Eastern Penitentiary*, Philadelphia

Right: EASTERN Penitentiary

*a.k.a. Cherry Hill Prison.

Philadelphia Inquirer, Monday, May 9, 1881

Cherry Hill Prison, 1881
An English Gentleman’s Impressions of that Famous Prison.
The Gloomy Penitentiary of Charles Dickens’ American Notes Viewed in Another Light—How the Prisoners are Treated.

Mr. Frederick Fullerton Armstrong who recently arrived in this country and who intends to proceed to Rugby Tennessee the colony planted by Thomas Hughes where he will edit the Rugbeian furnishes the following sketch descriptive of a visit to the Eastern Penitentiary.

It will be interesting to the reader to compare it with the account another Englishman Charles Dickens wrote of the same prison nearly forty years ago:

The sunshine was streaming fiercely down on the dusty pavement and the double line of bright red houses filled the air with a lurid glow; making one almost pant with heat. Hailing a street-car I placed myself on the shady side and asked the conductor to let me know when we arrived at the Eastern Penitentiary. After some twenty minutes’ drive I was duly notified of my arrival, and jumping from the side of the car I found myself gazing upon a huge gray stone building that looked strangely cool and quiet in the blinding sunshine.

Crossing the roadway, I advanced up a short court-yard and found myself opposite a formidable iron gateway. On the left-hand side a small doorway was standing open and on peering through this I saw the gate porter reclining in a comfortable, tipped-up chair evidently enjoying the comparative coolness engendered by the massive thickness of the walls and the utter impossibility of the sun’s forcing an entrance.

As my eyes got used to the gloom, I proceeded to take stock of my surroundings. I found myself in a kind of covered archway of considerable length and shut off from the prison proper by a second iron gate of enormous size and massive proportions. On either side were staircases leading up, as I afterward learned, to the warden’s and doctors’ quarters. After waiting a while, Mr. Cassidy, the warden, came down from his midday meal and I handed him my letter. He was a tall, fine-looking man, with a grave, reflective looking face and wonderfully keen eye. He stared solemnly at the missive I presented to him, and then read it over with the very greatest deliberation.

“Hmm! Want to see the prison? Very little to see. Come along.” With these words he led the way towards the second gate, and passing through this I found myself within the precincts of the prison. A flagged pathway flanked on either side with bright green lawns, led across the entrance hall on the main prison building.

The first thing that struck my eye were two magnificent mirrors placed on opposite sides of the hallway, and I felt naturally surprised at such a very unexpected sight, but after we had passed them, Mr. Cassidy turned round and showed me that by these means the entrance and exit of every person was reflected to the keeper. Everything was scrupulously clean from the gray marble flooring to the white washed ceiling.

On arriving at the end of the entrance passage I found myself in a large circular hall, brilliantly lighted and perfectly ventilated. Taking up a position in the centre of this hall, Mr. Cassidy pointed out to me the plan of the arrangement. This was decidedly good. The circular hall formed, as it were, the axle-box, and the various corridors all radiated off this, forming the spokes of the wheel. By this means a keeper standing in the middle of the hall controlled every one of the corridors.

Each corridor had an upper and lower tier of cells, with a railed iron pathway running round the upper tier, to which the cell doors opened. Handling me over to the care of the schoolmaster, Mr. Cassidy told him to show me what I wished to see. On my saying I would like to look over the cells the schoolmaster led the way to the upper tier of one of the corridors, and on reaching the top of the staircase conducted me through a narrow doorway and ushered me into a fair-sized room, small, of course, but still with ample accommodation. “What a very pretty room,” I remarked. “I suppose this is yours?” “Oh, no; this is one of the cells,” he replied. “What!” I said, “Do you mean to tell me this on one of the cells?” “Certainly,” said he; “and this cell belongs to the man Charles Dickens interviewed when he was examining our prisons.

