Elizabeth Johnston and David Weakley were not the first to be concerned about the plight of wayward children. The care of what would today be called juvenile delinquents began in the earliest years of America’s colonial period. In that day, even the criminal justice system for adults was sparse, with only a small collection of sheriffs, magistrates, and citizen watchmen to maintain order. Parents, therefore, were the first line for dealing with rebellious children. Youthful lawbreakers between the ages of seven and fourteen were normally sent home for their parents to administer a harsh whipping. Those who persisted in such behavior would be subject to the same corporal punishment given to an adult. Anyone fourteen and over was considered an adult and treated as such by the local authorities.1
When incarceration was introduced for adult criminals in Pennsylvania in 1790, it did not take long for a similar concept to appear for wayward youth. In 1825, a group of Quaker reformers opened the House of Refuge in New York City for six boys and three girls. The premise was that certain families were no longer able to provide the instruction and discipline that their children needed, and it was the state’s responsibility to intercede. Harsh discipline, menial labor, and moral training became the order of the day. The movement grew in popularity throughout the first half of the nineteenth century, and similar facilities appeared in Philadelphia, Boston, and most major cities. New York State had twenty-seven such institutions by 1850.2 The institutions not only grew in number, but in size. The original House of Refuge in New York grew from its original nine children to more than a thousand youths. One juvenile justice scholar called it “indistinguishable from an adult prison.”3
A reform movement that began in the mid-nineteenth century had a profound influence on the care of youth. Comprised of middle-class women, clergy, academicians, and charity workers, the Child Savers were Progressive Era reformers who were concerned about the poverty, crime, and parental neglect to which children were being exposed in American cities. The Child Savers sought to intervene in the lives of these young people and restore them to a more wholesome environment. They advocated moving away from the large, prison-like institutions that characterized the houses of refuge toward cottages found in more rural environments, and they pushed for vocational training rather than menial labor. Their creations became known as reform schools or industrial schools.
Whether Elizabeth Johnston’s motivations put her in the same company as the Child Savers is debatable. Some view the Child Savers as trying to recast poor little children into their own image to save American society as they knew it.4 Johnston, on the other hand, seemed to be driven more by the specter of boys being forced to endure the harsh realities of adult prison. At any rate, her creation, the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School, comes much closer to the reform school model than that of the house of refuge.
The idea of incarceration as a redress for criminal behavior in Alabama first surfaced in the 1830s, just a few years after Pennsylvania gave birth to the United States’ first penitentiary. Following a few years of haggling in the state legislature, the Alabama State Penitentiary was opened in Wetumpka in 1842.5 Since the first juvenile code would not be enacted in the state until 1907, boys were sentenced to the new prison right along with men if their crimes were sufficiently serious. One study found that before 1900 seven boys under the age of eighteen were executed in Alabama.6
The legislature’s reasons for establishing its penitentiary were not much different than those of other states. Legislator Benjamin F. Porter, the “Father of the Alabama Penitentiary,” touted its punitive value and capacity to keep dangerous criminals away from society.7 Others praised its ability to reform criminals. Last, but not least, was the call for treating one’s fellow human beings in a more humane manner than the severe whippings called for in the state’s penal code. Such concern seems somewhat contradictory in light of the atrocity of slavery, but as Ward and Rogers put it, white Southerners seemed to have the ability to “compartmentalize their humanitarian concepts” when it came to that issue.8
Despite such promise, Alabama’s new penitentiary was plagued by poor management from the beginning. After only five years of state administration, the 1846 legislature authorized the penitentiary’s operation to be leased to the individual submitting the best bid.9 Only a year later, the famous prison reformer Dorothea Dix of Massachusetts visited the institution and was not impressed. She found it to be “among the second class of Prisons in the South and West.”10 Although there were occasional signs of hope, no real changes occurred until after the Civil War.
After 1865, there was a distinct turning point, but for the worse. The legislature stipulated that leased inmates must do their work away from the institution, thus opening the door to the convict lease system. Convicts would be leased for their labor to railroad, timber, and mining companies, among others. Although inspectors were appointed to make sure the system ran smoothly, the convict lease system was fraught with problems ranging from cruelty to political corruption.11 It was during the 1890s, in one of these mines filled with adult convicts, Elizabeth Johnston discovered the boy who would break her heart as she went to teach her prison Bible class.
Her discovery could not have come at a better time. The United States was just entering what would come to be known as the Progressive Era, a period of social activism and government reform. Even though Alabama’s convict lease system would endure until the 1920s, it was already under intense scrutiny due to some of the inspectors’ reports. Who knows with certainty what motivated the Alabama legislature to finally listen to Mrs. Johnston’s pleas regarding the need for a boys’ school, but the fact that they were already under increasing pressure concerning the state’s penal system had to play to her advantage.
There may have been other factors at work as well. One writer has suggested that in some Southern states, what some would view as an act of benevolent social welfare really might have been a veiled attempt at social control. Perhaps the legislature was not as concerned with engaging in an act of kindness for these disadvantaged boys as it was in keeping them under a tight rein.12 Nevertheless, it was an improvement over what the boys had been enduring.
