotts Bluff County children in trouble. This was what Judge Wiles and Jim Miller needed. With the strong support of the local radio station, KOLT, and the newspaper, the Star-Herald, Scotts Bluff County went all out to help these children. Not only did the number of foster homes grow from a handful to more than fifty — housing some sixty-five children in trouble — but other things began to happen. When I visited Scotts Bluff County, I found seventeen committees at work, trying to eliminate juvenile delinquency in various ways. A summer recreational program had begun that day with a $2,300 grant from the Scottsbluff city fathers and the help of student volunteers. Mayor C. A. Thomas says that next year $7,000 will be available; that $12,000 is being budgeted for the following year; and that eventually his community will have a "full-time, year-round recreational proThe city became interested in spending money on recreation gram." last fall when Mrs. Jeannie Westervelt, a former schoolteacher and member of the court advisory committee, began making speeches to service clubs and other groups on the subject. School playgrounds are fenced and had been locked after hours to prevent vandalism. The school board agreed to open them. The city's money was used, in part, to hire a recreation director and two assistants for two months. Local groups have donated supplies for arts and crafts. The schools are providing balls and play equipment. And youngsters will be able to rent other games from a mobile recreational unit. In the basement of the county jail one room is filled with children's clothing donated by local citizens. This was the result of court officials' discovering that many children skipped

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school, stole, or otherwise got into trouble because they had no shoes or underwear or were poorly dressed. Jim Miller and others from time to time dipped into their own pockets to provide basic needs for these youngsters. Parent counseling is offered to families of children in trouble. One 17-year-old girl dating college students was constantly in trouble with her mother who (falsely) accused her of using narcotics and being a prostitute. (Her older sister is a prostitute.) Her father was working two jobs and never had time for his family. It was discovered that the girl felt totally rejected. She recalled only one good time in her life — a family camping trip. The mother agreed to take her daughter for two weeks in the Black Hills. The father visited them there. The family got to know each other better, and the girl is not only getting along better, but says she will return to school in the fall. Sometimes committees work together. One 12-year-old boy arrived in court without underwear and dressed in rags. He had been picked up as a truant. Mr. Miller took him home, found the family without heat or food, with only a small camping stove to cook on, and the electricity cut off. The father had disappeared, leaving the mother and five children. She worked as a part-time waitress and as a maid in a cheap hotel to provide food. Welfare turned the family down because they had not lived in the state long enough. When Mr. Miller reached the home, he found the youngsters hadn't eaten for a day and a half. Clothing was provided. Mr. Miller and others on the council started asking for donations. The newspaper told of the family's need. Soon they had furniture. A job was found for the young mother as a receptionist for a local dentist. The welfare department was persuaded to find her a babysitter so the children wouldn't be left alone. The boy went back to school. Scotts Bluff County also has what it calls the "Listening Post." This, too, is a significant delinquency-prevention program, although not yet fully utilized by the community. Professional counselors make up the committee. Sometimes a parent will call, asking what to do to keep a child from running with the wrong group or one on the edge

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of delinquency from getting into worse trouble. Now and then children ask for help. One 17-year-old was picked up by police in a street brawl. (Later it was found he was fighting in self-defense.) His father, an ex-convict, was determined to give the boy a beating, according to Mr. Miller. As usual, the mother opposed this (part of a long-time family battle). The boy, tired of the conflict, and "brighter than either of his parents," called the Listening Post. The boy had been failing in school. But after a series of family-counseling sessions he is "doing fine." The father now holds a steady job, and the home is relatively calm for the first time in years, according to Mr. Miller. The juvenile-court advisory committee also has a committee working with school dropouts and tutoring students in reading and other subjects. Students from the Platte Valley Bible College do much of the tutoring. These students haven't been afraid to tackle the dirty jobs. One Mexican family lived in a rundown shack on the riverbank on a farm owned by an extremely wealthy farmer. The mother had passed on; the father supported his family of fifteen by working for the farmer from dawn until after dark at $40 a week. Mr. Miller learned of the family when one of the children, a 12-year-old boy, was arrested for breaking into a church. He found the children covered with lice and suffering from malnutrition and a variety of skin diseases. Eight of the children slept in one bed, the father and two boys slept in a second bed, and the rest of the children slept on the floor — pine boards with spaces between them. Their used clothing was burned for heat when it became too filthy to wear. They cooked on a wood fire in a broken-down gas stove. The students joined Mr. Miller and worked from 5 a.m. until midnight for three days to clean the filthy house. Furniture was provided. A registered nurse was sent out to talk to the older girls. The youngsters were bathed. Medical treatment was given. And after much pressure the farmer piped in cold water for bathing and gas for cooking — increasing the rent deduction from the meager paycheck. Further pressure through church members on the farmer's wife over several months eventually produced a large home

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for the family. And a Spanish minister began calling on the youngsters and soon they were attending church. The Scottsbluff-Gering Fellowship of Christian Athletes also has worked with children, as have other groups. Three prisoners from Colorado have been flown in to speak to high-school groups on how to avoid a life of crime. Two nationally known speakers in the field also were brought in. Their talks were broadcast on the local radio station and picked up in schools throughout the area. A community meeting was held by the advisory committee in the county jail. A display on drug abuse has been set up, and pamphlets distributed. A film on narcotics was purchased and has been shown across western Nebraska. "Shining Light" awards are given to those who contribute to delinquency prevention. Efforts continue to establish a big-brother and bigsister program for youngsters in need of a friend. Efforts are being made to establish a halfway house for youngsters who cannot adjust to foster home living and cannot stay in their own homes. Dependent and neglected youngsters are temporarily held in a shelter-care facility, rather than jail — the St. Christopher Child Care Center operated by the Order of Corpus Christi Carmelite Sisters. (Because of a shortage of funds and climbing costs, the center is reported to be in danger of closing.) The committee also tries to find jobs for youngsters. This is hampered by outdated child-labor laws designed to prevent exploitation of children and by the demise of the local Neighborhood Youth Corps unit. Youngsters who are caught with alcohol in their possession are find $100 and costs, and may also be fined for certain other offenses. All are permitted to work off the fines on community projects. Five youngsters are developing small islands in the river into recreation areas with the voluntary supervision of Earl Shultz, a local carpenter. Other children make restitution for vandalism by working under adult supervision. One group of 7-, 8-, and 9-year-olds is cleaning up a construction company's yard. The youngsters had stolen radiators, spark plugs, and other parts to sell. Since the only swimming pool is located in a middle-class neighborhood, city fathers have just agreed to build a second pool more accessible to the poor, says Mayor Thomas. In the past, the police department followed a policy of

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of delinquency from getting into worse trouble. Now and then children ask for help. One 17-year-old was picked up by police in a street brawl. (Later it was found he was fighting in self-defense.) His father, an ex-convict, was determined to give the boy a beating, according to Mr. Miller. As usual, the mother opposed this (part of a long-time family battle). The boy, tired of the conflict, and "brighter than either of his parents," called the Listening Post. The boy had been failing in school. But after a series of family-counseling sessions he is "doing fine." The father now holds a steady job, and the home is relatively calm for the first time in years, according to Mr. Miller. The juvenile-court advisory committee also has a committee working with school dropouts and tutoring students in reading and other subjects. Students from the Platte Valley Bible College do much of the tutoring. These students haven't been afraid to tackle the dirty jobs. One Mexican family lived in a rundown shack on the riverbank on a farm owned by an extremely wealthy farmer. The mother had passed on; the father supported his family of fifteen by working for the farmer from dawn until after dark at $40 a week. Mr. Miller learned of the family when one of the children, a 12-year-old boy, was arrested for breaking into a church. He found the children covered with lice and suffering from malnutrition and a variety of skin diseases. Eight of the children slept in one bed, the father and two boys slept in a second bed, and the rest of the children slept on the floor — pine boards with spaces between them. Their used clothing was burned for heat when it became too filthy to wear. They cooked on a wood fire in a broken-down gas stove. The students joined Mr. Miller and worked from 5 a.m. until midnight for three days to clean the filthy house. Furniture was provided. A registered nurse was sent out to talk to the older girls. The youngsters were bathed. Medical treatment was given. And after much pressure the farmer piped in cold water for bathing and gas for cooking — increasing the rent deduction from the meager paycheck. Further pressure through church members on the farmer's wife over several months eventually produced a large home

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for the family. And a Spanish minister began calling on the youngsters and soon they were attending church. The Scottsbluff-Gering Fellowship of Christian Athletes also has worked with children, as have other groups. Three prisoners from Colorado have been flown in to speak to high-school groups on how to avoid a life of crime. Two nationally known speakers in the field also were brought in. Their talks were broadcast on the local radio station and picked up in schools throughout the area. A community meeting was held by the advisory committee in the county jail. A display on drug abuse has been set up, and pamphlets distributed. A film on narcotics was purchased and has been shown across western Nebraska. "Shining Light" awards are given to those who contribute to delinquency prevention. Efforts continue to establish a big-brother and bigsister program for youngsters in need of a friend. Efforts are being made to establish a halfway house for youngsters who cannot adjust to foster home living and cannot stay in their own homes. Dependent and neglected youngsters are temporarily held in a shelter-care facility, rather than jail — the St. Christopher Child Care Center operated by the Order of Corpus Christi Carmelite Sisters. (Because of a shortage of funds and climbing costs, the center is reported to be in danger of closing.) The committee also tries to find jobs for youngsters. This is hampered by outdated child-labor laws designed to prevent exploitation of children and by the demise of the local Neighborhood Youth Corps unit. Youngsters who are caught with alcohol in their possession are find $100 and costs, and may also be fined for certain other offenses. All are permitted to work off the fines on community projects. Five youngsters are developing small islands in the river into recreation areas with the voluntary supervision of Earl Shultz, a local carpenter. Other children make restitution for vandalism by working under adult supervision. One group of 7-, 8-, and 9-year-olds is cleaning up a construction company's yard. The youngsters had stolen radiators, spark plugs, and other parts to sell. Since the only swimming pool is located in a middle-class neighborhood, city fathers have just agreed to build a second pool more accessible to the poor, says Mayor Thomas. In the past, the police department followed a policy of

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harassment of young people, the mayor adds. But a bright young California officer with a degree in police science has just been hired as police chief. James A. Teal makes it clear that not only will he work with the juvenile advisory committee, but that he intends to give his men training and insight into better ways of handling youth. Recently, problems have threatened to knock Scotts Bluff County from its status as a national leader in delinquency prevention. The county judge, Richard S. Wiles, took a state post in Lincoln and the new judge, James L. Macken, who had been on the bench only a few days, admitted to me that he was uncertain which direction he would go. Scotts Bluff County officials openly admit that many of their ideas are really not original. They give much credit to Boulder County, Colo., for pointing the way. In recent years Boulder's juvenile court has gained national recognition for pioneering in the volunteer field and in opening Attention Homes for children in trouble — attention as opposed to detention. Beyond this, Boulder has an outstanding year-round recreation program and a welfare department thaat not only is concerned about children in trouble — and doing something about them — but also is able to work in harmony with the juvenile court. (In Scottsbluff and in many other cities the court and welfare department are at odds.) Boulder's widely copied volunteer program is an outgrowth of a project begun by a University of Colorado sociologist, Gordon H. Barker. In 1957 he began assigning university students to work in the reform school in Golden, Colo. In 1961, Professor Barker and Boulder County Juvenile Court Judge Horace B. Holmes began using carefully selected students as volunteer probation officers, after learning of a Laurence, Kan., judge who used law students in this capacity. (During this same period Judge Keith Leenhouts was also pioneering in the use of volunteers in court in Royal Oak, Mich.) From time to time Boulder residents offered to help in the juvenile court. But it was a few days after the slaying of President Kennedy that Dr. Ivan H. Scheier, a psychologist specializing in testing, "numbed by the assassination" walked in, asking for something to do.

