Sing Sing

When the public hears about Sing Sing Prison, at Ossining, N. Y., it is usually news of an escape or a sensational execution. But escapes are rare; only three of the 18 who have escaped since 1920 are still at large. And news of executions is sensationally inaccurate.

The first authentic and fairly complete picture of what goes on in Sing Sing, from day to day, is told in a book of the month:

LIFE AND DEATH IN SING SING--Lewis E. Lawes--Doubleday, Doran ($3.50).

The Picture. Author Lawes has been warden of Sing Sing since 1920. His kingdom averages about 1,700 inhabitants. They make and repair their own clothing, cook and serve their food, run a farm, a school, a library, a chapel, a laundry, a barber shop, a sewage system, a factory which turns out $650,000 worth of products a year, a power plant which, incidentally, supplies the "juice" used in the electric chair.

Every convict is assigned to at least one job. Warden Lawes tells of some difficulties in fitting the assignment to the convict's previous vocation. The skywriting aviator was "given a job painting the smokestacks and roofs; the prison warden was put in charge of the chickens; the radio-announcer was given a mop; the judge was made a waiter in the mess hall; the preacher was given the task of cleaning the chapel each day; the bartender was put to washing dishes; the pugilist was made a fireman in the power house; the masseur was given the job of manicuring the yard; and the pretzel peddler was assigned to the scavenger cart."

Prisoners are not allowed to keep any personal effects. They are given rough underwear, "hickory" shirt, brogan shoes, socks, gray coat and pants (stripes are no longer used). Their cells, 7 ft. x 3 ft., 3 in. x 6 ft., 7 in., get no sunlight and contain only a cot, iron slop bucket, tin cup, electric bulb. Letter paper, books and newspapers can be obtained at the proper times.

The arising gong sounds at 6 a. m. The parade to the open sewer to dump the slop buckets begins at 6:30. Then breakfast, and the working day from 8 to 4, with an hour off for lunch. From 4 to bedtime, the convict has his fun--baseball, gabbing, movies, reading. Most escapes are attempted during this period.*

When a prisoner's term has been served, he gets a $12 suit of clothes, a railroad ticket and $10, along with the words: "Make good."

The Condemned Cells, which Warden Lawes calls the Death House and which convicts call the Slaughter House, are carefully segregated from the other Sing Sing buildings. Every precaution is taken to prevent the condemned-to-death prisoner from committing suicide. He is clothed in materials that cannot be made into a rope; on his feet are felt slippers. His fingernails are pared twice a week; he gets no knife or fork with his meals.

The usual time for an electrocution is Thursday at 11 p. m. The warden is required to send out invitations to "twelve reputable citizens of full age," three court officials, two physicians, seven keepers, a clergyman, the executioner (a skilled electrician). The warden must also attend the scene himself. Warden Lawes says that he has received more than 700 applications for the job of executioner, many of them offering cut-rate prices.

The business of placing the condemned man in the electric chair is quickly and simply done. Then--"as the switch is thrown into its socket there is a sputtering drone, and the body leaps as if to break the strong leather straps that hold it. Sometimes a thin gray wisp of smoke pushes itself out from under the helmet that holds the head electrode, followed by the faint odor of burning flesh. The hands turn red, then white, and the cords of the neck stand out like steel bands. After what seems an age, but is. in fact, only two minutes ... the switch is pulled and the body sags back and relaxes, somewhat as a very tired man would do. ... Thus I have seen the tragedy enacted that has taken the lives of 114 men and one woman."

The Significance. Warden Lawes does not believe in capital punishment. He would substitute life imprisonment for the electric chair. He has great faith in the well-run prison, for long terms or short. To the freed convict, he would have society give a more gentlemanly chance than it now does.

There is no such thing, to Warden Lawes, as a "criminal type" or "born criminal." He tells a story on that point:

" 'Oh, Mamma, that man looks just like Papa,' said the little daughter of a minister to her mother, as she pointed to a Sing Sing prisoner who was doing ten years for grand larceny in connection with a confidence game. This was amusing to me, and exceedingly embarrassing to the mother, as the minister had previously insisted to me that criminals were physically marked and that he could pick them out of a crowd at a glance."

In short, Warden Lawes' premise is:

Crime is the violation of a man-made law; every man is a potential criminal.

With or without premises, the book is extraordinary reading, a calm, clear view of what goes on beyond the newspaper headlines. It is not a book for the sentimental or morbid.

The Author has been seeing prisons from within for 25 years. He was president of the National Wardens' Association in 1922. Many a convict counts him a great & good friend. He works in shirtsleeves when going through a batch of Sing Sing statistics. Usually mild mannered, he becomes for short periods, about a dozen times a year, nervous,, irritable, troubled with insomnia.

*"While guards within the walls are unarmed, we have an armory for shot and riot guns and gas bombs. We have never had occasion to use them, and I hope we never shall."