Mad Enough to Kill

Chapter 1 - The Most Dangerous Prisoner

Armed robbers, rapists, and murderers walk the long, grim halls of Brookwood Center, one of New York State's maximum security detention centers for male juvenile deliquents; most of them are 15 years old. Brookwood, originally the center for delinquent girls, reverted to a boys' facility for barely a year ago on February 18, 1977, when 14 year old Willie Bosket is admitted. His arrival causes a flurry of excitement among us staff because of recent rumors that he had been shot to death while mugging someone on the streets of Harlem.


Willie is well-known here, even though he just arrived. He was here two years ago in 1974 and early '75 when the New York State Division for Youth turned the BrookwoodCenter for Girls into a co-ed program. After a year, the program failed; the complex problems of simultaneously supervising male and female delinquents had been under-estimated. Riots erupted, and the boys' program was phased out. Willie, only 11 when he first came to Brookwood, left behind an unforgettable reputation as one of the most unmanageable children in Brookwood's history.

Although at that time I was working at the nearby Hudson School for Girls, I had met Willie once. He was at the Hudson railroad station with Brookwood staff, who were putting girls on the train for Christmas home visits; at the same time, I was bringing girls from the Hudson School to the station. I remember a small, angry-looking boy who looked too young to be in a training school (as detention centers were called in those days). Willie was the last boy at Brookwood and would be going home soon, I learned from the staff who introduced us.

"What are you in for?" I asked.

"For stabbing people."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because they mad me mad," he told me.

When Willie arrivbes without warning on February 18, we are more amused and curious than alarmed. We tease Bruce Kline, the staff member who had spread the rumor of Willie's "death," and we feel sheepish about our unquestioning acceptance of the story. Perhaps Willie is not so violent anymore. He is 14 now and his appearance has changed considerably. Although still physically slight and not particularly tall, his delicate baby face has matured and he is very good-looking, though he looks no more than 14. He smiles shyly and says hello when his supervisor, Phil Willams, introduces us in the hallway. I ask him if he remembers meeting me in the Hudson railroad station two years ago. He shakes his head, smiles politely, and says he doesn't remember me.

From then on, I see little of him. I hear he has been exempted from attending school and is working the maintenance department. I don't understand why Brookwood's director,. Tom Pottenburgh, has bestowed such an exceptional privilege on Bosket, but I have little time to reflect on it. Wing 2, which I co-supervise as the assistant to Ed Davis, is in critical shape, and I am nearly overwhelmed by the responsbilities and grave problems we face.

Three 15 year old boys are creating chaos in the wing. All three are physically well-developed, they are illliterate, and they are very hostile. As they are the only black residents in the unit, their intimidation of the eight or nine white boys is creating problems of racial dissention among both boys and staff.

"Niggers don't go to school in Wing 2," a staff member tells me one morning. Wilson Cole*, Leroy Harkins*, and Stewart Jackson* all remain in bed, sleeping till lunch is called at noon. The white residents hate school, too, but they attend, relieved to get away from their three tormentors. Most of the time, Ed Davis is out of the wing; I am left to confront these three "hardrocks" and suffer their defiance and occasional verbal abuse. The rest of the staff are fed up with them, too.

LeRoy Harkins, the most explosive--the biggest trouble-maker of the three-- goes on a 47 day "home visit" from January 13 through March 1. The visit is actually Brookwood's attempt to dump him back on the community, but he gets into trouble and is returned a few days after Willie Bosket arrives. Harkins is more unruly and defiant thean ever. Shortly after he returns, he sees a small, slight, light-skinned black kid wearing a green workman's ocoverall, a yellow hard-hat, and a tool belt with hammers and screw drivers. It is Willie Bosket, quietly and efficiently doing his maintenance tasks.

"Who's that?" Harkins asks me, and "What's he doing?"

I explain it to him. "I want a job just like that," says Harkins. I report his demand to Pottenburgh and Ed Davis, and they have to do some fancy talking to deny h is request and pacify him.

The next couple of months turn into a nightmare. On February 27, Wilson Cole assaults our 50 year old night staff, a tall gentle man who never antagonizes the residents. For no apparent reason, Cole jumps him in the hallway after breakfast and beats him so badly that the floor is covered with blood. The man is rushed to the nearby Columbia-Memorial Hospital emergency room and treated for a large gash on his forehead. His blood pressure shoots up over 200 after the attack.

I am off duty that day. I return the next day to find that the entire staff had been too frightened of the l5 year old attacker to discipline him. A disciplinary hearing is pending, but director Pottenburgh has delayed it, giving Wilson the feeling he is going to escape punishment. When I confront him and threaten him with court action and possible transfer, Cole turns hostile to me. He finds excuses to draw me into arguments, and then threatens me with physical violence. At least three times I have to call for male assistance when he is threatening me. When the disciplinary hearing is finally held weeks later, Pottenburgh lets Cole off the hook with vague threats of a transfer and a slight delay for a home visit. Soon Cole is back to his worst behavior, terrorizing and assaulting the other frightened boys and threatening the staff.

