Last week, I wrote about Laura Scott‘s 1907 trial in Los Angeles County. I am still searching for information about her ultimate sentence in that case. I know for sure that she was not re-incarcerated at San Quentin after she was found guilty in that trial. She may have served time in jail but I have not yet been able to confirm that.

The next time Laura Scott’s name appears in the news is in 1908.

So once again, we have Laura getting caught stealing a watch. She clearly had a thing for them. Based on news reports, she stole a watch from Ms. Susie McNeary on September 12th 1908. She was found guilty by a jury on November 11th.

Having already been incarcerated for grand larceny in 1905 and tried and convicted of larceny again in 1907, it is unlikely that a judge would have gone easy on her in terms of imposing a sentence for her crime. Judge Wilbur [on the left] sentenced her to 5 years in San Quentin Prison on November 16th. On November 20th 1908, Laura Scott enters San Quentin Prison. She spends nearly 4 years locked up until she is discharged from prison on June 20, 1912. At that point, Laura Scott’s trail grows cold in California. One has to wonder if she decided to leave the state to find new opportunities. I would love to know what became of her.

Over the past few weeks, I have greatly appreciated the e-mails that some of you have sent to me letting me know that you appreciate reading about Laura. In the next couple of weeks, I plan to write about the Alabama of Laura’s childhood and about the Los Angeles that she and her friends inhabited in the early 20th century. I hope that these descriptions will help us to better understand the context of Laura’s life. Our childhoods impact us a great deal and I can only imagine how growing up in Alabama during Reconstruction might have shaped Laura’s character. It will be interesting to speculate on this in the coming weeks. Stay tuned!

Upon her release from prison in June 1906, it is unlikely that Laura Scott would have been able to find gainful employment immediately. She was a convicted felon who had spent nearly a year behind bars in the notorious San Quentin. Given what we know today about the high rate of recidivism for people who have been incarcerated, it should be no surprise that Laura found herself in trouble with the law again a few months after she was discharged.

On February 17 1907, Laura Scott was arrested by detectives Glenn and Stevens, both of whom were also black and she was charged with petty larceny. She was accused of stealing an alarm clock from Ms. H.C. Russell. According to the L.A. Times: “It was the last of a series of petty thefts on her part during the past ninety days (2/21/1907).” She allegedly sold the clock for 25 cents at a local pawn shop. She was bound over to the Superior Court and jailed while awaiting her trial.

Laura’s trial took place on April 8th 1907. The L.A. Herald sets the scene:

“Yesterday department one was crowded when the Scott woman’s case was called. Many of those among the spectators had contributed their mite to help in defending her and all were anxious to testify as to her general good character up to the time when the alleged purloining of the clock occurred.”

Mrs. Russell was the chief prosecution witness and she told the court what happened:

“On the afternoon the clock was taken [February 16] I was ironing when Miss Scott came in and sat down and began to talk. We had considerable conversation there, and I kept right on with my ironing. At that time the clock was on a table near where Ms. Scott sat. […] When she went out I didn’t notice at first that the clock was gone, but a few moments after that I discovered that I had lost the clock.”

Throughout the trial, Laura Scott maintained that she was innocent of the charges against her. The L.A. Times described her as having a “sullen and serious countenance” throughout the proceedings. This was in stark contrast with the demeanor of another key witness against Laura: Lizzie Douglas. Lizzie was described as a mulatto “whose mouth curved in a wondrously humorous and expansive smile as she cakewalked to the witness stand (4/9/1907).”

In her account, on the morning of February 16th, she had gone over to her friend Mrs. Russell’s home to help with ironing. Mrs. Russell brought out an alarm clock and set it on the “ice chest.” As she testified on the witness stand, Lizzie would periodically break out into fits of laughter as she remembered the details of the incident. Laura Scott came into the Russell home on San Julien Street for a “pall of beer.” Lizzie added: “I had whiskey myself.” She continued:

“[Laura] began lounging about the room and leaned up against the ice box. She picked up a piece of paper and looked at it, she said Mrs. Russel’s phone bill didn’t read exactly like hers. Then Mrs. Raymond came in, and after a little while she asked what time it was. As soon as she said that, Laura Scott went out. Mrs. Russel told Mrs. Raymond to look at the clock. Mrs. Raymond said she didn’t see any clock. Mrs. Russel asked her if she was blind, and told her to look on the ice box. Mrs. Raymond said she did, but she didn’t see any clock. We all looked then, and the clock wasn’t there. Then Mrs. Russel sent her boy to tell Mrs. Scott to bring the clock home.”

