I, Psychopath

by Ph. D. Stephen M. Kahn

  This was the darkest moment of my life and something I had never thought would happen to me. Now my mother would know along with everyone at school and I thought life was at an end for me. I didn’t have long to think because the cars brought us to a big police station in a short time and we were whisked into a room with mirrors. Within minutes, a woman and man came in and said they wanted to ask a few questions. I suppose that being so young, they would expect us to tell every detail of our efforts but that was not my way and not a word was coming out of my mouth until my mother arrived. Bart also seemed resolute but that was not how Cal reacted. He started crying and whimpering about what had happened and seemed ready to tell all. That was when Bart and I were taken to a different room where we would not be an influence on Cal’s blabbing. The police took our addresses and said that our parents would be notified. Until then, all we could do was sit tight and wait. Doing nothing was very boring and after what seemed to be hours, someone came in and said our parents were here. I really wasn’t sure that seeing them was a good idea but there was no other way to turn. The police took Bart to another area and within minutes, my mother walked in with a shocked look on her face. All I could do was look at her sheepishly and give some excuse about this whole matter being a childish prank. That might have worked in some instances but after Cal got through disclosing all the details of our previous breakins, my goose was cooked.

  The police were gloating because now they could close two other burglaries that had been unsolvable. I was going to be charged as a juvenile with three counts of breaking and entering and some other minor offenses. My mother couldn’t afford a lawyer so a juvenile official told her that a public defender would be made available. The police were going to search my room and when they did, all my loot would be found. I did not know what kind of defense was available and hoped that my lawyer could help. The attorney would meet with me tomorrow but in the meantime, I was going to stay at a juvenile facility for awhile until some type of disposition was made by the Court. I didn’t think that the justice system had too much experience with really young offenders so it was hard to figure what was going to happen. At this moment, everything was moving so fast that it became a blur to me. I spent two weeks in the detention center without seeing Cal or Bart again. The only visitors I had were my mother and the attorney who made it very clear that this matter was very serious and could involve a period of incarceration. Another week passed before a hearing was scheduled with a juvenile judge and as bad as it looked, I was glad to be moving forward. When the hearing occurred, the only people present beside my mother and lawyer was a judge and a juvenile counselor. The judge started by presenting all the charges and asking me if they were correct. I said they were and after my lawyer presented mitigating factors which mostly had to do with my age, the judge took a recess before handing down a decision. Waiting for a resumption of the hearing seemed to take forever and all my mother could do was quietly sob. Finally we were back to the hearing and the judge began by saying he had taken all factors into consideration and was appalled that anyone my age could plan and commit such terrible crimes. He was particularly annoyed that I hadn’t been willing to disclose where the jewelry had been disposed of and couldn’t believe that a young boy of nine already had a criminal personality. With a stern expression on his face, he looked at me and said that for the protection of society, a period of incarceration would be imposed at a juvenile facility until I reached the age of eighteen years. My lawyer asked for a consideration due to my youth but the judge was firm and said that this period of time was to allow for rehabilitative efforts and an end to my wayward ways. He also mentioned that in this case, the punishment seemed to fit the crime.