Harkins develops an excessive attachment to me and makes increasing demands on my time and attention. He won't deal with any other staff and frightens them away, including supervisor Ed Davis. Nevertheless, whenever Harkins becomes upset, and he does so with increasing frequency, I have no influence or control over him. He throws violent tantrums that totally disrupt not only Wing 2 but the entire Brookwood program. He becomes so uncontrollable that he has conditioned us to panic when he begins threatening, breaking up the furniture, sometimes hurling obscenities and sobbing. Anytime this happens, frantic calls for help are sent out from Wing 2, and anywhere from six to twelve men rush in to subdue him and lock him in a stripped room until he calms down. A couple of times it requires a pair of handcuffs as well.

Stewart Jackson, the third trouble-maker, is less trouble than the other two, but acts as their accomplice, teasing and threatening the white boys, refusing to attend school. He's not so vicious as the other two, but he llikes to join in on the fun, thereby compounding the problem for the staff.

By the middle of April, Pottenburgh, Davis, and I are the rest of the Brookwood staff are anxious to get rid of Harkins. He seems to be the major problem and he's getting worse. I notice that when one resident becomes unmanageable and is identified as the chief trouble-maker, he acquires a monopoly on that role. Harkins has that monopoly from the day he arrives in July, 1976, until we release him on April 25, 1977, approximately two months after Willie arrives. Perhaps this is why Willie keeps such a low profile for the first two months. Perhaps one trouble-maker of imposing stature acts out the forbidden wishes of the other angry inmates.

Everyone --boys and staff-- is relieved when Harkins leaves. Cole and Jackson are still very hostile, but Harkins's explosive presence was the single most demoralizing influence in the wing. A lot of pressure is off now, especially for me.

Before I can fully unwind and get a better grip on the situation in Wing 2, Willie Bosket abruptly intrudes on my plans. I have nearly forgotten about him during the past two months. The only time I notice him prior to Harkins's departure on April 8 is when Willie gets explosive for some reason and sets off the fire alarm. His supervisor, Phil Williams, and director Pottenburgh rush to apprehend him in the hallway. They flank him and walk him to the infirmary to be locked in a stripped room until he calms down.

I pass them in the long hallway. I am surprised they appear so grim, for Pottenburgh is 6 feet 9 inches tall and weighs at least 300 pounds. Williams is over six feet as well. Willie is no more than 5'' 6" and perhaps 100 ppounds. But the men look uneasy as they escort their small charge to the punishment areas.

Willie's handsome, fine features are contorted in fury. He walks stiffly between the two tall men; he seems possessed by uncontrollable rage--about to explode. If he sees me, he gives no sign, staring straight ahead. I am glad when they pass out of sight. There is something nerve-wracking about Willie's explosive anger.

He does not remain locked up for long and is back on his maintenance job within a few hours. I think no more about him until the first week in May, when he comes to my attention a a far more compelling and frightening manner.

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*The names of all the residents, except for Willie, are changed to protect their confidentiality.

Chapter 2 - Willie Turns on Me

All at once Willie looms into my life in a tense, terrifying drama. It is the beginning of his vicious, irrational behavior toward me, and when he's abusive and threatening, I feel like quitting my job. I question my ability to work with delinquents now; if I tremble before a 14 y ear-old boy, I will have to leave Brookwood.

It is nearly a month since LeRoy Harkins has been released on April 25, and I have staggering problems to contend with in Wing 2. Wilson Cole's burgeoning hostility toward everyone has come into full bloom, causing such demoralization that the entire wing seems about to collapse. Some of the male staff are so frightened of him that they take turns calling in sick, leaving the women on duty alone. On May 19, two days before Willie starts in with me, Wilson becomes violent and yanks the steering wheel of a state car driven by staff Vernon Jeffries. The car swerves toward a tree, but Vernon is able to regain control just in time. Back inside Brookwood, Wilson starts slapping around the white boys in Wing 2 and knocks over big garbage cans in the hall. Vernon calls for assistance; several male staff subdue Wilson and place him in a stirpped room in the infirmary.

Two days later, Wilson is still locked up, still very hostile. Wing 2 staff have to take turns sitting in the infirmary to keep him under constant supervision while he is isolated. Whenever he has to eat or use the bathroom, several men are called to stand by while the door is unlocked. One time he rips the toilet off the floor in a rage.

It is Saturday, May 21. Sometime in the late afternoon, I will have the unpleasant task of supervising him, but during the earlier part of the day, I go outside the enclosed courtyard with five of my boys to supervise their recreation while they ride the two bicycles and play ball. We are outside enjoying the sunshine and fresh air when the locked door opens and Willie and his friend, Dereek Evans, also a Wing l resident like Willie, come out to join us. Marty, the Wing l staff, lets them out and then disappears back inside. I am irritated because he has shifted his authority and responsibility for them to me without even asking and left me alone with seven boys.