Upon cross-examination, Lizzie Douglas was asked by Laura Scott’s attorney, Mr. Taylor: “But you didn’t see her take the clock?”
Lizzie: “No.”
Attorney Taylor: “As a matter of fact, you don’t know that she did steal it, do you?”
Lizzie: “It couldn’t a jumped down off of there and walked away.”
Attorney: “What time did the defendant leave the house on San Julian street?”
Lizzie: “How could I know that? The clock was gone, and there wasn’t no way to tell the time.”

Rosa Goldberg, who owned a pawn shop with her husband on First Street, was called to the stand by the Prosecution. The L.A. Times reported on her testimony:

“Where is your store,” asked Deputy District Attorney Blair.
“At First and Alameda streets.”
“In Los Angeles?” pursued the prosecutor.
“Of course,” returned the witness, with an air of pitying his ignorance.
When it was the defense’s turn, attorney Taylor representing Laura Scott, “asked the witness how she could identify that clock.” “Isn’t it just like thousands of others you can buy at jewelry stores for 75 cents?”
Mrs. Goldberg: “I never bought any at a jewelry store. I paid 25 cents for that one.”
“But how do you know that is the one?” persisted the attorney.
“That is the clock,” Mrs. Goldberg replied decidedly.

Attorney Taylor also tried to impeach the credibility of the detectives who arrested Laura Scott by claiming that they “tricked her into making admissions.” However officer Glen testified that it was Laura who had told them where they could recover the clock. He added that she offered to pay for it. It took two hours for the jury to come back with a guilty verdict against Laura. The L.A. Times described her disposition during the trial and her reaction to the verdict:

“Laura Scott showed little feeling when the verdict was announced, and not much at any other time during the trial except one. That was when her attorney, in his argument, spoke of her as Ada Scott. She whispered sharply to him across the table with every show of anger: ‘Laura Scott’. And to her friend Ada Stanley, she remarked, ‘The fool’.”

Because she had a prior conviction of larceny, the offense that she was convicted of became a felony. However, her friends who had packed the courtroom on April 8th, would “plead for a probation sentence instead of a penitentiary term (L.A. Herald, 4/9/1907).” There are no records of her being incarcerated at San Quentin in 1907 so this leads me to think that she was either sentenced to county jail or given probation. I am still investigating the sentence.

The L.A. Herald in reporting on this case pointed out that the trial “cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $200 to the county and probably nearly as much to the woman’s friends.” $200 in 1913 is the equivalent of $4,544.22 in 2011. This suggests that $200 in 1907 would easily be worth more than $5,000 today. It seems like a waste of valuable resources to have tried a woman for stealing an alarm clock worth 25 cents at a cost of about $10,000 (to the state and to the defendant). This example underscores the point that the American legal system has always been wasteful and irrational.

One of the reasons that I continue to believe in the potential of hip hop to educate and to help transform is because of cultural artifacts like Common’s “A Song for Assata.”

One of the young people who I have been mentoring for some years just discovered this song a few weeks ago. She reached out to me and wanted to discuss it.

“Ms. K, do you know about Assata Shakur?” she asked.
“Yes indeed I do know about her?” I answered

The young woman who I will call Brittany wanted to talk about Shakur’s escape from prison. “How did she get away?” she wanted to know. She also wondered if it was true that Assata was Tupac’s “aunt.” My answers to both questions respectively were “I don’t know” and “no, but she was his Godmother.”

For Christmas, I bought her a copy of Shakur’s autobiography “Assata.” Brittany e-mailed me in early January to say that she had read the autobiography and in her words thought it “was so so real.” She wondered why she hadn’t heard about Assata Shakur before and said that she was going to tell her social studies teacher about her discovery. According to Brittany, school “don’t teach us the important stuff.” Unfortunately, I have to agree.

This episode is another reminder to me that young black people will in fact read books (provided they are engaging and relevant to their experiences and interests). Brittany read over 250 pages in just a few days. This young woman is now scouring the internet for more information about Assata. I find myself smiling as I type this because I am always happy when our young people embrace reading and value literacy.

I have been thinking a lot lately about what Brittany finds so appealing in Shakur’s story. The theme of “escape” has traditionally been a potent one in African-American folklore. So perhaps her fascination in part stems from the fact that Shakur successfully “escaped” prison. Think of our general fascination with the Count of Monte Cristo for example if you doubt the power of such tales!

