I was assigned to State work and did odd jobs about the institution. I soon tired of this, however, and made application to be sent out on contract. I was assigned to the shoe contract, and began my work there by sewing buttons on women’s shoes.
All my life I have been restless. The thought of staying at one position for any considerable time was enough in itself to make me long for a change. I played my sight against the position and won out. I was given work at polishing the bottoms of shoes. This suited me to a T. It was one of the cinch jobs of the contract, and I was mighty lucky to get it. It was my sight that got it, not I.
For an hour each day I could exercise in the yard, a privilege denied to those who worked. I stayed at this work until I left the institution, some six months later. When I did leave I knew about as much of the shoe business as I did when I started, and that was nothing at all. So much for the argument that the contract system is conducive to trade-learning.
The day finally came for my discharge. I was dressed in a suit of shoddy material worth about five dollars. I was given the magnificent sum of four dollars and left to shift for myself. This brings to light another reason why so many men return to the underworld. They have been incarcerated for a long number of years. Friends and home are all gone. The money given them is soon used. There is no one to whom they can turn, so they return to the places where the criminals meet. It’s not natural that they should starve, and they have too much pride to beg. They see an opportunity to get some easy money and they take the chance; the chance more than often proves a fall. Another step is thus taken in the making of the habitual criminal.
CHAPTER X
CRIMINAL CLASSES
The professional criminal is a type little understood by the vast majority of people. Most people imagine him a type of man inherently and thoroughly vicious, with no saving grace in his character. The criminals I have known are not of this kind. Be it understood in writing of “professional” criminals that I mean the one known to the police as the professional man, the man who steals in some shape or another for a living, not the murderer or the ravisher, not the bigamist or the assaulter of women. These crimes are as foreign to the professional crook as they are to the average man.
The underworld can be divided into two principal classes, those of settled dispositions, preying in the locality in which they reside, and those whose methods take them about the entire country and world. The former class is the less numerous. It is characterized by particularly petty acts. Working in the majority of cases under the protection of the police or some ward heeler, these men are seldom apprehended. In this class is found the petty “dip” (pickpocket), who makes the street cars and the markets his specialty. The confidence man who has seen better days, making his hangout in some second-class hotel, picking up a few pennies here and there with the connivance of the police, is another type. The receiver of stolen goods (a fence), with his little store as a blind, belongs to this group. Then there is the second-story man domiciled in some cheap lodging house, from whence he makes his nightly excursions into the realms of “chance.” In the city residing from year to year is also found the “stool” (informer). The police, knowing them to be incapable of big work, allow them to prey within certain restrictions for the information they bring to them. The stool never or seldom leaves the city. His chances of returning would be slight indeed if the fact were ever found out. The stool is a big asset to every police department. Through him the police are notified of the presence in town of any of the big men of the profession. Living in the underworld, he has means of getting advance information of some job to be pulled off. He does work for which he receives in pay the supposed friendship of the police. The petty tricks that he pulls off pass unnoticed. If, by any chance, he should find himself within the clutches of the law, his friendship with the police, in most cases, is sufficient to have the case against him dropped. Of course the stool is not known as such among his companions of the underworld. He remains a stool, pulsating with life, only because he is successful in blinding his pals to his hypocrisy.
In that class which makes the world its field are found the big men of the profession: the counterfeiter, not the maker of silver coin, but the fellows whose specialties are notes from a hundred up; the keen, quick-witted forger, the well-groomed and affable “con man”; the bank thief, nimble and light of foot; the badger man and woman, heartless and cunning in their scheming. Among the rougher workers are found the yegg, nerveless and cool in the face of danger, the stick-up man, with his stealthy tread and ever-ready “rod,” the “prowler” (burglar), and a host of others. In this class are found the “wanted” men of the profession. By railroad and boat they travel over the face of the earth. Living with their kind, ransacking the world in search of plunder, they live their life.