For the first time, I realize that I am uneasy when Willie Bosket is around. Just before we went outside, I had talked to John Deters, Wing 1's assistant supervisor. He has been complaining to me recently of the permissive treatment of Willie Bosket; he blames his supervisor, Phil Williams, and director Pottenburgh for coddling Willie, giving him special privileges. Today he's furious because after Willie and Derek Evans had been disruptive all morning, Phil Williams took them off-campus for two hours to pacify them; the rest of the wing had to sit around the smoke-filled lounge and wait until this afternoon before they can go outside or off-campus.

Apparently, Willie and Derek are still being rewarded for their misconduct, and that makes me jittery. Derek is a scary youngster. A 15 year old black kid from New York, he is muscle-bound, sullen, and assaultive. I hear he's serving time for a manslaughter conviction. He rarely looks anyone in the eye and, like Willie, gets more privileges than any other Wing 1 kids. Moreover, he and Willie are "best friends" who hang out together all the time. Together, they are doubly intimidating.

As soon as Bosket and Derek are turned loose on us, they demand the two bicycles from my boys, who silently hand them over. I can tell my boys are frightened of them, and I know I should intervene, but Willie and Derek ride off quickly, ignoring me. They are back within minutes, and I feel very dangerous vibrations. They are riding the bicycles fast, causing my boys to jump out of the way. They are trying to scare us.

One of my boys asks if he can go back inside to use the bathroom. When I try to unlock the door to let him in, I find the lock is jammed. This has happened several times recently: I and other staff have reported it, but so far, it hasn't been fixed. I fight down rising anxiety. Now I am locked outside with Willie Bosket and Derek Evans; I hardly know either one of them, but I have the definite feeling that they are hostile to me. As the only staff present, it is my respon.sibility to keep order and use my authority if necessary to protect the boys I supervise.

My boys watch anxiously as I struggle with the lock. It's no use. Then Bob Decker, one of my boys, offers to climb over the 14 foot wire security fence, go to the front door, and ring the bell for h elp. Everyone at Brookwood knows that the security fences are inadequate and can be scaled in seconds by any boy who wants to escape. Often, staff have asked boys to scale the fence to pick up stray baseballs during recreation.

I give Decker permission to go over the fence. As soon as I do, Willie Bosket leers at me and says:

"Oh, giving permission to go over the fence. That's against the rules here. I'm going to report you."

"Go right ahead," I tell him, trying to appear unconcerned. He laughs and drops the subject, pretending he is playing, but I know better. He is testsing his ability to confront me to see if he can ruffle my composure and
challenge my authority. Minutes seem endless until one of the staff, summoned by Decker's ringing the doodrbell, comes to open the door. I decide to end the recreation period early. I tell my boys and they follow me inside without a murmur of protest. Like me, they are relieved to get away from Willie and Derek, who come back inside with us and return to their wing.

I try to forget about the incident. The entire day is unpsetting and seems fraught with danger now. I know that Wilson Cole will be abusive when it is my turn to supervise him later. Perhaps I am just jumpy about Willie because I know what's coming with Wilson, but I cannot shake the feeling that Willie is out to get me.

Around 2:00 in the afternoon, I am walking down the long hall to my wing when I hear footsteps behind me. Before I can turn around, someone calls loudly, "Hey, Sylvia, are you horny?

Whirling around, I see Willie Bosket, escorted by his staff, Bob Pollock. Pollack leaps toward Willlie and grabs h is arm, but Willie shakes him off. he has a wild look; he seems highly excited. I stop and stare at him, fighting against panic. As I look directly at him, he shouts as loudly as he can, "Sylvia, do you want some dick up your pussy? Did you fuck LeRoy Harkins? Do you fuck Wilson Cole?'

I cannot move or speak. BOb Pollock is horrified. He tells Willie to shut up, but Willie ignores him and laughs loudly in my face. I turn around and walk ahead. I am terrified. Willile has declared open warfare on me. He knows now he can abuse me verbally, talk to me as if I have no authority all, call me filthy names, and get away with it. Bob Pollock tried to stop him, but he is only a line-staff and has no real authority here, and Willie is not afraid of him. I realize that I am now Willie's prime target for abuse, and Pottenburgh and Williams will not take any serious steps to protect me or stop Wille. They are angry at me for reporting the deteriorating conditions at Brookwood to Central Office
recently and criticizing their leniency. Besdies, they act frightened of Willie themselves.

I go to my wing office and try to write diagnostic reports that are overdue, but I can't concentrate. Finally, at 4:00 P.M., it is my turn to go into the locked infirmary and supervise Wilson Cole. It's almost a relief. Even though Cole is hostile to me, at least he is locked up, whereas Willie Bosket is wandering around freely, and just as hostile. At least I will be safely locked up away from Willie for awhile.

As soon as I go to the infirmary and lock myself in, Cole sees me through the widow pane of his locked door; he begins to abuse me, and he is a master at it:

"Sylvia," he calls out in his most sadistic tone, "Is your mother big and fat?"

I try to ignore him, but he repeats the question. "No, she's slightly plump," I tell him.

