It was close to two months after the recital when Miss Thomas told me what piece we were going to learn.
At one of our piano lessons she said, “Roland, we’ve been spending quite a bit of time learning a few short pieces these past few months as I was waiting to find out what Mr. Sobrowski from the symphony was going to recommend. I’ve had a few phone conversations with him, and we finally narrowed it down.”
I hadn’t forgotten about the conversation at the recital but was starting to think perhaps it wasn’t going to happen.
“Good! What’s it going to be?” I asked.
“We had to think about where you are in your studies up to this point, and I didn’t want to burden you with something which would require more time than you might have. I know you have a job during most of the year. I know you learned the Chopin Polonaise with a lot more expertise than I would have thought for someone your age and with your reach on the keyboard. Your reach is much greater now – you’re a couple of keys more than an octave — so I knew you could handle something requiring some technical skill. I also know how you seem to favor pieces which lean more towards the romantic style – pieces with plenty of emotional feeling. So, we’ve decided on doing a Mozart, his Concerto # 21. You’ll be learning the second movement which is called ‘Andante’. When you listen to it, it sounds like a simple piece to play, but it does require a great deal of technical skill to give it the meaning it deserves. I think you might even recall hearing it on the radio. It’s played quite a bit on the classical stations.”
“Do you have a recording of it?”
“Not today, but I will be getting one soon so you can hear it played with an orchestra. I have played this piece in concert at home in Jamaica, so I can play the piano part for you, if you’d like.”
“Yes, please! I can’t wait to hear it!”
Miss Thomas went to her file cabinet, took out some music and played parts of the piece for me. It didn’t sound too difficult.
When she finished, Miss Thomas said, “I didn’t play all of it because obviously, it would sound so much better – and different – with the orchestra playing too. Plus, it’s been a long time since I played this, so I wasn’t at my best. Mr. Sobrowski and I agreed on which piece it would be earlier today. He also said that after we’ve made some progress he’ll be wanting you to audition it for him in his studio.”
Since the earliest possible time to do this performance would be the following summer, we obtained the music and recording of it for our practice sessions. The piece wasn’t hard to learn, but to learn to play it with the feeling needed and to work out the difficult timing would take plenty of work.
We had spent a couple of months working on the piece when we learned the Symphony schedule was full for the next summer, so it wouldn’t be until the summer of my fourteenth year that I was going to be performing. Miss Thomas had me put the music aside until we got closer to the date.
In the early spring of 1948, Mr. Sobrowski notified Miss Thomas that I would be placed on the schedule for the coming summer and the Mozart we had originally planned would be the piece I would play. We immediately began to devote our practices to getting ready. Mr. Sobrowski was able to get us a recording of the Detroit Symphony playing the orchestration of the piece without the piano part. This turned out to be the perfect practice tool.
My practices and our lessons began to take on a new intensity. Sometimes, when I would be practicing at the piano in the church, I would think about the fact I would be playing with the Detroit Symphony in the summer and I would feel a combination of excitement, curiosity and fear. During my own practices, I would work with just the piano music. But at our lessons we would work with the actual score and both recordings – we would listen, often several times, to the one with both the orchestra and the piano, and then play the one with just the orchestra so I could play the piano part. I was finding it a lot easier to have the actual score in front of me so I could follow along with the orchestra parts, especially at the beginning when the piano part doesn’t make an entrance for twenty-two measures. It would be a major mistake to lose count and miss the entrance.
During one of our lessons I asked Miss Thomas, “Will I be able to have the actual score in front of me when I perform this?”
“Well, of course the final decision about that will come from Mr. Sobrowski, but I would guess he’s going to probably say you shouldn’t. In fact, I’m guessing he’ll want it memorized. I’m also going to say you should memorize it.”
“How will I know when to come in for the first part if I don’t have the music there?”
“First of all, when we’re practicing here, I’m doing all the page turning. There won’t be someone sitting next to you turning pages at the actual performance. As you can see, with all the instrument’s notes in the score, the pages fill up quickly. You have staffs for four woodwind parts, five string parts, plus the piano. You’d never be able to keep up your playing with all the page-turning. I think as you continue to practice and work with these recordings you’ll get to know when to come in without giving it a lot of thought. It will be automatic. You’ll know the music – you’ll know when it’s time. Also, don’t forget, there is a conductor for the orchestra. He’ll be looking at the score and he’ll know when it’s time and he will look over at you. I know the first entrance is important, you have to come in on the first beat of that measure with the woodwinds. I know you can do it. In fact, with the way you’re playing it now, it’s time to begin memorizing and working on the emotions.”
The next weeks were devoted entirely to learning this piece. Miss Thomas was right, learning where my entrances were became more intuitive as I learned the music and listened and played with the recordings. About three weeks before the concert was scheduled, Miss Thomas asked me to come to the next lesson early so we could go to Mr. Sobrowski’s studio to play for him.
I don’t think I ever practiced as much as I did during the week before the next lesson time.
Miss Thomas drove me to Mr. Sobrowski’s studio which was in the downtown area. As we drove I kept wringing my hands between my knees as I sat leaning forward in the passenger seat. “Are you nervous, Roland?”, Miss Thomas asked.
