I first became acquainted with the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School in early 1975, long after the heydays of Elizabeth Johnston and David Weakley. I had just graduated from Samford University in Birmingham with a degree in history and Spanish and returned to my hometown of Moulton, Alabama, to await entrance to graduate school at the University of Alabama in the fall. It was my intention to earn a master’s degree in Latin American Studies and follow in the footsteps of mentors like Drs. Wayne Flynt and Myralyn Allgood in becoming a college professor.
As I awaited the fall, things changed. The local juvenile court judge, the Honorable Cecil Caine Jr., asked if I would consider being our county’s first juvenile probation officer. Alabama was revamping its juvenile court system and establishing juvenile probation officers in every county, thus removing that function from the State Department of Pensions and Security. The invitation caught me off guard; I didn’t know what a juvenile probation officer was, much less have any desire to be one. The position was funded by a grant, making its future somewhat uncertain, and the pay was less than attractive. For some unknown reason, however, I was intrigued. I thought—at the very least—that I could take the job for a few months, make a little spending money, and then resign in about eight months when the fall term began.
A funny thing happened—I began to enjoy the work. I discovered that it had many of the same rewards I was seeking as a college professor, primarily the opportunity to have an impact on young people’s lives. When the fall semester arrived, I turned down the opportunity at the University of Alabama and remained with the juvenile court.
So it was that I was introduced to the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School. One of my first clients, I soon learned, was actually AWOL—an escapee—from the school. When he was finally captured by the county sheriff’s department, it was my responsibility to accompany a deputy in returning the boy to the school. Though the school was no longer the pristine campus of its earlier days, it still had a certain grace and beauty, like an aging socialite. The buildings were impressive, if badly in need of repair. Mature trees dotted a lush but unkempt campus. Everything looked like it could use a good cleaning. I gave all that little thought. As a twenty-two-year-old juvenile probation officer, I was more concerned about keeping my young clients on the straight and narrow than the condition of this, my first reform school. I made numerous trips to the school over the next seven years, never bothering to look much beyond the deteriorating facade of the campus.
As the years went by, some aspects of the job began to wear on me, especially the rigors of constantly being on call during evenings and weekends. I had earned a master’s degree in correctional counseling during this time, and my thoughts returned to the notion of teaching in college, but this time in the field of criminal justice. I got that opportunity in 1981 and began a career that to this point has spanned thirty years, primarily at Calhoun Community College and Athens State University. Along the way, I finally kept that appointment at the University of Alabama, where I completed my doctorate.
Only in the last few years was I reminded of the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School. I was doing some research for one of my classes and went to the website of the Alabama Department of Archives and History. When I ran across a number of photos from the institution’s earliest years, my fascination with the state’s first juvenile reformatory was rekindled. With more digging, I discovered the affectionate biography of Elizabeth Johnston, the visionary founder; I stumbled upon a handwritten diary of the first superintendent, C. D. Griffin; and I found the papers left behind by David Weakley, the longtime heart and soul of the school. Just as significant, I learned that no one had ever written a comprehensive work on the distinctive old school.
I thoroughly enjoyed the research and writing of this project. Each new day brought a new revelation about this school I thought I knew. How did a boys’ institution in the late 1800s end up with a female board of directors? Who ever heard of a reform school with a marching band? Who knew that an institution for juvenile offenders provided military training for its residents, or had a student newspaper? It certainly wasn’t anything like I had ever encountered in studying and visiting present-day juvenile reformatories. To put it simply, the whole place exuded a charm and quaintness that made it very appealing.
Things were not as idyllic, however, for the black youth of Alabama who remained confined in the adult penal system. Because of the political and social climate of the South at the time, Mrs. Johnston’s new school would be for whites only. To say that Mrs. Johnston condoned this segregation would be unfair. On the contrary, there is evidence in this book that she had an open heart toward people of color, and likely would have also opened the doors to her school had the opportunity presented itself. Thankfully, leaders in Alabama’s African American community came to the rescue of their own children in 1911 when a similar school for black boys was started in Mt. Meigs. Although the Alabama Industrial School for Negro Children began with much promise, conditions there eventually deteriorated until they were no better than the adult prison camps. The situation would not improve until all three of Alabama’s reform schools were integrated and brought under the control of the Alabama Department of Youth Services in the 1970s.
I hope you will find the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School as fascinating as I have. Whatever has motivated you to open this book, it is my hope that you, too, will be captivated by this school for wayward boys and its leaders dedicated to turning them into men.
Acknowledgments
This project would not have been possible without the assistance, support and encouragement of many people.
The Alabama Department of Archives and History and the Archives at the Birmingham Public Library were most gracious and helpful in allowing me access to numerous government documents and the papers of C. D. Griffin and David Weakley.
Arthur Henley of Birmingham Printing and Publishing allowed me to use photographs and source material from Mary Avery Johnston’s rare biography of her beloved aunt.
Scott Dawsey shared with me the photographs and stories of his grandfather, James Dawsey. It has been a pleasure to make a new friend of someone who appreciates the history of the Alabama Boys’ Industrial School (ABIS).
James Thomas and his staff at the Alabama Department of Youth Services (ADYS) Vacca Campus welcomed me to their facility on several occasions to view documents and conduct interviews. Having worked with juvenile offenders myself, I have the utmost respect for the work you do and the challenges you face.
Longtime friend Allen Peaton at the ADYS administrative offices provided valuable statistics and photographs of the campus.
My colleagues and the administration at Athens State University gave me the support necessary to balance this project with my other duties and responsibilities.
Former professor and mentor Dr. Wayne Flynt—himself once a college volunteer at ABIS—read the manuscript and offered invaluable suggestions. I am relieved he did not put as many red notations in the margins as he did on my exams at Samford.
My cousin Sonny Bass gave much of his time preparing my photographs for publication and serving as a traveling companion on numerous trips to Montgomery.
Randall Williams, Suzanne La Rosa, Jeff Benton, Brian Seidman, Sam Robards, McCormick Williams, Lisa Harrison, Blair Johnson, Ashley Stanaland and other staff at NewSouth Books made my first efforts at publishing a book a great experience. Let’s do it again sometime.
Finally, thanks to my mother, Mrs. Curtis Armor, for giving me a love of books and gentling nudging me toward the finish line, and to my wife, Judy, for her love, patience, and assistance in so many ways. Maybe one day we will find out what happened to Spurgeon.