Stateville- the Penitentiary in Mass Society

by James B Jacobs

  During the past month this institution has been officially visited by members of the state legislature and various state departments who have the responsibility to inspect facilities under the Department of Corrections.

  In every instance, these individuals have been sharply critical of the lack of cleanliness and good housekeeping in all areas. I have been aware of this problem myself over the past year and I have tried suggesting, hinting, encouraging, chiding, and complimenting—all to no avail. I am left with no alternative but to order that proper standards of cleanliness be maintained and to enforce that order.

  The human relations approach was not inconsistent with the world view of the old Ragenites.8 They agreed with Twomey that, to accomplish goals, you had to “win over the staff” and “earn the confidence” of key individuals. Day-to-day management of the prison required the judgment of experience and intuition. They held to a view of Stateville as a unique mysterious institution whose ways might only be revealed to an outsider in the course of years.

  Pate’s resignation left Assistant Warden Vern Revis as the titular head of the remaining Ragenites. Revis continued to wield enormous personal influence over the custodial ranks, but the control of the institution was clearly passing to the new generation of college-educated “civilians.”9 While the remaining Ragenites did not actively subvert the new reform program by precipitating confrontation and violence, they did resist every liberalization of the rules and persistently presented the situation at Stateville in a way that defined change as impossible. “How can we bring in programs when the place is going to blow any day?” “How can we allow all these legal groups in here when the turnover among guards is so high and the manpower situation so critical that we can’t even get inmates out of the cell houses?” The Ragenites actually did not see any possible way to bring about change without “giving the place away.” If a change was implemented without disastrous consequences, the Ragenites would predict that the next inmate demand would certainly precipitate disaster. It is only by understanding their commitment to the old authoritarian system and to the definition of the prison as constantly being on the verge of collapse that one can understand the impact this group has had on the prison since 1970.

  Twomey’s appointment as “chief administrator” was traumatic for the custody staff. In the beginning, rumors abounded that he was a radical from Berkeley who was going to fire most of the staff. The young warden’s early actions did little to allay the fears. With Norval Morris standing beside him as guest speaker at a Stateville high school graduation ceremony shortly after his appointment, Twomey announced to the inmates, “I am here to serve you.” This statement rapidly reverberated around the institution reinforcing the opinion that the new administration was “pro-inmate” and “anti-staff.”

  Twomey initiated an institutional radio program in which he answered inmates’ questions and spoke of his “philosophy.” He encouraged inmates to correspond with him, at once ratifying their status as legitimate participants in the organization and undermining the chain of command. Twomey advocated a rehabilitative ideology which defined “inmates as men” and held that they were “redeemable.” The Ragenites were much more cynical. They viewed inmates as a separate species and saw their job as carrying out a holding action for society.

  The single decision made by Twomey which most embittered the custodial force was to cease coercing inmates who refused voluntarily to be “walked” to the isolation unit. With gang violence increasing inside the prison, Twomey decided that if an inmate would not go peaceably it was a mistake to drag him forcibly off his assignment, and especially from his cell in front of his gang associates and other inmates. Instead, Twomey ordered that such a recalcitrant inmate would be “dead-locked” in his cell the next time he returned to it and kept there indefinitely until he decided voluntarily to go to isolation. The custodial force saw this as the epitome of Bensinger/Twomey “permissiveness.” They argued that if they were not given free rein to coerce a belligerent inmate to go to isolation, their authority would be totally undermined. This was an especially salient issue for the lieutenants, who operated as the police force within the penitentiary.

  While the upper-echelon guards were alienated by the “no fight” policy, the rank-and-file guards were angered by Twomey’s decision to take away their discretionary authority to have an inmate walked from an assignment at any time. Under Ragen the staff had operated according to a strict caste system. In principle, no member of the staff was questioned by any other for his handling of an inmate. This meant that if any guard wanted an inmate walked from his assignment for any reason, he need merely call a lieutenant and the inmate would be walked; the guard’s judgment would not be questioned.

  It was the increasing number of confrontations between groups of gang members and guards on the yard and on the assignments, threatening to make Stateville another Attica, that prompted Twomey’s order. In the future, guards would not have absolute authority to have an inmate walked. The decision would be made in fact, and not just nominally, by lieutenants and captains. Eventually the emerging union (discussed at length in chapter 7) forced Twomey to rescind this order; but while it was in effect—and even after it was reversed—it served to mobilize the rank and file against the warden.

  Twomey never overcame what he defined as his “image problem.” He became progressively withdrawn from his staff. For advice, he turned to “civilians” (the nonuniformed staff). In place of the daily captains’ meetings, Twomey set up his own kitchen cabinet. He relied particularly on an administrative assistant, Frank Mueller (formerly of the Youth Division) and on his long-time friend and colleague from Menard days, Leo Meyer (a psychologist). For the captains who once made and interpreted policy, access to the warden became increasingly restricted. The formulation of policy became increasingly separate from its implementation.