I wasn’t even aware of how tense I was until she spoke. I sat back in the seat and quit wringing my hands as I replied, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“I know you don’t know Mr. Sobrowski other than meeting him at your recital, and that was quite a while ago. But, he really is a nice man. He’s going to listen to how well you play this music – he might have some suggestions – and we’ll go back and work on whatever he feels needs more polish. You’ll do just fine. I know how you calm right down once you start playing.”
Mr. Sobrowski’s studio was located downtown in the Wilson Theater, which later became known as the Music Center for the Performing Arts. The Detroit Symphony had moved there after financial trouble caused them to change their location from the original Symphony Hall. When we arrived we were greeted by a young, dark-haired woman who obviously knew Miss Thomas well as she came from around her desk to give Miss Thomas a hug. The woman was shorter and heavier than Miss Thomas and was standing on her tip-toes as they hugged.
Miss Thomas turned to me after being hugged, and said, “Roland, this is Miss Manning. She is Mr. Sobrowski’s assistant.”
Miss Manning turned to me, smiled warmly and took my hand in both of hers and said, “Welcome to our studio, Roland. I’ve heard some good things about you. Mr. Sobrowski is with a student right now, but there is a practice room just down the hall where you can warm up before you go in to play for him. Are you excited about playing with the Symphony?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
Miss Thomas and Miss Manning began speaking about some other business they had as I looked around. There were some chairs on the wall behind me and then hallways going off in either direction. There were large plants all along the hallways. I could hear some beautiful violin music coming from the hallway to my left.
Miss Manning came over to me, pointed to the hall to my right and said, “Roland, why don’t you go down this hall to the second door on your right. There’s a piano in there where you can warm up. The practice rooms in the other hall are where the orchestra members practice and teach their students.”
After I had warmed up with some scales and exercises, Miss Thomas came in to let me know they were ready for me. We went into Mr. Sobrowski’s studio which was a large room. There were three concert grand pianos in the room and bookshelves filled with what I presumed were musical scores as well as other books on both the side walls. The far end of the room had large windows looking out onto the street outside. The floors were carpeted and Mr. Sobrowski had a desk over near the windows. There were several chairs scattered around the room along with several small tables. There were piano lamps on the pianos as well as other lamps on the tables. He came walking over to me as soon as we entered the room with his hand outstretched for mine. “Roland,” he said, “it is good to see you again. How have you been doing with our Mozart? Do you need anything to drink?”
Yes, sir, I’m really thirsty,” I said as we shook hands.
He poured me a glass of water from a pitcher on one of the tables.
“What I’d like to do now Roland, is to have you play through the piano part on it’s own. Then, we’ll put on the recording of the orchestra part while you play along with them.”
After we had finished, Mr. Sobrowski was clapping his hands and said, “Well, done, Roland. You played that beautifully. I like how you are keeping to the tempo on the recording and also your emotions are coming through your playing wonderfully. I have only a couple of suggestions for you. I noticed a couple of places where your focus on what you were playing led you to not hear some subtle timing things with the orchestra. When we play with an orchestra, we have to listen so carefully to what they are doing. When you’re playing with the recording, it will always be exactly the same each time you hear it. However, when you’re playing with a live orchestra, things can change every time it’s played. The conductor may direct some part to be slower or faster then he did the last time. He is using his emotions just like you are. So, learn to really listen and to keep an eye on the conductor as much as possible. The other thing is I noticed some timing things with the sixteenth and eighth notes as they interface with the triplets you and the orchestra will be playing. You kind of have to let your left hand be automatic with the triplets and just fit the other notes into the beat — like this…”
He went over to one of the other pianos and played the parts he was talking about. “Do you see what I mean, Roland?” he asked. “Your left hand is just rolling along like a metronome with the triplets, and your right hand is fitting the melody in so it sounds like it feels to you. It’s about feeling the music and not being too wrapped up in the technical timing difficulties. Here, try this part again.”
He played one of the sections, and then had me play the same part over about five or six times as I worked to duplicate what he did, when he said, “Yes. That’s it, Roland! That’s it exactly! Just keep practicing it that way and you’ll never even think about how you make it happen – it will just happen the way it should. Now, we’ll be doing a rehearsal with the orchestra here in two weeks, and the performance will be one week after that. I’m really looking forward to this. I hope you are too.”
“Yes, sir. I am pretty excited. Thank you for your help today.”
Two weeks later Miss Thomas drove us to our rehearsal with the orchestra. When we arrived, Miss Manning took us directly into Mr. Sobrowski’s studio, but she didn’t go in with us.
“Ah, Roland,” Mr. Sobrowski said as we walked in, “Good to see you again. We’ll go in and meet the orchestra in a few minutes, but first I would like to talk to you for a couple of minutes, and then you can go down the hall and warm up before we go into the main hall. Would that be alright?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now Miss Thomas tells me you’ve never been to a symphony concert, so let’s talk about the orchestra for this piece we’ll be doing. A full orchestra has many different instruments – the percussion section, like the timpani or kettle drum, the cymbals, snare drums, and so on – the brass section, where there are trumpets, trombones and other horns – the string section with the violins, violas, cellos and basses, and last but not least, the woodwinds, where there could be clarinets, flutes, bassoons and oboes. For our Mozart today, we will be using only a few instruments. We’ll have some woodwinds – a flute, two oboes, and two bassoons. We’ll only have two French Horns from the brass section. There will be quite a few instruments from the string section. There will be violins, violas, cellos and basses. This is a quiet piece, so we use the quieter instruments. The conductor will be Maestro Karl Krueger. They’re warming up right now, so why don’t you go do the same? Any questions before you go, Roland?”
