Woodview Detention Center [1961/Grandpa’s House]
Left
Scene: A detention center cell at the Woodview Detention Center in St. Paul, Minnesota, summer 1961. The cubicle, cell, or room, however one wants to look at it, is equipped with an iron cot, and I, the occupant; I am 14 years old and must be here for my first 24 hours in the facility before going to a larger cell with (perhaps) other children (or delinquents as we are called). The cell is clean, maybe too clean, and there isn’t much in it. The floor shines, like a tiled substance, as do the walls, brick-like. It’s late at night, a breeze lingers, bringing a chill, a hint of mist perhaps from the nearby Mississippi River.
I’m quiet in my cell, a little intoxicated, a little disoriented, dazed with a T-shirt on, a pair of faded jeans, my hair must be messy, I can’t really see it clearly, although the little window in the door with a screen through of the; I can see the thought of the other cells, and I seem satisfied with my appearance, my appearance. I am well toned, my muscles that is, from weight lifting, running and gymnastics. No tattoos; He considers me a cute guy, for the most part.
–My brother, Mike, went to Redwing, a few steps higher than me, in prison camp, compared to ‘Boys Town,’ I guess (he’s two years older than me).
In a few days I will go to court for underage drinking, the judge, he is the key here, my mother will be with me, in particular, the judge will want to give me mercy (my first offense), but I will say ‘No!’ to this offer of kindness (perhaps at this moment I saw it as pity); This will be the only time I will see my mother cry in her life (I know she ((maybe)) she has cried before her, but I have never seen her do it.
“Why?” asks the judge “do you torture your mother like that and attack me with pride?”
I had told the judge to send me to jail, Redwing, like my brother, who was there at the time. The judge said with difficulty trying to decipher me, “The police found him sitting on a beer crate in the playgrounds on Cayuga Street, next to his house, called ‘Indian’s Hill,’ drunk, and all he had to say was was: an old drunk bought the beer for you”.
I’m not sure if it was a question or a statement, but I didn’t say a word, I felt bad because my mother was crying and the judge was right, my pride had gotten in the way, so I left him no choice but lock me up And here I am standing in this cell looking left and right down and up the corridor.
Part II
Weird. Chick or Dennis as they called me [ds]. It seems nobody gets much fresh air in a cell, and it’s worse in the summer. I paced across the floor, knowing there was no way out. I counted the bricks in the cell on either side of the walls, 245, that’s when I stopped counting and heard the sounds from the corridor. People snoring, talking, staff doors opening and closing, flashlights controlling everyone, including me; all night. I heard the new Pat Boone song “Moody River” in this moment and place, it was like it was written and sung just for me. They must have been playing in the office down the hall.
Morning. “You want breakfast?” said a voice standing outside my door; I got up, “Yes!” I said, and the door opened and he put the test on a steel-gray looking desk across from my bed, and walked off.
I was surprised that morning came so quickly. I got to thinking: is there a guardian in this place? Then I saw people being taken to the rear outdoor area, fenced off of course, for sports. I saw a bit of envy, and yet I had to spend another 18 hours in this cell before I could join the rest.
Around this time of my imprisonment I had asked myself ‘why’ and I left it at that. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would be spending two weeks here, almost a death sentence for me. And at the end of the two weeks, my attitude would change. I learned from this experience, if anything, you change, or there will be people willing to spend a lot of time trying to change you. But that, of course, would require a readjustment of mentality and/or way of thinking.
eggshell
I felt like I was in an eggshell, with two windows, and I was watching the world go by. I knew I was in a holding area after a week, and the judge was coming out to see me. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to stay here two weeks, but I was wrong, the judge wanted to make a point, and he did.
The interesting thing I found out was that I begged to be allowed on the second day, to clean the entire building, the grounds, the floors, just to be out of the eggshell. And since they came on few Sundays I would go to church, to get out of my cell, and on Saturdays I would go to the craft store for the same reasons. When I was locked up, I felt like I wanted to vomit, I was short of breath. I said to myself, calm down, be calm, like everyone else, and I did, I went to the big aquarium, the cell at the end of the hall with the four teenagers, like me; I thought it was a great reward.
Written on 5/18/2006, at Café Angello, Lima, Peru
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