Evening Star Newspaper, March 3, 1935, Page 47

Stage .Music Part 4—12 Pages — Screen — R_adio WASHINGTON, FEATURES he Swndy Shad D. C, SUNDAY MORNING, MARCH 3, 1935. Books—Art Notes Autos—Aviation PRISON WHICH IS VILLAGE, FARM AND FACTORY And Now the District’s Lorton Reformatory Will Have a Regular School for Inmates, With Class Rooms and a Teacher— Striking Features of the Big Institution. By Randolph Roberts, <« REFORMATORY that, strictly ! speaking, isn't a reformatory at all. Where you never hear mention of such words as “prison,” “prisoner” or %“guard.” Where always there are plenty of firearms but not one in evi- | evidence. A village. farm, factory, residence and house of correction rolled into one. A community of 1,295 men who have demonstrated their ability to shelter, feed and clothe themselves without a great amount of help from the outside world. | Such are the most striking impres- | sions that come first to mind following a day’s visit to the District Reforma- | tory at Lorton, Va. Situated some 25 miles from Washington, it is reached after a pleasant drive along the lovely Mount Vernon Highway through Alex- andria and thence about 4 miles be- yond Pohick Church. Here the main road suddenly takes a sharp turn to the left, but the mo- torist, intent on visiting the reforma- tory, keeps straight ahead. Now on a gravel road, he continues for per- haps 4 or 5 miles. Whereupon, sharply to his right and at the foot of ! a small hill he sees a macadam road- way leading up a small hill. But the entrance is barred by a heavy cable slung across two lofty pillars made of Ted brick. From behind a small, roofed-in cubbyhole back of the right-hand pil- lar a burly man emerges. He looks to be about 60 years old. “What do you want?” he inquires fn a somewhat surly tone. “I would like to see the superin- | tendent. He's expecting me.” “I'll phone him.” You later learn that this is James | O'Neil. He’s been with the institu- | tion some 10 years. Actually, his! heart is as soft as a sponge. But he gets a kick out of bellowing and glar- ing at newcomers. Especially news- paper men. R. O'NEIL unhooks the heavy cable. You step on the gas and ride straight up the hill until you reach a sort of a plateau, possibly 600 feet above the lower road. To your right about 20 yards is a large frame dwelling. This is the superintendent’s | residence. The house has quite a his- tory—used to belong to Lord Fairfax back in Colonial days—or so you've heard. Up here on the plateau you have a grand chance for a bird's-eye view. Your first impression is of just one long, rectangular red brick building after another. There must be at least 40 all told. Most of them are parallel | to each other and set north and south. | Each is single storied. Every couple of seconds three or four men emerge from the various structures. They all wear blue shirts and trousers. Nobody seems to be in a hurry and everybody carries a tool, piece of board or some sort of pack- age. ‘This is your first trip to a penal in- stitution of any -sort. Yet after a visit of barely five minutes you are forced to scrap every preconceived no- tion, most of them gleaned from the movies. What? No lockstep, stripes or displdy of armed guards? | Astonished, to say the least, you hop into your flivver, step on the gas and drive to the nearest building. An old colored man walks past. “Can you direct me to the superintendent’s office?” He points to a curve in the road that leads around a nearby corner where three buildings are grouped close together. “It’s the one in the middle.” Like all the others, the superin- tendent’s office building is single storied and made of red brick. As you open the door a tall, thin man with black hair and probably on the happy side of 30, greets you. “I am Mr. England, the superintendent's sec- retary. He's busy right now. Won't you have a chair?” ‘You're now in a building about 120 | feet long and 30 feet wide, high-ceil- | inged and divided into two main sec- tions. The one you're in is occupied by four or five earnest-looking young men. Each seems mighty busy, sorting papers or making notations. On a nearby blackboard you mnote the figure “1295.” You ask Mr. Eng- land what this means and he ex- Pplains: “It's the total number of inmates here today.” Mr. England, who says he's a Hyattsville native, turns out to be-a veritable walking encyclopedia. He points out that there are 110 officers out here, not quite one to every 12 men, besides 30 other employes, most- ly foremen of the various shops and eclerical help. Hemauwupmn:l ’ “There are about 1,500 acres. n‘ Above, left: J. O. Alexander, Lorton's laundry foreman (wearing hat), supervising work of the electric ironing machines. Above, right: W. J. Devers, “big boss” of the dining room, inspects the bakery. Center, left: The march to the dining room. Lower, left: In the reformatory foundry. Lorton buildings. Center, right: Repairing the Most of the valves used by the District Sewer Department are made here. Lower, right: A view of the laundry and tailor shop. The District buildings have their washing done here. ~—Washington Star Photos. reformatory is a district, and on paper at least, not a Government institu- tion, although it's on Government land, deeded to Congress and bought from various people. “Sentences range from one year and a day to life. About 400 of the inmates are our guests for five years or_more. “As you no doubt already have no- ticed, virtually all the buildings are of brick, made, by the way at the District workhouse at Occoquan, about a mile from here. Only two old structures are standing today—the old administration building and the stable. But they'll be razed within 60 days. Result? A modern, up-to- date prison. For that's what it actu- ally is, despite the official title, ‘re- formatory.’ ” AF'K‘ER this interesting monologue Mr. England escorts you through the superintendent’s office. In the front section there’s a switchboard where all calls are taken. Behind a wall in the approximate center is a small group of inmates sorting mail. Nearby three or four men are han- dling parole business. Pretty soon the superintendent’s door (boxed off from the rest of the room) opens and a silver-thatched head pops out. It belongs to a man who looks every inch & soldier. Tall, erect, with a military bearing. “Col. Peak, meet Mr. Roberts,” says After ypu've patl side the colonel’s rather small equipped with very little besides an ordinary flat-topped business desk and a couple of chairs, the superin- tendent remarks: “You've come at a very opportune time. Quite a few new things are in the offing out here. Notably the new educational system and the first ship- ment of regular uniforms for the officers.” Col. Peak shows you one of these uniforms. Made of blue serge, it has a silver band across the lower section of each sleeve and a large silver badge to be worn over the left breast. There’s a cap, also, made of blue serge which has a small badge pinned on its front. The superintendent explains why the words “prison,” “prisoner” and “guard” are never used out at Lorton: “Instead we say ‘reformatory,’ ‘in- mate’ and ‘officer” These words carry no considerable stigma. After all, you know, we are trying to rehab- ilitate men, not to hurl detestable terms at them.” You ask Col. Peak: “What manner of men are out here?” “As to the type of crimes commit- ted, the largest number, 365, are here because of housebreaking and larceny offenses; 232 for robbery, 166 for joy- riding, 104 for grand larceny, and 55 for murder and manslaughter. “The age groups tell a surprising story. It is a young man’s institu- tion, sure h. Between the age limits of 21 and 30 there are 612 men here; 389 between 31 and 40, 167 un- der 30, 86 between 41 and 50, and, thoee- fourths of the inmates are Negroes. Most of the young cdlored boys come from Virginia, Maryland, Georgia, North and South Carolina. The bulk of the white men are transients. Very few of either group are Washington born.” As the colonel speaks you are im- pressed by several things in his per- sonality. ~First, his utmost simplic- ity and sincerity; second, his unusual ability to be friendly without the slightest familiarity, and, finally, his humanitarianism. He loves men, is enthusiastic about his work despite the fact that in his official position he is forever the target for every con- ceivable type of criticism from Con- gress down tq the Ladies’ Aid Soclety. ND now Col. Peak takes you on a personally-conducted tour of the reformatory. Glancing at his watch, he remarks: “It’s 11:20—just 10 min- utes before lunch time. Shall we watch the men march, see what they eat and then snatch a bite ourselves?” First, you take a peep at the food set-up. This includes an inmates’ dining room, officers’ dining room, bakery shop and refrigeration room. Kem'u told that about 114 men work re. The structural arrangement reminds are expecting to see some pretty tough-looking fellows. But to your un- trained eye, at least, the surging mass of slow-marching men, some three- fourths of them colored, does not come up to expectations. They look like any ordinary citizens of the kind you see every day walking along the streets, driving & car or making a purchase in a store. Col. Peak introduces you to W. J. Devers, steward. What a man! Built on the lines of a middleweight wrestler, his smile is as broad as Joe E. Brown’s, his hair as thick and curly as a matinee idol's. Certainly “Smil- ing Billy,” as his friends call him, seems to know his stuff. If there have been any complaints, they have been kept mighty quiet. Devers has charge of the preparation of all food, menus, the two dining rooms, bakery shop and refrigeration room. ‘What do the inmates eat? Well, on Friday, day of our memorable visit, for breakfast they had frankfurters, rice with brown gravy, coffee, milk, wheat bread and sirup. For lunch they had vegetable soup, fried liver, gravy, mashed potatoes, wheat bread and sirup. The supper menu con- sisted of creamed macaroni, hot tea, wheat bread, sirup and bread pudding. Devers should be congratulated on the efficiency of his method of serving the men. They march in, very slowly, in a column of twos. There are six men to each small table, every man facing the center of the dining room. Before Devers took the helm all the food was placed on the table before the men arrived, 8ince ‘l takes al- most a half hour for the march, al- ways much of the food got cold. Not so today. Nobody is served until every man has been seated. Each waiter is charged with serving only one kind of food. If a man doesn’t like it, he isn't forced to take it. This system alone, Col. Peak is convinced, has saved the reformatory at least 5 cents a day. One nickel isn't very much but multiply that by 1,295 and you've got $64.75! WHAT does it cost per day to feed all these men? Well, during the month of January, the average was about 23 cents a day per inmate. Now, if this sounds ridiculously small, don't come to the hasty conclusion that the food isn’t of best quality. There are two excellent reasons for the economical management of the food out at Lorton, Col. Peak says. One reasan is that Billy Devers knows his stuff. Another is that about one- fifth of all the food consumed—pork, vegetables and milk—is raised at the Lorton farm. As Col. Peak explains: “We have a pretty fair farming ground out here with a good top-soil and considerable gravel underneath. Right now we have about 300 acres under cultivation. Almost everything in the way of vegetables is grown, the main items being tomatoes, kale, turnips and beets.' Last year we canned 96,000 pounds of .vegetables, not including cabbage, and made 50 barrels of sauerkraut from the cab- bage raised on the premises.” lu"l'ha