My head was spinning, but I couldn’t think of any specific questions so I headed for the door to go practice.
“Be back in fifteen minutes, Roland.”
Warming up was not going well for me. My hands would not behave. They were shaking more than they ever had and I could not seem to focus at all. The enormity of what I was about to do was beginning to sink in. I knew this piece better than any other piece I had ever learned. But I was suddenly realizing I was a fourteen year old kid who had never even seen a symphony orchestra, and I was going to be playing with one in a few minutes. All the thoughts of completely losing all control went racing through my mind as I continued to play scales and exercises.
When I returned to the studio, Mr. Sobrowski, Miss Thomas and I walked down the hallway to my left and entered one of the doors about halfway down the hall. There was another door just a few feet in from the hallway door, and Mr. Sobrowski motioned for me to open it and go in. This led to a rather large area where there were plenty of folding chairs, tables, coat racks, empty instrument cases strewn about, coffee pots, coffee cups, and a couple of open packages of donuts sitting on one of the tables. Through a door off to my left I could hear the orchestra members playing some of the piece we would be doing.
After we stood quietly listening to the music for a few minutes, Miss Manning came through the door where the music was coming from and said, “They’re ready for you. You can go in now.”
I felt my stomach do a complete flip flop and I looked at Miss Thomas with what I’m sure was a look of sheer desperation. She smiled and gave me a wink, came over and put her arm around my shoulders and walked to the door with me.
I followed Mr. Sobrowski as we entered the hall from the orchestra entrance. I found my focus went almost immediately to the rows and rows of empty seats in front of me, the balcony full of empty seats, and the seats above the stage and along the sides in what looked like round boxes. It was while I was trying to take the enormity of this hall into my brain, that I noticed many of the orchestra members had turned to look at me.
Mr. Sobrowski came over, took me by my arm and led me to the front of the stage where there was a man standing on a podium and a concert grand piano off to the right of him. “Maestro Krueger, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you our pianist for next week’s Mozart, Mr. Roland Van Buren.”
The orchestra members all stood up and began to clap. I really wanted to just leave and find the nearest bathroom. I could feel my face getting hot and was sure it was beet red.
The conductor stepped down off the podium, took my hand in his and said in heavy German accent, “Welcome to the Detroit Symphony, Roland. I am looking forward to our concert, I love these summer concerts where we get to introduce our young talent. Please say hello to Mr. Randel, our concertmaster. He will introduce the other members of the orchestra.”
Mr. Randel set his bow on the music stand in front of him, tucked his violin under his arm, reached out to shake my hand and began to point to and say the name of each member. As their names were called, they would nod to me, usually smile, then sit back down in their chairs.
After this was done, Conductor Krueger asked me, “Are you ready to play with us, Roland?” as he motioned toward the piano.
I nodded my head, walked to the piano and sat down on the bench. The bench was too low so I reached down to adjust it. Conductor Krueger said, “Roland, we need to keep our eyes on each other, and our ears on the music. I will look over at you when it’s time for you to come in at the beginning, and again later on after the two-bar break.”
He turned back to the orchestra, took up his baton, and rapped it on his music stand. He lifted his arms and the music so familiar to me from the recording, began to completely overwhelm me. There was so much more of it – quiet beyond imagination despite being so close to the orchestra, but still I felt enveloped in the fullness of the sound. It was so unbelievable for me to be sitting at the piano in front of an orchestra. So many emotions were flowing through me. I wanted to cry with joy and with fear – I wanted to just close my eyes and listen to the beauty of the sound filling every sense in my body as it surrounded me. I wanted to run to the back of the stage where I saw Miss Thomas and ask her to hug me. However, a couple of moments later my brain woke me out of my reverie and I realized I had better be paying attention so I wouldn’t mess up my entrance.
Fortunately, the conductor was right there above me – just at the end of the piano. Even as I looked at the keyboard I could see him in my peripheral vision. As the orchestra continued with their introductory section, it came time for my entrance. I was amazed at how smoothly I was able to join with the orchestra and feel as though I was an integral part of the music.
As the last notes were played, the conductor turned to me and began to clap his hands and say “Bravo, bravo!” Some of the orchestra members also began to clap their hands. I felt as though every ounce of energy had been drained from my body. I noticed I was perspiring heavily and my hands began to shake. I knew I hadn’t made any mistakes. I felt as though I had kept the tempo the conductor had set.
Miss Thomas and Mr. Sobrowski came up to the piano. Mr. Sobrowski reached out and shook my hand. Miss Thomas took my hand, lifted me to a standing position and gave me a big hug as she whispered in my ear, “That was beautiful, Roland!” As she pulled away, I could see she had tears in her eyes.
