I stayed overnight at the Raymond Street Jail, and I shall never forget it. The mattresses were spotted and smelly, the blankets stiff with dirt and grime. The stench nauseated me. It was not a comforting thought to go without bedclothing when it was so cold, but, having in mind the diseased occupants who might have preceded me, I could not bring myself to creep under the covers. Instead I lay down on top and wrapped my coat around me. The only clean object was my towel, and this I draped over my face and head. For endless hours I struggled with roaches and horrible-looking bugs that came crawling out of the walls and across the floor. When a rat jumped up on the bed I cried out involuntarily and sent it scuttling out.
My cell was at the end of a center row, all opening front and back upon two corridors. The prisoners gathered in one of the aisles the next morning and I joined them. Most had been accused of minor offenses such as shoplifting and petty thievery. Many had weatherbeaten faces, were a class by themselves, laughing and unconcerned. But I heard no coarse language. Underneath the chatter I sensed a deep and bitter resentment; some of them had been there for three or four months without having been brought to trial. The more fortunate had a little money to engage lawyers; others had to wait for the court to assign them legal defenders.
While I was talking to the girls, the matron bustled up with, “The ladies are coming!” and shooed us into our cells. The Ladies, a committee from a society for prison reform, peered at us as though we were animals in cages. A gentle voice cooed at me, “Did you come in during the night?”
“Yes,” I returned, overlooking the assumption that I was a street walker.
The other inmates were sitting in their corners looking as innocent and sweet as they could, but I startled her by saying, “Yes, you can. Come in and clean up this place. It’s filthy and verminous.”
The Committee departed hurriedly down the corridor. One more alert member, however, came back to ask, “Is it really very dirty?”
Although I told her in some detail about the blankets, the odors, the roaches, she obviously could not picture the situation. “I’m terribly sorry, but we can’t change it.”