But I think that it is something more than this too.

“My name is Assata Shakur, and I am a 20th century escaped slave.” — These are the words that begin “An Open Letter” penned by Shakur in 1998.

Assata Shakur stands defiantly in opposition to her oppression and subjugation by the State. Joy James makes a salient point: “Shakur is singular because she is a recognizable female revolutionary, one not bound to a male persona (p.138).” She adds: “Along with Harriet Tubman, Shakur would become one of the few black female figures in the United States recognized as a leader in an organization that publicly advocated armed self-defense against racist violence (p.139).”

Joy James’ characterization of Assata Shakur provides a clue into what might be attractive to a young woman like Brittany. As a young black woman of 16 years old living in poverty, I think that it is easy to feel invisible, overlooked, and yet maligned. The singer Jill Scott lamented in an interview a few years ago that “black women are so out of style.” Yet in reading about Assata, Brittany could imagine a black woman being unapologetically black. Assata Shakur is not “out of style.” She has resisted being commodified like other leaders of the Black Panther Party or Black Freedom Movement. Her call for revolution still rings loudly.

In her autobiography, Assata recalls making tape of an essay that she wrote titled “To My People.” In it, she explains her role in the black revolutionary struggle. That statement ends with these powerful words:

It is our duty to fight for our freedom.
It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.

These are still words to live by in the 21st century. They help to make Assata Shakur still relevant to a 16 years old girl living on the West Side of Chicago…

Update: It looks like my friends at the Black Youth Project also had Assata on their minds today. Here’s a post about her from them.

This was written by Mae Mallory on December 7, 1962. She was jailed for one year and nine months.

As the holiday season draws nigh and newspapers are heavily laden with their gaudy displays for Christmas, I take this moment to write and express my gratitude for the work, thoughts and prayers you have extended.

Perhaps you are interested in how I have fared these many months in Cuyahoga County Jail. I will try to give you a clear picture of what life is like here — not out of self-pity, but so that you may be fully informed. The women are housed on the 7th floor of the building. The 7th floor is divided into three main sections — Cell-Blocks 7A, B, and C. Cell-Blocks 7A and B are large, rectangular enclosures divided into thirteen rooms with two toilets, one shower, four face bowls and one utility sink. The capacity is 13; but often there are as many as 27 women there. Cell-Block C is a row of cells with bunks on the walls. Because of the overcrowded conditions, this particular Cell-Block houses part of the overflow of male prisoners.

My room is in Cell-Block 7A. It is a tiny room approximately six feet by nine. There is a metal bed with a thin mattress. We are allowed one sheet, one limp flat pillow, one pillowcase and one unsanitary reprocessed wool blanket. We are given one bath towel a week — a whole one if you are lucky.

The librarian comes once a week with a very limited selection of books, mostly who-dunnits and westerns; however, I did find John Hersey’s book entitled The Wall. Besides these books, Cuyahoga County Jail furnishes no other form of recreation.

The inmates are allowed to receive packages each day provided that there is someone interested and able to bring the few things which are allowed. Since the jail furnishes no clothing, the inmates must provide their own.

The meals are served in metal dog bowls. A metal cup is given each inmate on entry. A typical menu is the following:

Breakfast
soggy cornflakes (no sugar)
a cup of the poorest coffee and chickory combination (sometimes complete with floating cockroaches).

Lunch
Same dog bowl: a facsimile of baked beans (actually government surplus pea beans) with blobs of tomato sauce (thrown over the beans) and small minute chunks of fat sowbelly
cup of the same brew called coffee
bread

Dinner
bologna
bread
same brew
rolls

If there is anything Cuyahoga County serves plenty of, it’s bread. After a month of this diet, one is almost willing to admit guilt to any crime, since I am told that better food is served in the penitentiary.

We are allowed such fruits as bananas, apples, oranges, an occasional avocado and sometimes tomatoes. These items are often mutilated under the pretense of inspection. What one is expected to conceal in a tomato is beyond me.