The conductor stepped down off the podium and shook my hand. “Roland, you played very well today. Congratulations! I have no doubt our performance next week will go equally well. Would you mind if we run through it again? There are a couple of places where I’d like to tighten it up a bit. This time I may stop us at certain points to do some practicing. Shall we?”
I thanked him and sat back down at the piano while we did more rehearsing.
The following week went by in a flash. The time for the performance came so quickly. I found I was looking forward to it, though, not dreading it at all. I loved playing with the orchestra and felt confident about playing this piece.
I arrived at Miss Thomas’ studio a couple of hours ahead of time, around five o’clock in the afternoon. Sally and her mother brought me there and I had given them complimentary tickets to the concert. I also got a ticket for Billy and he was going to ride with Sally and her mother. Miss Thomas and I spent the next hour talking about some of her experiences with concertizing in Jamaica and we had some good chuckles with some of her stories. I was all dressed up in another new suit. I had tried to put on my recital suit, but I had outgrown it so had to buy another new one. We arrived at the theater about an hour before the concert. Miss Manning and Mr. Sobrowski were there to greet us and I went alone into a different room where I would be able to warm up.
The time came for the performance. I was in the same room off to the side of the stage with Miss Thomas, Mr. Sobrowski, the concertmaster and the conductor. There was also a young man who Miss Thomas explained was the stage manager. We all shook hands and wished each other a good performance. The concertmaster went out first and tuned up the orchestra. When he was seated the conductor told me to wait until he announced me, and then to come out and take my bow by the piano. He told me to give him a signal when I felt composed and he would begin the piece.
The applause was much louder than I had expected as he walked out to the front of the orchestra. He turned to face the audience and waited until the applause died down and then he spoke.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the third in our series of summer concerts where we have the honor to present to you some of the finest youthful performers in our community. This evening we have the good fortune to welcome another of these fine young people. This young man is a student of Miss Julia Thomas and has been studying the piano since he was a small child. Tonight, he will be performing with the orchestra the second movement of Mozart’s Piano Concerto, # 21. May I present to you, Mr. Roland Van Buren.”
The stage manager gave me a nod and motioned for me to proceed onto the stage. The walk onto the stage amid the thundering of applause was more unnerving than I would have expected. By the time I reached the piano and was able to place my left hand on it, I was shaking like a leaf. I chose not to try to see out into the audience and would have been surprised to see how dark it looked with all their lights off and the bright lights shining onto the stage and the piano. I did a couple of, what I’m guessing were, rather awkward bows before I turned and sat at the piano. I thought about what Miss Thomas had told me a couple of years ago about closing her eyes while she settled down. I did the same and sat quietly with my hands folded in my lap while I waited for my heart beat to slow down. I could also sense the audience begin to become more quiet. I looked up at the conductor and nodded. He nodded back and raised his baton.
(Here is a version of what we played. Just click the link. This one is by:
Pablo Arencibia – Piano
Edvard Tchivzhel – Conductor
Orquesta Sinfónica Municipal de Caracas, Venezuela
June 2001)
As the final notes were played, I felt an almost unbearable urge to cry. I felt so many emotions — joy – it was finished successfully – relief – moved by the beauty of the piece itself. I knew the audience was applauding but I was in a trance of my own. I lifted my head and glanced at the back of the stage and saw Miss Thomas motioning for me to stand up. I looked up and saw the conductor facing the audience and pointing with his hand at me. My moment of reverie was over and I stood up and enjoyed the accolades. There were even a couple of “Bravos” being shouted. I felt successful and honored as I took my bows. The conductor waved his hand toward the orchestra members who stood up to accept their applause. As the applause continued, Maestro Kruger stepped off the podium and reached his hand out to me as he walked with me off the stage.
Maestro Krueger shook my hand as he congratulated me backstage and said, “Sounds like we need to take another bow. Please, you go out ahead of me!”
As we reached the center of the stage next to the piano, Maestro Krueger took my hand in his, raised both our hands into the air while we took another couple of bows.
When we walked off the stage again, I felt as though my knees had turned into rubber. An awareness crept over me about how this event could be a turning point for me, but I couldn’t imagine how to make the turn. I knew I had just succeeded in a way few other fourteen-year-old children ever would. Somehow I knew that a major moment in my life had happened and it was overwhelming.
As the piece ended on the radio, I realized I had floated back in my mind to the actual concert and had forgotten where I was and why I was there. Coming back to reality was an abrupt shock and the nervousness I felt earlier came back with a brutal suddenness.
I had started pacing again when the door to the judge’s chambers opened and the clerk came in and said the judge was ready for me to come back into the courtroom.
The police officer walked me back to my seat next to Mr. Ross. Mr. Ross reached over and patted me on my arm but he had a look on his face which I couldn’t interpret.
“Alright, Roland,” the judge said, “I’ve come to my decision about what we’re going to do in your case. Since you are sixteen years of age, and since you appear to have some ability to use decent reasoning, I’m going to authorize the option of you entering a branch of the military when you reach seventeen years of age. Of course, as I’m sure your lawyer has discussed with you, entering the service also means you must be honorably discharged after serving a minimum of four years in order for any record of your juvenile legal proceedings to be permanently sealed. If you get into any trouble during your time of service which necessitates you being dishonorably discharged, you may have to go into prison, serve time for your crime, and your record of this offense will no longer be sealed. Do you understand up to this point?”
