Oakalla Prison Farm

By DON MUNDAY, F.R.G.S., Assistant Editor

Warden of British Columbia’s Biggest Gaol Bears Heavy Responsibility—
Glimpses of Prison Life—Too Many Youthful Inmates—Sampling Prison Fare—
Tin-Canners Match Wits with Prison Staff—Tempering Enforcement of Discipline

‘COME BACK and see us again.” Would
-hat hearty invitation from the Warden and
staff of Oakalla Prison Farm make you feel
chat you probably had the makings of a
nodel prisoner?

TI never supposed it was so easy to get
into gaol, and although my first visit was
not wholly of my own choosing, I did not
hesitate to tell them I hoped to see them
again. You see, I had gone to Oakalla so
that I could write this article for THE
SHOULDER STRAP.

In response to my finger on the bell the
heavy steel entrance gates slid open at the
touch of a key in a guard’s hand. As
promptly, they slid shut behind me. I re-
membered an eminent mental specialist tell-
ing me he would not really like to face a
board passing on his own sanity, and I be-
gan to wonder how many laws I had never
heard of I might have broken.

WARDEN’S HEAvy RESPONSIBILITY

However, I felt somewhat reassured by
the unprisonlike appearance of Warden
Walter Owen’s office. As I had studied the
sketch of his career in the previous issue of
Tue SHOULDER Strap, I had some idea of
what to expect. Mr. Owen’s long experi
ence with unfortunates had not robbed him
of his faith in human nature, though one
guessed he felt their care a heavy respon-
sibility.

Too many of the prisoners are “repeat-
ers,” and far too many “repeaters” are dis-
tinctly youthful. Depression years led many
undiscerning people to excuse youthful
thieving on the plea that hungry men could
not be blamed—forgetting that thieves gen-
erally are more concerned about indulging
in luxuries than in buying necessities.

The first-offenders are the most promising
material for reform, but some of the “re-
peaters” decide that crime does not pay.

Oakalla has not officially any “follow-up”
system for released prisoners, but some of
them do turn to Warden Owen for counsel
in re-establishing themselves.

He was not really outspoken about his
own efforts to help men after their release.
I found (from other sources) that his help
sometimes went beyond mere counsel.

As an example: One young fellow and
his two brothers were abandoned in early
boyhood by their mother. All three soon
became lawbreakers, the eldest never spend-

SUMMER EDITION

ing more than two weeks at a time outside
the Boys’ Industrial School, Oakalla or the
penitentiary.

Finally he told Mr. Owen he meant to
go straight. Mr. Owen helped to get him
several jobs. By a discouraging run of hard
luck he lost these one after another through
no fault of his own. His previous associates
urged him to rejoin the gang.

He kept clear of them, finally established
himself well enough to get married, and
now has a family. Mr. Owen has heard
from him every Christmas for six years.

The John Howard Society, with Rev. J.
D. Hobden as executive secretary, does
much to help inmates of Oakalla, and when-
ever possible aids them after release.

As I was conducted up and down stairs,
through passages and various wings, I felt
I wanted to imitate the squaw whom a
miner brought down from the North to a

with Human Understanding—How First-Offenders Are Handled.

hung ham and bacon cured from pigs raised
at Oakalla.

Oakalla lacks special facilities for serving
meals to visitors. I ate the fare of the prison-
ers—potatoes and turnips grown at Oakalla
(few housewives have kitchen equipment to
cook potatoes so well) ; braised beef, tea and
sugar, all the bread one wished, this from
the kitchen which is in charge of Guard J.
Dalton.

From the kitchen, Guard Shaw of the
office staff led me through a concrete tunnel
to the boiler room which provides hot water
as well as the steam heat. Mr. S. McKean
was in charge.

In spite of the steady handling of coal,
even the boiler room could hardly be termed
dirty—an interesting observation because a
Vancouver paper had recently printed a
letter asserting all Oakalla was dirty. I had
myself seen the clean blankets in the cells,

Main Building, Oakalla Prison Farm.

big hotel—she got out her axe and blazed a
trail to her room. Only in my case the axe
would not have been much use on steel and
concrete.

PRISON FARE FOR JOURNALIST

Steel gratings opened in front of me and
clicked shut behind. Shrewd planning
minimized possibility of mass revolt. Every-
where stood a succession of steel barriers.

In the kitchen No. 1 beef—beyond a
doubt—was being sliced for dinner. In the
butcher shop more of the same meat was
being cut up for supper. In the refrigerator

and nowhere could one detect what social
service workers term “institutional smell.”
Dishwashing complied with highest stan-
dards of sanitation. Prominent social serv-
ice workers whom I met there commented
on absence of vermin.

The letter just mentioned had charged
excessive severity in Oakalla discipline. Re-
action of inmates to the appearance among
them of members of the staff did not indicate
fear.

From an unobstrusive vantage point I
watched routine procedure as the men came
in to the goal for dinner. A guard “frisked”

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