The day room or “recreational room” is the space that is left between the rooms on either side of the area taken up by the toilet and shower. In the recreation room is a long rustic table with two make-shift benches, no radio or TV set, only newspapers, if some inmate is fortunate in having the money to buy them. We are allowed playing cards, but strangely, a Monopoly set is forbidden. Having learned that I had two Monopoly sets in the package room, I requested that one be given to me — this request was refused. The Chief explained to me that a Monopoly set contains dice, and the inmates might use the dice to gamble. The jailers fail to understand that the more restrictive measures taken against the inmates, the more ingenious they become in devising ways and means of amusements; amusements often more harmful than a simple game called Monopoly. This seems to make no impression on the jailers; for they appear to be hell-bent on making the inmates as miserable as possible. “After all,” the Chief exclaimed, “we are not interested in rehabilitation; this is not a prison, it is a jail. The prisoners are only here for a short time.”

When I explained that I could hardly be called a “short-time” prisoner, that I am beginning my tenth month here, he readily admitted that my case is the exception, “though not exceptional enough to be permitted a Monopoly set” or a person-to-person visit, even though many of my visitors travel hundreds of miles to visit me. He admits that the state of Ohio has no charge against me; he even hinted that after four months the State of Ohio was willing to let me go. However, it is almost ten months and the State of Ohio is still holding me; the Monopoly set is still in the package room; the food is still terrible; the mattress is still thin; the pillow is still flat and limp.

Last month I read Felix Greene’s book on China. I was particularly interested in what he had to say about the jails in the People’s Republic. Mr. Greene claims that one jail that he visited had only one guard with a rifle. The windows had no bars, and when he asked for the Warden, he was shown a young man with his sleeves rolled up helping an inmate fix a machine. According to Mr. Greene, “If this had been an American prison, the inmates would have been gone in three minutes.” I agree with Mr. Greene wholeheartedly. From what I have read and from personal experience here, only Devil’s Island and the Nazi Concentration Camps can compare with America’s penal system.

I have faith in my friends here in America and throughout the world. For this reason I can bear the barred windows, the stark bare walls and the hard concrete floors; I can bear the snide innuendoes about kidnappers. I can bear the conditions here that are worse than a zoo, and I can even live with the prospect of having to spend Christmas and New Year’s in jail. For if my suffering in jail has contributed toward the liberation of my people, peace on earth and goodwill to all men, then any sacrifice I have been forced to make has not been in vain.”

I usually try to stay away from focusing on February being “Black History Month.” As far as I’m concerned, black history should be discussed every day and so should all other kinds of histories.

Anyway, as regular readers of this blog know, I am an amateur history buff. I am sometimes tempted to re-enroll in school to get a graduate degree in history. Then I catch myself and remember that I can just as easily go to the library and check out a bunch of books for FREE. So no more school for me…

One of my touchstones in life is Dr. Barbara Ransby. I admire her for many personal reasons and I am in awe of her work as a historian. In particular, Barbara is the person who introduced me to the life and legacy of the great Ella Baker in her book “Ella Baker and the Black Freedom Movement.” If you’ve never heard of Ella Baker before or even if you have, I can’t recommend this book any more highly. After reading about Mrs. Baker, I became sort of obsessed with learning about other unsung black women who have made a significant contribution to history. It was this search that first lead me to a woman named Mae Mallory.

Willie Mae Mallory was born in Georgia in 1927. She moved to New York City with her mother in 1939. Ms. Mallory died in 2007 at the age of 80. In between those years, Mae Mallory played an integral role in the black freedom movement in the U.S. Yet she is far from a household name and even those who know something about black U.S. history may never have heard of her contributions. Yet before there was a FREE ANGELA or FREE ASSATA campaign, there was a FREE MAE MALLORY one.

Mae Mallory fled from North Carolina to Ohio in August 1961 in fear for her life. She was a supporter and friend of black radical Robert F. Williams. Williams, who had fought in World War II, returned home to become the leader of his local North Carolina NAACP chapter in the mid-1950s. By the late 1950s, Williams had won the admiration of many black people through his resistance to racist violence by the KKK in Monroe, North Carolina. He was also vocal about the need for black people in the U.S. to practice armed self-defense. His approach was in stark contrast to Dr. King’s advocacy of nonviolent resistance.

During a trip to New York in 1959, Williams met Mae who was already a local community activist. As the mother of two children, she had filed a lawsuit against the New York Public Schools to demand better accommodations for black children. She had been part of a group that became known as the Harlem Nine. Mallory was so impressed with Williams that she established a group of supporters called Crusader Families to help Williams with his work in North Carolina. The group’s name came from Williams’ newsletter called the Crusader which kept people informed about the events taking place in Monroe, North Carolina.