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"I had read that Oswald [Lee Harvey Oswald, accused of assassinating the President] was in juvenile court but that no one had any time to do anything for him," said Dr. Scheier. Judge Holmes and his wife, June, had known Dr. Scheier casually as a member of the same folk-dancing group. When Dr. Scheier volunteered, Judge Holmes knew how to use him. For he had long been concerned with the almost impossible job of helping children in trouble with the sketchy information provided by even the best probation officer. Judge Holmes listed the questions he needed answered. Dr. Scheier used a short personality test to find these answers. He now spends twenty to thirty hours a week without charge helping the court and supporting the volunteer movement. Soon another psychologist volunteered to give children attitudinal tests. Later, an optometrist walked in and began to give free eye tests. He quickly found that roughly half of the children in court had eye trouble. Hearing tests were added. The third child tested had a severe hearing problem that neither he nor his parents were aware of. Many children also are given reading and I.Q. tests, proctored by volunteer women. When court officials became weary of dealing with dropouts, a volunteer tutoring program was launched. So far, thirty-five different jobs have been performed by volunteers. College students continue to work as volunteer probation officers. Now adults from the community also serve in this capacity — giving youngsters far more attention than they might get from a professional. In the past year youngsters caught shoplifting have been asked to provide a day's service for each dollar's worth of merchandise stolen. Children may work for the city, help in the halfway house for recovering alcoholics, or in the parks. So far no child in this program has repeated his offense. Work programs are being tried for other violations, but so far with less success. A sociologist teaches a course in family living for older boys and girls who want to get married. Often these youngsters only want to escape from home. A group of volunteers has planned "retreats" into the mountains for youngsters who have used drugs. Each group will

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have fifteen boys and girls. Follow-up meetings are planned. This program has been put together by Mrs. Sharon Fenner, a probation officer. In fact, the use of volunteers is the Boulder story. Dr. Scheier has opened a national information center in the basement of the courthouse. A Federally financed study shows that volunteers — if properly used — do make an important impact on solving the problems of children in trouble. A national seminar on volunteerism was held in Boulder last summer. Other seminars have been held in the past, and the volunteer movement is rapidly spreading. Not long ago, a volunteer and information center was opened in downtown Boulder serving thirty-five community agencies. Both adults and young people are involved. They may play games with retarded or crippled children, teach art, music, drama. Some tutor. Others work with alcoholics, the elderly, and mental-health patients. Men and boys serve as fix-it men — repairing buildings, radios, playground equipment, whatever needs to be done. Other volunteers are being asked to provide transportation to the poor to the health center, welfare office, or wherever else they need to go. While Boulder still has a cold, prisonlike jail for holding children for courts, it has three volunteer-supported Attention Homes for those either waiting placement in institutions or foster homes or for a crisis in their own homes to end. These are ordinary residence homes — the first was a Methodist parsonage rented for $1 a year — that blend into their neighborhoods. Young house parents are hired, often married college students, for $200 a month plus room and board. The program is built on trust of children in trouble. During the school year they attend local public schools. They also are permitted to go to the store or a movie or some recreational activity without supervision. A report published by the Office of Juvenile Delinquency and Youth Development, U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, points out that "behind the volunteerpowered Attention Homes and individual foster-homes programs in Boulder is a belief that much of juvenile 'acting out' behavior is, at least at first, a plea for help. . . ." The report adds that "the problems of children brought before the court

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are the problems of the entire community and, sooner or later, must be solved by the community." In the big, old red-brick Attention Home a few blocks from downtown Boulder I met Don, a 14-year-old who was quietly playing an Attention Home guitar in his room. Don had been involved in a series or burglaries. His 18year-old brother is already in the reformatory. Don "hates" his stepmother, a woman who broke up his home by having an affair with his father several years ago. Now he refuses to live with her. Yet his own mother, who has been ill, cannot keep him. Don likes living in the Attention Home, not only because of the house parents, but because his father, a middle-class businessman, was always too busy to take him to the places he now goes — horseback riding, rodeos, the YMCA, the swimming pool. Perhaps even better evidence of the value of the Attention Home came from Carlos, a 15-year-old who has been "running since I was 13." Carlos's father is divorced from his mother. His stepfather, whom he liked, passed on. He shyly talks about how he and his sister dislike the men his mother brings home, and how he is disturbed because "some of them stay half the night with her." Carlos first went to a boys ranch, but ran from there, too. He has been in several foster homes, but has run from all but the last one, which he had to leave when the husband and wife developed troubles of their own. One of Carlos's problems has been school, where Anglo children "make fun of you and make you feel left out." Carlos is Mexican-American. He has not run from the Attention Home, although doors and windows are unlocked. Several Federal studies have been made of Boulders's Attention Homes. One shows that they save a minimum of five hundred child-days in jail each year. Boulder County had a population of less than seventy-five thousand in 1960. It has grown considerably since. Yet its welfare department boasts sixty foster homes, plus three group homes that can accommodate up to fourteen children each. One group home has been going for twelve years, a second for six years, the third for three years. Thus, Boulder is years ahead of many small or medium-sized counties.

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Those who run group homes are paid $227 per month per child plus complete medical care. Foster parents taking one or two children receive from $66 a month for infants to $115 for each teenager, with varying rates between, depending upon age. Youngsters in foster homes also are provided clothing and medical care. As in many counties, however, they find it difficult to place teenagers, especially those who have been to court. Children with special needs are often sent to private institutions in Colorado and other states for help and care. The Welfare Department also employs three full-time homemakers who deal with families in trouble — teaching mothers money management, how to feed their families nutritious meals, how to clean and care for the house and otherwise maintain their families. Group meetings also are being tried. There are other programs that might well be adopted by welfare departments in other states. In recent months the Boulder Welfare Department has been successfully using volunteers, says Lew Wallace, the department's Director of Public Welfare. Boulder County has a day nursery that cares for children from broken homes with working mothers, as well as others who require this kind of help. While this kind of day care is still being talked about as new in many corners of the nation, it has been in operation since 1922 in Boulder. Mothers who can afford it pay a fee. But much of the cost is carried by the United Fund (the Red Feather drive) and by private donations. The program runs year round. Boulder County has an outstanding recreational program. Not only are there two swimming pools, but the city has eight thousand acres of parkland, some of it in the mountains. More parkland is being added every year. During the year, four hundred different recreational classes are offered, both in the parks and in the city schools, which remain open evenings. Both youngsters and adults can learn to draw, dance, bowl, play bridge, guitar and banjo, tennis, make pottery, or play golf. The program also includes hiking, swimming, and a variety of other activities. While small fees are charged, children on welfare have pass cards that are as "good as cash anywhere," says Paul Swoboda, superintendent of recreation.

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Each summer a hundred boys, 14-16 years old, are hired to work four hours a day, five days a week, up in the mountain parks to construct trails, build foot bridges, and do other jobs. Although pay is only fifty cents an hour, the youngsters get swimming passes, passes to the nine summer teenage dances, and to other activities. "Appreciation" parties are held. The boys are also issued hard hats and tee-shirts. In its fifth year, large numbers of youngsters, rich and poor, compete for the opportunity to take part. Another group of youngsters — boys and girls 14-16 — compete for volunteer jobs as water-safety aides. All must pass Junior Red Cross life-saving tests. Still another group of seventy-five girls volunteer each summer as playground assistant leaders. These youngsters also are trained and after one year may qualify as playground leaders. The girls get the same pay — fifty cents an hour — and benefits as the boys who work on the park trails. Mr. Swoboda strongly opposes Little League and other sports because he "detests parents out there pushing their own kids." adds. Only "one in five is qualified to coach anyway," he Thus a Young America program. has been developed for youngsters in the fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. Experienced, paid coaches teach youngsters to play football, wrestling, gymnastics, track and field, and other sports. Every child — skilled or clumsy — plays half a game. Emphasis is on "fun, safety, basic knowledge of the sport, physical conditioning, and competition" — and in that order of importance. Boulder, which has a population between fifty and sixty thousand (the 1960 census shows 37,718), spends $250,000 a year on recreation for children, adults, and senior citizens. Boulder offers much, much more. One could devote a book to the things going on there. Take Alex Warner, a youthful but retired English teacher from the University of Colorado. He is running year-around science classes for fifteen to twenty "black, white, and brown" youngsters in a corner of an old Quonset hut used by an Office of Economic Opportunity community-action center. Children bring in leaves, feathers, spiders, snakes, bones — anything that interests them. They go on field trips up the mountainsides. Mr. Warner encourages them to collect and work with "junk," styrofoam packing material, plastic or card-

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board containers from the grocery store — whatever they rind. A few days ago the telephone company gave him cable they no longer needed. "We don't spend a cent on this project," he says. Nor is he paid for the many hours he devotes. The material the youngsters bring in always leads to the excellent children's room at the large new library. Not only do children learn about natural science here, but they are "tricked into improving their reading," Mr. Warner says with a grin. This is the kind of imaginative approach — like the efforts in Scotts Bluff and Boulder Counties, and Hughson, Calif. — that offers the most promise in dealing with children in trouble.