Although I felt a huge sense of relief about being able to do the armed services option, I was still wondering what was going to be happening between now and my birthday. Regardless of my thoughts, I said, “Yes, Sir,” to the judge.
“Good, Roland,” the judge began again, “we still have the time between now and your birthday to deal with. After my discussion just now with your mother and father, I don’t believe it would be in anyone’s best interest for you to return to their home for these few months. In addition, we must keep in mind the fact you’ve been involved in a serious crime for which there needs to be consequences for you. Of course, I do consider serving in the military to be a consequence as we are at war and you’ll be exposed to disciplines and dangers you’re not accustomed to, but which will do wonders to help you on your journey to adulthood. I also don’t feel allowing you to return to the life you’ve been living would be appropriate, especially since I have had little or no information about what that life entailed. Based on this offense, and what I’ve learned from reading the reports about this offense, I can only presume you were involved in gang life and whatever else that involved.”
The judge paused and sat back in his chair as he nearly drove me back in my seat with his piercing eyes boring into mine. It felt as though he was trying to see into my soul to discover the secrets of my life which, so far, had not come out into the open.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” the judge eventually continued, “we’re going to send you to the Juvenile Detention Center for Wayne County until a couple of days before your birthday. This Center is for juvenile boys up to the age of seventeen. You will be incarcerated there in the general population. On January Twenty-Sixth you will be released into the custody of your parents. Between that date and your birthday, you can wrap up whatever affairs you need to in order to be ready for your entry into the service. On January Twenty-Eighth, your birthday, you will accompany your mother and father to the induction center for whichever branch of the military service you decide to enter and enlist for a period of no less than four years. Your lawyer indicated to me that if we decided on this option, you would prefer to go into the Navy. Is that correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you have any questions, Roland?”
I realized I had what seemed like hundreds of questions rolling through my mind, but the one which popped out was, “What about my clothes and stuff? Won’t I need to get those before I go to the Reform School?” I was thinking mostly about being able to contact Sally and also wondering about all the money I had stuffed into a stocking in the closet in her basement, but I didn’t dare ask about those things.
The judge sat back in his chair, folded his hands in front of him and said, “Roland, you won’t be wearing your own clothes while you’re in the Juvenile Detention Center. They will supply you with clothes to wear while you’re there. All the boys there wear the same thing. It will be similar to what you’ll find when you enter the Navy. You’ll be given clothes and uniforms which you’ll be required to wear. Since you’re only going to be in the Detention Center for a short time, I will be allowing you to be released two days before your seventeenth birthday to clear up anything you need to do at home. Do you have any other questions?”
At that point I began to feel the enormity of what was happening and the sense that I was completely helpless to make decisions for myself was settling into my mind. For the first time in years I was not in charge of my own life. I was completely exhausted. I looked up and realized the judge was waiting for me to respond.
“No sir,” I said.
The judge nodded his head and said, “Alright then. Officer, please handcuff Roland and make arrangements to transport him to the Juvenile Detention Center where he can immediately begin to serve out his sentence. This Court is adjourned.”
The gavel come down with a loud bang on the judge’s desk.
That was it. It was over.
It was extremely awkward leaving the courtroom. My lawyer patted me on the shoulder and turned away to pick up his papers. I looked back as I was being escorted out a side door just in time to see my mother begin to weep as she raised her hand to wave feebly at me. My father was just looking at me as though he might be seeing me for the first time. The officer holding my arm seemed to hesitate as we approached the door leading out of the room. I wondered if he was waiting to see if I would say anything. I had no words. In my mind I could still hear the definitive sound of the judge’s gavel banging on his desk. I turned my head away from the courtroom as we passed through the door and started down a long hallway.
During the ride to the Reform School, I began to get some understanding about how my life was about to change drastically. I was no longer free. I was no longer a member of the State Fair Duke’s gang. I was heading off to a jail for boys who were too young to go to prison. I began to wonder what these next three months would be like and also the following four years in the Navy. I wondered what Sally was doing and what she had heard about the murder. I wondered what Sally’s mother would do with all my clothes and belongings in their basement. I wondered if they would find the money I had hidden. I thought about Miss Thomas and wondered how she would feel about me now. I thought about my music and wondered if I would be playing seriously ever again. As all these and other thoughts began to run around and around in my head, I began to feel like I wanted to cry but knew I needed to hold back and hide any sign of weakness. I didn’t know what to expect at the Reform School, but I did know weakness would not be a good thing to show.
We arrived at the Detention Center after a short drive and pulled up next to a door at the back of the building. The officer who drove the car came around and pulled me out of the back seat and led me to the door which he opened with a key he had on a ring of keys he carried on his belt. I was walked, almost pushed, down a narrow hallway where there was another door which opened as we approached it by a guy in uniform, but not a regular police uniform.
The new guy said, “Well, who you got for me today?”
“This is Roland Van Buren who would like to spend a few months with you. Here’s his paper work,” said the officer who drove me as he handed a folder to the other guy.
