The Jack-Roller: A Delinquent Boy's Own Story (Phoenix Books) by Clifford R. Shaw

Author:Clifford R. Shaw
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780226074962
Publisher: University of Chicago Press
Published: 2013-02-11T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IX

OUT, BUT AN OUTCAST1

We were conveyed to the depot in an automobile. My fellow-prisoner, who was released with me, commented on the glories of freedom, saying that he was going on the “straight and narrow” from then on. As we rode along, my thoughts took wings. Strange to say, I contemplated the beauties of the world, just after coming out of a hell-hole of misery and crime. Why did I think about such things? Because I was free again. The world had seemed to be working against me ever since I was born, and now I thought I was big and strong enough to fight the forces of fate that were against me. While the spirit of freedom possessed me, I resolved to make good, and show the world my good qualities.

We arrived at the depot and were given our fees for services rendered to the state. The sum was ten dollars. To me that money was handy, because it was to give me another start in life. Other prisoners regarded it as a farce, and used it to go out on a spree celebrating their release from jail. They would seek out their old haunts and houses of prostitution and satisfy the burning desires for drink and women which had hungered during their imprisonment. Terrible are these hungers in prison.

We had to wait a few minutes for the train, so we went across the street to have some “coffee and.” It seemed strange to eat in a restaurant again after eating the coarse prison fare, and what I mean, we ate with gusto. After eating, we bought cigars and cigarettes, luxuries which we had been deprived of for a year. We also bought a deck of cards to pass away the time on the train.

I seemed lost with my new freedom; it scarcely seemed real after being tied down so long, but I laughed and talked to the station-master. The train came along, and as it did so I experienced a great thrill. I was going back home. But what was home! I was like a man without a country. In reality, I didn’t know what to do nor where to go. All my riches consisted in freedom, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I had no home and didn’t know what kind of work I liked—just a vague desire to make good. Red, my companion, and I played blackjack, chatted, and smoked.

There were four men playing rummy across the aisle, and Red and I, being tired of playing blackjack alone, asked them if we could break into their game. One hard guy with an eternal sneer on his face looked me over, and noting that I was a jailbird, said, “No!” in no uncertain terms. His sneering and superior attitude made me boil with resentment, but I could not retaliate.

The stares of the passengers on the train burned through me as if to read that I was an ex-convict, just out—a jailbird, to be feared and avoided.

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