Peniel E. Joseph provides a great glimpse of Mae Mallory’s activism in his book “Waiting Til' The Midnight Hour.” After the African Nationalist leader Patrice Lumumba was assassinated in 1961, a group of black american artists and activists took over the United Nations. On February 15, 1961, demonstrators protested outside the U.N. while artists like Maya Angelou made their way into the Security Council. He describes the incident as follows:

“From the balcony, the screaming voices of protestors could be heard. “Killers!” shouted one. “Murderers!” yelled another. “Lumumba! Lumumba! they chanted in unison. Adlai Stevenson, two-time Democratic presidential candidate and U.S. representative to the United Nations, stood to address the meeting. Leaning toward the microphone, Stevenson removed his glasses and searched for the source of the rapidly escalating commotion.

At 11:35 in the morning, protesters had entered the Security Council meeting where a melee broke out between security guards and demonstrators. Frantic crowds hustled out in a stampede of departing spectators and incoming security guards. LeRoi Jones and Mae Mallory huddled together and, in an instant, were cordoned off by security. Mallory engaged in a heated struggle that required the intervention of several guards. Police officers snatched Jones into a packed police van, banging his head against the paddy wagon’s metal frame doors while other protestors were dragged outside and charged with disorderly conduct. (pp.40-41).”

This account suggests that Mae Mallory considered the U.S. black freedom struggle as intimately connected to the colonial struggles taking place on the Continent. Only a few months after the U.N. demonstration, Mae Mallory would find herself accused of facilitating a kidnapping and aiding in the escape of Robert F. Williams from the United States.

In August 1961, Mae Mallory along with journalist Julian Mayfield were visiting Rob Williams and his family in Monroe. The summer of ’61 in Monroe had been characterized by racial tumult. It ended with Rob Williams being accused of kidnapping an elderly white couple, Mr. and Mrs. Bruce Stegall. He fled the country to Cuba allegedly with the help of Mallory and Mayfield. Mayfield went to Ghana and Mallory found her way to Cleveland Ohio.

Accused of false kidnapping charges, Mae Mallory along with the other Monroe Defendants would face a stiff prison sentence and years of legal troubles. While in Cleveland, Mallory would fight against being extradited to Monroe to face her charges. Mallory described Monroe as a place “where a black man has never been acquitted when accused of a crime against a whiteman, and a whiteman has never been convicted when accused of a crime against a blackman.” Because of her refusal to return to Monroe, Mallory would spend over a year and a half in jail in Ohio. While she was incarcerated at Cuyahoga County Jail, she wrote letters and shared her thoughts about the experience. Tomorrow, I will post “An Open Letter…To My Many Friends in America and Those in Foreign Lands” in which Mae Mallory describes her life in jail. It is my deepest hope that someone is currently working on a book about Mae Mallory’s life. She deserves much more recognition.

As part of my ongoing series about Laura Scott's life, today I will focus on how women prisoners in San Quentin were treated by staff and how they treated each other in the early 20th century. For this, I am once again relying on the first-hand account of an unnamed ex-San Quentin female prisoner published in the book “Crime and Criminals.” Let’s begin by exploring the apparent corruption of the staff at the prison:

Numerous instances of favoritism in this, as in other regards, are cited, especially where the prisoners were able to do embroidery and other fine needlework for the matron. There is supposed to be a stringent rule forbidding making presents to or doing work for a prison official. “If anyone were so interested as to investigate he would find ‘Buzzard’s Roost’, as the matron designated her abode, literally lined with pillows, table covers, pillow shams and other articles too numerous to mention, forced from the women who hoped by thus catering to her greed to enjoy some of the favors they knew she could and did give to those who worked for her.”

According to the former San Quentin woman prisoner, the matron who oversaw the “Female Department” was capricious and cruel:

“…she is described as having been an incurable gossip, of the foulest kind, showing special partiality to negresses, and completing a day’s work that averaged about five hours by leaving the establishment to itself at 4:30 p.m.”

The matron is alleged to have discouraged church services at the prison in favor of gambling and dancing instead:

“Many a time after the California Club women or the Salvation Army lassies had held their services in the office, the table would be rolled back and the negro women, and those of the white women who were low enough in their tastes to enjoy such a spectacle, would be called in and, while one would strum on a banjo, the rest would raise their clothes and give a leg show. The higher kickers they were the better the matron enjoyed it.” At the same time gambling would be in progress. An attempt to form a bible study class was stopped. No books that could be used for educational purposes were obtainable, and every effort toward self-improvement was discouraged.