“We’ll be happy to take him off your hands. Since we knew he was coming we prepared the luxury suite in his honor.”
Both the men laughed as I was handed over to the guy from the Detention Center. The officer who drove the car left and the man who was holding me by my handcuffs led me over to another door which he had to bang on to get another guy in the same uniform to open for us. The guy who opened the door stepped back as we entered but stayed in the room. We stepped into a room which looked a lot like a huge closet. It had shelves along two of the walls with folded clothing on the shelves. All the clothing was kind of an orange color. There were counters in front of the shelves. There was a long narrow bench in the middle of the floor. The other walls both had doors in them. The room was damp, remarkably cold and it smelled terrible. I didn’t know what the smell was but it made my stomach tense up.
The guy holding on to me had one of his hands on the back of my neck and the other one where my wrists were cuffed. He kept pressure on my neck as he pulled up on the cuffs to a point where it was starting to hurt. He led me over to a line painted on the floor and pointed to it. “Put your toes on that line and lean forward so your forehead is touching the wall in front of you while I take off your cuffs. When the cuffs come off keep your hands behind you until I say it’s okay to stand up straight. Don’t do anything dumb or you’ll find yourself face down on this floor eating cement. You got it, Roland?”
As I nodded I was thinking about how dry and warm the cell was in the jail and wished I was still there. I was beginning to shiver with the intense cold along with the fear. I leaned forward as he told me and learned quickly how the purpose was to have me off balance while the cuffs were removed. The other guy came up, stood on the opposite side of me and grabbed my upper arm in his hand while the first guy took the cuffs off. When he had the cuffs off he took my other arm. They straightened me up so I could stand up and then led me over to the bench in the middle of the room.
“Sit!” said the first guy as he and his partner pushed me down hard onto the bench. “Okay, Roland, my name is Lewis and this other guard is Kowalski. You’re going to have to learn a whole bunch of rules about this place and the first one is you don’t talk to us or any other guards here unless we tell you to talk. You don’t talk to the other guys who are locked up here unless you’re told to do so. Learning to keep your mouth shut is the main rule. They call this place a Reform School – or a Juvenile Detention Center, but this ain’t really a school and it ain’t some kind of nice Center – what you need to know is this is a prison for kids like you who are too young to go to the big house. This is a “hands-on” place, which means if you don’t follow the rules or you mess up in some other way, we will be putting our hands on you – hard! Nod your head yes if you understand what I’m saying. Don’t speak, just nod!”
I nodded. I also began to realize I was feeling fear – real fear – a fear which equated with the kind of fear I would get when my old man would come home in the sort of mood I knew would lead to another trip to the attic.
Both guards kept their hands on my shoulders to keep me anchored to the bench. They were pressing down hard enough to hurt a little. One of the men smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in weeks – the one named Kowalski. If it had been Lewis I would have noticed it when we first arrived. Even though it was cold and damp in this room, Kowalski was sweating and his underarms were drenched.
“Alright, the next thing we have to do is make sure we have good information about you. I’m going to read some information I have here and I want you to nod your head yes if the information is right. If it’s wrong, shake your head no, and then you’ll be able to speak to tell me what would be correct. Is that clear?”
I nodded and said, “Yeah.”
Lewis immediately whacked me hard across the back of my head with his partially closed hand and yelled, “I told you no talking unless I say it’s okay to talk. If you keep forgetting about that you’re going to see what we mean about being “hands on”. This whack was a lot easier than it would have been if you had been here for awhile. Do you get it now?”
I nodded to comply but my feelings of fear were being replaced with a strong urge to get up and take a swing at this guy.
However, whatever common sense I possessed kept me sitting on the bench and not saying anything or doing anything.
Lewis then began to read items like my name, address and birth date and other identifying data from some papers he was holding. I quietly nodded to each of the items.
“Okay, Van Buren, that’s good. You’re catching on. Now the next thing on our schedule for today is to get you into some nice clean clothes. But first, you need to strip down so we can body-search you and then, to make sure you don’t have any germs or bugs on you, you’re going to take a nice shower with some good soap. So, you can stand up now and strip down,” said Lewis.
I was completely surprised by this. The last thing I wanted to do was get naked in front of these two guys. I remained sitting on the bench trying to dream up same way to avoid this when Kowalski grabbed me under one of my armpits and jerked me to my feet as he yelled in my ear, “Lewis just told you to stand up and strip down. When you’re told to do something around here you jump to it — right then, not when you get in the fucking mood. Strip down now, Van Buren, or I’ll do it for you!”
He started to grab my shirt when I backed away some and began to take it off myself. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely do the buttons. The feelings of fear and hatred were more intense than I had ever felt. I wanted to run and at the same time I wanted to grab Kowalski by his throat and choke the son of a bitch.
Just then, Lewis gave me another of his hard whacks across the back of my head which almost made me lose my balance as he yelled, “Let’s go, Van Buren, we ain’t got all day. Move your ass!”