"When I get outta here, I'm gonna fuck both you and your mother," he says.

"How about your mother. Is she big and fat?" I ask. I decide to give him back some of his own bitter medicine. It is highly unprofessional of me,but I've had enough abuse from him and Bosket today, and I don't feel like taking it lying down anymore.'

Cole is surprised. "Yes, she is, " he says, "but I'm gonna fuck you and your mother."

"Why don't you go home and fuck your own big fat mother?" I suggest calmly.

Cole is astonished. He has never heard me talk like this before. After a momentary startled silence, he gives a loud, crowing laugh. He likes this dirty game.

"Bitch, " he says, 'I'll get your mother's pussy."

"Get your own mother's pussy, you little bastard," I tell him calmly.

"Sylvia, how come you're talking all this shit?"

"Because you're talking all your shit."

"Sylvia, this one's for you," he yells. I look at him from my desk. He is holding up a two-by-four that he has just ripped from the wooden bed frame with his bare hands. "As soon as I get out, Bitch, I'm gonna kill you, " he says.

"Good," I say. Then you can go to jail and spend the rest of your miserable life there, because that's where you belong. My troubles will be over."

He laughs again. "Bitch. This one's for you. As soon as I get out, I'm gonna do the Big One. I'll find where you live."

I get up, walk to his door, and stare eyeball to eyeball with him. "Wilson, you don't scare me. I'm not afraid of any little 15 year old boy."

"I ain't no boy. I'm a man."

Now I laugh sarcasticallly. "I don't see any man. I see a rotten, little 15 year old boy, and you can threaten me all you want. I'm not even going to look over my shoulder when you get out of here. I don't give a damn what you do or say, you don't bother me at all. Too bad God gave you so much brawn and so little brains."

Wilson is speechless. He laughs, but I can see he is stunned by my counter-attack. He knows that he can snap my neck in a second if he feels like it, but at this moment, I don't give a damn. I'll worry about it when he gets out of isolation.

I go back and sit down, and for a few minutes it is quiet. I feel very good because I have discharged some of my repressed rage and outrage at being humiliated and unfairly abused. I'm beginning to calm down.

Suddenly my serenity is shattered. I hear a loud, maniacal laugh outside the locked infirmary door and a taunting voice calls out, "Hey, Sylvia, how would you like some dick up your pussy?"

It is Willie Bosket. Through the door's ventilaton slats at the bottom, I see a quick movement and then hear Willie's voice loudly repeating, "Would you like some dick up your pussy?"

Everyone in Wings l and 2 must hear Willie, but no staff comes to get him, no one calls me on the phone to ask if I want help. Then I hear another loud laugh coming from Wilson Cole's room. He is enjoying himself immensely as an appreciative audience.

Willie repeats his obscene question for the third time. I am very frightened. I am locked up alone, and on either side of me--fortunately behind locked doors--are the two most vicious, violent inmates, and both of them hate me. The administration is against me and I cannot expect any support from my supervisor, Ed Davis, as he, too, is afraid of Wilson and is not going to get himself involved with Willie Bosket on my behalf. For a long time, Davis has resented my superior rapport with LeRoy Harkins; I know I can't look to him for any help now.

After a few minutes , Willie repeats his question again. I decide to try humor.

"What's dick?" I ask.

He repeats it again. "What's pussy?" I ask.

A nasty laugh again from Wilson Cole's locked room. He is expressing his listening enjoyment and paying me back at the same time.

After about five minutes, Willie gets tired of his sadistic game and returns to his wing. When I hear his footsteps retreating, I close my eyes and try to calm down, but I feel very shaky.

Then Wilson calls out, "Sylvia."

"What do you want?"

"What are you gonna do if Willie gets in here?" he asks.

"I'm going to unlock your door and let you out," I tell him.

He laughs loudly. I am emotionally exhausted and sick at heart by the time another staff comes to relieve me at 5:30 and I can go home at last. I'm positive that Willie Bosket is just beginning to terrorize me, and I wonder if I 'll have the courage to keep working at Brookwood.

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Chapter 3 - Mad Enough to Kill


Saturday mornings have always been dreary at Brookwood, but now they hold a special terror. Since Willie began taunting me a couple of weeks ago, Saturdays are dangerous times for me. There is only a skeleton staff and a poorly planned schedule. This creates boredom and boredom can lead to disaster here. Today, on June 4, the silence in the long hallway to the wings seems ominous as my day begins. I try to put Willie out of my mind, but persistent premonitions of a showdown disturb me.

I don't have long to wait. Just before brunch is called, Willie suddenly appears before me in the entranceway between Wings 1 and 2. He blocks my path and stares at me, smirking.

"Whore. Sylvia Honig is a whore."

I have an impulse to dash to the safety of my wing, but I don't dare lose face before a resident, and any sign of weakness may incite him further. Besides, I want him punished.

I have difficulty breathing, but I force myself to stand still and glare back at him. "I've had enough of your filthy remarks. I'm going to report it to your staff."

