After breakfast the next day our cottage marched off as usual to the work detail assembly area where we broke up and stood by our work supervisor.  My supervisor being Mr. Parker I went to the area where all of the boys who worked in the butcher shop stood together.  When I had gotten to the group Mr. Parker had been several feet away talking to one of the carpenter shop supervisors.
     I was sort of nervous about meeting Mr. Parker, this being the first time I had seen him since I had ran away.  I didn't know what he would say but I was hoping for the best.  I felt he would understand why I had ran away.  I had hoped he wouldn't say anything.
     Mr. Parker turned and walked back to our group.  As he approached us he pointed at me and said, "You no longer work in the butcher shop.  From now on you report to the carpenter shop were they can keep an eye on you."  Usually he called me by my first name, it was very noticeable he had omitted it.
     I stood there not believing what I had heard.  It was a total surprise and a shock to me.  It had been several moments before I could speak.  "Why Mr. Parker?  I have always worked in the butcher shop."  Before I could finish speaking there were tears in my eyes.
     "I won't have a runaway working for me, from now on you report to Mr. Ramsy in the carpenter shop."
     I knew from the way he had talked there was nothing to discuss.  The decision had been made and it was final.  That and the fact he turned his back on me and took his boys towards the slaughter house.
     When he had told me that, I would rather of taken "The" beating.  Nothing could have hurt me worse at that time than to lose his friendship.  In my mind, not working for Mr. Parker meant he was mad at me for running away and this was his way of showing me he no longer loved me nor did he want anything more to do with me.  To me, it was all my own fault I had lost the best friend I had ever had.  All because I had ran away.  For this, I couldn't understand why Mr. Parker would turn his back on me.  I had felt it was too cruel of a punishment and running away didn't justify him doing that to me and I had tried to understand.
     Later I had tried to explain to Mr. Parker how I had waited and not ran away when he took care of my cottage but it had only made him angry knowing I had planed on running away in advance.
     If things weren't bad enough the Urquharts came from the Toledo Juvenile Home to the training school to work.  There was talk that the Leapers were quitting and that the Urquharts would be taking over my cottage.  At that time there was no one on this earth I could put a name to I was more afraid of than the Urquharts.
     Something happened that would recur many times throughout my life, I regressed.  I became that twelve and thirteen year old boy again, with all of his feelings and fears.  For over two weeks, until I found that they were taking over another cottage, I lived in constant fear of coming back to my cottage and finding them there.
     I don't know what happened, maybe the stress was too great for me but I became very religious, carrying a white Bible everywhere I went.  Meals, work, I even took the Bible to bed with me.  I was constantly reading it.  I read it from cover to cover, except for Psalms.
     At every opportunity I would pray, mostly for other boys and the sinful things they were saying and for the way they acted.  I couldn't hardly think without asking God to forgive me for my terrible thoughts.  I was feeling terrible for I could find nothing good about myself nor my life.
     The only one I would even associate with was Reverend Blandeau.  Then it was only about religious things, never about my personal problems.  I think at times he wanted to talk with me about what was bothering me but I couldn't let him in.  It was like I didn't even want to think about the terrible feelings I was experiencing.
     That winter and into the next summer I lived a miserable existence.  I didn't even have Laddie any more to talk to.  Many nights I had laid in bed crying myself to sleep thinking of him.
     Mr. Parker was to be my last friend, male or female, young or old, I was to have for the next several years.  Those years I walked alone.
     For ten months I worked in the carpenter shop.  Not liking my supervisors nor my job.  I spoke very little to anyone, only when it was necessary.  They made if very obvious to me I was never to be left alone.
     Yes running away had changed a lot of things.  It seemed as though they treated me as a different boy than I was before I had ran away.  Small things I did that weren't quite right with the rules were no longer overlooked.
     It had been about the end of July, two and a half months after my sixteenth birthday, about three months from my release date, I had been in the rest room in the carpenter shop when the oldest supervisor had quickly opened the door to see what I was doing.  He reported what he had seen me doing to the front office.  A man from the front office came down to see me.  He took me across the road to the detail assembly area in front of the carpenter shop to talk to me.  He had told me how boys didn't do such things.  That it was perverted for me to do something like that.  And a lot more.
     I hadn't been feeling very good, I got to feeling worse the more he talked, until I finally cried.  I told him I was sorry for what I had done and asked him not to tell Mr. Parker.  To me, death would have been more pleasant than have Mr. Parker know of what I had done.
     That man, on that day, gave me a lesson in the sins and shame of self abuse I will never forget.  Then he dropped a bombshell.  He told me what I had been doing in the bathroom would be placed in the daily log and would be discussed at the weekly staff meeting and Mr. Parker and all of the staff in the training school would find out what kind of a boy I was.
