priating body, of the necessity of improvements. The inspector answers the sheriffs at this point that the Association will take up the matter with the board of supervisors and will urge the needed appropriations.

The big keys of the jail are then taken and we pass from the office into the jail. The customary construction in this State is the so-called cellblock. Imagine two horizontal rows of from five to ten cells, placed back to back. Imagine, further, several tiers of such cells. In each cell there is a door facing the outside. Imagine, then, built over this large block of cells, the enclosing walls and a roof. Between the cellblock and the sidewalls of the building we find a corridor from four to eight feet wide. Very frequently each floor has its corridor, the floor being thus extended from the block. to the outside wall. Then between the rows of cells, which are practically back to back, there is a narrow corridor called the "utility corridor," perhaps four or five feet wide. This corridor contains plumbing, wires and ventilation for the cellblock and for the building.

As you step with the inspector into the side corridor on the ground floor, you find on one side high and frequent windows giving good light, and on the other side a grating extending the entire length of the corridor and composed of vertical steel bars. This divides the corridor practically into two corridors, an outside corridor next the windows and wall for the use of the prison officials, and a second corridor between the outside corridor and the cells for the use of the prisoners. We will call the first corridor the officers' corridor, and the second corridor, the prisoners' corridor. These corridors vary in width. The officers' corridor may be from three to six feet and the prisoners' corridor from three to eight feet wide. The prisoners' corridor is usually secured by a gate that cuts off any possible communication with the officers' corridor.

And right here we find one of the fundamental errors in jail administration, caused by this form of jail construction. County jails are called schools of crime, largely because of the commingling of prisoners. This commingling, forced upon prisoners, results in demoralization, frequently in debauchery and practically always in serious moral evils. It is a frequent saying among prisoners that nobody can go through some weeks of compulsory detention in a county jail without being seriously affected, morally, mentally and physi

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cally. No prisoner can have a reasonable amount of privacy in such institutions.

As we stand in the officers' corridor, we see the prisoners in the inner corridor marching up and down, chafing at their restraint, or sluggish in their indifference, and inevitably there is suggested to us the comparison with the animals behind the gratings of a menagerie. Indeed, certain opponents of this style of jail construction call it the "zoo system of cells.

We are making our inspection at ten o'clock in the morning. We ask where the prisoners are, how they are employed and what they have done so far, and we find that except for several trusties, who are making a brave show since we entered the building of washing the concrete floor of the corridors, and aside from several other prisoners preparing the dinner in the kitchen in the basement of the sheriff's house and perhaps one or two other prisoners, who are cutting the lawns or picking up around the place," the prisoners are absolutely idle. Up and down, up and down, they walk in the inner corridor. In some jails we find the sheriffs allow card playing. In other jails the playing of cards is prohibited, but there is no restraint upon conversation, often worse than games.

The inspector asks the sheriff to open the gate of the inner corridor, and we move among the prisoners in our examination of the cells. We find that the cells in the row are each about eight feet long, six feet wide and eight feet high. Here again we are struck with the abnormal condition of prison life, for the cells are of steel construction, just a steel box in fact, with a concrete floor and a barred steel gate about two feet six inches wide and six and a half feet high, which, not being solid, but composed of vertical and horizontal steel bars, admits light and air during the day. We see in some jails that an electric bulb in the cell will supplement this light in the day time (in case the county is not too economical with its light) and of course during the evening until locking-up time, which is generally between eight and nine o'clock. Generally the electric bulbs are in the prisoners' or officers' corridors. The imaginary visitor now exclaims: "You don't mean to say that you put two men in this small cell, yet here are two beds!"

The sheriff shrugs his shoulders and says: "I know they say it is wrong, but what are you going to do when you try to

follow the classification made by law and when you have more prisoners than cells?" Certainly here is a question hard to answer, except that only too often the inspector finds on careful examination that there are many vacant cells in the second or third tier which could be used to avoid this duplicating if the sheriff were more ingenious in his classification. One of the good results of the frequent inspection of county jails is that the unnecessary crowding of men in cells has been reduced.

The Prison Association for years has declaimed against the doubling-up of prisoners. It is absolutely wrong morally, and from a sanitary standpoint thoroughly unwise. The two steel bunks, suspended by hinges and chains from the steel wall of the cell, are folded up against the wall during the day. At night they are lowered. In the cell is also a set basin with running water, and in one corner of the room a water-closet with flush; perhaps a board suspended on hinges serves as a table. The plumbing for the washstand and closet extends through the back of the cell into the utility corridor. The utility corridor is generally locked at both ends and entered only for cleaning or for repairing purposes. As the inspector makes his rounds, he will have each of the corridor doors opened and he will step inside, not only to detect foul sewage odors, but also to see that the utility corridor is not used as a dumping place for papers and other refuse.

