Chapter 2
The next Monday morning, Steven was taken to the administration building, where, after the required paperwork was completed, he was reunited with his personal property, and turned over to a middle-aged, unremarkable looking man who directed him to his car. He put Steven’s personal property into the trunk, and closed the lid. Steven was standing quietly, waiting to be handcuffed, so he wasn’t a threat to the driver. He was shocked when the driver opened the passenger side door and told him to get in and relax for a few moments until he signed even more paperwork. The driver came out of the office, got in the car, put the car in gear, said “Let’s get out of this place!” and drove away.
He asked the driver exactly where it was that he was being taken. He was worried because he had been given no information about the place he was going, not even the name of the place. As they drove and Steven listened to the driver, he noticed that the day was bright, almost cloudless, not like the dreary day when he was driven to “The Hill.” It had drizzled and was cold, the kind of cold that gets clear into one’s bones.
The driver told him that his home for the next few months was a new facility where the staff tried to figure out why young men and young women got in trouble. He told Steven that he thought he would actually enjoy the facility, as much as one can enjoy being forced to be away from home. He would be living in a small group in a very relaxed atmosphere. He said that all the girls and boys at this facility were required to attended school, have weekly meetings with a social worker, and a psychologist. He said that, to the best of his knowledge, of the few hundred children that had been sent to this diagnostic center, no more than two or three had ever returned to the correctional facility. He said there were co-ed get-togethers where the girls and boys had parties and dances and that there were plenty of activities that Steven could participate in, or not. That would be his choice.
When they arrived at The Center, there was two papers Steven had to sign, one was the general rules for the kids at the center, the second was just an acknowledgement that he had arrived in good condition and gave the Doctors and Nurses at The Center permission to conduct and administer various tests and to treat him for any medical disorders discovered. That was it.
He was given five new blue sweat shirts with a white, three inch letter “D” near the neck line. “D” was the group that Steven had been assigned to.
Mr. Philips escorted Steven to his pod and explained about the pods, clusters and other details about the building and The Center. Along the way he pointed out the school, the infirmary, and dining hall. Steven could not believe this was an institution for Juvenile Delinquents; it was more like a college campus.
He rang the bell and in about thirty seconds, instead of a guard, they were greeted by Aunt Bea. The first thing that crossed his mind was to wonder if Opie was here too.
Mrs. Ferguson was the spitting image of Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith TV show. She was in her mid to late forties, about five foot, four inches tall, just slightly overweight and had her light brown hair pulled into a bun on top of her head. Steven imagined a pencil or two sticking in her bun.
She greeted him as if she was a mother greeting him when he stopped by a friend’s house.
Mrs. Ferguson explained to him that there were not a lot of rules. Mostly the rules that one would be expected to follow at home, at school or work.
He was surprised when one of the house parents brought his personal belongings to the room and Mrs. Ferguson told him to get unpacked and organized and then wander around the pod and get used to where everything was. She told him to try to think of The Center as “home” not as an institution. With that she left him and he found himself standing alone, for the first time in months.