CHAPTER

THE TALE

OF FOUR

20

CITIES

No community in America is doing enough for children in trouble. Too many, in fact, damage children and raise the crime rate through apathy, ignorance, and neglect. This became obvious as I searched the United States for two counties — one urban, one rural — to serve as models for the rest of the nation. One community had an outstanding judge and strong probation department, another a constructive welfare system, still a third had widespread community concern and volunteer involvement. But all lacked the across-the-board excellence and determination to solve the problems that produce delinquency. My search for the ideal county was based on four premises : (1) The local community has a responsibility to children in trouble; (2) crime prevention is better and far cheaper than crime fighting; (3) the answer lies in strengthening both the child and the family, not in hurting children or tearing the family apart; and (4) the efforts of a single institution (the

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school, the police, or the court, for example) are not sufficient to resolve the problem. I looked for a community that had: • Not only strong schools with few dropouts and creative programs for "hand" children, but a system that turned their schools into year-round, seven-day-a-week, family-oriented community centers. • An uplifting welfare department rather than one that perpetuates poverty. • A full range of private or public agencies providing family services: marriage counseling, mental-health clinics, dental and physical health services, including services for the indigent, job training and placement for the unemployed and underemployed, homemakers to help disabled mothers, legal aid, financial counseling, a consumer-protection group, and a system to coordinate these services and eliminate red tape. • A housing program that was well on the way to eradicating slums through aggressive building-code enforcement and in other ways. • A qualified juvenile judge, an adequate and creative probation staff, and a variety of alternatives for children who cannot be helped at home. • Proper detention facilities — plus shelter care for children in trouble but not involved in delinquent acts. • Group homes and foster homes for all children unable to remain in their own homes. • Strong churches that reached out to the community and daily proved their usefulness. • Active citizen participation in a variety of volunteer programs. • Year-round recreation programs — with something for children who are not well coordinated, who lack athletic skills,

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or those who have other interests; neighborhood parks and playgrounds; and a camping program for children of the poor. • A well-trained police department that emphasized crime prevention and community relations rather than billy-club toughness. While no single urban area measured up on all counts, four in Michigan — if combined — would come close to the ideal: Flint for its school program; Oakland County for its outstanding citizen-participation program, county institutions, and court and probation department; Grand Rapids for its court, probation, detention, shelter care, and foster homes; and Kalamazoo for its school and work program for dropouts. The Flint school program is exciting. While the typical school is used fourteen hundred hours a year, the fifty-two schools in Flint average thirty-eight hundred. Each school has a full-time, trained community-activities coordinator to see that schools are utilized continually. Evenings and Saturdays one finds families swimming, scout troops meeting, community groups holding discussions about local problems, families roller-skating in the gym, and people going to school. While about two thousand youngsters graduated from high schools in Flint in 1968, roughly a thousand adults also received diplomas. Another eighty thousand adults [out of a population of only a little over two hundred thousand] were enrolled in twelve hundred adult-education classes. Subjects ranged over a broad spectrum — how to stretch the food dollar, child growth and development, shorthand, typing, sewing, welding, landscaping, jobs (where and how to get them), drawing and painting, music, cake decorating, how to start a small business, electronics, and beagle breeding. A plainclothes policeman works in every school. When a child gets in trouble in the neighborhood that his school serves, the officer takes the case and acts as a counselor far more often than he takes the child to court. A personalized curriculum program has been developed for dropouts and those about to drop out. These students get special counselors who work out a school schedule that better fits their needs. For many of

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these students, the counselor finds a job either in the mornings or afternoons, and some get school credit for their work. During the summer, some eight hundred boys go to camp. While most come from indigent homes, others have prosperous parents who don't seem to care about their children. Another two hundred take part in 2-week work stints on area farms in a program supported by the Neighborhood Youth Corps. In the spring of 1969 alone another ten thousand children made one-day farm visits. Some six hundred fifth- and sixth-graders are members of a police cadet program — community-service activities in which policemen serve as group leaders. In a new program, twenty boys and twenty girls, most of them black and all juniors and seniors in high school, work in their neighborhoods as uniformed community-service officers, providing citizens with information about how to deal with personal or communuity problems. Paid with Neighborhood Youth Corps funds, many will eventually work for the police department. A hot-breakfast and hot-lunch program has been provided in selected schools for a decade — but only if the child's mother agrees to come in one week each term to help prepare the meals. The main purpose in this is the training the mother receives in both cooking and nutrition. (The Federal government has expanded this program to sixteen schools, but unfortunately the training program is not included in the Federally sponsored meals.) When a child comes to school dirty or otherwise uncared for or when other problems develop in the home, one of eighteen community school counselors takes over. These are unusual women — many of them Negro — who may put the children's clothing through the school washing machine, teach mothers how to use their small welfare checks more wisely, and see that they get the services they need. Not long ago one of these counselors, Mrs. Mary Towner, who works on Flint's North Side, found two children new to her school frequently absent. At 9:30 one morning she knocked on the door of their apartment. She was invited in. The room was dark. In one corner she found the mother curled up on a blanket. Across the room the woman's teenage daughter was on another blanket on the floor with her small illegitimate baby. The two children who

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should have been in school were running around half-naked. There was no furniture and no refrigerator. The cooking was done in an old electric frying pan. The woman had been on leave from work because of illness for nearly a year and now had no money at all. Mrs. Towner went to the welfare department, health department, and Salvation Army for immediate aid. Then with the help of a county extension worker she taught the mother how to spend her food money more wisely, how to bake, to make nutritious, low-cost meals. She tried to help the mother with a drinking problem and saw that the children received much-needed dental care. Then one day, after she found four men in the apartment, Mrs. Towner began working to improve the woman's feeling of self -worth so that she would not let herself be used by men. The case is typical. The Flint program, backed by the Charles Stewart Mott Foundation, has not ended delinquency. But Dr. Peter Clancy, the associate superintendent of schools in charge of Mott projects, believes that in the last five years a "dent has been made" in delinquency rates. Those rates are, in fact, declining. A few miles southeast of Flint is Oakland County, a cluster of communities with a combined population of roughly a million. This county is a wealthy "bedroom" area for Detroit. Yet it also includes Pontiac, a middle-class community of about ninety thousand, as its county seat, and such lowincome areas as heavily black Royal Oak Township. In few areas in the United States is there such citizen involvement indelinquency prevention. Now twenty-seven communities have formed court supportive youth-assistance committees. These committees are made up of housewives, ministers, businessmen, and representatives from public and private welfare agencies, Boy and Girl Scouts, YMCAs, school boards, police departments, local recreation departments, a childguidance clinic, and other groups and agencies. Each group is sponsored by the court, the school board, and municipal government. Sixteen paid caseworkers spend at least one day each week working with (and for) the twenty-seven committees. The committees have one goal: delinquency prevention. This means both working on the community level — creating

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25 1

recreational opportunities, holding family-improvement seminars, and offering other group services — and tackling problems of children and families on an individual basis. Many children who break the law for the first time do not even go to court. Instead, they are referred to the committees. Once the referral is made, the child cannot be taken to court for that offense. When a referral is made, the child's family is told that the program is voluntary. The family can reject the help, but few do. "Word gets around that this is a good group. A group that really wants to work. People come to us with almost every problem you can imagine," says Leon Avedisian, a businessman and president of the Youth Assistance Advisory Council. When a child is referred and special help is needed, a subcommittee of the youth-assistance committee does a case study. These are trained professionals: a school counselor, a psychologist, psychiatrist, social worker, physician, and representative from the child-guidance clinic. They develop a treatment plan, then appropriate agencies are called in. If the child needs a job for spending money, if the home is overcrowded, or if a similar problem exists, members of the youth assistance committee may step in. In Birmingham, Mich., not long ago, eight children were sleeping in one room. So members of the committee brought in hammers and saws and constructed some temporary partitions until a better solution could be found. Usually the entire family receives services. For, as I have already pointed out, most children in trouble come from families in trouble. Although the support for the program is widespread, there is still some concern voiced — particularly among police — about the program's effectiveness in dealing with hard-core delinquents. Lt David Putnam of the Waterford Township Police Department complains: "We fall over backward trying to keep a kid from getting a juvenile record. But we get so weary picking up a kid day after day after day. Youth Assistance Committees need more staff to do a really effective job." When it is necessary for a child to go to court, the county has provided Children's Village (a detention and shelter-care

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complex in Pontiac) and Camp Oakland (which involves several programs). Children's Village, which opened in 1965, is located on a 57-acre tract not far from the new courthouse on the edge of Pontiac. There are three brick, ranch-style units: one for emotionally disturbed children, many awaiting admission to a state mental hospital, another for neglected boys 9 to 16 years old, and a third for delinquent boys 14 to 16. There are two older units closer to the courthouse: an overcrowded 2-story detention center constructed in 1928 and a shelter home for dependent and neglected children opened in the early 1950s. Except for the detention center — which officials hope to replace soon — each unit is small. A new unit for girls is desperately needed. Many who do not have to be locked in must, at present, be housed in the detention center. Almost all children attend school daily. The day I was there many children went on evening field trips. Bowling, swimming, hiking, roller-skating, and other activities are a regular part of the program. Camp Oakland is located on an old estate farm in a rural area north of Pontiac. There are two group homes for dependent, neglected, and even delinquent youngsters — Boys Ranch for twenty children, and Girls Ranch, which houses eighteen youngsters. Many stay here for two years or longer. Children go by bus to school in town. Not only do they have the kind of support and much of the freedom most children have in their own homes, but they bring friends from the community in for parties, overnights, swimming, and hiking. They date children from the public school in town and take part in a full range of school activities. On the far side of the small lake owned by the camp is the work-education program. The school portion is headed by Gordon Keller, who uses a great deal of programmed instruction, individualized help, and the warm and intimate teaching methods discussed in earlier chapters. He is able to help many boys advance two years in a few months. All the boys have work assignments: landscaping, mowing, road grading with a tractor, and construction projects on the grounds — assisting professional builders. Beyond this, in another facility located across the lake, five

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hundred to six hundred youngsters — all of them deprived children from the county — spend two weeks camping. Perhaps most significant is the family camping program. Welfare and other underprivileged mothers bring their children for two weeks — but take part in separate programs. While the children play and learn under the guidance of carefully selected counselors, the mothers are taught about child care and behavior, take part in group discussions, and find themselves free of nagging concern for a few days. The camp complex is run by William Matus — the enthusiastic "father" to these children. In some communities, youth-assistance committees send children with special needs on to other summer camps, reports Mrs. Harvey Dise, president of the Birmingham group. Oakland County's program is noteworthy because it provides a variety of alternatives to reform school. And it is the result of cooperation between an understanding county board of supervisors and compassionate, concerned citizens. Oakland County did not wait for the state or the Federal government to provide funds. It proved the free-enterprise system can care about people. A major difference between Oakland County and other counties — many with similar percentages of wealthy and middle-class families — is leadership. Oakland County has Circuit Judge Arther E. Moore, who more clearly understands his leadership role than perhaps any other judge in America. He has long been supported by the strong professional voice of James Hunt, director of children's services; by a leading businessman, the late Walter Gehrke, president of Detroit's First Federal Savings; and by a host of others. Leadership is also the key in Grand Rapids, where the detention-home program is much stronger than most in the nation. It includes a good school program, plenty of recreation, and an adequate staff. The greatest drawback is that the detention unit is actually a long-stay institution. It is used in this way because officials feel the State of Michigan has been extremely negligent in providing facilities for children. The type of facilities found in Oakland County have just not been built in Grand Rapids. However, three private agencies — one Protestant, one Ro-

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man Catholic, and one nondenominational — handle most dependent and neglected children. Although an extremely conservative Republican community, Grand Rapids since the 1940s has had an active group of citizens serving as a court advisory council. Among other things, they were able to bring enough pressure on the community to get rid of a wretched detention building a decade ago. In addition to the detention home, a new shelter for dependent and neglected children has been built. An excellent facility, it is run by the welfare department, which up to now has — in most Michigan counties — been extremely slow in providing needed service for children. Children who are in detention for long periods — often awaiting placement — can earn weekend passes, bowling trips, and other outside activities. Youngsters held a car wash during spring vacation and used the money they earned for horseback riding. Sometimes when parents refuse to take their children home (roughly half the children in court last year were runaways or had school or home behavior problems), the court may keep the youngsters in detention and charge the parents for their keep until the parents recognize their responsibility. John P. Steketee of Grand Rapids, recently elected juvenile court judge, and Roger L. Lewis, director of court services, are providing the imaginative leadership needed. Probation officers receive excellent in-service training. Not only have experts been brought in to conduct seminars, but Mr. Lewis has been asked to talk to probation officers across the state. Instead of following the traditional approach, which so often is ineffective, Grand Rapids juvenile probation officers sit down and hammer out a "contract" that bridges conflicts between parent and child. Since many children in trouble have problem parents, a father may be asked to agree to such a basic need as saying "good morning" to his son each day. Or a mother may agree to get up and cook breakfast for her children each morning in return for good, respectful behavior. The child also agrees to take other steps to correct his behavior. Emphasis is on getting the child to behave, rather than on how bad he is. Volunteers are being used more than in the past, although