"I'll get him for you," Willie says sarcastically and disappears into Wing l. Seconds later he reappears with John Deters, Wing 1's assistant supervisor. Deters looks nervous. Like me, he is on the administrative black list and has no real authority here. Pottenburgh and Williams are gunning for him because he is critical of the program, and Willie Bosket is a sore point. Deters had complained about the permissive treatment of Willie to Phil Williams and has been told to keep his hands off the case.

Facing me now, Deters is caught in the middle. We are friends, but if he butts into the Bosket case, he is sticking his neck in a noose.

"John, Willie has been making nasty remarks to me for weeks now. I've h ad enough of it. I've asked him to stop, but he won't."

"Just ignore him," John says.

"I'm trying to." I turn and walk away. I can feel Willie gloating. John's betrayal is more painful and more infuriating than Willie's victory.

Back in the relative safety of my wing, I try to collect myself so that my own boys and staff won't notice how upset and frightened I am. From Deters's weak-sister response, I realize I will have to plan the day carefully to avoid further encounters with Willie.

Brunch is called and Wings 1 and 2 converge in the hallway to the cafeteria. I lag behind to stay out of Willie's sight. I pass through the dining room and go directly into the large, steaming kitchen. The clanging of pots and dishes, the bustling activity of the kitchen staff preparing a lavish brunch for twenty-five hungry boys, seems safer than the dining room where my 14-year-old tormentor sits waiting for another shot at me.

Art Randolph, the Wing 4 supervisor, is eating breakfast at a small table in the kitchen. A large, heavy-set black man who backs down before no resident, he has physically subdued assaultive boys on occasion, and he commands respect. I tell Art about my unpleasant incident with Willie this morning. He keeps on eating his eggs and toast, listening, nodding, but makes no offer to help. My hopes for the day grow dimmer.

Deters comes into the kitchen and starts telling me he is fed up with Willie Bosket, but as long as Pottenburgh and Willaims keep pampering him, he's not going to stick his neck out. I feel he should have reprimanded Willie, regardless of Willie's privileged position.

"Now that Willie got away with it, he'll keep it up, " I tell him. "I want something done about it."

Suddenly Willie is right up in my face, seething with anger, eyes bulging and burning with rage, face contorted with fury. "Don't you ever talk about me behind my back," he shouts.

My mind goes absolutely blank. The intensity of his attack paralyzes me. My silence goads him on. "If you have anything to say about me, say it to my face," he commands.

"I AM saying it to your face," I answer stiffly, knowing my words are defensive and meaningless. He stands there smoldering, eyes riveting on me. Dishes and spoons and knives and forks are crashing all around us. Knives and forks. All at once I am conscious of weapons everywhere. Cleavers, butter knives, paring knives, forks. I have a vivid image of Willie picking up a knife and plunging it into me. I am positive that he wants to stab me.

Deters stands stupidly by without a word. The three plump elderly women cooks keep on turning pancakes, frying eggs, smearing butter on toast, as if nothing is happening. Art Randolph is drinking coffee as if this angry drama is not even taking place. The boys in the dining room do not even glance at the tight little knot of Willie, Deters, and me, locked in a struggle of authority, power, and hatred. But everyone is keenly aware of what is going on.

For interminable seconds Willie glares at me. I can hear his breathing, feel my face burning, sense John's discomfort. But I cannot move. I can only hope that one one can tell how terrified I am.

Abruptly Willie turns and stomps back into the dining room. Relieved, I shoot an accusing look at Deters and walk away. I would like to run at full speed, but I walk slowly. I am almost into the hallway when there's a loud laugh, and a jeering voice announces, "Willie is going to beat up Sylvia." I stop and turn around. It is Stewart Jackson, one of my boys, getting even with me for not taking him off-campus earlier. I have no time for him now.

Once out of sight, I rush to the infirmary and charge in so violently that Marilyn, the nurse, lets out a small shriek. I lock the two of us in and tell her about Willie. She is sympathetic because she, too, believes that Pottenburgh and Williams are playing games with Willie for their own sadistic amusement. We have discussed it before, and she has told me that Wille has been hostile to her in the past.

I call John Deters in the cafeteria. The minute he says hello, I launch into a tirade, demanding that he control Willie and keep him away from me. I slam down the phone, wait till I'm calmer, and then dial Pottenburgh at his home. His line is busy. I learn later it's Deters telling him about Willie and me. Ten minutes later the line is free and Pottenburgh answers. I light into him, reminding that Willie has been getting away with murder--assaulting p eople, coming in drunk, cursing and threatening everyone, destroying property.

" I want him controlled and off my back, " I tell Pottenburgh. I don't care what you do with him. Take him to China for all I care, but I want him off myback or I'll be in the governor's office Monday morning."

I get a hushed,weak response. He says he'll take care of it.