It appears that this testimonial was offered by a white female prisoner because it is peppered with allegations of reverse racism while offering racist descriptions of female prisoners of color. For example, “White women who are cleanly and neat are next to some vile-smelling negress, Chinese or Mexican women.” The writer provides some interesting anecdotes that depict “negresses” like a cook who was promoted to “librarian” as terrorizing white female prisoners with impunity while being protected by the white matron of the prison. Here’s an anecdote that was offered:

It is charged that the abuse of the white women by the negresses was deliberately encouraged, and that repeatedly, to the accompaniment of guitars, the matron could be seen waltzing with the big negress cook, whose relations with her were a constantly discussed and most revolting scandal. This negress is said to have ruled the women’s department and, “notwithstanding the fact that she was one of the worst women there, by the matron’s own statement, yet she had the most privileges; she was never punished or even reprimanded for her dreadful statements and wicked talk; she was given the place of cook, which carries with it special privileges, such as warmth, baths, good food, being unlocked at night, and many other favors. The white women were at her mercy.” This is the woman whom the matron, as mentioned previously, appointed librarian.

This seems to be an unusual racial dynamic for that era but I honestly don’t know enough about the history of other women’s prisons to know if this was a unique circumstance or more common. Could it really be possible that a black prisoner like Laura Scott might benefit from her race in prison in 1905? This seems incredible to me. However, the overall account provided about life at San Quentin was corroborated by several other prisoners before it was published by the Prison Reform League. It’s a puzzle.

Some of the most harrowing stories in the account address the abusive treatment that some female prisoners experienced at San Quentin. They were basically tortured.

“A colored woman named Belle N. was serving a term of ten years. At the end of three years, after having been accorded the privileges accorded to all colored women, she turned on the matron and made threats that she would do her bodily harm. This woman was locked in her cell, and for three years, or nearly four, was never allowed to leave it save for one hour every Friday. Just one month before her release should have come she was removed to an insane asylum, and in two weeks was a corpse. A great, healthy animal she was, but dangerous to the matron.

The unnamed female prisoner who offered this testimony ends with these words: “I have not, and I cannot, tell one-hundredth part of the awfulness of the place, which is fitly described by all the women as a ‘veritable hell on earth.’”

Shortly after this account was written, the matron of San Quentin tendered her resignation. Upon hearing about the stories of the horrible conditions for female prisoners at San Quentin, women reformers mobilized to press for improvements and eventually successfully advocated for building a separate facility to house women in California. Hester Griffith (not related to Griffith J Griffith) was part of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU). She was a prison reformer who stated at the end of the published account that she had corroborated the allegations about the terrible conditions at the Prison for women. She also highlighted the allegation that in 1904 and 1905 visiting members of the state legislature had used the women’s quarters as a brothel. As Cristina Rathbone writes: “Rape had always been a problem – really the problem — for women in prison in America (p.66).” So we know that female prisoners at San Quentin must have been subjected to sexual abuse especially because they usually shared the same facility as male prisoners and more importantly male guards.

The next edition of Laura’s story recounts her second trial in 1907 for larceny.

Note: I have always appreciated librarians. They ROCK. In particular, the staff at the California Archives have provided me with INVALUABLE help. There is no way that I could write about Laura Scott without the information that they have helped me to unearth. Next time you have a moment, please stop by your local library and thank the librarians on staff for what they contribute to our culture.

In California as in the rest of the country, little to no attention was paid to women prisoners in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Their numbers were very small relative to male prisoners. In 1904, a year before Laura Scott first entered San Quentin Prison, there were 1,451 men and 27 women incarcerated there (source: First Biennial Report of the State Board of Charities and Corrections, 1903-1904, p. 11).

After a highly publicized trial, Griffith J Griffith was convicted of shooting and wounding his wife and served two years in San Quentin Prison from 1904 to 1906. Before he was imprisoned, he had been very successful as a California business man and philanthropist. He made his fortune in the mining business. Throughout his trial, he consistently maintained that the incident with his wife had been an accident. As soon as Griffith was released from prison in December 1906, he began working on an expose of the conditions there. His account of his time at San Quentin is published in a book by the Prison Reform League (that I have referenced on the blog before) titled “Crime and Criminals.” Everyone with an interest in the early history of prisons in the U.S. should read his account of his time behind bars.