  There was no table of organization nor line of authority which reflected what was happening. Where authority was vested, it was without responsibility. There were four or five assistant wardens. All but George Stampar were holdovers from Ragen days. Each assistant warden carved out his own idiosyncratic role. When a staff member needed to have a decision made, he could go to any one of these assistant wardens and try to gain approval.

  The establishment of a kitchen cabinet meant that for the first time in Stateville’s history, the administration and the custodial force were distinct. Stampar (superintendent of the minimum security unit), Daniel Bosse, Mueller, Meyer, and (special counselor) Warren Wolls were probably the most influential men around Twomey, and none of them had been prison guards. All held college degrees, and Stampar, Meyer, and Wolls had master’s degrees. A definite split emerged within the organization between the old-timers who went to assistant wardens Vernon Revis, Lewis Lence, or Ernie Morris with any problems, and the new civilian employees who looked to Twomey for leadership. The situation was fragmented further by the counselors’ alienation from both custody and administration.

  After the “I’m here to serve you” speech, Twomey gained some popularity with the inmates, who were quick to exploit the situation. They would tell the counselors, teachers, and other outsiders that the old Ragenites were subverting the new liberal program. This interpretation of the situation was immediately presented to me by the gang leaders when I entered the prison in June 1972. Inmates would sometimes belligerently confront the custodial staff with the argument that their action was illegal according to Springfield or Warden Twomey. All the actors in the situation braced themselves for a split between treatment-oriented and custody-oriented staff, and the self-fulfilling prophesy was set in motion.

  Twomey was labeled “Mr. Effective Immediately” by the inmates. Scores of bulletins were issued from his office but were seldom implemented. Often this was not because the custody staff were in open rebellion but because they were too disorganized to carry out directives. From the assistant wardens down to the line officers, job responsibilities were not clearly spelled
out. People were still operating by tradition. The old tradition bearers would pass along by word of mouth the way things had to be done, and this is how they were done, regardless of sporadic bulletins to the contrary. Line officers continued to act as they had always acted and to take their orders from the same people.

  Staff demoralization and disorganization resulted in the demise of security within the prison. Violence escalated. The last escape from behind Stateville’s walls had occurred in 1942, when Roger Touhy and his cohorts commandeered a truck and used a ladder to go over the wall. Between 1971 and 1972, four inmates escaped from Stateville, three walked out together in disguise through the front gate, and one left in a metal cabinet with a shipment of furniture. The old Ragenites saw their world collapsing around them.

  The disorganization was so great that the capacity to complete basic tasks was reduced. Inmates did not get showers; the food areas did not get cleaned; lawyers were made to wait hours because tickets could not get delivered. The following reply by the special counselor to an inmate grievance illustrates the organizational crisis.

  To: Benjamin F.

  This memo is to inform you that Warden Twomey received your note requesting a personal interview that you sent him on Feb. 20. Working out of the Warden’s office in the area of inmate related problems, he asked that I see you and try to assist you with this problem. On March 1, I sent a ticket to interview you at the Sociologist’s Office. When you did not arrive, I called B House only to learn that there were insufficient correctional officers available to accompany you to the Sociologist’s Office for our interview. Therefore, I am unable to help you at the present time. If your problem is not resolved, I will be returning from my vacation on March 12. If you wish my assistance at that time, please let me know.

  The irony of the Bensinger-Twomey triumph at Stateville is that the rehabilitative ideal—which was supposed to redefine the inmate’s status—resulted in more violence, worse general living conditions, and fewer programmatic opportunities. The food was worse. There was more fear, more violence, and more sexual assault. After the brief flirtation with night yard was ended (following a melee on the ball diamond in July 1971—to be described below, p. 163), inmates did more cell time under the liberal regime than under the conservative regime. The deterioration of the organization led to a weakening of security and ultimately to the lengthy lockups that upset any possibility of programming within the institution. The school completely ceased to function. In 1969, under Pate, the school had had approximately 125 students. Even with all the new civilian teachers available, between 1970 and 1974 Stateville processed no more than forty enrolled students at any one time. Insufficient manpower and poor administration resulted in the school’s frequently being shut down completely.

  The human relations model was not working. Twomey and his custodial staff were locked in a continuous struggle. The civilian counselors identified with the inmates. Inmates increasingly exploited the split between custody and treatment in their communications with the press and other outside interest groups.

  By the summer of 1972, violence was becoming more frequent and the gang situation had never seemed more menacing. Fearing a riot, Bensinger replaced the “liberal” superintendent George Stampar with Vern Revis and charged Revis with responsibility for the day-to-day management of Stateville. Twomey remained the top administrator of the Stateville/Joliet prisons, but the change in personnel ratified his increasing commitment to the bureaucratic duties of his office and to managing relationships with the outside. A clear crisis for the organization’s administration was posed: the Ragenites could not manage relationships with the media, the courts, and outside interest groups, to whom they appeared to be caricatures from a James Dean movie. But the rehabilitation-oriented reformers had not been able to find a strategy to control the prison organization firmly enough to maintain safety and security and basic organizational necessities.