Although some have found it surprising at this point in history that the Alabama legislature was moved to action by a female, one writer thinks it makes perfect sense. A study of the Progressive Era in Georgia found that women were effective reformers in child welfare because their involvement seemed such a natural extension of their female role and did not come across as threatening to the male power structure. They were not stepping out of place; on the contrary, they were using their positions as wives and mothers to help enforce the social order.13
Even when the legislature created ABIS, they were not lavish with their expenditures. It was always a struggle for Mrs. Johnston and Colonel Weakley to get the state appropriations they needed. A 1918 report indicated that Alabama ranked fortieth out of the forty-three states reporting in terms of expenditures per boy at the new industrial school.14 The situation is not much better today. A 2008 report on juvenile institutions found that Alabama was twenty-fourth out of the twenty-eight states reporting in regard to per student expenditures. Some citizens would applaud the state for its efficiency; others would say it shows a decided lack of interest when it comes to caring for the state’s so-called “bad boys.”15
Other issues come to light when considering the formation of the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School. Was Mrs. Johnston unconcerned about black boys and intentionally omitted them from her new school? Once again, the answer is merely speculative, but several inferences can be drawn from what is known about the times. First of all, the Alabama penal system was largely white until after the Civil War, with the only exception being “free blacks.” Although this changed during Reconstruction, it is doubtful that the percentage of black prisoners—adults or teens—had risen anywhere close to that of whites. For those black boys who were in the system, it would have been totally inappropriate for Mrs. Johnston to suggest in such a rigid, segregated society that they be placed in a school with white boys. Such an explanation does not make it right, but it was the way the South functioned at the time.
A 1910 report shows that Alabama was not much different than the rest of the nation—especially the South—on this subject. Of the approximate 25,000 offenders under age eighteen committed to the nation’s juvenile institutions that year, only 10 percent were black. More than 70 percent of incarcerated black youths were still placed in jail or prison. Furthermore, Alabama was one of six Southern states that did not have a state-supported industrial school for delinquent youth of color at the time of the report, though that would soon change.16 A separate institution for Alabama’s black youths, initially called the Reformatory School, was started by the State Federation of Colored Women’s Clubs in 1906 at Mt. Meigs. It started receiving state funding in the 1911–12 fiscal year. Like ABIS, that campus continues today as a fully integrated facility operated by the Department of Youth Services.17
The situation for females was and is somewhat different. Due to biological and sociological factors, males have always been more heavily involved in crime than females. Until recent years, most offenses committed by females in the United States were stereotypically based on gender. Even today, females account for only 14 percent of the juveniles in custody in the United States.18 Nevertheless, even at the dawn of the twentieth century, Alabama had a need for residential care for young females. The Protestant Women of Birmingham opened a facility called the Rescue Home in 1909, which came under state control in 1911 and was renamed the State Training School for Girls. It moved to its present location in Chalkville in 1937.19
What made the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School under Elizabeth Johnston and David Weakley so successful, and could such a program work in today’s society? Adolescence is much more complicated today than a century ago. In 1900, some of the favorite toys for boys were wooden boats, tin cars, and train sets. Toy soldiers, marbles, and spinning tops also made the favorites’ list. It is difficult to imagine any of those keeping today’s adolescent boys occupied for very long. Radio did not become common until the 1920s, and television did not appear in most homes until the 1950s. The major sports of baseball, basketball, and football did not become widespread until the late 1800s. The life of a teenage boy was much different a century ago. Today’s youth are more sophisticated and learn much faster; that can be a blessing and a curse.
After working in and teaching juvenile justice for over thirty-five years, this author sees two obstacles confronting today’s youth that are much more daunting than those faced by boys in the early 1900s. The first is the change in the American family. An examination of the ABIS annual reports from 1925 and 1931 shows that more than 70 percent of the boys in residence had both natural parents at home. Today, fewer than 30 percent of delinquent youth live with two parents of any type, whether stepparents or natural parents.20
The second obstacle is the scourge of drugs among the nation’s youth. Banner articles warned the boys about the dangers of tobacco. Tobacco is just the tip of the iceberg today. Numerous studies have shown that approximately 80 percent of juvenile offenders have had involvement with illicit drugs ranging from marijuana to cocaine to heroin.21
Given all of these factors, could a program like that at the early ABIS work with today’s youth? For insight into this question, the author spoke with a longtime friend and colleague, Bobby Smith, who recently retired after forty years in childcare administration with the Alabama Sheriffs’ Boys’ Ranches and the Alabama Baptist Children’s Homes. Particularly at the Boys’ Ranch, Smith’s approach was fairly reminiscent of the early days of ABIS, with an emphasis on discipline and vocational training.
At the ranch, the boys operated a working farm. Each boy attended school and spent time afterward attending to his daily chores. The boys lived in cottages with their “mom” and “pop” houseparents, just like a regular family. There were opportunities for play, and always time for worship. Smith is firm in his belief that such a program can work today, although he concedes there are some barriers, primarily the increasing number of government restrictions. Today, in his words, “the kids can’t work, they can’t go to church, they can’t do anything.” He also admits that such a program would not be effective for every youngster: “Some would accept it and others would not.”