After awhile, I return to my wing. The minute I see Steward Jackson, I lose my temper. I'm very jumpy now, even though Wing 1 is quiet and there is no sign of Willie. I give Jackson hell for his inflammatory remark in the cafeteria and promise him he won't be going anywhere off-campus with me for a long time until I see a complete change i n his moronic, irresponsible behavior. He gives me a lot of mouth, but he doesn't scare me, even though he is over 200 pounds, not-too-bright, and very assaultive. It is Willie--little, 90 pound, baby-faced Willie with his handsome, delicate features and boyish charm--who terrifies me. He is nice to people who are indulgent with him, but vicious to those he dislikes. And he hates me.

Around two in the afternoon, I pull his record from the general file and skim over it. He has been institutiionalized on and off since the age of nine. He has stabbed people, hit them with staplers, set fire to a ward at Bellevue, tried to strangle a secretary, tried to bash in the skull of a psychiatrist, threatened and assaulted droves of people. He is extremely dangerous.

Back at the wing, I learn that Deters has taken Willie off-campus on a fishing trip. As usual, Willie is being rewarded for bad behavior. But at least I am safe for the rest of the day.

Around 4:30, I think about going home. Thank God this nightmarish day is nearly over. Then a loud commotion comes from Wing 1. I hear people shouting, people running. I dash into the hall and nearly collide with John Deters, who looks frantic.

"Sylvia, go into the infirmary and keep an eye on Neil Westgate. He's locked up in a stripped room. He just tried to kill himself. The boys caught him and Willie in the shower having sex and Neil tried to cut his wrists. I have to go after Willie."

Someone from Wing 1 yells, "Willie's got the keys to the truck." Men pour out of all four wings, running toward the maintenance department. John dashes away. The whole place is charged with violent excitement.

I peek into the stripped room where frightened 14 -year old Neil Westgate is lying face down on the thin mattresss. Even though the plexiglass window of the locked door, I sense his despair Everyone knows he has been waiting for weeks to be transferred to the psychiatric ward of a state hospital. The Wing 1 staff should have kept a closer watch on him. After awhile, a female staff from Wing 1 comes to watch him. I return to my wing.

Someone fills me in on the current crisis. After he comes back from fishing, Willie goes to take a shower. When some of the boys catch him with Neil, they laugh and broadcast the news. Willie is not amused. He throws on his clothes, announces he is going to kill Phil Williams, and slams out of the wing. Minutes later, he is downstairs, then outside, then in the state pick-up truck, speeding away toward Williams's house across the road from Brookwood, with at least fifteen men in pursuit. When the truck stalls at the edge of the campus, they restrain Willie and take him back to the maintenance shop at Brookwood. The moment they let go, he grabs a large fire extinguisher and turns it on them. The men run for cover, giving Willie time to pick up a crowbar. For the next half hour, he menances and threatens to kill anyone who approaches him. Around 5:30 he becomes tired, is talked into putting down the crowbar, and agrees to go back upstairs and serve his discipline.

Before I leave for the day, Willie taken to the infirmary and locked in a stripped room. Pottenburgh , Williams and four or five others who think they have a close relationship with Willie remain on stand-by for hours aft erward, counseling him, calming him, lighting his cigarettes. None of the three psychologists or resident psychiatrist is called. Willie never bothers with them. Only his favorite staff have the privilege of counseling him.

When I finally start for home, I am in better shape emotionally than I was when I came to work, for despite the ugly confrontation between Willie and me earlier in the day, I now have two powerful consolations: First, Willie has gone much too far this time. He will have to be stopped somehow--disciplined and supervised better so that he can no longer call the shots at Brookwood.

My second consolation is even more reassuring: I know that Willie hates me and wants to hurt me. Bu t when he was mad enough to kill---Phil Williams, not I---had been his target.

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Chapter 4 - Further Encounters with Willie

For a few days after his wild rampage, Willie simmers down. I hear he is supposed to be locked up in the infirmary for a week, and occasionally I get a glimpse of him when he is let out of his locked room to smoke or talk to one of the staff. He gets a lot of attention from Pottenburgh, Phil Williams, and Jake, the maintenance foreman, who take turns going to the infirmary to counsel him. The Wing 1 staff arre supposed to counsel him too, and I am sure Minerva, his favorite staff, visits him. Neither the psychiatrist nor any of the three resident psychologists go near him.

John Deters is disgusted with the entire case. He has little to do with Willie. Deters tells me that Willie did say he was angry with me because I went to the maintenance shop to try to take away his job so that I could put two of my boys in his p lace. I tell Deters that that's a lie. He tells Willie what I said and reports to me that Willie doesn't believe me, he doesn't like me, and he refuses to talk to me. I don't want to talk to him anyway. I consider him unreasonable and vicious; besides, he is not my responsibility; let Phil Williams worry about him. I decide to ignore him from now on and assert myself only if he starts abusing me again.

It's not easy to ignore him, as he's off his discipline before the week is up, although I believe he is suspended from his maintenance job for a week. Occasionally I pass him in the hall, and when he sees me, he is somber and quiet, but I look directly at him with my coldest, most disapproving stare. I want him to realize I will not tremble before him, I have nothing to say to him, and I require only that he keep his distance.