After I had all my clothes off, Kowalski reached down, picked them up and threw them into a paper bag. He wrote my name on the side of the bag, then walked over to put the bag on one of the lower shelves. Lewis pushed me forward a few steps and said, “Okay, now put your hands on your butt, bend over and spread your cheeks so I can see if you got anything stuffed up your ass that you shouldn’t have.”
I looked over at him with what I was sure was pure hatred when he yelled, “Do it now, Van Buren. When I tell you to do something you don’t get to stop and think it over for awhile. Bend over and spread them – now!”
I was standing in the middle of this cold, damp room beginning to shiver from both the cold and the fear. When the two guards were finished looking at my body, Lewis said, “Now, it’s time for your shower. You alright, Van Buren? You don’t look too good,” he said chuckling to himself. “Hey, Kowalski, Van Buren here is looking a little green around the gills. Funny how that always happens right at this part of our welcoming them to our wonderful home away from home.”
Kowalski walked over to one of the doors and opened it while Lewis shoved me towards it. As I got near the doorway I could see it looked a little like the showers at school by the boy’s gym, only smaller. It was all concrete – floors, walls and ceiling. There was an elevated platform at one end of the room with shower heads in the ceiling. There were soap trays on the wall under the shower heads. There were a couple small windows high up on the wall opposite the platform and a long shelf under the windows.
Lewis pushed me the rest of the way into the shower room and Kowalski went over to the shelf on the far wall and got a large spray bottle with some liquid in it and handed it to Lewis.
“Okay, Van Buren, go stand on the platform under one of the shower heads. Stand with your arms out to the side and your legs apart. I’m going to spray this shampoo shit in your hair, under your arms and in the hair by your prick. When I finish, I’ll turn on the water and you can scrub this stuff in and wash the rest of your body with the other soap in the soap tray behind you. This will get rid of any lice or crabs you might be carrying around on you. Be sure to close your eyes while I spray. This stuff can get nasty if you get it in your eyes. C’mon, Van Buren – arms out – legs apart – let’s get this done.”
I decided to do what I was told and not make any trouble. I didn’t like the idea of having to close my eyes while Lewis sprayed the stuff on my body, but I figured he wasn’t bull-shitting me when he said it would really burn.
Once Lewis was finished spraying the shower over my head was turned on. I grabbed the soap from the dish behind me and started to wash myself. I have to say the shower felt rather good as I hadn’t been clean for several days.
I guess I was enjoying the shower a little too much because suddenly Lewis rapped me again across the back of my head and shouted, “Let’s go, Roland! Rinse off and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I barely got rinsed when Lewis turned the shower off and Kowalski threw a towel at me from across the room. I caught it before it hit the floor.
“Nice catch, Van Buren,” Kowalski said. Now dry off and let’s get you some nice clean clothes.”
While I was drying myself, Lewis reached over, grabbed me by the arm and propelled me back out the door into the other room we were in before. He looked me over and said to Kowalski, “Van Buren looks like he’s probably a size medium. You got a medium in stock today, Mr. Kowalski?”
“Why, yes I do, Mr. Lewis. I have it in orange or orange. Which one would Mr. Van Buren prefer?” he said with a huge grin on his face as he pulled a bundle of clothes off the shelf and brought them over to where Lewis and I were standing by the bench.
Lewis responded, “Why, he probably wants it in black because he’s such a bad-ass gang kid, but I’m pretty sure he’ll settle for the orange today, won’t you Mr. Van Buren?”
Lewis took the clothes from Kowalski and set them on the bench. He opened up the bundle and there was a white t-shirt, white boxer shorts, a pair of white socks and orange slippers folded up inside an orange one-piece jumpsuit with buttons up the front.
“Okay Roland, get dressed. This will be your uniform for however long you’ll be our guest here. You’ll get a fresh change every two or three days. It depends on when you’re scheduled for a shower. On your shower days, you get a fresh uniform. On the days you don’t shower, you’ll be able to brush your teeth, wash your face, comb your hair, and use a wash cloth for anything else needing some soap and water.”
I didn’t waste any time getting dressed. I was cold and anxious to get clothes on in front of these two guys.
Once I was dressed, both Lewis and Kowalski took me by my arms and led me to another door on the opposite of the room from where I came in. Lewis said, “Now, it’s time to show you to your lovely living quarters, Mr. Van Buren.”
With Lewis on one side of me and Kowalski on the other holding me by my upper arms, I was led through a series of hallways until we came to one that had several closed doors on one side of the hallway. The entire time we walked, Lewis kept talking about the rules for all the inmates.
“Like I told you before, the main rule here is you don’t talk to anyone unless you have permission. That means any of the guards or any of the other guys who are here. Sometimes there are lawyers or outside cops – the same thing applies. You just don’t talk to anyone unless you have permission or are asked a question by someone in authority. You’re gonna have one guy as a cellmate and you can talk with him when you’re in the cell. But when you’re being escorted in the halls – or when you’re in the cafeteria – or when you’re in a classroom, you just keep your mouth shut and you’ll get along fine. The next main rule is no fighting. You get in a fight and you will experience some serious ‘hands on’. Plus, you get to find out what it’s like to live in our solitary cells for at least forty-eight hours. I can guarantee you, you’ll think twice before getting into another fight.”
