The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1926-05-12

M CellmaCe during the HIbJ ui5hI
4VA in dungeon of the Allegheny
County (Pittsburgh) Jail was John
Michale, eighteen years young, who
claimed father and mother, and
seven brothers and sisters back in
South Norwalk, Connecticut. Even
this bastile Of coal and steel could
not blot the flush of red from his
olive cheeks, nor quiet the sparkle
in his dark eyes, and the curls Of
his jet black hair were as haunting
SIS ever.
LEND a hand over at that end!"
growled the screw" and that was
Johns sole introduction to me along
about five o'clock in the afternoon,
wednesday, May 5, 1926.
"Screw" is the name the prison
ers give to the Jail guards. was
told it was because they are the
ones who turn the keys that lock
the prisoners in.
A BRAN JAKIRA, Pittsburgh dis
"A trict organizer of the Workers
(Communist) Party, and had re-
fused to pay our fines earlier in the
afternoon before Magistrate E. M.
Hough, at the North Side Police Sta
ton. We were given a free ride
across town in the auto patrol to
the county jail, were registered,
searched thoroly and money and
other belongings taken from us, and
then assigned to our cells.
There were four huge blocks of
cells, all opening on a circle. Each
block consisted Of five tiers, rearing
upwards like the mounting floors of
a skyscraper. Each tier has two
ranges. Sometimes as many as
700 prisoners jam this huge nest of
human misery and woe. At this
time of the year the number has
dropped to 500.
At four-twenty o'clock, when the
afternoon sun is still streaming
thru the obstructing bars and dusty
windows, all prisoners are driven
off the ranges and locked in their
cells for the night. Thus Jakira and
I arrived shortly after the Jailed
had been sent back to their holes.
Jakira and I were separated. l
was assigned to Cell l %, Jakira
to "E g." The "screw" opened the
door Of bars for me, pointed to two
long boards nailed together that
were standing upright in another
cell, ordered me to put them in
81 49," and it was here that l made
acquaintance with my cell mate for
the night. He was already stretch
ed out on his "bed" for the might.
Even in the semi-darkness of the
cell / could see that his bed" con-
sisted of two more boards nailed to-
gether, just like mine. These boards
were stretched across two chairs
from which the backs had been
knocked off. There was just enuf
room for these beds" on opposite
sides of the cell with a few inches
in between.
"NOT a cigaret?" was the first
oquestion that 1S-year-old John
Michale asked me. That is the
endless plea that comes from prac-
tically all prisoners, later learned.
Cigarets are not allowed in the
Jail. They are taken from prison
ers when they enter. Even stock
ings are searched for them.
couldn't have brot a cigaret into the
jail, therefore, even if 1 had tried.
"Ghee, this a a rotten town" ex-
claimed John, as if this gave him
some relief. when 1 get out, I'll
never come back to Pittsburgh
again. I sure will steer clear of
this town"
THEN piecemeal got his story.
l. He was on his way to Chicago.
That seemed to be his Mecca. He
couldn't explain why. But he was
going west with his Buddy" a
Hungarian youth about his own age.
His father, now aged 40, was still a
day laborer, "pick and shovel" back
in South Norwalk, Connecticut. He
didn't relish "pick and shovel fu-
ture. He was hitch-hiking west.
He had slept nights in police sta
lions, with his Buddy" all the way
across New Jersey and Pennsyl-
vania. But in Pittsburgh it was
different. They had slept in flop
houses until their money ran out.
They had been driven out OF the
Pittsburgh railroad station. Finally
they had been picked up in the post
Office lobby. John didn't like to adj
NIT 1t. 1t showed that he was still
novice at lodging the police. The
veteran always lodges the post Of
fee, ] was later told. Johns Bud
dy," admitted that John had been
caught half asleep leaning over the
warm raditor as the cold wind of
late April howled without. That
brot his 10 days from the police
Judge, along with many others who