reformatory boasts of about Wdummml /@flm-nflm E il el L lalalale as you’ll find anywhere. They produce almost all the milk used—around 50 gallons a day. In addition, there are some 600 hogs. Over 100,000 pounds of hog meat was slaughtered last year, Col. Peak says. Oftentimes the insti- tution furnishes Christmas and Thanksgiving pork for inmates of the District Jail. There are no idle men here. This is your conviction after visiting the numerous industrial activities. Par- ticularly interesting is the fact that out at Lorton they don’t manufacture a single product that goes into the open market. Theirs is a District set- up, pure and simple. George Schreyer, superintendent of the foundry, looks like a movie con- ception of a grizzled college foot ball coach. You know, the kind that is friend, father, counselor and instructor all rolled in one. Mr. Schreyer, who looks a trifle over 50 and has been in the institution about 8 years, seems to have earned the respect and affec- tion of his men. Some 70 inmates, most of them colored, work in the foundry and they look not only busy, but as happy as the circumstances would seem to permit. ‘You're pretty well convinced George’s heart is in the right place when, with a great deal of pride, he shows you the excellent shower facilities for his workmen. He points out, furthermore, that they make virtually all the cast- ings for the District Sewer arrd Water ents, besides almost anything any of the District institutions has to have made in & hurry out of cast iron. M-nwim'hnwbm 2 love his work is J. O. Alexander, laun= dry foreman. Working under him at all times are over 100 men, about | three-fourths colored. The Lorton {laundry busines is quite an item. Not only do they wash all their own clothes, but for all the other 14 District in- stitutions. Nor is this all. The amount of towels cleaned for the various Gov- ernment buildings is staggering— around 250,000 a month! The Com- merce Department alone uses about 40,000 towels a week. The Agriculture and Treasury averages are 10,000 and 6,000, respectively. As is well known, the reformatory makes all the automobile tags for the District. ‘The year's output for 1934 was around 400,000, During the past couple of years the paint shop has been kept mighty busy making all the street signs in Washington, notably those concerned with non-parking. Last year 16,081 miscellaneous brushes were made at Lorton. Most of them go to the District government for use in the Street Cleaning Depart- | ment. Every bit of underwear and | virtually all the clothing worn by the | inmates, besides that used by the 800 | “residents” at the work house, is man- {ufactured at the reformatory. Al- | though no shoes are actually made at Lorton, all the repair work is done out there. When Col. Peak was asked if the workers received regular salaries he pointed out: “After inmates have been here 60 days they start drawing a regular wage for every day they actually work. About 65 per cent of all such men draw 5 cents a day; 25 per cent draw 10 cents, and 10 per cent receive 15 cents, As in the world of commerce the skilled workers like bricklayers and carpenters get the highest wages. “All these men are required to save half their earnings. This is given them on the day they're released. Thus they have a little nest egg to add to the $10 which also is given them when they set forth to brave the every day world again.” LL’'S not work, even at a penal in- stitution. There's an excellent base ball diamond on the premises. Of course that isn't of the slightest use in Winter. What are sorely needed out there are a gymnasium and a couple of swimming pools to keep the men in shape during rainy or cold weather. One thing of which Lorton may well be proud is its splendid movie theater. It houses 1,200, being equipped with 1,000 seats downstairs and a small balcony upstairs containing 200 seats. There's one picture show a week, and it isn't an ancient silent picture, either., The theater is wired with south equipment and certain Wash- ington theater executives are kind enough to loan some of their best features to the reformatory. Usually these aren’t much over a month old. There is one movie show a week—on Sunday afternoon. Your visit to the Lorton hospital is very disappointing. It lasts only about five minutes, and for a very good rea- son. The resident physician in charge, Dr. F. R. Klune, is performing an operation. For this reason you don't even get a chance to see him. However, you're convinced that he must be one of the most overworked men in the world. Think of it! Only one doctor for nearly 1,300 inmates. 1t is obviously impossible for one indi- vidual, however conscientious and competent, to give all these men any- thing approaching proper care and attention. Next you visit the new school head- quarters, housed like everything else in one of the numerous red brick structures, You discover that for the first time in the history of Lorton a definite system of education is being worked out. On March 1 it started functioning. What is it like? Well, suppose you were a young fellow just on the shady side of 30. For perhaps 8 or 10 years, let us say, you had been teaching vocational training in a Pennsylvania high school. Out of a clear sky you were offered a job as educational director in a penal insti- tution that never had a regular course of study before. The understanding is that within less than three months’ time you are to start a school. Wouldn't you be slightly down- hearted if you were given not a single book, not one penny for the purchase of any, and were informed that about 15 per cent of your students couldn't even read and write? Probably so Anyway, this is the exact situation confronted by Hugh M. Mitchell, Lor- ton’s director of education. Born in Washington, he’s quiet-speaking but ,exceedingly earnest and determined L}