  I can’t even describe the look on my mother’s face as officers were leading me out of the room. I had never seen a look of such disbelief on anyone’s face before and for a brief moment, a touch of remorse went through my body. She cried out for me as I was led away and let me know that visits would be made whenever possible. That wasn’t my concern right now because over the next nine years, I would be in a juvenile facility and at my age, it was an absolute disaster. I spent that night at the detention center alone in a cell with nothing to do except think about my miscalculations. After falling asleep, I was awakened at a very early hour by a loud guard who said breakfast was ready. I thought it meant going to a dining hall but all he did was put a tray of cereal, milk, orange juice and a muffin on my table. Before leaving, he said that a bus would be taking me to another facility in two hours. These people certainly didn’t waste any time and now I would be off to somewhere for who knows how long. Sometime later, a guard came and escorted me to a county bus that was already full of young boys although they all seemed older than me. I was hoping to see Bart but neither he nor Cal was present. I certainly had no use for Cal who had turned out to be a wimpy snitch and probably got me in worse trouble with the authorities. Some day, I would settle a score with him. The bus ride took two hours but was not boring due to conversations with some of the boys riding with me. Everyone wanted to know what I was in for and showed a great deal of admiration for what I had accomplished considering my age. The boys I spoke with were mostly in trouble for stealing, fighting, breaking things and other petty crimes that were far below the level of my endeavors. Everyone had a different idea about where we were going but the consensus was to a youth authority facility where we would supposedly be rehabilitated. Most of them scoffed at the idea of changing their behavior and several tried to become my buddies. I kind of liked being a center of attention and thought of how I could use this power to my advantage and make life easier during the next nine years. The bus began to slow down and finally came to a stop in front of huge gates that led into a courtyard. It looked like we finally arrived and I was glad to be getting off. The bus went on a little more and ended our ride in front of a large building where several uniformed guards were waiting. Well, here goes my new life and hopefully, it will provide some opportunity for improvement over the next nine years.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The first thing that the guard did was direct us into a large dining room where we had a much welcomed meal that tasted fair probably because of my hunger rather than any degree of quality. At the end of our meal, people came in and started lecturing about the camp, and its rules, which covered every aspect that I could imagine. After two boring hours of listening to endless speeches, we were marched to dorms and assigned spaces. The rooms held four inmates and I was already familiar with one of the guys from the bus ride to here. Jimmy was here for chronic car thefts and joy riding. He was fourteen years old and seemed like a wild man who had many complaints toward society. The other two, Barry and Tony, were much quieter and had been sentenced to this camp for violent assaults with knives. By far, I was the youngest, although the smartest of the bunch. I was already looking for ways to achieve some control over the others that did not involve physical prowess. Our first discussion involved the crimes that brought us here and mine were certainly at a much higher level of status. The guys were impressed but did not understand how I received such a long sentence for a first conviction. I told them about my refusal to name confederates and the amount of loot obtained as probably being the main factors for the judge’s decision. My so called attorney had appealed the sentence as being too harsh for a young child but the judge had listened to others who convinced him that I was a severely deviant personality in the making and needed to spend enough time incarcerated for rehabilitation to work. Juvenile authorities and social workers had also tried to intervene but the judge was firm and the nine year sentence was upheld. The others in my room made attempts to express sympathy for me but I had already accepted my fate and now looked forward to making the best of it. No dumb judge or criminal system was going to get the better of me and my time would come.

  The first few weeks were spent taking idiotic tests for every possible reason and then talking to counselors about how the time here would be spent. I didn’t like
these people because all they wanted to do was pry into your personal life to see what made you go astray. They had to talk to so many residents in a short period of time that in my thinking, it did not seem possible that anything good could come of it. It just seemed to be a futile exercise in busy work that justified their jobs. I was put into basic education classes and expected to finish sixth grade within two years. From there, I would enter middle school and work my way through to high school graduation. In addition, I had to work a daily job at the camp that might teach me some type of trade for employment purposes when discharged at eighteen. It was going to be a long haul and I better learn a lot from the other inmates about easing my way through the numerous rules and preparing for a more successful life when released. I was strong and determined regardless of my youth and there was no way fear or indecisiveness would prevail to change those qualities.

  In the first month of my captivity, I had not thought about my mother until she started sending letters to me expressing her longing for my presence and sadness over my fate. She tried to offer me some optimism by mentioning that the attorney was still trying to find some way to obtain a sentence reduction. That attorney was so incompetent that I’m surprised he could find his way home and any hope for an early release did not even enter my mind. I wrote back to her about once a month for want of nothing better to do and learned in one of her letters that Cal had received a lighter sentence for helping with the prosecution. He had turned out to be a rat and one day, I would even the score with him. My mother never mentioned Lester and I wondered why he didn’t inquire about my fate although he may have learned about it somewhere else. Even with my lack of experience in dealing with people, I had learned a hard lesson about trusting anyone other than myself and from here on out, the only way that people would be tolerated was for my use only. When I didn’t need them anymore, then they would be discarded without exception. Then I would not have to worry about someone turning against me and interfering with my progress. This was a big decision for a nine year old but I was going to stick to my guns no matter what.

  I settled in to my school work classes and found the material to be quite easy. I considered myself a smart fellow and quickly realized that the work could be done with a minimum of effort. The others in my room also had to attend school and because of their limited intelligence, found the work very challenging. I was able to help them in some areas which earned greater respect for my abilities. Since I had to spend a lot of time with them, it might as well be productive without the usual bragging and stupid talk that incarcerated boys often think is necessary. I helped them and they looked after my safety from bigger boys who might want to take possessions from me. The job I was assigned to was in the bakery and I went through training with Reid, a cook who lived in a nearby town. I was told many times that the bakery was good to work in because you were fed very well. Reid seemed to be decent fellow who didn’t criticize me for mistakes as harshly as he berated others. My job was to bring supplies from the storage area and set them on tables for the workers. There was really not much to it but I suppose that they didn’t expect much from a little kid. Actually, I was not small and had been growing at a good rate. My father was reputed to be over six feet tall and I expected to be at least the same height. After learning my tasks and getting settled in school, life became very dull and routine. The only times we had a different routine was on holidays when decorations would be put up and on Friday nights when movies would be shown in the dining hall. Well, it wasn’t like life on the outside but I was getting used to the schedule and starting to find it tolerable.