It is not the same cell, but it is the identical man; he is back here how on his eighth sentence; he never likes to stay away long from us.” I gazed around me in silent amazement. The place looked more like the officers’ quarters of some crack cavalry corps than a prison cell. The walls of the cell were exceedingly cleverly decorated in distemper the colors artistically blended, and the tout ensemble exceedingly effective.

The pictures were suspended on the walls and on each side of the mirror were some portraits in oil, family portraits—I should imagine—ancestors probably of the occupant—whom it doubtless pleased him to have about him. In the left-hand corner, near the door, was a most comfortable bed with a tasteful quilt, evidently designed to harmonize with the carpeting and rest of the furniture. In the opposite corner was a book-shelf with a good assortment of books and a neat collection of pipes were suspended below.

On a ledge between the bed and the book-shelf were the various toilet requisites, scented soap, brushes, scissors,, pomade, etc.; on the right-hand side was fixed the table with its pretty coverlet arranged with photographs in neat frames and some books and knickknacks. An open card board box lying on the table was the owner’s cash box—he evidently had a high opinion of the honesty of his neighbors—and in it was a $2.50 gold piece and a quantity of small money, some seventeen or eighteen shillings altogether, I should think. An arm chair, rocking chair, stool and cabinet completed the internal arrangements of this cell.

When I had a little got over my astonishment I inquired whether this was a fair sample of an ordinary cell, and was told this one was fitted up at the prisoner’s own expense. On further inquiry I was informed that a prisoner could provide himself, or be provided by his friends, with pretty much whatever he pleased, with the exception of food and clothing. “Now, look here,” I said to my conductor, “I should very much like to see an ordinary prison cell-I mean a cell with simply the regulation articles provided by the State.”

Passing round to the other side of the corridor, he conducted me into one of the cells there. I now had an opportunity of seeing what an American cell was really like. There was a pallet bed with a coarse rug and some not over-clean sheeting; a wooden table and stool,, a couple of buckets, a small looking-glass, a knife, fork and spoon and metal plate, a kind of small wooden cupboard, and a shell containing books and other articles.

The floor was boarded and very far from clean, and the whole cell and its contents had a dirty, untidy appearance. Another cell that I afterward entered to see a man making stockings was also dirty and untidy, but the corridors, staircase, etc., were as clean as possible. As I passed along I noticed another cell got up in the most gorgeous style, the walls hung with crewel work and sporting prints (rather an odd combination) and the carpeting and upholstering gaudy and extensive in the extreme. From the cells I was conducted over the library and kitchens. The former I found well stocked with books of every description and most admirably arranged to meet all possible requirements.

The kitchen and bakehouse were beautifully clean, and the food and supplies appeared to be of the best quality. From the inquiries I made it seemed to me that the prisoners had just as much food as they wanted and this was borne out by my own observations, for I remarked that in the cells I entered there was meat and bread in the cupboards, which proved to me that there could not be any actual hunger existing. At the expiration of some tow hours stay in the Penitentiary I came to the conclusion that a man could be very comfortable there and under any circumstances, even if he were guilty of the hideous crime of being poor, would not be half so badly off as an ordinary English laborer.

Now comes the difficult question to decide: Is this the best way to treat criminals? And does the practical working of it prove that the great end and aim of a prison system is arrived at namely, the reformation of the criminal and the decrease of crime? If this question can be satisfactorily proved, then the problem is solved and the whole present European system of prison discipline mush be abandoned and the old country must once more own that our young cousins are just right ahead of us.” The two systems are so entirely different that it is a most difficult question to analyze, and practical results alone must decide the question.

The English system is to make a man as uncomfortable as possible and so deter, or rather frighten him from further crime. The American system, on the contrary, tries by kindness, by precept by example, to lead a man to higher, better life; strives to show him what industry will do for him and to inculcate a taste and habitude for persistent, steady work.

This at least appears to me to be the case and aim of the Eastern Penitentiary, and although the almighty dollar evidently goes a long way, a great and good work is still being done, and statistics prove that it is so. Crime in America is on the decrease and the percentage of criminals less than in Europe.