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Woodview Detention Center [1961/Grandpa’s House]

first part

Scene: A cell in the detention facility at the Woodview Detention Center in St. Paul, Minnesota, in the summer of 1961. Whatever people want to see, the cubicle, cell or room has an iron bed and I, the occupant; I’m 14 years old, going bigger with (maybe) other kids (or bad boys as they call us) I had to spend my first 24 hours at the facility here before the cell. The cell was clean, maybe too clean for not much stuff in it. The floor glistens with a tile-like substance, as do the walls, brick style. It was late at night, and there was a cool breeze on the face, and a faint mist perhaps from the nearby Mississippi River.

I stood quietly in the cell, a little intoxicated, a little confused, prim, wearing a t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, my hair must be messed up, I really can’t see clearly, although the small door and window have a screen through through it; I can see what other cells are thinking, and I seem to be happy with how I look, how I look. I am bodybuilder and my muscles come from weightlifting, running track and gymnastics. No tattoos; for the most part, I was considered a good looking kid.

— My brother Mike went to the Red Wing Jail, a few steps from where I was, in the custodial block, which I like to be compared to “Boys Town” (he’s two years older than me).

I’m going to court in a few days for underage drinking – Judge he’s the key here and my mom will be with me especially the judge will forgive me (my first offence) but I’ll say ‘NO! ’ for this kindness (maybe at this point I see it as pity); it will be the only time in my mother’s life that I cry (I know she ((probably)) has cried before, but I’ve never seen her cry.

“Why?” the judge asked: “You tortured your mother like this, and you still beat me proudly?”

I told the judge it was going to send me to jail, to Redwyne, like my brother, where he is now. The judge struggled to figure out what I meant, “The police found you sitting on a case of beer at a fairground on Cayuga Street, right next to your house, called ‘Indian Hills,'” Drunk, you just have to Say: An old drunk bought you beer. “

Not sure if that was a question or a statement but I didn’t say a word my mother was crying and I was sad the judge was right my pride got in the way so I had no choice but to let him put I’m locked up and I’m standing in this cell, looking left and right in the corridors.

the second part

Strange. Chick or Dennis as I’m called [ds]No one in the cell gets fresh air, it seems, and it gets worse in the summer. I paced the floor knowing there was no way out. I counted 245 bricks on the walls on both sides of the cell. At this moment, I stopped counting and listened to the sound in the corridor. People snoring, talking, staff doors opening and closing, flashlights checking everyone, even me; all night long. I heard Pat Boones’ new song, “Moody River,” and it fit the time and place like it was written and sung just for me. They must have been playing in the office down the hall.

morning. “Want to have breakfast?” said a voice standing outside my door; left.

I was surprised that morning came so quickly. I was wondering: Is there a warden in this place? Then I saw people being taken to the outside area in the back, fenced off of course for exercise. I’m kind of envious, but I’ve got another 18 hours in this cell before I join the others.

Around the time I was incarcerated, I asked myself “why” and left it at that. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would be here for two weeks, which was pretty much a death sentence for me. After two weeks, my attitude would change. I learned from this experience that if anything, you will change, or there will be people who will spend a lot of time trying to change you. But of course this requires a readjustment of mindset and/or mindset.

eggshell

I feel like I’m in an eggshell with two windows and I’m watching the world go by. I knew in a week I was in the detention area and the judge would come out and see me. I wish I didn’t have to be here for two weeks but I was wrong and the judge wanted to make a point and he did.

One of the interesting things I found was that I asked to be allowed the next day to wipe down the entire building, the facility, the floors just to get rid of the eggshells. On the few Sundays that come, I go to church and get out of my cell, and on Saturdays, I go to the craft store for the same reason. When I was locked up, I felt like I was going to throw up and I was gasping for air. I said to myself, calm down, calm down, like everyone else, I did it, go to the big aquarium, the cell at the end of the hall, there are four teenagers in it, just like me; I think it’s a good reward .

Written at Cafe Angello in Lima, Peru, on May 18, 2006

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