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The Old Jail
By Hank Hufnagel in the Clarion News
Summer camp is over, school is just weeks away and, what with band camp and football
practice, we are not doing a lot of Scouting here in Clarion at the moment. That's
normal enough for this time of year, but I like to keep something going even during
the quiet times. So when I saw that the Clarion County Commissioners were offering
tours of the old jail, I thought, why not? Scouting, after all, teaches much more
than camping and hiking skills. It also prepares the Scouts of today to be active
in their community when they reach adulthood. Don't believe me? Just ask Commissioner
Dave Cyphert. He and I were Scouts together back in the 60's.
Five scouts and I walked up to the jail at 4pm so as to squeeze the tour in before band practice. About 60 people stood around waiting for the tour to begin, and as the Scouts fiddled with a hacky-sack, we discussed the state of the jail, and its probable futures.
From the courthouse side, the red-brick building looks wonderful, with its semi-octagonal projecting wings and its quaint 100 foot tower. The effect is somewhat marred by the profusion of antennae on the roof of the tower, but the Scouts were not buying my explanation that these were to keep birds from roosting, or helicopters from landing to help prisoners escape. They knew better. Just last year, we visited the prisoners in their lush new quarters out at the Corners, and so the scouts knew, full well, that the old jail is now almost empty. They even knew that only the 911 services for the county remain in the old place. What they didn't know is what it would feel like to be in a 125-year-old jail. They soon found out.
What you can't see from the front of the building is the sandstone cellblock of the building. This is a very distinctive, not to say plug-ugly, feature of the jail. The walls back there are two-and-a-half feet thick and contain twenty cells. Each cell is 9 by 14 feet and these are arranged in two tiers opening through skinny 2-foot doors onto an interior courtyard. Here then is where prisoners, for over 100 years, spent their days waiting for night to come, and their nights dreaming of freedom. We were very curious to see this place from the inside.
Soon enough, the Commissioners appeared to divvy the crowd into three groups. Ours was lead by Donna Hartle, and we could not have asked for a more knowledgeable guide. Passing by the wreckage in the old kitchen, we proceeded directly to the cellblock. Here Donna told us of sally-ports and dining procedures, a little of what a prisoner's day was like, and of a scary tour she had made long ago when the prison was still inhabited. It was easy to see the old place through her eyes. I was appalled and resolved, once again, to stay out of jail.
From the cellblock, we returned to the front part of the building, and meandered from room to room while she told us the former function of each. There are about 45 rooms in the building if you count the cells. Here was the one where women prisoners lived. Here the work-release prisoners bunked. Here was where fingerprinting was done. Each of the rooms was empty and forlorn and had a fair amount of surface damage. Yet, the underlying structure of the building was evidently pretty sound, and the odd turns and small rooms made for an interesting experience. The warden and his family originally occupied the front of this building, and although the rooms were high and airy, I wonder what effect the proximity of so many caged men and women had on the children who grew up here.
The tour ended when we were guided past a solemn-faced guard into the 911 area. Here, two operators stood ready to cope with any natural or man-made crisis that might occur in the County. I can imagine the room they occupy as having been adequate when the operation began, but now there are signs of overcrowding, and the man in charge spoke wistfully of larger quarters, while Commissioner Hartle spoke of the expense of such a move. The tour ended and we walked down the steps back to the street, where a reporter, notebook in hand, met us.
"So, what did you guys think of the jail?" he asked.
"Spooky!" said Bacon (ah, he had felt it too!)
"Cool, I like all the rooms. It was like a maze," said Beaker.
The reporter scribble furiously as the other scouts made similar replies, then he asked, "What do you think they ought to do with it?"
"A museum," said Ramen.
"No, no. A haunted house," said Jim.
"A maze," said Ramen. "It would make a great maze."
Then the reporter looked at me. The previous evening I had dug out my History of Clarion County and read up on this unloved and unlovely building that sits so prominently behind the courthouse. I knew that the tours today were not given just for the fun of it. No, this was a way for the commissioners to gauge public sentiment toward the old building. Some people are in favor of tearing it down altogether. For instance, the 911 director, I hear, wants to run the machine that sends the first wrecking ball crashing into the old structure. Others think that this, the oldest public building in Clarion County, deserves better from the people it has served for so many years. To them, New York has its Empire State, St. Louis its arch, Washington its Capitol and Washington Monument… and Clarion has its courthouse and jail. These two structures are not just part of Clarion, but are Clarion to many people. Of course, others don't see it that way. There are middle-of-the-roaders, too. People who would gut or replace the interior, but leave the exterior much as it is.
I see the appeal of all of these options, but when asked point blank what I would do, my best answer was a mumbled, "I'm not sure."
Old News of Clarion County