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those from the community have been teaching remedial reading for five years. (The program has sagged since the woman heading it moved.) The Junior League has offered to provide more services. Two representatives from the Old Kent Bank recently came in to analyze statistics in the juvenile-court process. Suggested improvements were quickly made. In the past year the court worked with the public school system to develop a program for dropouts, using two probation officers and a teacher as instructors. Now some twentyfive local teachers have volunteered to give up part of their summer vacation to help teach children in trouble. Arv hour's drive to the south in Kalamazoo is an exciting program called Youth Opportunities Unlimited (YOU). In what was once a bowling alley I found thirty youngsters packing nuts, bolts, and washers, sorting and packing printed packages, and assembling small highway barricades and the flashing lights that are attached to the barricades. Similar work was being done in a portable classroom on the detention center grounds. Work is contracted through local industries. Youngsters — all of them dropouts or near dropouts — are paid on a piecework basis at industrial rates. Those who play or are daydreaming have smaller checks at the end of the week. Thus they are taught that the most industrious and skilled earn the most. The program is coupled with half-day educational sessions and a job-placement program. While some youngsters return to school, others, after they learn to work, are channeled into industry. Headed by Ronald Williams, the program began in 1961 with contributions from a Kalamazoo woman. It is run by the Kalamazoo Intermediate School District. While none of the Michigan community programs are yet adequate to meet the needs of all children in trouble, these communities outdistance most cities in America, providing services that state agencies have failed to give. But Michigan has even more going for it: Children's Charter. The organization is dedicated to providing the services needed by the juvenile courts through dialogue and education on the local level.

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Children's Charter of the Courts of Michigan (its full title) is largely backed by the W. K. Kellogg Foundation. Over ten years the foundation has contributed $732,000. Children's Charter holds conferences for the police, prosecutors, school officials, and court personnel — to help them understand both children in trouble and the role each agency plays. Children's Charter conducts surveys and serves as consultant to individual courts and state government groups. It also provides small scholarships to large numbers of juvenile-court workers who want to take college courses related to their field. Children's Charter is run by two men: a former judge, Donald T. Anderson, and a former high-school principal, Eugene S. Thomas. For a while it appeared that Children's Charter would fade away as the Kellogg grant ran out. Now it appears certain the program will be picked up by Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. It is clear that the efforts of these Michigan communities in behalf of their children are in the right direction.

CHAPTER

HOW

YOU

CAN

21

HELP

Tens of thousands of American children need help. This book has been written in the hope of alerting the nation to their plight. Many are locked in jails unfit for adults. Thousands more go on to reform schools and other institutions that hurt more than they help. Large numbers — no one has counted how many — have parents who are alcoholics, are emotionally unstable, or otherwise incapacitated. Some youngsters have wealthy parents who are so busy being important they have little time for their offspring. Millions of youngsters are growing up in filthy, destructive slums. Other children fall apart in inadequate schools or find

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their way into the prison system through the welfare department. The causes, as I have shown, are manifold. But three conclusions have emerged from this study: • The present system for helping children in trouble is failing. • Millions of tax dollars are being squandered on detention and punishment when forward-looking communities have proved that attention and prevention are more economical. • Children in trouble can be helped with concerned, compassionate citizen support. This final chapter is devoted to what you — whoever you are — can do to end this national scandal. INDIVIDUAL

CITIZENS

1. Provide a foster home for a child in trouble. 2. Offer your services to detention homes, courts, welfare shelters, child-care institutions, prisons, jails — wherever children are being kept. But be willing to give your time regularly. Don't build a child up only to let him down. (Volunteer help is needed everywhere. Information on volunteerism is available through Dr. Ivan H. Scheier, Courthouse, Boulder, Colo.) 3. Take a child in trouble with you on your vacation. 4. Open your summer cottage to a probation officer, welfare worker, or others working with children when you are not using it. 5. Teach a child to play a musical instrument. 6. Teach a child an athletic skill. 7. Become a pen pal to a child in an institution. 8. "Sponsor" a homeless child locked up. Remember the youngster on holidays. Buy a little clothing when needed. Visit him, to assure him that somebody cares. 9. Start discussion groups in your community on ways to help children. 10. Become a "listener." Children behind bars need some-

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one who is trustworthy and neutral to sit and listen. This may lead to your helping the child when he is released. 11. Take a child or a group of boys or girls camping or on weekend nature hikes. 12. Hire a slum child to help you at home during summer vacation. (But do it in the spirit of teaching and helping, not of getting cheap labor.) 13. Teach girls how to knit or sew or cook in your home. 14. Help a boy build a boat. 15. Take children whose parents agree (and have no active religious affiliation) to church. 16. Offer to each a girl on probation or in detention, grooming, makeup, hygiene, and other ways to be attractive. 17. Offer to mend clothing for small children held in detention or shelter care. 18. Read to children — either in your own home, in the detention home, or other facility. 19. Start a chorus or band in an institution or underprivileged neighborhood. 20. Conduct clothing drives for institutions that hold children. 21. Bake cakes, pies, cookies, and other treats for children in trouble. 22. Take a boy fishing. 23. Teach a boy about motors, carpentry, aviation, painting— whatever hobby or skill you have. 24. Provide a welfare mother (who wants help) financial advice. Help her shop. Give her credit advice so she does not get taken by wheeling and dealing merchants. 25. Open a one-woman (or one-man) job service. Find jobs for children in trouble. Find young workers for those who need them. 26. Provide employment counseling: Teach children how and where to look for a job, how to fill out forms, how to dress, and other things a child needs to know. This may also involve helping a child discover his skills. 27. Tutor a child having trouble in school. For some, all you may need to do is listen to them read. 28. Become dance, grading teacher to give 29. Become

a teacher's aide in a school — taking attentests, and doing other things that will permit themore attention to a child. a materials procurer: Call stores, industries,

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and others for good waste materials and equipment for arts and crafts projects, vocational training classes, and other projects. 30. Become a discussion leader. Invite groups of young peopie into your home — or meet with them elsewhere — to talk about things that concern them. 31. Collect books and magazines of interest to young people for use in institutions and distribution to families who have none. 32. Subscribe to a magazine or paper for a child who cannot afford it. 33. Become a court investigator. Judges need accurate data on children who have been found delinquent, but in too many courts there is no probation staff, or too small a probation staff to do the job. Volunteer to gather the information the judge needs. 34. Provide clerical help to courts or other agencies. 35. Become a juvenile court greeter. This is especially needed in larger cities where frightened parents and children may wait for hours in a crowded, impersonal lobby. Answer questions, pass out court literature, even serve refreshments. 36. Provide a babysitting service for mothers who must go to court or other agencies dealing with one of her children. This can be done either in the courthouse or in your own home. 37. Provide transportation for mothers or children who require agency services. 38. Write (and encourage your friends to do the same) to governmental officials and demand changes wherever needed. 39. Become a community resources coordinator. Gather information on the various agencies and institutions in your area and either duplicate and distribute the information or accept telephone calls from parents or children in need of help. 40. Offer your services as a repairman. Fix toys and do other jobs for child-care institutions. 41. Teachers, dentists, artists, musicians, architects, psychologists, psychiatrists, writers, and other trained professionals should volunteer to council, teach classes, tutor, and otherwise provide services for youngsters both in and out of institutions.

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Children in Trouble PARENTS

1. Give your children love — not just material things. No ingredient is more important than this, the experts agree. 2. Set a proper example. Children copy their parents. Youngsters are quick to see through adult sham and hypocrisy. They learn what is important and how to act by observing how you behave and act. 3. Teach your children to be obedient — but do it the right way. Hitting children is, according to some experts, a sign of parental inadequacy, even unbalance. Too often it only leads to trouble. Look for better methods of controlling children. 4. Care enough to establish some basic, clear-cut, reasonable rules. Be consistent in enforcing them. But don't make up so many rules that the child becomes either frustrated or immobilized. 5. Know your children. Listen to them. Respond appropriately. Keep communication lines open. 6. Recognize that children are not adults and cannot be expected to act grown up. Often they will do foolish things. Be patient, firm, and understanding. 7. Find constructive ways to praise your child — but again be balanced. Nagging never helps, but unlimited praise loses meaning. 8. From the start make it clear to a child that you care enough about him to want to know where he is and what he is doing. Set regular times for meals and expect your child to come when called or, if he can tell time, be home at the appointed time. Understand that youngsters will test these and other rules, and that patient, calm insistence on their being followed at an early age will help prevent problems later. 9. Do not constantly entertain and fuss over your small child. Instead permit him to have quiet periods to draw, work with clay, leaf through his own books, make mud pies, and do other creative things. 10. Hold interesting discussions at mealtime, but do not fight, bicker, or thrash out family problems. One father suggested that each child give a brief report on something interesting while standing behind his chair after each meal — a tradition that produced a very skilled public speaker. Com-

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municating with adults is a problem to be resolved for all young people. 11. Encourage a child to express himself in many ways — through music, art, discussion, reading, or athletics. A child with many interests and opportunities to succeed has little time to get in trouble. 12. If a child steals, avoid preaching. Do not put on a hysterical show. Do not play detective. Simply state fact. Be calm and firm, explaining that the object does not belong to him and must be returned. Do not overpunish. Help the child understand that he is responsible for his actions. But avoid dire predictions or threats like "You'll end up in prison" or "you'll be the death of me." 13. Do not ask questions or put pressures on a child that will encourage him to lie. Avoid police interrogation techniques. Listen to what the child is really saying when he lies, and try to find better methods of communicating. (Lying and other topics of interest are discussed in Dr. Haim G. Ginott's book, Between Parent and Child, Avon Books, 959 Eighth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10019, and in other books for parents.), 14. Use trips in the car, ballgames, visits to a park, walks, shopping trips — everyday activities — to help a child understand and respect law and the rights of others: Let small children help watch for stop signs or for stoplights to change from red to green, and explain how that keeps cars from getting tangled up at corners. Discuss — and obey — speed-limit signs and how laws help keep highways safe. As a child learns rules for a game, remind him that there are many rules of fair play all about us. Show your child how one cleans up after a picnic — even taking away debris left by others — because we respect the rights of the next people to use the spot. Shoplifting is a growing problem. Discuss how a storekeeper must charge for things he sells so that he will have a paycheck like Daddy's to buy things for his children. 15. Take an older child to the police station, a city council meeting, or to other governmental agencies and functions so the child begins to understand who makes rules and how they are enforced and changed. 16. Set aside times for vigorous family activities, as well as quiet periods for simplification of life (a walk in the park, for