Griffith also offered an expose of the terrible conditions for women at San Quentin that relied on the written account of an unnamed female prisoner who had spent several years incarcerated there. This account was corroborated by several other prisoners before it was published in Crime and Criminals. It is one of the only available first-hand testimonials of life inside San Quentin Prison for women at the turn of the 20th century.

Female prisoners at San Quentin were supplied with only the bare minimum of clothing and other items:

The state supplies each female prisoner every six months with six yards of white cotton, six yards of tennis flannel, and two pairs of hose. She is given also two blue denim dresses and one heavy blue flannel dress, called a “reception dress”. But it does not supply any underwear, corsets, underskirts, garters, hats, bonnets, coats or overshoes, and the sufferings of those who enter without such supplies and have no money to buy them are extreme. For there is no heat in the cells, and the thick walls, when thoroughly wetted and chilled, remain so all winter. ” It would have been amusing, were it not so pathetic, to see the straits to which the women were reduced to find something that would answer for underclothes, and they picked up from the sewing-room floor scraps of cotton flannel and, by great ingenuity and much labor, made garments. These garments, being most bulky, were refused by the laundry, as they broke the wringer.” In one of such garments the writer counted two hundred and forty pieces. The further comment is made that, although the state is supposed to issue the supplies previously mentioned every six months, they are habitually held back. If, therefore, for example, a woman’s supplies are due in April and she is to be released in May, she will be told that the supplies have not arrived, and will leave the prison without getting them.

What kind of work did the women at San Quentin Prison do?

From eighty to a hundred suits of underwear have to be made each week for the use of the men, but this, like the other work, is divided up. One woman acts as cook and there is a diningroom girl, whose duties are entirely below stairs. Nothing is taught that can be of the lightest use to the prisoner after her discharge, the accomplishments to be learned being cigarette smoking — each woman receiving every Monday afternoon her sack of tobacco and package of papers — and other vices. As to which the writer remarks : ” Nearly every woman there has voiced the sentiment, not once but many times : ‘I shall be a thousand times worse a girl when I leave this living hell than I ever dreamed I could be.’ And it is true, for the viler, lower traits are so encouraged, and whatever better impulses one possesses are so smothered and killed, that the entire nature is changed for the worse. This is no idle statement, for we all know that constant fear breeds hate, and from hate spring all the baser passions.”

Interestingly this account about life at San Quentin at the turn of the century spans the years when Laura Scott would have been incarcerated at the prison. Given this reality, when Griffith’s unnamed source mentions that a two-time negress convict worked as the dressmaker of the prison, one might wonder if this could have been Laura Scott herself. Remember that her occupation was listed on prison and arrest records as dressmaker/seamstress. Many of the dates mentioned in the account range from 1906 to 1909. These would have years that overlap with Laura’s time as a prisoner at San Quentin.

The next installment of this story will focus on the purported racial dynamics between women prisoners as well as on how female prisoners were treated by staff (both male and female) at San Quentin. Stay tuned!

I think that the re-entry industrial complex is a racket. Yet real people get out of prison and jail every single day and need to navigate hostile waters on the outside. One such person is Tracey Stevens who narrates her story. I think that her words are poignant and should compel us to REALLY focus on providing opportunities for formerly incarcerated people.

Entering San Quentin for the first time at the turn of the 20th century as a prisoner would likely have been a terrifying experience for most 19th century women. The prison was infamous for its brutal treatment of inmates and for its extremely poor conditions. Below is a partial description of the women’s quarters of the Prison from a book titled Crime and Criminals.”

“A door opens from an office, and you enter a place that looks for all the world like a bear pit, with its thick, gray walls on four sides and cement floor. This pit, by actual measurement, is 60 ft. by 90. Out of this oblong a building, 40 by 20, is taken; so, if you are good at figures, you can see just what room is allowed for clothes lines, exercise, garbage cans, etc. The feet of these poor women never touch the ground of mother earth, and all exercise, which is optional, has to be taken on this cement floor. Midway in the place is the hopper, and on the other side hang the thirty or forty buckets used in the cells from 4 p.m. to 7 a.m. Opposite stand the immense garbage cans, and, as they have no covers, the aroma that greets the olfactory nerves is indeed overwhelming. No benches, whereon one might sit to get the sun, are in the pen, and the matron will not allow the women to carry out a chair; so, if one must have a little sun and air, the only alternative is to squat on the stairs leading out of the yard to the cells, or sit on the cement flat and let one’s feet hang down. Either plan is conducive to sorry comfort, helping the rheumatism and stiffness of joints so much in evidence among the inmates. Why cannot the warden allow a few benches to be placed along the gray walls?’ was asked many times, and the reply was that seats would injure the cement! Never mind the women. They are here for punishment; and I can add feelingly that no stone was left unturned to see that they got all that was coming to them.