  Bensinger had expected to continue his tenure as director of corrections under Ogilvie’s second term as governor of Illinois, but Daniel Walker’s upset victory over the incumbent in the 1972 elections precipitated Bensinger’s resignation in December. There followed a period of almost six months of drift in the Department of Corrections while the governor strived to have a director approved by the legislature. Walker first nominated David Fogel, then director of the Minnesota Department of Corrections. Young, bearded, liberal, with a Ph.D. in criminology,10 Fogel appeared the epitome of a flaming radical to the Stateville staff. Unlike Bensinger, he was also a professional commentator and administrator in the criminal justice system. It was with some degree of satisfaction that the staff followed the rejection of his nomination by the Illinois legislature, only ostensibly because of his controversial liberal record in corrections (but more probably because of a struggle between Walkerites and Daleyites over the Regional Transit Authority). Walker’s second nomination—this time accepted—for director was Alyn Sielaff, Pennsylvania’s commissioner of corrections, who also represented the new generation of professional correctional administrators.11

  Sielaff brought to Illinois a “corporate management model” in an attempt to apply private-sector administration theory to prisons. Great emphasis was placed upon modern management techniques and tables of organization which were actually meaningful. He dismissed the medical model (which regards inmates as “sick” and in need of “treatment”) as naive. Whereas Bensinger was ill trained to interfere with administrative decisions concerning day-to-day operations of the prison, Sielaff and his talented assistant director, David Brierton, were experienced prison administrators not hesitant about questioning the judgment of the local administrators.

  The corporate model is highly centralized. Both authority and responsibility are concentrated in Springfield. Where the Bensinger administration had been content to formulate and issue directives, the Sielaff administration required that administrative responsibility be focused, and demanded feedback and quantitative evaluations. Assistants to the director were placed in charge of security programs and clinical services for all the institutions. The administration emerged as a very highly centralized line organization, thereby continuing the accelerated trend toward centralization and bureaucratization.

  At the time Sielaff assumed office, Stateville was on lockup. The lockup had begun on 30 April 1973 (after a rumble between two gangs, the Disciples and the Stones—see p. 165 below), and had still not been dissolved by the fall. Twomey was weary of his clashes with the union and frustrated by the continuous cycle of violence and lockup. Neither he nor Superintendent Revis had any strategy to end the lockup. They had come to see the situation as impossible.12

  Twomey resigned in the early fall 1973 to become chief federal marshal for the Northern District of Illinois and was replaced at Stateville13 by Joseph Cannon, a former assistant to David Fogel in Minnesota. Cannon’s background was in social work.14 Previous to the Minnesota position he had been the director of corrections in Kentucky and Maryland. In both states it is said that he was fired when he advocated policies more liberal than the political situation would tolerate.

  With Stateville still on lockup Cannon approached his job as warden cautiously, spending the first six months getting acquainted with the entire staff.15 He consistently deferred to the custodial elite, accepting their definition of the situation: that Stateville was tense and potentially explosive, that there was a critical shortage of manpower, that security be given primacy, that there was a dangerous gang problem, that central office demands for change were naive and could be “waited out,” and that any concessions to treatment would exacerbate the already grave morale problem among the staff.

  The demands being made by Springfield were for positive action. The central office reiterated that Stateville must become “program-oriented.” It must develop tables of organization, lines of authority and accountability. It must meet deadlines of all sorts imposed by Brierton. Most important, it must adhere to the Administrative Regulations.
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  Springfield abolished the Stateville isolation unit entirely and made several personnel changes. At one point, Brierton shifted around the entire administrative staff. The most important change left the warden with only two assistant wardens—one in charge of operations and the other in charge of custody.16 Revis was relieved of all authority and was given a staff position as security adviser, and George Stampar was made an administrative assistant to the warden. Increasingly the prison was being run from Springfield. Each Springfield action increased resentment and lowered morale. More than ever, the Stateville administration was characterized by reaction—“What crisis should we deal with today?”

  While a table of organization was developed in response to the incessant demands from Assistant Director Brierton, the table was not followed. Revis continued to be regarded as a warden, was called “warden” around the institution, and acted as he had always done. The same was true for Stampar and for the chief guard. It was the liberal Cannon who unwittingly emerged as the key impediment to change.

  Cannon, like his predecessor, had little interest in administration per se. Trained as a social worker, his orientation, like Twomey’s, was toward solving personal problems. He had little understanding or interest in budgets. His greatest strength as an administrator was his warm, personable style. Within a few months he was very well liked. He was open with staff and with outsiders.

  Staff meetings were held almost daily. Twice a week the captains attended, and on the other days there was a fluid group of participants. It was common for outsiders like myself to be invited to sit in and participate at staff meetings. Typically those meetings had no agenda. Anyone could raise whatever topic was on his mind. Discussion would drift from what to do about the used tractor on the farm, to a particularly notorious troublemaker who was trying to manipulate his way out of segregation, to the week’s grievances. Talk shifted aimlessly. So informal were the staff meetings that I was invariably asked my opinion on most issues.