Once upon a time, at least forty years ago, I actually worked in a juvenile detention center.  Before you have me doddering with my walker, I was still in college then (OK, maybe I am that old), untrained and totally unsuited to the job.  I lasted about three months. 

It was supposed to be a model facility- one house for girls, the other for boys.  On the outside, it looked good, sort of like a boarding school with very high fences.  But I soon learned that there was a big secret to the place.  It was completely anti-female.  This reflected the justice system at the time, which I wish I could say has changed.

The boys at the place were in for burglary, vandalism, auto theft, trying to knife someone.  The girls?  Their crimes were "incorrigability", "running away", and one shoplifting.  All but one of the twelve had been raped.  One doughy, plain child had been given by her family to an uncle in the hope he would pay their bills.  Every one of them was a victim rather than an offender.

Even worse was the attitude of the men who ran the place.  They acted as if the girls were willing prostitutes whom they had to save.  They made comments that today would, I hope, put them behind bars.

Building on Ann's comments, I understand now that there were two prisons there, one of the body and the other of the mind.  And, as a very young and naive woman, I was in danger of landing in the latter.   I wish I could go back and do the job better, stand up for those battered children.  I don't know what happened to them and shall always wonder.

I've never written about this and rarely spoken of it.  Not knowing how to help is one of the great regrets of my life.  I remember the feeling I had when I drove away for the last time, as if an enormous rock had rolled from my shoulders.   Then I was relieved to go -- but now I would have tried to find away to take the girls with me.

Comments

[Camille Minichino]

Very moving, Sharan. Thank you for sharing this. I have very similar wonderings about what, if anything, my "time in prison" accomplished for the inmates, though I know what it did for me.

[Mikki]

We must remind ourselves that at the time, we did the best we could with the knowledge we had at the time. Let us hope that most of them found their way out of darkness and into the light of what is good in this world. And hope that there are measures in place to protect children, even though we know some will slip through the cracks. I just finished a book by English author Anne Perry, "Execution Dock" and Victorian England's treatment of orphans who were forced into prostitution and pornography. while it is a book of fiction, she does great work in her research.

[sharan newman]

Thank you both. I think that in our lives the things we regret the most are sins of omission - what we didn't do, rather than what we did. (Of course, I chose to be a writer, not a hedge-fund manager)

[Susan Shea]

Sharan, my thanks also for a candid piece that most of us can relate to. We all have experiences we'd like to do over with the benefit of hindsight, I'm guessing. And those that revolve around children stay with us.

[sharan newman]

it had nothing to do with writing, except that that is a much better job for me. The subject just brought it all back. It is a pity that we can't learn from experience before we affect others with our actions.

[Ann]

Sharan -- When we are young and facing a "system," it's hard to stand up to it. Especially alone. And who is to say that there wasn't some "ripple" effect from you working there? Maybe one of those girls (or more) noted you, learned from you that there is another world outside the fence. And who knows where that knowledge might have led?
We all do what we can, and sometimes the good comes from us just being in the right place at the right time for someone, and we just never know it...

[sharan newman]

The sad thing is that we never see the positive ripples we make. We too often are aware of the negative ones. But I'll take hope from your comments. Thanks.