And now we notice the method of the inspector. He has broken his general rule for a moment to show us the inner corridor and the interior of the cell. But now he continues his inspection, and we move very hastily through the whole building. He explains to us that he wishes to see the entire jail, at least in a cursory manner, before any changes may have been made in cleaning up or in removing conditions that would be subject to an adverse report. So we move rapidly through the several tiers and through the other parts of the jail, returning then to the first floor where a more careful inspection is begun.

We find that the first floor contains prisoners awaiting the action of the grand jury or awaiting trial; the second floor, sentenced prisoners with terms extending up to one year; the third floor contains the overflow from the second floor in one section and the female department in the other section. Or, very likely, on the third floor we find one section devoted

to the juveniles and one section to the women. We find at the end of the prisoners' corridor on each floor a shower-bath. Generally it is open to the prisoners at least daily; frequently all the time.

This typical jail we are visiting is one of the best in the State and the sheriff is apparently an efficient and conscientious man. He tries to obey the law, but we find often that he does not know clearly what the law is. He has no complete book of instructions as to jail management or he has lost the book containing the laws relating to administration. But he seems to have a real desire to mitigate the unfortunate condition of his prisoners who often wait for many months. to be tried, or to be released from enforced idleness.

As we move through the building, we ask the jailer as to his daily routine. A few of the prisoners, we find, get up at 6:30 in the morning and prepare the breakfast in the jail kitchen. The breakfast consists of potatoes, bread and coffee. At seven o'clock the prisoners come down into a hallway adjoining the kitchen and eat their meal together at the common table. For the "court prisoners" (this term includes those awaiting the action of the grand jury and those awaiting trial) the food is taken to the cells.

We interrupt with the question: "Why make the distinction between the convicted prisoners and unconvicted prisoners?" The sheriff answers quickly: "Convicted prisoners here are short-term prisoners and have committed crimes. not very serious in their nature. There are a good many inebriates and vagrants in the group. We are not afraid of them, but among the prisoners held for the grand jury are many accused of very serious crimes, even murder. Some of them are desperate persons and would take all sorts of chances to get away, so we do not let them come together at the table.'

By 7:30 breakfast is over. A small squad of sentenced prisoners begins to sweep and mop up the floors and prepare the dinner. The rest of the prisoners remain, not in their cells, but in the corridor leading to their cells. They read old magazines, or books if the prison has a library, or newspapers that have found their way in, or they turn to cardplaying. They have no money, so matches will serve. Over

the cards or in separate groups the time is spent in relating past performances." John Smith tells about his latest

"trick"; he has done many in his day. He has an attentive listener, a boy of eighteen, who has been "caught right in his first attempt. The boy is now getting pointers how to avoid being caught the next time, or how to work a bigger game. John Smith himself learned some years ago much of his trade in a jail of a neighboring county, which is quite differently built, for there all of the cells open into a general interior pit. In that county jail which John Smith tells about, the prisoners were not restricted to groups of eight or ten; there were thirty or forty together around a friendly long table intended for a dinner table but used at other hours for recreation, card games and "experience meetings." Gray haired, wrinkled, whiskey-branded drunks had most to say, and the boys were the most ardent listeners.

But to return to our daily routine in the jail we are inspecting. Dinner time is approaching. Sentenced prisoners, who have the privilege of cleaning the jail or the sheriff's residence or of mowing the lawn, are coming back into their corridors. The court prisoners are looking forward to dinner as a break in the monotony. They have not much appetite, for they have had no outdoor air, nor have they had a chance to do any work. They complain to the jail physician of constipation, and they receive pills as a substitute for fresh air and outside exercise. Here again we run across a fundamental objection to the present method of administering county jails. It is no exaggeration to state that in many a jail neither the convicted prisoners nor those held for the grand jury get out into the fresh air for months at a time. Many of the jails are built in the cities or towns, and the buildings adjoin other buildings quite closely. No jail yard has been provided, no jail walls to prevent escape, and there has grown up through the years the tradition that it is unsafe to let the prisoners out, and particularly unsafe to expose the court prisoners to the chance of escape. This is a degree of cruelty which few people in the State realize as existing in the county jails. When to this absolute restriction of exercise in the open air are added the physically outrageous conditions of an old jail, a basement floor and a damp day, the results are heartrending. Yet such conditions exist in spite of protests, both public and private.

But to return to our typical jail. The dinner is served. Tin plates and cups are gradually being replaced in this jail