11. A Visit to a Prison

11. A Visit to a Prison

I found myself a little while ago in one of the largest American prisons. It was like a stone castle, its high towers watched by guards with guns. I had been there several times before, on earlier visits to the U.S.A.. But this time I had come to see one particular prisoner. He was nineteen and after two years by himself in one room was awaiting execution for murder. He had just heard the result of a fresh trial. He was to serve life imprisonment instead. He was white-faced and talkative, a boy who had failed in high school and had all too easily got caught up in a night's adventure that had ended with burning down buildings, two deaths and those two years awaiting death.

This prison is no worse than many others and it is certainly better than some. After you have passed through the complicated series of gates and doors and the electronic instruments have checked that you have no metal on your person—that you have no gun in fact—you enter within the walls. At once you are astonished at the difference between the strict controls outside and curiously easy-going way of life inside. Here are men walking about, often smoking cigars; the football team is being trained on the field; there is a good deal of standing around waiting for something to happen. And of course things do happen: a sudden shout, a rush to the water tower, a mad climb to its top, senseless disobedience for days. But this is somehow a symbol for a bigger senselessness than that.

This time I was wondering what twenty years (and that would be the minimum) might mean for one boy pushed into this organised idleness.