  Time was passing and so were my birthdays and as I got older, my thinking changed from what it used to be. The deprivation that I experienced from being locked up had taken its toll on any good natured feelings that had been part of me and now a sense of cynicism and destructive dominance began to emerge. I began to see my role in life differently and would never accept anything that detracted from my own self importance. I was going to do what was good for me and not worry about who got hurt in the process. This thought was a very major idea that never left my mind entirely and the older I got, the stronger it became. Time has a way of sneaking up on you even if you are watching it closely and my years were moving ahead. I had finished elementary school with ease and entered the middle school which had not presented much more of a challenge to me. Some of the topics were new but I was a good reader and able to handle the concepts and language better than most others in the camp. I was now eleven years old and had grown considerably since entering this correctional dump. Listening to the older guys had brought a new interest into my thinking although there was no opportunity to meet girls. The only women I had seen in the last three years beside the few times my mother visited were counselors and guards and they didn’t really stimulate my imagination. Some of the guys had managed to smuggle girlie magazines in and I was able to look at them and at least see what a woman looked like. It brought out a curiosity that made me want to know more about females when it was possible.

  Having a lot of young men caged up in a camp often resulted in fighting over seemingly minor reasons. Fortunately for me, I was always able to find older guys who would look after me because of the help I gave them. They often intervened to keep others from making trouble for me. I was not afraid to get embroiled in squabbles because my height and weight had increased significantly in the last three years. Even though I was one of the youngest in the camp, I had exuded a tough exterior that dissuaded anyone intent on challenging me for any reason. My roommates always kept on eye on my whereabouts and were quick to get in between me and any potential trouble. In this instance, my youth served me well and probably kept me from enduring many a beating. I received a great surprise one day while out in the recreation yard when my name was called and turning toward the voice, realized that it was my old buddy, Bart. We couldn’t believe that both of us were together once again and quickly gave each other a synopsis of all the events of the last few years. Bart had been sent to a different institution and had been transferred a few days ago to this camp. His life at the other camp was similar to my experience and he was only shipped out because of severe overcrowding. He figured that Cal had been sent to a minimum security camp and was probably out by now for his cooperation with the authorities. We both wanted to even things with him but would have to wait a long time for the chance since six years still remained on our sentences. Bart had been told by his court appointed lawyer that there was little chance of an early release due to our stubbornness to reveal other accomplices. I had not held any hope for a shortening of my sentence and expected to do the full term. I took Bart over to my roomies and let them know that he was a good guy who would become part of our group. They were glad to meet one of my cohorts and gave him ample respect for the high level of crimes he had participated in. Having Bart with me was going to make the time here go easier and faster and I considered this change as a sign of good fortune.

  As the weeks turned into months, I had many discussions with Bart about our future once free of this place. We both seemed to want revenge against a society that robbed us of many years of our youth. Any actions we were going to do later on needed to be extremely well planned since landing back in a prison was the worst outcome imaginable after our present experience. Since we had lots of time to dwell on these topics, the planning could go nice and slow. Bart had also grown and in fact was a few inches taller than me. He had also put on a good deal of weight and probably had me by thirty pounds. His motivation to stay in shape was lacking and I noticed that he liked to eat lots of food. Since I worked in the bakery, there were plenty of opportunities to smuggle bread, muffins and cake to him. I had worked my way up to bakery assistant and had gotten pretty good at the job. Eventually, I would probably be the chief baker and have enough skills to obtain a decent paying job after my release. I couldn’t imagine doing this work for any length of time but it would certainly get me started at amassing money to finance other
ventures. Bart worked in the laundry and hated the heat, humidity and noise. He was not as bright as I was and after his test scores had been sent to the camp, he was assigned to a menial job. For whatever reason, he barely got through elementary school and was now struggling at the middle level. I guess that the counselors figured that laundry work was appropriate for his level of functioning and stuck him there with little chance of moving up to a skilled position.