On June 10, six days after Willie's rampage, I get a memorandum from Pottenburgh in reference to my confrontation with Willie and the telephone call I made to Pottenburgh demanding that Willie be controlled. The memo accuses of of being "...a person in a state of fear who seemed to be over-reacting and developing a state of panic anxiety." Pottenburgh is blaming me for Willie's attack on me!

After reading this rambling, poorly-written memo, I go to see Pottenburgh. I tell him the memo is an obvious attempt to build a case against me so he can fire me because I had reported Brookwood's deterioration to the New York State legislature recently. I give him until Tuesday to rescind it. He acts nervous and guilty, but agrees to rescind it in writing. However, when I come to work on Tuesday, he gives me a short note saying that he has changed his mind.

Within an hour, I present him with a long memo telling him I consider his memo a transparent, unethical attempt to discredit me for criticizing and reporting his administrative failures to the state legislators. I add a detailed chonology of events on Willie Bosket, including the incidents of Willie setting off the fire alarm, coming in drunk, stealing alcoholic beverages from local stores, striking staff including Pottenburgh himself, commanding Pottenburgh to sign a paper promising not to discipline him, going on runaway duty with Jake, breaking the windows and smashing a wooden partition, trying to kill Phil Williams, and carrying a full set of insititution keys. I send copies to Sid Zirin, Division for Youth liaison staff, Ed Davis, and Peter Edelman, the Division director. Six days later, Pottenburgh sends me a weak, defensive response dated June 20. There are no copies of the memo. This is the last time he ever sends me a reproving memo, and he never mentions Willie Bosket to me again.

Besides the memos, there are other grim reminders of Willie. One day I run into a forlorn figure, Neil Westgate, the resident who was caught in the shower with Willie. He is escorted by Wing 1 staff Black Hawk, and we stop to talk. Neil asks me if he can transfer to my wing because Willie keeps hurting him....bending back his fingers and hitting him, and the Wing 1 staff can't seem to stop it. I tell him I'm sorry, but transfers are not allowed. Black Hawk takes me aside and tells me that when the administration hooked up the loudspeaker system recently, he and the entire population of Brookwood could hear Willie announcing, "Suck my dick," and other obscene statements for all to hear. He could also hear Marty Gallenter, the Wing 1 staff on duty, trying unsuccessfully to stop Willie. Apparently the catastrophic events of June 4 and the subsequent discipline have worn off and Willie is returning to his old, sadistic ways.

But now Willie is no longer uppermost i n my mind. Other traumatic events have eclipsed his murderous June 4 rampage. On Friday night, June 10, two large, dangerous residents of Wing 3 are left alone in the wing with Al DiSimone, a middle-aged, mild-mannered staff, while the rest of the Wing 3 boys and staff go off -campus to a movie. The two boys jump DiSimone, choke him into unconsciousness, and abscond with his money, his keys, and his car. He is found by Wing 4 staff and rushed to the Columbia Memorial Hospital in Hudson where he remains in intensive care for five days. The radio and newspapers are blasting the news Saturday morning, and when I arrive at Brookwood, it's the main topic of discussion. Within two days, the boys are apprehended in Buffalo and returned to Brookwood. The choatic events here have finally reached a climax with Willie Bosket's explosive behavior, the surprise visit from the state legislators I invited, and this well-publicized attack and escape from a so-called maximum security institution---all within little more than a week.

Drastic measures are taken. On Tuesday, June 14, Wings 2 and 3 switch places. Our entire population of Wing 2 --boys and staff--move upstairs to Wing 3. Wing 2, which has been chosen because it is downstairs next to the infirmary, becomes a maximum security wing within a maximum security institution--a lock-up within a lock-up. Our wing loses staff Vernon Jeffries to Wing 2; Black Hawk is Wing 1's contribution. Chick Hughes and Moses Chestnut join the new security staff. The two supervisors of former Wing 3 now supervise Wing 2.

Three boys become the first residents of the new closed security wing: the two who mugged Di Simone and Wilson Cole, from our wing. Ed Davis jumps at this great opportunity to put Wilson there after Wilson --for the twentieth or thirtieth time --attacked Mark Langley, a small, frightened white boy who was Wilson's favorite target. It's a relief to all of us in our new Wing 3 to be rid of Cole at last. Perhaps now we can regain control and put things back in order.

An unexpected advantage for me is the fact that o ur new location in Wing 3 is upstairs, across from Wing 4. No longer will I be across from Wing 1 where Willie Bosket resides. That means I will see even less of him -- a comforting thought.

But two days later, I have an unexpected encounter with Willie. On Thursday evening, June 16, he comes upstairs and asks to speak to me. Taken by surprise, I step out in the hall so that we can talk privately. I notice he is polite and calls me "Miss Honig." He seems subdued and uneasy.

He tells me he has learned he made a mistake and now realizes that I was not trying to take away his job. I am astonished, but I remain unruffled and stifle my curiosity. I would like to ask him how he found out he was mistaken or why he thought I was trying to take away his job in the first p lace, but I am too relieved to say anything but accept his apology and offer my hand. We shake hands and he goes back downstairs.