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example), and provide children private opportunities to discuss problems. 17. Encourage children to bring other youngsters home with them — especially those with different cultural, religious, or ethnic backgrounds. Invite these children to dinner and take those with inadequate homes on family outings. 18. Notice and think about frequent examples of unnatural behavior that may indicate problems such as drug use. Be calm and steady, but take appropriate steps immediately to correct the problem. Your panic or otherwise inappropriate behavior may drive such a child into running away. POLICE 1. Carefully test all officers on attitudes toward adolescents and minority groups. Screen out those with bad attitudes. 2. Give classes in adolescent behavior to all new officers. Require a high mark to pass. 3. Hold frequent in-service training sessions on teenagers and how to deal with them for officers already on the force. 4. Return officers to neighborhood beats. 5. Increase police salaries so standards for policemen can be raised. 6. Sponsor Boys Clubs, Boy Scout troops, and other similar groups. 7. Sponsor automobile clubs, drag races, and other autooriented activities. 8. Sponsor a Police Athletic League (PAL), a program run by volunteer officers and aimed at those young people on the edge of trouble. 9. Start a big-brother-in-blue-program. This would be related to the traditional Big Brother program, with individual officers taking a personal interest in boys who need adult guidance and friendship. 10. Sponsor summer camp programs, with policemen acting as counselors. 11. Start police clubs in local schools for youngsters interested in police work. 12. Start a youth patrol program, where older children interested in police work are trained by veteran officers to do specialized jobs. In some communities these groups have

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helped ease tensions and prevent violence. In other communities youngsters serve as information aides in neighborhoods. Still others do clerical work and other routine jobs. 13. Open neighborhood store-front offices for easy, nonthreatening, citizen access to police. 14. Hold regular discussion sessions where individual policemen either serve as leaders or become involved in give and take. 15. Sponsor drum and bugle corps, drill teams, and other similar groups. 16. Collect and distribute data on alternatives to jail or detention homes for children in trouble. Prepare a manual listing all community agencies and their services for children. 17. Urge local schools to adopt the University of Cincinnati school program to encourage understanding of law and law enforcement. 18. Take youngsters on patrol, as is done in St. Louis. 19. Have officers make regular visits to schools for assembly programs and to talk to individual classes. 20. Demonstrate police equipment and the positive side of the profession on elementary-school playgrounds. Give children a ride in police cars. Hold first-aid classes. 21. Assign officers to schools full-time to teach and counsel. 22. Give officers working in ethnic neighborhoods special courses to help them understand the group's culture, problems, needs. Require language training for those working among non-English-speaking groups. 23. Lock officers in jail or prison overnight, as a California chief does, and take other steps to sensitize policemen. 24. Avoid bluster, unnecessary violence, cockiness, or displays of bravado. Follow the advice given in the King County, Wash., sheriff's department manual: "It is of the utmost importance that officer attitude, demeanor, and speech toward juveniles be civil and respectful, but at the same time firm." JUDGES 1. Follow the Gault decision (affirming that children have the same legal rights as adults) where it applies — even if you disagree with it. Judicial scoffiaws are extremely poor ex-

264

•

Children in Trouble

amples. If you believe the Supreme Court is wrong, challenge it through lawful channels. 2. Attend the Juvenile Judges Institute at the University of Minnesota, or the one sponsored by the National Council of Juvenile Court Judges, held in Reno, Nev. (Enrollment is limited, so apply early.) 3. Form a statewide juvenile judges conference. Hold sessions that deal with more than social or court affairs. Bring in outside experts, including those from other professions and disciplines. 4. Read the book Guides for Juvenile Court Judges, published by the National Council on Crime and Delinquency; the book Gault: What Now for the Juvenile Court, published by the Institute of Continuing Legal Education, Ann Arbor, Mich.; and Standards for Juvenile and Family Courts, published by the United States Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, Children's Bureau. 5. Require detention officials to provide a daily list of who is held, for what reason, and for how long. No child should be detained more than a few days in tight custody. 6. Walk through detention facilities regularly to make sure conditions are as they should be. Make surprise visits. 7. As judge, where possible and appropriate, provide the leadership needed to assure adequate staff, facilities, and placement alternatives. 8. Establish a juvenile court advisory council of citizens from all walks of life and backgrounds. From this council build volunteer programs. No city is too large or too small for this. 9. Hire investigators or use qualified volunteers to help the court understand the problems and needs of each child who appears before you. 10. Provide for treatment of the child in his own home whenever possible. Find foster homes and local group homes as a second alternative. Except in extreme cases involving protection of cociety, have the courage to refuse to send a child to a reform school if you are certain that the institution damages children. Most do. 11. Do not threaten a child with probation, reform school, or other presumably beneficial treatment programs. Such threats undermine the programs. You wouldn't threaten a child who has reading problems with a reading clinic.

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12. Do not give stern, wordy lectures to children in trouble. Most start out with an extremely low self-image and have been nagged wih only negative results before they arrive in court. Most children say they are too scared or angry to listen anyway, so you are wasting your breath and impressing only yourself. Instead, discover the child's needs and find ways to meet these needs so that behavior and attitudes will be improved. 13. Recognize that, with few exceptions, parents and their problems result in problem children. Include parents in whatever treatment program is deemed necessary. Also realize that taking a child out of his own home may create additional problems, instead of solving the difficulty. Detention, foster homes, or institutionalization should be resorted to only if there is nothing at all to build on in the child's home. LAWYERS 1. Volunteer for service as counsel in the juvenile court. 2. Form groups like the Boston Lawyers' Committee (one of twenty-five branches of the Ford Foundation-funded Lawyers' Committee for Civil Rights Under Law and organized recently to provide free legal aid to groups — rather than individuals— with urban or minority problems) to meet the problems of poverty and discrimination. Attack horrible juvenile institutions through law suits — class actions where possible — either to force changes or to have children removed because institutions are not providing services needed. 3. When authorized by a client, sue for civil damages when children are beaten or otherwise abused while in custody. 4. When authorized by a client, challenge holding of juveniles in jails. In at least one state such an action has been appealed successfully. 5. Give legal help to groups trying to establish nonprofit or tax-exempt status for child-care facilities of agencies. Also help change ordinances and statutes to accomplish what is needed. 6. Be available for court appointment to represent children in divorce actions and custody disputes. 7. Be available to legal-aid groups to represent students without funds suspended or expelled from school.

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.

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BUSINESSMEN 1. Provide full-time and part-time jobs for young people in and out of school who need employment. 2. Provide counseling for youngsters still in school, especially those from poverty areas and boys without a father. Provide them with the adult attention and guidance needed to assure their confidence in the existing system. 3. Provide equipment, space, and skilled workers to train youngsters in work skills that are marketable. 4. Offer scrap materials and rejects to training schools, detention homes, and groups working with children. It is surprising what a creative person can do with what would otherwise be classified as waste. Wire, plastic, metal, wood, paper — all can be put to good use. 5. Sponsor a promising child from a poverty family who is in trouble or on the edge of trouble. Help him finish high school, trade school, junior college, or attend a university. 6. Open your parking lot after hours as a play area. 7. Use company vehicles during off hours to assist recreation departments, reform schools, and others working with children. One Scottsbluff, Neb., businessman made his light plane available for juvenile court business. 8. Donate used typewriters, outdated machinery, motors, and other equipment to agencies working with children. 9. Farm out piecework to groups working with children in trouble so that youngsters can earn money. CITY

OFFICIALS

1. Examine priorities. Too often emphasis is on highways, parking lots, airports, and the like, while children — with no lobby — are shortchanged. 2. Enforce building codes — require slum landlords to upgrade rental property. 3. Tear down condemned buildings and wherever possible convert the land to tot lots and green spaces to make urban living more bearable. 4. Do not build high-rise housing projects — better known as "vertical slums." Public housing should be no more than

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two stories high, with adequate play space, parking, and access to laundry service, stores, and schools. No project should house more than a dozen families. 5. Build one swimming pool and adequate park space for at least every ten or fifteen thousand residents. Locate pools in neighborhoods where poor families live — within easy walking distance. Provide bus service until additional pools can be built. Let children on welfare in free. 6. Provide year-round recreation programs for both children and families. Turn schools into community centers to be used evenings, weekends, and during vacation periods. 7. Close off streets and make them into supervised play lots for a few hours each day when parks and vacant lots are not available. Mobile units filled with games, books, recreation equipment, and arts-and-crafts supplies should make daily rounds. 8. In winter in Northern cities block off streets for sledding; flood tennis courts for skating. Provide supervision and equipment for poor children. 9. Crowded cities with too few swimming pools should provide sprinkler systems that attach to fire hydrants on hot days. 10. Train and hire mature high-school students as playground-activities directors. The Boulder, Colo., program is worth copying. 11. Light up play areas at night for basketball and other sports. 12. Hold year-round teenage dances in school gyms, on tennis courts, or wherever appropriate. 13. Use volunteers or hire college students, even mature high-school students, as "pied pipers." Carrying a softball and bat, paper, crayons, paint and brushes, or a good supply of books, they can find groups of children wherever they congregate in a neighborhood and lead them into constructive activities. These roving recreational leaders can hold sidewalk art classes, encourage summer reading, tell stories, lead singing— get involved in regular camp activities on city streets. 14. Open volunteer-run day-care centers for working mothers, or to permit a mother with preschool children an hour or two of freedom each week. 15. Develop family day or overnight camps for the poor. While children are engaged in recreation, welfare mothers and

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others can spend part of their time learning skills, discussing nutrition, and other child needs and problems. 16. Provide group homes for children who cannot remain with their own parents. 17. Build attention homes and other alternatives to jails for holding children in trouble awaiting court hearings or placement in foster homes or institutions. 18. Start an employment program for all boys and girls 14 and over. Some could be used in parks, as in Boulder, Colo., and Salt Lake City. Referrals could come through the probation office, schools, or by children simply applying. Volunte rs, a city agency, or private sponsoring group could help train youngsters, find existing job openings, and develop jobs that presently do not exist. Youngsters could work steadily for one firm or person or form a job pool on call. 19. Reevaluate realistically city or county job requirements in an effort to employ as many dropouts as possible. Such standards as high-school diplomas, age, height, temporary health problems, even physical defects need net be barriers for certain kinds of jobs. 20. Follow the lead of Junior Achievement programs and expand them to open store-front "factories" for young people to manufacture and sell items and provide services for a profit 21. Run summer dramatic classes in slum neighborhoods. 22. Hold art fairs in conjunction with sidewalk or playground arts and crafts classes. STATE

OFFICIALS

1. Reduce the population in all correctional institutions to 150 or less. 2. Ban the use of physical punishment in institutions. 3. Ban the use of solitary confinement or group confinement and other inhuman treatment in institutions. 4. Require improved screening techniques for all employees in child-care institutions. 5. Require frequent testing of employees — at least every six months — to assure their fitness to continue in this difficult work. 6. Upgrade

salaries,

and

provide

a mandatory

vacation

How You Can Help

269

every six months for those dealing with hostile or hyperactive children. 7. Provide trained investigators to make frequent surprise checks on all institutions and agencies dealing with children. These investigators should not answer to those who head the agencies they investigate. 8. Follow the California plan of paying state funds to communities that provide positive alternatives that keep children out of state institutions. 9. Use matching funds to subsidize local probation departments that add qualified workers. 10. Establish regional group homes throughout the state and in cities — at least one 10-bed home for boys for each population group of thirty thousand and one for girls for every fifty thousand residents. 11. Open forest camps and other small, specialized institutions to reduce reform-school populations. 12. Provide scholarships for child-care workers who want to take appropriate courses. 13. Locate child-care institutions near universities whenever possible so they can make use of both student help and professional expertise. 14. Require all state mental hospitals taking children to have special, properly staffed, adequately equipped child-care units. Require a psychiatrist who specializes in children to examine all children before admission. 15. Adopt rigid new standards of admission for retarded children to all institutions and provide group homes and other specialized institutions for these youngsters. 16. Provide tax and other incentives for communities, groups, and individuals who wish to open institutions for children in trouble. Subsidize such institutions where possible — especially those run by local governmental agencies. 17. Support and subsidize community recreation programs and green space. 18. Require all school districts to provide remedial reading programs at all school levels. 19. Raise the legal school dropout age to 18, at the same time financially encouraging creative programs for youngsters with school problems. 20. Grant extra funds to or otherwise support school districts that reduce their dropout rates.

