Written by a boy who spent 6 months in prison.
I woke up once again from the guard banging loudly on my bed, still pretty tired from last night.The guys in the dorm as usual wanted to cause as much trouble as possible and “wile out”, and even though they never got past just talking about it, it was enough for the night shift to come in, turn the lights on and harass us all night. After putting on my kaki jumpsuit I walked in a daze to the bathroom to brush my teeth, complete silence from all the J3′s,( inmates at the juvenile facility), as we were called. We were subjected to the usual wise cracks from the day shift guards who had actually slept last night, After their shift ended they would get to return to the real world while we continued to rot.
Seeing the other J3′s undoing the sheets on their beds and shoving them into their pillow cases, I realized it was Wednesday, laundry day. As usual we all lined up in formation, and walked the short distance from the west unit to the laundry room, again in complete silence. We all robotically went through the routine we had grown so used to. Taking our rolled up sheets, signing a paper to record that we had clean sheets, and then waiting for the others to finish as J3′s who had been given laundry duty sorted the sheets into piles. We weren’t boys, just J3′s, a number. Every morning the same angry thoughts would run through my head. I shouldn’t be here, other “delinquents” who had done worse things were given a free pass, I had never been in any trouble before in my life.
I thought about the depressing Juvenile Justice Center of St. Joseph County, which was in many ways worse than South Bend Juvenile Correctional Facility. While I was there I had to wait on suicide watch for three days, wearing Velcro smock, no under wear, sleeping on a pathetic little cot with no sheets, and no chance to wash.
I was stuck in my tiny little cell for 24 hours a day, except for the few minutes each day when they let me out to eat. My glasses were taken from me because they thought that I would use them to hurt myself. I am very near sighted, so I struggled to read the books my parents sent me . The other kids in the Suicide Prevention unit, who claimed to have been in the Department of Corrections before, tried to scare me by telling me that I would be tormented there because I was white.
Waking up on the third day of suicide watch, I was realized that the trip I was about to take to the evaluation facility in Logansport Indiana, would be better than having to be stuck where I was. At least at Logansport they might give me toilet paper. When the moment arrived, I was taken out of my cell and put into my original school uniform, handcuffed, shackled and wrapped in chains as if I were some sort of animal . I was thrown in this dark, stuffy metal box along with some other boys who made use of their time by rapping and making beats. As I struggled to bend over to see through air vent I could see the drivers getting themselves a bite to eat. We boys didn’t eat for several more hours.
When we arrived at Logansport classification facility we were rushed out of the truck and told to run to the wall our legs still shackled, they strip searched us, yelled at us and eventually made us take the fastest shower possible. Then we sat there in shorts without underwear in the cold, until we took a survey. Every question asked if we were in some way insane. We were finally given a quick bite to eat. I later learned that all of the food at Logansport was leftover from other correctional facilities. I ate this crap while I waited for the medical staff to review me. Then, I was sent to my unit. A small room with bare walls and no windows where I was told to sit along the wall to read the rules of the facility. The guard made a real show of speaking slowly as if I were mentally disabled.
The next day we all got our heads shaved They just found it hilarious that I had never shaved before. Then we went through “orientation.” The guards seemed to enjoy telling us how depressing the facility was. I came to hate every single person that worked at that place. They were all hateful and depressed, or just incompetent. They enjoyed spending all day complaining about how they actually had to do work.
March 1, 2009 at 11:53 pm |
Courage and self-respect often involves facing our terrors, errors, carers with the brutal truth. I have profound respect for you as you tell this story.
March 2, 2009 at 3:21 am |
[...] But there’s another thing children and parents need. This thing wasn’t there for the child in my story. I should have called in the “marines” right then and there; in my overworked youth and inexperience (if there’s any excuse) I put off finding the solution (oh, I shut ‘em down eventually; you bet I did!), and I’m still paying for it in dark nights—nor were we there for the child in Carol Ann’s story. [...]
April 12, 2009 at 10:07 pm |
[...] to it so that readers can read it in full, and also read her other posts, especially the compelling Six Months [...]
May 9, 2009 at 12:28 am |
[...] has been categorized as “boys/girls school”. It is not ”school.” It is a prison. It must be restored to its original purpose and become an instructional facility where only the [...]
May 26, 2009 at 6:08 pm |
this is so true. i was at South Bend’s Juvenile Justice Center for three months until they finally sent me off to Logansport where eventually I was sent to Northeast in Fort Wayne. People don’t understand that even though we are juveniles we basically are in prison. There are things that go on in these places that some people will never believe.
June 20, 2009 at 1:20 pm |
Bobby, thanks for replying. This was written by my son. The more we do to bring these issues to light, the greater the chance that we can turn the juvenile system into a system of true justice. The system does not seen to understand the concept of DEGREES of wrondoing.