OPEN FORUM: Jails

By DELMAR LEATHAM

The jail in Moapa lacked all of the modern conveniences that prisoners enjoy today. There was no exercise yard, no chow hall and no library. It was a small rock building with no air conditioning. The typical jail house bars formed the door. During the heat of the summer, it was unbearable to stay in it.

Its first guest was reportedly a fellow traveling on the train as a no-ticket passenger. When the train stopped in Moapa to drop off the mail, he hopped out of a box car and headed straight to the only bar in town. After a brief fight with a local patron, he was arrested and thrown into the best jail in Moapa.

After three days the sheriff remembered that he had a prisoner locked up in his jail. The prisoner spent three days without food or water during the summer heat locked in a tiny cell. There was no one around to hear his shouts.
The hobo was more than happy to hop on the next train out of town.

That hobo was the one and only person to ever occupy that jail. The small rock building is located on the north side of the railroad tracks just west of the old Moapa Post office.

As a side note, I remember going to the train station across from the Moapa bar to pick up packages of goods that my mother had ordered from Sears and Roebuck. I got a bow and arrow set for Christmas that year. I knew what I was getting when we picked it up at the depot. It was hard to disguise what was in that long thin tube wrapped in brown butcher paper.

Overton had a similar jail with a tin roof. Cleo Whitney was the sheriff.
One evening a group of Scouts and I met with him at the jail to learn fingerprinting. As part of the demonstration, he took out his Billie club and beat on the tin roof. I quickly gained a great deal of respect for that club.

He also carried a black jack in his pocket. It was loaded with lead shot and also demanded your respect.
Officer Whitney was a large man and all of the local residents called him Moose. It was a term of endearment although I never knew anyone who called him that to his face.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I ran for a student body office. We had spent most of one evening making campaign posters.

About midnight three of us took the posters up on the school roof to be displayed. As we were coming down, we heard a loud shout and an instruction to get our hands up. Officer Whitney and his volunteer deputy had their guns drawn and their lights shining in our eyes.

We were questioned and detained until those officers determined that we were not a danger to others or a threat to property.

The lesson learned that night was to obey the commands of the police until they can determine if there is a danger to themselves or to others.

It’s a tough job being a small-town cop with limited facilities. Thanks to all the officers over the years who have kept their heads and used common sense in dealing with high school delinquents.

My first experience with prisons began in the first grade. We were told where to stand, where to sit, when to eat and when to go to the bathroom. Reading, writing and arithmetic were secondary to obedience. I should have gotten out early for good behavior but I got the same reward as the bad kids.

I’m reminded of the baby elephant that was tied to a tree with a big rope and he became so conditioned to the restraint that, as an adult elephant, it only took a small rope to contain him.

Those early grade school lessons taught most of us the rules we needed to obey to be productive members of society. When those early lessons go unheeded, I guess the best government can do is build jails and throw money at the failures.

I don’t have a student loan to be paid back but I would like to have my time as a first grader back.
Until my next column, be safe, be happy and try to go unnoticed by the warden.