270

.

Children in Trouble

21. Provide more vocational training programs for youngsters failing in regular academic programs. 22. Revise labor laws so that under certain circumstances boys 14, 15, and 16 can find work. Also provide an insurance program or other safeguards for the employer. 23. Make gathering of statistics on children in courts, on probation, in institutions, etc., mandatory. 24. Abolish jails as storage places for children. If use of jails for children cannot be abolished, limit the time a child can be held in jail to twenty-four hours. Limit time in detention prior to a court hearing to ten days, and then only after a detention hearing with the youngster represented by a lawyer. Limit the time a child can be held in detention after a hearing to fourteen days. 25. Provide state regional detention homes in rural areas. 26. Make it illegal to transfer a child from a reform school or other institution to prison or mental hospital without full legal safeguards. 27. Establish local or regional family service centers with all appropriate agencies — mental health, dental care, welfare, etc. — housed either under one roof or in one multibuilding complex. 28. Require that needed services be provided to every family where a child has been removed and placed in an institution so that the family will be prepared to better receive the child when he returns. 29. Require (and financially support) joint and separate training sessions for police officers, judges, probation officers, institutional workers, and others working with children. 30. Change marriage laws, so that it requires at least as much thought to get married as to get a driver's license. 31. Change divorce laws, making an impartial investigation mandatory in all child-custody cases. Also require that a lawyer be hired to represent the children's interests in every divorce action. THE

MEDIA

1. Avoid simplistic solutions and editorials that are based on personal opinion or prejudice rather than fact. 2. Inform the public about the kinds of children caught up

How You Can Help

111

in juvenile systems of justice. Too many are dependent or neglected. 3. Investigate all child-care institutions in the community and the state. Expose the flaws and press editorially for change. 4. Educate the public on the need for alternatives to reform school. 5. Sit on and give your support to court advisory boards and other private and governmental institutions and agencies trying to solve the problems of children in trouble — as is being done in Davenport, Iowa, and Dallas. 6. Be concerned with what you advertise or promote. Consider the impact it will have on children. Broadcasters have a special responsibility since (1) disc jockeys and records are highly influential, and (2) television is often used as a babysitter, without parental screening of what is shown. 7. Judges and other officials who damage children through ignorance, stupidity, or malfeasance should be removed from office. Put pressure on the electing or appointing authority to bring this about. These are only a few of the possibilities that should be considered. Many have been discussed earlier in this book. The churches, for example, must find ways to reach young people who are "turned off" by church members' "worship" of money, cars, houses, clothing, and status. Many youngsters are convinced that divine service too often means public worship rather than daily service to mankind. Thus they see churches as rather hypocritical, middle-class social clubs rather than institutions able to deal with today's problems in a meaningful way. Universities still are doing a poor job in the child and family field. All students — regardless of major — could be required to spend at least a semester working in this area, using whatever talents they have. This would not only meet many of the immediate needs, but produce the kind of leaderlems. ship and understanding needed to resolve the nation's probSociology and in an extremely down in jargon need. Education

other related subjects too often are presented dull manner. Students become so bogged that they miss the understanding they most courses are often little better. Too many

272

Children in Trouble

future teachers really learn nothing about helping children in trouble. Nor is there much meaningful research in the field of human behavior and corrections. In too many communities the YMCA has become a sort of country club for adolescents — financially excluding children who really need help. Boy Scouts and boys' club also too often fail to reach hard-core youngsters. Experts agree that society's agencies and institutions must undergo critical self-examination to see how they can better serve millions of children who need help. The problems of these children in trouble can be resolved. But not until the people of America understand and begin to care.

EPILOGUE

Over a period of years my wife and I have opened our home to children in trouble. Most recently we have been trying to help a Michigan teenager learn what it is like to live in a home, for he has spent most of his life in institutions. This came about when I walked in on a discussion of what this youth would do on the Fourth of July, 1969. He did not have a family to visit. This young man spent the Fourth, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with us. We took him on a trip to North Carolina to visit relatives. And now we are discussing the possibility of his coming to live with us. The final decision rests with the youth and the court. It is one thing to be personally involved with young people in trouble, and quite another to motivate others to help youngsters. So many Americans seem indifferent and uncaring. But it is by this yardstick that this book must be measured— its ability to move people to do something constructive. For if this nation is going to help young people, and if we are really going to make a meaningful impact on the crime rate, then thousands, even millions of Americans must help. And many are helping. My wife nearly cried when a woman approached us at a luncheon in a Los Angeles suburb in December, 1969. That woman pulled two pictures from her purse — pictures of a Negro infant that she and her husband had taken in as a foster child. A white couple wanting to help — ignoring the possible prejudice of friends and neighbors. The woman said they took in the child after reading my series in The Christian Science Monitor. At that same luncheon, and at other gatherings where I have been asked to speak around the United States, I have met men and women who are, for the first time, taking children from detention centers and other institutions on week273

274

*

Epilogue

end outings. Others are spending several days each week tutoring or visiting or holding parties for children in trouble — often those locked behind bars. The job is not always easy. Many have written me that institutional officials have turned them away. My answer is to keep trying. In every community, large or small, there are children in need of help. Everyone, young or old, can do something, if only to write letters to public officials urging change. In Reno, Nev., one woman, after reading the series, visited the detention home for sixteen weeks, involving concerned young people in the community in the project. This continued until a new administrator took over and put an end to the visits. But this woman has not given up. It is heartening to learn that some parents, institutional officials, and others are using this book in other ways. One mother reported that her son was released from a Southern reform school to take part in an Outward Bound trip in the West — my writing was the first information the institution had received on Outward Bound. Hopefully, universities, civic groups, churches, and other organizations and agencies will become involved in projects that will prevent and curb delinquency. At Duke University, in Durham, N.C., four law students were assigned to the juvenile system of justice as a summer project as a result of the series, according to A. Kenneth Pye, dean of the Law School. The students were outraged by what they found, and reported that what I written in this book is exactly on target. George C. Cochran, director of the Duke Center of Law and Poverty, wrote me: This past summer the Law School at Duke University implemented a program designed to give selected law students the opportunity to engage in an in-depth study of the problems of our nation's poor. After reading your previously published articles four of our students were given the responsibility of assessing the juvenile system of the state. Ten weeks were assigned to the project. The first two weeks were devoted to reading and discussions of relevant material. The following three weeks consisted of personal visits to the eight training schools operated by the North Carolina Board of Juvenile Corrections, and the Youthful Offender Facilities operated by the North Carolina Department of

Epilogue

275

Corrections in connection with the Central Prison System in Raleigh. During this three-week period, each of the four law students spent one week living in one of the four boys' training schools. The remaining five weeks were spent in discussion with the Commissioner for the Board of Juvenile Corrections and his staff, juvenile court judges and counselors, various personnel of other private and public agencies related to juvenile affairs, and with personnel of the Department of Social Services. Their experiences (oft-times from the viewpoint of the delinquent) correlate precisely with your previously published works. Again my deepest thanks for the work that you are doing and have done in this area. You may be certain that the initial impetus which you gave these students and their resulting experiences will remain with them throughout their professional careers. I would also hope that because of your work, this unique form of legal education will be expanded. George C. Cochran Very truly yours, His point is well taken. Law schools should send more students out into the juvenile system. If every law-school graduate understood this field, we might well find ways to cut the crime rate in the United States. But few in the nation have any exposure to it. In Connecticut, Dr. Earl S. Patterson reports that there is less brutality in the Boys School in Meriden. He has had a showdown with those running the institution, documenting incidents and problem areas, and changes have come. The 1969 state legislature has overhauled the juvenile correctional system. A similar overhaul took place in South Carolina through the efforts of State Senator E. N. Ziegler and Representative T. Travis Medlock. They also were able to get $260,000 in additional appropriations for the institutions so that they can hire social workers and other needed employees. The superintendents of both boys' schools resigned under fire, as well as the assistant superintendent of the John G. Richards School. But Jack Shivers remains head of the system because of strong political ties. In Delaware John J. Moran was named director of the Youth Services Commission. Halfway houses are planned; citizens have been meeting with Richard Wier, the young assistant attorney general, to build a volunteer program; Joseph

276

Epilogue

DelTOlio and the Correctional Council are working in the juvenile field; and Governor Peterson called a special legislative session, whose first order of business was to replace the Youth Services Commission with a body more responsive to the governor's office. Several small private foundations are being formed to help children, I am told. One California husband and wife plan to assist creative probation officers by giving them small grants to work with children in trouble. Of course, women's clubs across the country have been long concerned with delinquency and children. But more are now taking on delinquency-prevention projects than ever before. What is needed most is a national effort — a binding together of all groups interested in the problems of children, all working for the same goal, all pressing for reform. Such a group, if it spoke with a single, concerned voice, could move mountains. It is interesting to note that in this nation there are lobbies for oilmen, tobacco companies, farmers, manufacturers, workers, taxpayers, teachers, bankers, arms makers, space, booze, guns, and nearly anything and everything else you can think of. But who speaks for the children? You do! Because if you won't, who will?

HJ.