“The hopper referred to deserves a special article.It is situated in the laundry room, and is an oldfashioned thing, about eighteen inches in diameter. Into this must go the contents of the buckets I have mentioned, and as this deposit must take place as soon as the women are dressed, the scene that follows beggars description. There were two large holes in the floor of this laundry, and as the filth from human bodies accumulated and overflowed the hopper, a stream ran into these holes and this filth flowed, under the dining-room and kitchen, out under an office, emitting a stench that finally attracted the attention of some officer. The matter was then remedied slightly, but the vile conditions of the hopper remain.

“The pen, or pit, is also the playground at night of an ever increasing army of the most gigantic rats, and the stairs, platforms and yard bore unmistakable evidence of their nocturnal ramblings. As the women emerged from their cells in the early morning they reminded one of cave-dwellers, and the agility which had to be used to clear away these remembrances of his ratship was something long to be remembered. They also invaded the kitchen and pantry, and mute evidence of their presence was often seen in the beans, rice and other foods, if the cook was not careful. Try, if you can, to imagine the air in such a place. Small wonder that the health gives way, and that tuberculosis, rheumatism, sore throat and kindred diseases are prevalent; while the only remedies are a handful of calomel at night, and a dose of salts in the morning, ladled out by the wholesale to the miserable creatures.

These were the conditions that greeted Laura Scott when she arrived at San Quentin Prison. She spent every day and night from August 8, 1905 until her June 8, 1906 discharge sleeping in one of fifteen 7 by 10 foot cells perhaps with one or two other women crowded together. Her cell would have included: “Old-fashioned wooden bedsteads, with boards for springs, [that] are covered with hard straw ticks and heavy gray blankets.” She would have had to roll up her coat for a pillow or “collect enough cotton flannel pieces from the floor of the sewing-room to form one.”

Laura Scott was one tough lady though. Not much seems to have rattled her. In March 1905, a man named Frank McVeigh hit Laura over the head with an ax almost cracking her skull. She went to the police station to give her statement about what transpired and then calmly walked out still bleeding. An account of the incident appeared in the March 13 1905 edition of the Los Angeles Herald under the headline: “Negress' Head Too Hard Even For Ax: Racial Characteristic of Skull Probably Saves Woman From Fatal Injury.” Putting aside the supreme racism of the headline, it paints an incredible portrait, doesn’t it? Below is the entire article which gives us incredible insight into who Laura Scott was:

Because she asked him to repay a small sum of money which he had borrowed from her a few nights previous, Laura Scott, a negress, who lives on San Pedro street, was made the victim of an assault by Frank McVeigh, also a negro. That she was not instantly killed was due as much to the racial characteristic of a thick skull as to anything else, for McVeigh hit her on the head with a heavy hand ax and succeeding in cutting a deep gash from which the blood flowed freely.

According to the story told to the officers by the Scott woman, McVeigh borrowed some money from her a few nights ago, and promised to give it back Tuesday. Last night, when she went for the money, the woman found that McVeigh had gone to 131 Central avenue. Thinking to get her money before it was all spent for liquor, the woman followed McVeigh to the Central avenue place and found him there. When she asked for her money McVeigh seized a hand ax and hit her over the head with it.

McVeigh says the Scott woman has been persecuting him for some time and that the blow he dealt her on the head was only to warn her that he was not to be bothered.

The pair was taken to police headquarters and McVeigh locked behind bars. Although she had been hit a powerful blow and the scalp had been cut open the Scott woman did not lose consciousness for an instant, and after she gave her testimony to the desk sergeant walked out of the station as though nothing unusual had occurred.

This gives a new meaning to the term hard-headed. Could this incident be the culprit for that scar above her left eyebrow that I referenced in a previous post? We can only speculate…

Note: Based on suggestions from a couple of readers, I will be posting the installments of Laura’s story on a regular schedule. They will usually appear on Fridays. Thanks for the good suggestion and thanks for reading.

by Danny Lyon

When a group of young women in rural Georgia were placed under lock and key after protesting segregation at the local library, photos like the one above, which was snapped through the bars by new journalism pioneer Danny Lyon, helped secure their release. – from Flavorpill