University of Illinois - Illio Yearbook (Urbana Champaign, IL)

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A LEAF FROM A LAWYER ' S NOTE-BOOK The writer knows but little about fiction: doubtless so much the worse for him. He is incapable of imaginative writing. The story which follows is in every detail true, except that names and locations have been substituted for the real ones in or- der to avoid the possibility of unmerited humiliation to one whom I believe to be worthy. At the time it bears date, the following note came in my mail: Albany Penitentiary, Albany, New York, June 27, 1884. My dear sir:- I am a life-convict in this prison, convicted of a crime I never committed. I have been here eight years. You have the power to procure my release and to give me another chance in life. If you will come and see me I will convince you that I am worthy of your help. Will you not let me have the opportunity? JS Very truly yours, 3 George Baker. £] Circumstances were such that I frequently received letters pleading for help from prisoners at the Albany Penitentiary. These letters were ordinarily verbose, and often inconsistent. I paid no attention to any of them. But the one from George Baker bored its way into my life. I carried it in my pocket and read it frequently. Several times I made the move to throw it in the waste basket, but its brevity and directness, the good English and the clear, well-rounded writing stopped me each time. The matter grew upon me until I could no longer resist the impulse to go and learn what sort of a being George Baker was. I went to the prison and asked the warden what he knew of the prisoner. He said he was an exceptional prisoner, never gave trouble, was some thirty-five years old, clean and wholesome in person, and given to reading and study beyond any other man in their charge. I asked that he be brought out, and in a few minutes he came through the heavy iron door into the room to which I had been shown. The man was yet more impressive than his letter. Even in his striped prison clothes he was attractive. He was quite six feet two inches, without surplus fat so common in prison life, and straight as an arrow. His face was winsome, his teeth and finger nails cared for. He looked at me squarely, and his voice was low, steady and confident. I had it in my mind that I would resist him; that I would not let a life-convict engage my feelings or occupy my time. But my determination oozed out as he told me his story. Baker said he had kept a drug store in a Rocky Mountain town, admitted frankly that he had done some things he ought not to have done, but insisted that he had never committed a crime, and had never before been charged with one. lam become a name. — Adolph Kkeikenhaum. 7