Still, Smith stands by the concept he used for so many years. “They learned how to make a living, they learned how to work, and they learned responsibility. It wasn’t taught out of a book. They lived it. It wasn’t easy, but it was good.” The gentle giant—a former Mississippi State lineman—mentioned one final ingredient crucial for success: “We loved the kids, and they knew it.”22
That seems to be the same prescription used by Mrs. Johnston and Colonel Weakley. They gave the boys the skills they needed to succeed in life, whether their interests were agriculture or auto mechanics. They provided the discipline the boys so desperately needed through strict rules, military drill, and even athletic competition. Finally, they wrapped it all in unconditional love. Without love, why else would a superintendent take an entire day to go fishing with a little boy who just had to get away or a board president give a child her husband’s cherished Civil War medal? It was because they cared about the youngsters entrusted to them. Regardless of the program, plan, or strategy, it must be accompanied by love to be effective.
Juvenile justice is not easy today under the best of circumstances. A recent study found the recidivism rate for youth leaving an Alabama Department of Youth Services campus to be more than 70 percent23—just the opposite of what Weakley reported at the time of his retirement.24 Given this discouraging report, it is not surprising that former Alabama Chief Justice Sue Bell Cobb demanded that “Our State’s duty to our wayward children is when they come into care, they leave better off.”25
To achieve that result, Alabama needs another generation of Elizabeth Johnstons and David Weakleys willing to devote their lives to Alabama’s wayward boys and girls.
1 Clemens Bartollas, Juvenile Delinquency, 12th ed. (Boston: Pearson Eduication, Inc., 2006), 17.
2 Peter C. Kratcoski and Lucille Dunn Kratcoski, Juvenile Delinquency, 5th ed. (Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2004), 80.
3 Larry Siegel and Brandon Welsh, Juvenile Delinquency: Theory, Practice, and Law, 11th ed. (Belmont, California: Wadsworth Cengage Learning, 2012), 476-477.
4 Ibid., 475-477.
5 Robert David Ward and William Warren Rogers, Alabama’s Response to the Penitentiary Movement, 1829-1865. (Gainesville, Florida: University of Florida Press, 2004), 62.
6 M. Watt Espy and John Ortiz Smykla, Executions In the United States 1608-2002, The Espy File, http://www.deathpenaltyinfo.org/documents/ESPYstate.pdf (accessed July, 2011.
7 Alabama’s Response, 5-6.
8 Ibid., 19-20.
9 Robert David Ward and William Warren Rogers, Convicts, Coal, and the Banner Mine Tragedy. (Tuscaloosa, Alabama: The University of Alabama Press, 1987), 28.
10 Alabama’s Response, 98.
11 Convicts, 30-44.
12 John Wallenstein, “Laissez Faire and the Lunatic Asylum,” in Before the New Deal: Social Welfare in the South, 1830-1930, ed. Elna C. Green (Athens, Georgia: The University of Georgia Press, 1999), 5.
13 Lee S. Polansky, “I Certainly Hope that You Will Be Able to Train Her: Reformers and the Georgia Training School for Girls,” in Before the New Deal: Social Welfare in the South, 1830-1930, ed. Elna C. Green (Athens, Georgia: The University of Georgia Press, 1999), 140.
14 Department of the Interior, Bureau of Education, Industrial Schools for Delinquents 1917-1918 (Washington D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1920), 31.
15 The Justice Policy Institute, “The Costs of Confinement: Why Good Juvenile Justice Policies Make Good Fiscal Sense,” http://www.justicepolicy.org/Images/upload/09_05_REP-CostsOfConfinement_JJ_PS.pdf (accessed July, 2011).
16 Prisoners and Juvenile Delinquents, 192.
17 Alabama Department of Youth Services, “Mt. Meigs Campus,” http://dys.alabama.gov/Facilities/MtMeigsCampus.htm (accessed July, 2011).
18 Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention, “Female proportion of juveniles in residential placement, 2007,” U.S. Department of Justice, http://www.ojjdp.gov/ojstatbb/corrections/qa08202.asp?qaDate=2007 (accessed July, 2011).
19 Alabama Department of Youth Services, “Chalkville Campus,” http://dys.alabama.gov/Facilities/ChalkvilleCampus.htm (accessed July, 2011).
20 Curt Alfrey, “Juvenile Delinquency and Family Structure: Implications for Marriage and Relationship Education,” National Healthy Marriage Resource Center, http://helathymarriageinfo.org/resource-detail/index.aspx?rid=3370 (accessed July, 2011).
21 Howard N. Snyder and Melissa Sickmund, Juvenile Offenders and Victims: A National Report. U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention, (Washington D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1995), 64.
22 Bobby Smith, interview by author, Decatur, Alabama, June, 2011.
23 Birmingham News, Carla Crowder, “Study Finds 70% of Kids Sent to DYS Return to Trouble,” August 5, 2005.
24 Birmingham News, John Atkins, “A Chapter in Reclaiming Alabama Youth Ends as the Weakleys Retire,” October 8, 1948.
25 Crowder.