I return to the wing dazed and elated. Now I have one less overwhelming problem to contend with at Brookwood. I tell the other staff on duty about it, and they, too, seem surprised. My ugly confrontations with Willie are common knowledge at Brookwood.

Later, when I think it over, I feel certain that no one influenced Willie to make amends. He must have decided independently that he prefers my friendship to my animosity. I try to figure out his motives and decide that he rarely shows hostility to women; perhaps it is foreign to his nature. I also believe that my cold, haughty stares made him uncomfortable. Because I was so totally defenseless under his attacks, with no administrative support and no real authority to punish him, I felt that staring him down was my only weapon. The old saying, "If looks could kill..." sometimes applies. It may have worked for me this time.

Although greatly relieved by Willie's change of heart toward me, I am still uneasy. Because I had experienced such emotional upheaval under his savage verbal attacks, I don't feel certain that our new truce will last. I know how temperamental he is, and my experiences with other explosive Brookwood residents advise me that they run hot and cold.

But Willie surprises me.

Shortly after our truce, I am standing in the infirmary talking to nurse Marily Buschman. Suddenly Willie comes flying in shouting, "Boo!" to scare Buschman. He doesn't see me until I scream because his little trick, aimed at frightened her, has startled me instead.

"My God, Willie, " I say with exasperation, "do you want me to drop dead of a heart attack?"

I shake him by his shoulders and he laughs uproariously. From then on, he takes every opportunity to sneak up behind me and scream "Boo!" He is so adept and inventive in his scare tactics that I nearly suffer coronaries on a couple of occasions. Then one day, I see him p utting soda in a vending machine in the administrative area. His back is to me and I am wearing wedgies with rubber soles. Here is my chance for revenge. When I'm practically on top of him, I scream "Boo!" Willie jumps a foot in the air, spins around, and is delighted with my coup. I can play the game as well as he, and he appreciates a good player.

Once in awhile he stops briefly to chat with me in the hallway. One day he shows me how he can turn off and on the institution's fire alarms. He takes a large screw driver out of his tool belt to illustrate. That's how I know he carries large tools that could serve as weapons. He is not trying to flaunt his unusual power....he is only trying to be friendly.

Another day he surprises me again. It is August 13, one month before his release. He comes up to Wing 3 this paticular Saturday afternoon dressed in his workman's coverall and asks politely if he can talk to me out in the hall. When I step outside, he produces a ring made from a sterling silver teaspoon. The ring is heavy, ornate, and beautiful.

"Someone made this for you and told me to give it to you," he says with a wide grin.

"Willie, it's beautiful," I say, examining it, "and I know you're the someone who made it for me."

I thank him and kiss him on the cheek. He goes away with a big smile, and I am left with a warm, good feeling about him. I think about him for awhile and, based on recent events...his continuing assaults on staff and residents, I know he is still dangerous, but I feel certain he will never be dangerous to me again. We are friends now, and Willie is not the kind of person to make friends easily or treat friendship lightly.

After that, I see very little of him. I come down with a bad case of sinusitis that sends me to the hospital emergency room one day and puts me out of work for over a week. When I return on September 6, I have a lot of work to catch up on. I see Willie once or twice before he is released on September 15. He is always friendly, and I mean to have a longer chat with him before he goes back to the community and wish him good luck, but somehow I miss that opportunity.

When I come to work on September 16, John Deters tells me that Willie has raised hell the night before his release and that he is glad to be rid of him at last. he assures me that "...one of these days, Willie is going to kill somebody."

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In the next few months, I hear occasional news about Willie from John Deters. Willie isn't doing very well, he has left the group home where he was placed when he left Brookwood, he is back home in Harlem. Gradually, I hear less of him and in a few months it seems as if he is forgotten at Brookwood.

But one day in March, 1978, six months after his release from Brookwood, the name of Willie James Bosket, Jr. resounds again through Brookwood's long, grim halls. Everyone is talking about him. The Division for Youth has just learned that Willie is the 15 year old who gunned down three men in the New York subway stations--killing two of them. He is about to become the most notorious juvenile in New York State.

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posted by Teeko @ Wednesday, January 25, 2006

1 Comments:

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At 7:23 PM, Rena00 said…

Whoa. I just got finished reading all of this and I must say that I don't know how you're still standing. Me personally, I would've gone crazy handling those kids, especially that one former kid, Cole. I never knew just how obscene and wild teenagers could be. And yes, Willie Bosket was just as wild on the streets as you've described him. Through various family members, he was a handful. And I'm unsure as to whether or not you're aware of this but having sexual relations with other males (and I'm referring to those whom were within his age group) didn't start in juve. I heard he's now sulking in sorrow buy hey, what can you do.

It's funny because there isn't an article nor book in which has captured actual situations as you've done throughout your whole story. You should write a book (that is if you haven't) regarding your experiences a SW.