THE Wairarapa Age MORNING DAILY. WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1907. "THE KIDS' JUDGE."

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8351, 6 February 1907, Page 4

THE Wairarapa Age MORNING DAILY. WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1907. "THE KIDS' JUDGE."

Wherever the question of special courts for child offenders has been mooted, the name of Judge Lindsey is already famous, although Judge Lindsey is yet a man in his early prime. Reformers the world over point to the juvenile Court of Denver City, Colorado, and the State Industrial School at Golden as an instance of what may be done, even for those childreri who seem to be already confirmed criminals. Lincoln Steffens, writing in "McClure's Magazine" lately, has been giving to its readers much information about Ben Lindsey, the "kids' judge," and the system that has made the Denver Juvenile Court a pattern for all the world. There has always been opposition to Judge Lindsey's methods of dealing with the worst specimens brought before him, but at the outset the opposition was much greater than it is now, and the judge has chiefly to contend with the distrust of the police. The characterising feature of the judge's plan of work is faith. He depends upon a lad's sense of honour, and tells him "so; for he is persuaded that even so-called ci-iminal lads have honour that can be relied upon. No policeman will trust a criminal. The characterising feature of police methods is suspicion. A few instances given in "McClure's" will show how the*judge's system works. Two boys had been caught, boys with records for serious crimes and gaolbreaking. The judge saw, them in the cells, and had talks with them. Then one night he telephoned to the warden to send them over. The officer brought one. "I think," the judge said, "that the warden's idea was that it was dangerous to send two at a time without handcuffs on them, and the police knew it offended me to have them come into my court or my chambers with young fellows handcuffed." The boy was

brought in, and the judge was warned that he was "the worst of the bunch." The officer desired to stay in the room to prevent a possible escape. The judge refused. "We shall hold you responsible," said the j officer; "you know what it has cost the county to catch this prisoner." No sooner had the officer gone than the judge explained the position to the boy, told him the authorities expected he would try to get away. "I don't believe it," he said; "I believe in you, Henry, and I hope you believe in me." Thereupon the judge threw open the window, telling the lad that if he wanted to go he would not stop him, and would not report for two hours. "Now, then, if you think you are not worth saving, not worth helping —if all the hours I have spent with you in gaol are to go for nothing, you 'scoot.' I'll not interfere. I leave it to you. I can't save a fellow, you know, not by myself; I can only help a fellow to save himself if he wants to." It was some minutes before the lad made up his mind; but he shut the window at last. "Judge," he said, "I'll stay with you. I never had anybody *alk to me like you. I'll do anything you say for me to do." This is the judge's "way." And it is a successful way. When a case has been dealt with, and the decision is that the boy is to go to the Industrial School at Golden, the same plan is followed. The boy is given his "passess"—one street-car and three railroads take him to Golden —and he is sent alone, with his own commitment papers. Out of all the hundreds sent up to Golden in this fashien only three have failed to report themselves. In the first case, after the judge had announced his intention of sending boys up alone, great interest was taken. The boy was a chronic runaway, captured after two weeks' chase, and the police were laughing in their sleeves over the judge's chances. They even "tipped the wink" to the papers, and two reporters came in search of "copy." Billy, the boy on trial, burst into tears when told he must go to Golden. The judge was very patient. Carefully he explained that Golden was not a prison, but a place where everyone would help him —"where a poor kid that hadn't a chance at home could learn a trade," "Why," said the judge, "I've been there. I like to go there." He described the shops, the arrangements for sports, the military organisation. When the boy's fear was gone, he told him how the police and the reporters were laughing at him for a fool because he was going to trust a boy to go up there alone. "And, gee-whiz," he said, "it would be' tough if I did get thrown down. But I'm not scared. I believe in you, and I'm going to trust you. I am going to give you these, your commitment papers and your railroad ticket, and we'll see whether you stay with me or go with the police. I want these reporters to tell just what happened, so it'll be up to you, Billy, to go to Golden or skip." Billy went to Golden, and when ,the judge .heard that some of them up there' were calling the boy a "chump" he went up and told them the .whole story at Golden, and repeated it in other places, until now it is regarded as "an honour to go alone to Golden —a test of pluck, loyalty, and self-cou-trol." Another case was harder yet. The boys were "born criminals." One had an established reputation as an~expert and reckless boy criminal. At 10 he was an accomplished sneak thief. In gaol he learned the craft of burglary from convicted burglars. Once, when stranded at Reno, Nevada, he stole half-a-dollar, and bought a cane and some chewing gum. He walked into a bank and asked at the counter for work. "When he went to see the head guy, I rammed th' gum in de end of my cane, shoved it through the cage, and swiped a twenty that stuck to the gum. Then I iked out on th' express - that night." This story, with many an Other, he told to Ben Lindsey, after the judge had spent long hours talking to him and his companion,telling them who he was and what he tried to do, explaining the diffieulties of the police, the purpose and meaning of the law, until at last he had won their confidence and heard their story. But he would have no confidences as to their companions. It was the proper thing to "snitch on yourself." Snitching on the other fellow was wrong. He put them out "on probation," to the horror of the police. But again he was justified in his trust. In a day or two these lads came in again, bringing another two of the gang - to talk it over, and "snitch on themselves." So by degrees all the gang of lads came in, and i became probationer's of the judge's court. There were seven altogether, and out of the seven the judge says "six have stuck." One of them, the best and most loyal, is attacked occasionally by a "wanderlust." But the judge knows and , understands. Once or twice, to assuage the fever, he has sent the boy for a short railway journey. Sometimes even this is not enough. Then he put the boy on his honour not to steal, and the lad writes letters to him all along the route. They never lose touch with one another. There are two things that Judge Lindsey always tries to do, to strengthen the child's character, and to remove, if possible, or to mitigate, the cause of his evil doing. He is strongly of opinion that the parents are frequent-

ly to blame, "l remember a gentle man," the judge relates, "who was most violent in his complaint to me about boys in a certain fashionable district, who swiped ice-cream and other good things to eat from back, porches, and he declared he had forbidden his boy to go with the suspects. He was the surprised dad of one, the worst of the gang- I had to find it out for him. He should have known it himself. He was too busy down town all day, and at night too busy denouncing his neighbour's children. He is busy now studying his own son." Mothers, apparently, he finds in much the same case. The "nice" parents, he considers, are forever making little prigs of their children, and he has a prejudice against little prigs. He prefers "husky" lads and mischievous girls, who, if they can do wrong, can do right with equal energy.