INDEX

Ballard, John, 226 Barker, Gordon H., 240 Baugh, Albert, ix, 137 Bell, Mrs. Hazel, 214 Between Parent and Child (Ginnott), 177, 261 Billings, Montana, 74 Blatt, Solomon, ix, 138 Bon Air School for Girls, Virginia, 99, 228 Bostic, John H., 60

Action in the Streets, 197 Adventure Trails, 145-46 Aid to Families with Dependent Children, 216, 217, 218 Albuquerque, New Mexico, county jail, 33; detention home, 33 American Civil Liberties Union, 44 American Journal of Psychiatry, 111 Analyzing Delinquent Behavior — A New Approach, 113 Anderson, Donald T., 256 Anderson, R. T., 62 Annie Wittenmyer Home, Davenport, Iowa, 10-11, 174-75 Arizona, Division of Child Welfare, 214; Welfare Department, 214 Arkansas, Blytheville, 58; Fort Smith, 51; prison system, 89 Ash, Charles (Chick), 207-08 Association Press, 197 Atlanta, Georgia, 195; detention home, 29-31; welfare department, 21 Attaway, Wallace, 156-58 Audy Home, Chicago, 29 Austin MacCormick Youth Camp, Ithaca, N.Y., 148 Avedisian, Leon, 251

Boston Lawyer's Committee, 265 Boston, Massachusetts, detention home, 34; Division of Youth Services, 195 Boulder, Colorado, 72, 194; Attention Homes, 242-43; employment program, 268; playground program, 268; summer seminar, 73; welfare department, 244 Bowman, Milwaukee County Juvenile Judge George, 73 Bowman, Mrs. Jessie A., 158-59 Boy Scouts, 80, 272 Breed, 111 Allen F., 79, 107-08, Bridgehouse, detention home, Wilmington, Delaware, 33 Brown, Judge R. Robert, 59 277

278 Bruggenman, Edward, 124 Buckson, David P., 134, 135 Burlington High School, Vermont, 208 Burton, Robert, 127 Byron Nelson Golf Classic, 146

California, 141; delinquency programs, 202; Esperanza parole community center, 15960; ministerial association, 79; Oxnard reform school, 158; parole community centers, 159; plan, 269; reform school, 8; South Pasadena policemen, 53; Sutter County, 79; Youth Authority, 75, 7980, 107, 112, 159; Youth Commission, 202; Youth Service Bureaus, 79; Yuba County, 79-80 Camp Afflerbaugh, California, 153 Camp Breckenridge, Kentucky, 204 Campfire Girls, 80 Camp Oakland, Oakland County, Michigan, 252-53 Carpenter, Jerry, 212 Carroll, John, 42 Case, Richard, 209 Castillo, Eddie, 209 Charles Stewart Mott Foundation, 250 Chicago, Illinois, Boys Clubs, 197; circuit court, 63; Citizens Advisory Board, 218; Garfield District welfare office, 221; juvenile officers, 45; 1968 Democratic National Convention, 43, 48; police department, 53; Welfare Council of Metropolitan

Index Chicago, 226; Youth Development Project, 196-97 Chicago Daily News, 186 Child Management — A Program for Parents (Judith M. and Dr. Donald E. P. Smith), 177 Children's Charter of the Courts of Michigan, 176, 256 Children's Christian Home, Ladoga, Indiana, 236 Christian Science Monitor, ix, 126, 139, 273 Citizens Committee on the Juvenile Court, 86 Citizenship Training Group, Boston, Massachusetts, 80 Clancy, Dr. Peter, 250 Clendenen, Richard, 52 Cleveland High School Memorial Forest, Seattle, Washington, 209 Cleveland, Sherron, 218 Cobin, Judge Herbert L., 127, 129-30 Cochran, George C, 274 Cohen, A. Alfred, 233 Colorado, Boulder County, 24046; Golden reform school, 240; Greeley, 205-07, 221 Columbia College, Columbia, South Carolina, 201 Columbia School for Girls (a reform school), South Carolina, 61 Commerce, U.S. Department of, report, 187 Compton, George O., 67 Connecticut, 141; Cheshire reformatory, 21, 48, 104; governor's study committee, 91; Hartford jail, 38; jails, 38 Connecticut School for Boys,

Index

279

Meriden, Connecticut, 91, 95, 153-54, 275 Conway, Harold E., 15 Cook County Department of Public Aid, 219-20 Corrales, Henry, 159-60 Crawford House, Los Angeles, California, 158-59 Creeden, Patrick A., 170-71 Crisis in the Courts, 126-27 Criswell House, Tallahassee, Florida, 143-44, 149

Duke University Law 274 Dzik, Dr. David, 15

Daily, Mike, 159-60 Dallas Cowboys, 146 Dallas Morning News, 185 Dallas, Texas, court advisory boards, 271; detention home, 39; lawyers, 70; Salesmanship Club, 140, 145-46; shelter care home, 39 Daniel, David L., 219 Davenport, Iowa, court advisory boards, 271; the detention home, 32; Scott county jail, 32 Dean, Claude C, 41

Fader, Dr. Daniel N., 120 Fairfield School for Boys, Lancaster, Ohio, 105 Farrow, Mrs. Eula, 33 Father Flanagan's Boys Home, Boys Town, Nebraska, 15152 Fay, Glenn M., 208 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 48, 139; the Uniform Crime Report, 17

Delaware, 90, 94, 104; a boys' school, 13-14; Correctional Council, 127, 134-35, 275; Youth Services Commission, 14, 130, 132-35, 275 Diehl, Chief Howard J., 83 Dise, Mrs. Harvey, 253 Del Barto, Joseph P., 201 DelTOlio, Joseph M., 135, 276 Denver, Colorado, court, 147; detention facilities, 62 Detroit halfway house, 120 Devine, Joseph P., 94, 104 Duffy, Chief Deputy Attorney General C. Edward, 132-33 Duke University, 274

School,

Echo Glenn Children's Center, Seattle, Washington, 106, 123, 154-55 Education Act of 1965, Title I, 107 EH Lilly Foundation, 196 Enkoji, Renso J., 153 Esperanza School, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 209-10

Federal Bureau of Prison's Inspection Service, 13 Fenner, Mrs. Sharon, 242 Fenton, Judge Ernest E., 87 Ferris School for Boys, Wilmington, Delaware, x, 99, 127-28 Fitzpatric, Joseph P., 113 Flanagan, Father Edward J., 151 Fleming, J. D., 88 Fleming, Michael G., 82 Flint, Michigan, 248-50; police officers, 54; halfway house, 120 Florida, Division of Youth Services, 89, 91, 125, 143, 149; Fort Lauderdale Nova schools, 210; Gilchrist Coun-

280 ty training school, 143; Marianna, 59; Nassau County jail, 62; Tallahassee halfway house, 143; Tampa, 51; Youth Commission, 14, 55 Florida School for Boys, Marianna, 14, 89-90, 102 Fort Clinch Youth Camp, Florida, 144 Flynn, Miss Regina, 97 Ford Foundation, 197, 265 Foresman, Louise, 176 Fort, William S., 69 Frank, William P., 134 Gagon, John H., 185 Gainsville School for Girls, Texas, 24, 99, 103 Galdston, Dr. Richard, 171 Gault decision, Supreme Court, 66-69, 263-64 Gardner, Dr. George E., 23233 Georgia, regional detention centers, 36; Rome, regional center, 36-37; State Department of Family and Children Services, 12; Valdosta, 173 Gerletti, Dr. John D., 52 Gerrke, Walter, 253 Gilliam, Philip B., 62-63 Goldberg, Commissioner Jack R., 221-22, 225, 227 Goldman, Dr. Nathan, 44 Goldstein, Morris, 70 Gould, Dr. Robert E., 113 Grady, Harvey, 84 Grand Rapids, 253-54; Junior League, 255 Graves, H. Ray, 15 Graydon, Augustus T., 71 Green Bay Packers, 146 Green Hill (reform) School for Boys, Washington, 94, 112

Index Grey, Robert T., 104 Griffith, Judge John P., 185 Groffman, Charles, 209 Guides for Juvenile Court Judges, 264 Hall, Stanley, ix Handley, Charles, 101 Harrington, Robert J., 93 Harrison, Max B., 58-59 Hayslett, C. B., 15 Health, Education and Welfare, U.S. Department of, 17, 187, 225, 227, 232; Children's Bureau, 155, 264; Office of Juvenile Delinquency and Youth Development, 113, 242 Helena, Montana, 61; aftercare, 161-62 Hell's Angels, 8 Hershman, Roland C, 121-22 Heyne, Robert P., 88, 89, 94, 139-40 Hiram Scott College, 235 Hoag, Robert, 185 Holmes, Boulder County Juvenile Court Judge Horace B., 240 Holmes, James, 11 Hughes, Glenn, 15 Hughson Union High School, Hughson, California, 210-11, 227 Hunt, James, 253 Hunt, Maurice O., 86 Hurley, Judge Joseph P., 127 Idaho, corporal punishment, 94; Idaho Falls, 194; St. Anthony reform school, 22 Idaho Narcotics and Alcohol Education Foundation, 185 Illini 236 Children's Christian Home,

Index Illinois, 141; Diagnostic and Reception Center for Boys, 100; juvenile prisons, 89; Oak Lawn, 44-45; retarded children, 110; Rock Island county jail, 26; Youth Commission, 110 Illinois State Training School for Girls, Geneva, 106 Indiana, juvenile institutions, 99; juvenile prisons, 89 Indiana Boys' School, 88, 89, 99, 104 Indiana Reformatory, Pendleton, 89, 91-92, 138 Institute for Social Research, University of Michigan, 197 Institute of Continuing Legal Education, 264 Iowa, Ames, 68; Carroll, 8485; Cherokee, the mental hospital, 11; Eldora state reform school, 11; Hampton, 57, 77; Mount Pleasant mental hospital, 11 Iowa Methodist Group Home, Des Moines, Iowa, 11 Iowa Training School for Boys, Eldora, 95, 105, 111, 113 Ithaca Conservation Department, 141 Jeffries, George W., 78 Job Corps, 204, 208-09 John Augustus Hall, West Boylston, Massachusetts, 170-71 John, DeWitt, ix John Howard Association, 29 John G. Richards Reform School, South Carolina, ix, 71, 89, 136-38, 275 Johnson, Earl, 209 Jones, Harold E., 15

281 Judge Baker Guidance Center, Boston, Massachusetts, 232 Junior Achievement programs, 268 Juvenile Evaluation Center, 113 Juvenile Delinquency and Control Act, 188 Juvenile Judges Institute, 264 Juvenile Officers Institute, 66, 71 Kalamazoo, Michigan, 248; community reform school, 40; halfway house, 120; Intermediate School District, 256 Kee, Mrs. Joyce, 190 Keller, Gordon, 252 Keller, Oliver J., Jr., 14, 55, 91, 125, 143-45 Kelley, District Judge E., 68 Kelley, Judge Florence M., 69 W. K. Kellogg Foundation, 256 Kettle Moraine School, Wisconsin, 122 Keve, Paul, 81 King, Roger, 15 Kingsport Times News (Tennes e ), 15 Kirby, Dorothy, 152 LaBorde, Wilbur, 87 Lamb, James, 87, 105 Landrum, Rev. James F., 236 Langford, John S., 30 Langston, Audie E., 89 Lansing, Boys Training School, 117, 228 Lawyer's Committee for Civil Rights Under Law, 265 Leahy, Paul, 35 Lebben, Mrs. Ann, x Le Cours, Leo, 207-08 Leenhouts, Judge Keith, 240

282

Index

Lesher, Herbert A., 135 Lewis, Roger L., 254 Listening Post, 238 Little League, 189-90 Loble, Judge Lester H., 61 Loomis, Tomy, 212 Los Angeles, California, juvenile court referees, 71; Juvenile Hall detention home, 32; Probation Department, 153 Los Guilucos School for Girls, Santa Rosa, California, 96, 241 Los Palmas School for Girls, Los Angeles County, California, 152-53 Loughmiller, Campbell, 145 Luger, Milton, 90, 98, 143, 147-48 Lyman School for Boys, Westboro, Massachusetts, 13, 34, 105, 147