We continued down the corridor and stopped by one of the cells. The cell doors were like regular doors except there was a narrow window along one side of the door. There was a letter and a number painted on the door – ‘C5′ – was the number on the door in front of us. Lewis reached down to his belt and pulled up a keyring full of keys.
As he was searching through the keys, he said, “When the meals are ready, you’ll hear a bell go off – it sounds like a school bell – and a guard will come down this hall to start unlocking the doors. When the door opens, you and your cellmate will get in the line formed on the wall opposite your cell door in single file. Don’t mess around in the line or talk or there will be a “hands on” session for you. When all the guys are in line, the guards will march you to the lunch room. Same rules apply at meals – no talking and no horsing around. There’s also an “eat what you take” rule here. If you don’t want something, don’t take it. But, if you take it you have to eat it. No food gets tossed here. When it’s time for school, the same thing will happen except only the guys going to your class will be in the line. You will get two exercise breaks during the day. A guard will come and escort you when it’s your time. You’ll get to shower every two or three days. The rest of the time you’ll do sponge baths only at the sink in your cell. Any questions, Van Buren? If you have any you can ask them now. If not, stand back and I’ll open your cell.”
I was feeling a lot like I would rather be anywhere else in the world right about then. I was tired – I was angry – I was a little scared – and I was worrying about who my cellmate would be and what he would be like. I took a deep breath and asked, “What about smoking? Is that allowed?”
“Yeah, you can smoke in your cell and when you’re outside for exercise. But no other times. Not in the lunchroom, the hallways, or the classrooms. Best thing is to learn to do without them, right, Kowalski?”
“Yeah, you’ll live longer!” Kowalski said with a smirk on his face. “But, there ain’t no place to buy any here, anyway.”
“Can I ask one more question?” I asked.
“One more and that’s it!” said Lewis.
“What about visitors. Can anyone come and see me while I’m in here?”
“Only on Sundays. The only exception is if it’s your lawyer. Lawyers can come in most anytime. Otherwise, only on Sundays between two o’clock and five o’clock in the afternoon. Is that it, Roland?” asked Lewis.
I nodded and Lewis leaned over and inserted his key in the lock and opened the cell door.
“Here’s your suite, Mr. Van Buren. And there’s your cell mate whose name I forgot. Make yourself to home!” said Lewis, laughing as he pushed me through the open door into the cell and slammed the door behind me.
The cell was a room about the same size as my bedroom on Russell. I think that room was about nine feet by ten or eleven feet. This cell was close to the same size. There were no windows in the cell. There was a wash basin and a toilet on the back wall between two raised platforms. The raised platform on my left had a mattress with a sheet and pillow on it and some blankets folded up at one end of it. The platform on the right side of the cell contained a rather small, skinny kid who looked to be about fourteen years old or even younger. He had on a white undershirt and had taken the top half of his jumpsuit off his arms and shoulders so it was hanging off his waist. He was sitting on the edge of his platform looking over at the door as I came stumbling in thanks to the shove by the guard, Lewis.
Once I got my feet under me I was near the back of the cell by the wash basin. I looked at the kid and asked, “Ain’t you cold with that jumpsuit half off? I’m fucking freezing in here!”
“Nah. Once that door is closed for a while, it starts to get hot in here. The hallway is what’s cold. Is this going to be your cell now? How long you gonna be in here?” asked the kid with his head down looking at the floor.
“You sure got a lot of questions, kid. But yeah, I guess this is where I’m gonna live but I’ll only be here until the end of January. Why are you in here?”
“I got caught skipping school and stealing shit out of stores.”
I moved over and sat on my so-called bed. The mattress wasn’t thick and the platform under it was hard. “That doesn’t seem so bad. Why didn’t the cops just chew your ass and send you home?”
“It was the third time I got caught and my old man and old lady told the cops they couldn’t handle me any more. It didn’t matter that they were both drunks, the cops still put me in here. It’s okay though, this is better than living at home. I hope I never get out of here.”
I was still feeling cold so I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. I looked over at the kid again. He was really skinny. His brown hair was cut into a brush cut. His chest looked sort of caved in and I could see his ribs sticking out. His arms were skinny too and his cheeks looked kind of red. He didn’t have his slippers on and one of his socks had a hole in it. He still kept his head down and his eyes focused on the floor.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked.
“Ralph. What’s yours?” he said as he looked over at me.
“Just call me Van,” I said.
“Okay. Did the guards tell you about what happens if you break any rules – like getting into fights or talking outside the cell?” Ralph asked.
“Yeah. I’m not looking for trouble – I just want to do my time and get the fuck out of here. And, I’m warning you now, don’t start anything with me just because you want to stay in here. You hear me?”
“I won’t,” he said. “You’re too big for me and I already spent some time in a solitary cell. I don’t want to do it again.”
For some reason I was getting really sleepy all of a sudden. It was also starting to feel a lot warmer in the cell. I took my slippers off and laid down on the bed. I was looking up at the ceiling when my thoughts began to wander. I was wondering what Sally was doing now and what she had been told. I could imagine all the talk going around the Sugar Bowl – if anyone was still hanging around there.
As I closed my eyes I began to think back to the time when Sally and I became lovers for the first time.
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