Macken, James L., 240 Maine, girls' school and women's prison, 97; reform school for boys, 7 Maple Lane School for Girls, Seattle, Washington, 183 Margolin, Alan, 214 Martin, John M., 113 Maryland School for Boys, 93, 200 Massachusetts, Fall River, 76 legislative study group, 185 Lynn, 216; New Bedford, 81 Public Welfare Department, 216; Rehabilitation Commission for Assistance, 195; reform school, 8; regional detention

homes, 34; "stubborn-child law," 170; Worcester detention center, 34-35

Mattick, Hans W., 197 Matus, William, 253 McBride, Jeff, 161 McCarthy, Edmund, 216 McCarthy, Larry, 44 McCoy, Morris J., 103 McGrath, George F., 75, 90 McKenna, Eugene, 221 McKinnis, Dan, 59 McNair, Robert E., 138 McNulty, Lt. Michael J., 53 McPheron, Judge Alan, 83 Medlock, T. Travis, ix, 13, 13638, 275 Memphis, Tennessee, 63, 72; detention home, 33 Mental Health Institute, Cherokee, Iowa, 11 Metcalf, Judge Bertram B., 32 Michigan, 141; Birmingham, 252; Boys Training Schools, 125; Muskegon halfway house, 120; Oakland County, 248, 250; Oakland County Children's Village, 252-53; Royal Oak court volunteers, 240; Royal Oak Township, 250; Waterford Township Police Department, 251; Youth Assistance Advisory Council, 251 Millard, Joel, 160-61 Miller, James L., 234-38 Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the detention center, 12; police department, 73; police station, 10 Miner, Joshua, III, 146 Minneapolis, Minnesota, 194

80,

Minnesota's Department of Correction, 81 Montana, corporal punishment,

Index 94; Livingston, 82; parole, 155; State Industrial School report, 179; Yellowstone County, 74 Mooney, Mrs. Wilda, 221 Moore, Circuit Judge Arther E., 253 Moquin, Albert J., 81 Moran, John J., 275 Murphy, Hugh J., Jr., 130 Murphy, Miss Ward E., 97 National Association of State Juvenile Delinquency Program Administrators, 90 National Council of Juvenile Court Judges, 66, 71, 73, 264 National Council on Crime and Delinquency, 13, 27-28, 32, 40, 45, 101, 131, 135, 155, 186, 193, 264; Youth Correction Services, 98-99 Nebraska, Boys Town, 141; Fremont, 85; Gering, 235; Scottsbluff, 72, 234-40; Welfare Department, 235 Nebraska Children's Home, 235 Neighborhood Youth Corps, 249 Nelson, Robert Colby, ix Nevada, Reno, 274 New Hampshire, Dover lawyers, 70 New Jersey, 141 New Jersey Highfields Residential Group Center, 125, 14849 New Jersey State Home for Girls, 97 New Mexico Girls' Welfare Home, 86 New York, Altamont, 83; Divi-

283

sion for Youth, 81, 141, 143, 147-48, 196; Division for Youth forest camp, 37, 199; Hudson reform school, 169; Mount Vernon, 185; New Hampton, 93; New Hampton, job training, 106; New Hampton, the reform school, 25; state small institutions and group homes, 147; State Department of Social Services, 148 New York City, 44; Bronx detention complex, 37; correctional system, 90; Family Court, 64, 69, 70; "PoliceYouth Dialogue," 54-55; police officers, 53; Prison System, 75; Probation Department, 199; P.S. 82, 201; P.S. 148, 201; Rikers Island prison, 37, 204; Seward Park High School, 185; welfare department, 86, 222-24 New York City Youth House, 3, 37, 64 New York State Training School for Girls, 111 Nold, Joseph J., 146-47 Norman, Sherwood, 98-99, 101, 155, 186 North Carolina, Board of Juvenile Corrections, 274; Central Prison System, 275; Department of Corrections, 27475; juvenile prisons, 89; training school, 100; Swannanoa coeducational reform school, 116; Youthful Offender Faculties, 274 North Carolina, State Home and Industrial School for Girls, 99

Index

284 Ohio, 141; judges, 66; juvenile prisons, 89; Lucas County probation staff, 78; probations staffs, 78; Ross County, 78; Youth Commission, 78 Oklahoma, Durant, 83 Olson, Superintendent Milton S., 124 Order of Corpus Christi Carmelite Sisters, Scottsbluff, Colorado, 239 Ordway, Francis A., 105 Oregon, Eugene, 72; Eugene juvenile court, 69; juvenile prisons, 89 Oslyn, Morris, 38 Oswald, Lee Harvey, 241 Outward Bound, Colorado, 140, 146-47 Outward Bound, Inc., 146 Outward Bound school, Maine, 147 Outward Bound trip, 274 Pass, Fred, 185 Patterson, Dr. Earl S., 91, 9596, 154, 275 Pennsylvania, Camp Hill, State Correctional Institution, 100, 112 Peterson, Governor Russell W., x, 130, 134-35, 276 Peterson, Robert M., 89 Philadelphia, House of Correction, 38 Phoenix, Arizona, 84; detention home, 58; detention center, jail, 213 Pikesville State Vocational Training School for Boys, Tennessee, 15 Pinckney, Vergil M., 121, 125 Plainfield reform school, Indiana, 138

Platte Valley Bible College, Colorado, 238 Poitrast, Judge Francis G., 80 Polk, Kenneth, 87 Pollari, Wayne, 131 Pontiac, Michigan, 72, 250 Pope, Joe, 133 Poppiti, Ciro C, 131 Portune, Dr. Robert G., 49 Portwood, William E., 39 President's Commission on Law Enforcement and Administration of Justice, 1967 report, 180, 193 Project Aspire, Burlington, Vermont, 207 Project Interchange, Seattle, Washington, 208 Pueblo, 89 Putnam, Lt. David, 251 Pye, A. Kenneth, 274 Qualle, Cordie, 212 Quant, Robert D., 94 Rampley, C. D., 36-37 Red Wing, Minnesota, reform school, 124, 125 Reeder, Robert R., 210-11 Reier, Mike, 124 Rent-a-Kid, 195 Rhode Island, 94; Providence Family Court, 67; training school, 12, 104 Riverside School for Girls, South Carolina, 157 Robbie, Franklin, 149 Rochester, New York, 51 Rolstad, Don, 28 Rubin, Judge Ted, 147 Rowan, Joseph R., 29 St Christopher Child Care Center, Scottsbluff, Colorado, 239

Index Saint Louis, Missouri, 42, 194, 263; Welfare Department, 176 Salt Lake City, Utah, detention center, 41; employment program, 268; parole officers, 160-61 Salvation Army, 250 Sands, C. Eliot, 76 Savannah, Georgia, a state detention home, 11 Scheier, Dr. Ivan H., 240-41, 257 Scottsbluff-Gering Fellowship of Christian Athletes, Colorado, 239 Scotts Bluff Star-Herald, Colorado, 236 Seattle, Washington, detention home, 8, 38; judges, 57; juvenile court, 57; public schools, 208 Sharp, Judge William T., 139 Sharp, Morell E., 57 Sheridan, William H., 155 Shivers, Jack, 136-37, 275 Shortall, Robert, 127, 131-34 Short-Term Adolescent Residential Training (START), 148; Auburn, N.Y., 141; Staten Island, New York, 141 Short-Term Orientation Program, 84 Shultz, Earl, 239 Simon, William, 185 Sisters of the Good Shepherd institutions, 150 Smith, Bob, 14 Smith, Charles M., 205-06 Smith, Mrs. Evelyn, 220 Snyder, Dr. Eloise C, 201-02 South Carolina, 89; after care program, 155; Charleston halfway house, 155; Colum-

285 bia, 60; Department of Juvenile Corrections, 136; institutions, 99; juvenile parole department, 156-58; juvenile prisons, 89; reform school, 13, 67; Rock Hill, 156 South Carolina School for Girls, 67 South Carolina State College, 43 Sowles, Richard, 117 Spata, Paul J., 117-20 Spigner, Judge J. McNary, 6061, 71 Standards for Juvenile and Family Courts, 264 Starkey, Betty, 209 Starr, Bill, 195 Steketee, John P., 254 Stephan, Harold W., 113-14 Stevens Training Center, Maine, 97 Stiftel, Albert J., 127 Stone Foundation, W. Clement and Jessie B., 197 Stone, Peter, 133 Stoner, Sgt. O. F., 92 Stonewall Jackson School for Boys, North Carolina, 14, 93 Suzuki, Michio, 226 Swenson, Dale E., 106, 109, 110

Tang, Judge Thomas, 58 Teal, James A., 240 Tennessee, corporal punishment, 94; correctional institution, 94; Hamilton County Juvenile Court Commission, 15; Obion County, 59 Terry, Governor Charles L., 130, 135

286

Index

Texas, Denton, special school for retarded children, 110; Fort Worth jail, 44; institutions for the mentally retarded, 39 Thomas, Albert, 74 Thomas, Eugene S., 256 Thomas, Hershall, 91 Thomas, John, 161-62 Thomas, Mayor C. A., 236, 239 Thomas, Willis O., 131 Thompson, Bennie, 101 Thompson, James, 78 Thorup, Alfred, 84-85 Time, 184-85 Toefield, Sgt. Alfred, 54 Towner, Mrs. Mary, 249-50 Travisano, Anthony P., 105-06 Trigg, Billy B., 145-46 Troike, John A., 110 Turner, Judge Kenneth A., 63 Uhlenhopp, Judge Harvey, 57, 77 University of Cincinnati, 49; school program, 263 University of Minnesota, 71; summer seminar, 52 University of Oregon, 87 University of Pennsylvania, Department of Sociology, 17 University of Southern California Delinquency Control Institute, 52 Utah State Industrial School, 117 Van

Warrington,

Caleb,

Jr.

(Tex), 14, 94, 131-36 Van Waters, Mrs. Elizabeth Bode, 106 Vorrath, Harry, 123-26 Ventura Reception Center and Clinic, California, 158

Villa Saint Rose, Portland, Ore150 Virginia gon,reform school for girls, 8 Wallace, Lew, 244 Warner, Alex, 245 Warrendale Youth Development Center, Pennsylvania, 88 Warren, Dr. Rita Q., 112, 20203 Warwick State Training School, New York, 233 Washington, state of, 141; Bremerton, 185; King County department manual, 263; Maple Lane, 100; reform schools, 21, 67; training school, 24; Yakima, detention center, 28-29; Yakima County Juvenile Department, 28; youth prisons, 89 Waxter Children's (detention) Center, Maryland, 25 Weeks School, Vermont, 123 Weldon, Calvin, 81, 141 Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, Michigan, 256 Westervelt, Mrs. Jeannie, 237 What Now for the Juvenile Court (Gault), 264 Whitcomb, Gov. Edgar D., 88, 139 White, Willis B., 148 Wier, Richard R., ix, 132-35, 275 Wiles, County Judge Richard S., 236, 240 Williams, Jack, 209 Williams, Mrs. Lenore L., 74 Williams, Ronald, 255 Wilmington, Delaware, 127 Wilmington News- Journal, 134

287

Index Wilson, Orlando W., 51 Wisconsin School for Boys, Wales, Wisconsin, 121 Wolfgang, Marvin E., 17-18 Woodward State HospitalSchool, Iowa, 11 Wyoming, Cheyenne, 185; Rock Springs, 220 Yellowstone Boys Ranch, Billings, Montana, 141, 149 Young America program, 245 Young Life, 196 Young Men's Christian Association (YMCA), 189, 272

Youth 251

Assistance

Committees,

Youth Development Center, Milledgeville, Georgia, 93, 232 Youth Development Center, Warrendale, Pennsylvania, 105 Youth Opportunities Unlimited (YOU), Kalamazoo, Michigan, 255 Youth Training Center, Anthony, Idaho, 106

Saint

Ziegler, Senator E. N., ix, 137, 275

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