     Once I knew Mr. Parker had found out, my life had became even worse.  It was very hard to face him after I found out he knew.  It was only a matter of time before the boys in my cottage had also heard.  I guess that is what had gotten me into my second fight.  The second fight in my life.
     It had been towards the middle of August, not much more than two months before my release date.  The boy had been teasing me.  At first I hadn't said anything but chose to ignore him but he had been persistent.  So persistent, I had turned without warning and hit him square in the mouth with my first blow.
     He was older than I was and was bigger by at least twenty pounds.  But my attack had taken him by surprise.  He never had a chance to hit me back before I had him on the ground.  Once he was down I had stepped back slightly, ready to pursue my attack as he rose from the ground.  I wasn't going to give him a chance to get to his feet.
     Mr. Leaper, having seen the fight, had ran between us and pushed me back.  As I tired to get around Mr. Leaper to get at the boy other boys had grabbed me and held me back.  As the boy had gotten up from the ground Mr. Leaper had turned to me and said, "If you want to fight so bad, then you can put the gloves on."  I knew as I put the gloves on I didn't stand a chance against the other boy.  Everyone could have easily seen I was completely outmatched.  Not only that, I knew as they tied the gloves on me I couldn't fight with the weight of the gloves on my hands.  He had quickly beaten me down in front of all of the other kids.  I had cried, knowing I had lost the fight and respect from all of the other boys.  What little respect I had left.
     Yes, I was sixteen years old and I had cried as I pulled the gloves off and ran to my cottage where I thought I could be alone.  In my mind, as I ran towards my cottage, hearing the boys behind me laughing, there was nothing in my life worth living for.
     I still had a couple of more months to go in the training school but I had felt I couldn't go through those months, not the way I was feeling about life.  If I ran away and was caught, I would be looking at another twelve months.  I knew I would lose all of the good time I had and would have to start over again.  I knew if I was caught, what would be waiting for me in Isolation.  But that had seemed minor to what I was having to live each day in my cottage.  At least I had something that man in Isoalation wanted.  The expected beating I would get only seemed minor then.
     Even though I had been hurt so badly by the loss of Mr. Parker's friendship my mind had not turned to running away.  But with all of the other things happening I didn't feel I could handle another two months.  If they caught me, I would just have to try again and again if necessary.
     I started laying out my plans for running away.  My plan was to go on Sunday evening when there was less staff at the training school and those who were there were more relaxed.  I had decided since I was being watched so closely during the day I would pull the same stunt I had used the last time again by batting the ball around near the time to go into the cottage.  No one had asked me how I had gotten away before and I didn't see any reason why it wouldn't work again.
     But the afternoon of the appointed day my sister had come to visit me.  My sister I felt was the only person in the world that cared about me.  She couldn't take me off grounds but I had been very happy as we walked around so all of the boys could see how pretty my sister was.  A lot of them thought she was my girlfriend.  An assumption I was never to correct for that was exactly what I wanted them to think.

Juanita Barbara, (Dixie Lee) Sister to Larry Eugene

      As we walked about the training school I showed her some of the things I had worked on while I had been in the carpenter shop for the last ten months, the door to the ice house and windows I had helped to repair.  I took her to the third floor of the administration building, where I had been working for the last two or three weeks.
     The floor was deserted as we stood there by a window overlooking the institution holding each other close, with our arms about each other's waist.  As we stood there, we talked about how good it was to be together.  She told me she had moved to Chicago and had her own apartment.  She had told me how when I got out of the training school I would come to Chicago and live with her, then everything would be all right.  We stayed there alone together on the third floor for over an hour.  She was a Goddess and I had a burning love inside of me for her.
     When it had come time for her to go the parting had been a terrible experience for me, only softened by the knowledge soon we would be together again.  I tried not to let anyone see how hurt I was as we parted at the front door of the administration building but if anyone had been paying any attention they would have easily seen the tears that filled my eyes.  I had waited until she was out of sight, then turned and walked back through the building, trying to get the tears from my eyes so others wouldn't notice.
     I knew I couldn't run away now.  I would have to face the next two months the best I could then go to my sister.  Then we would be together and everything would be all right.
     Two weeks later, on an early Monday morning, my sister was killed in an accident.  It had happen in Virginia only a few miles north of Mount Airy, North Carolina.
     The accident had happen in the mountains on U.S. Highway 52, on what they called "Dead Man's Curve."  The simi-truck had been overloaded with cheese and the brakes had failed.  My sister was asleep in the berth and wasn't aware of anything until the driver jumped clear of the truck and it had gone off of the mountain.  She was pinned in the wreckage, her chest having been crushed and she had died slowly from hemorrhaging.
     They had said she was with her fiancé.  At that time I totally and unequivocally denied he was her fiancé.  I was going to live with her.  I hated anyone who said differently for it was a lie.
     The accident had happen on Monday morning August 28.  I wasn't told until the afternoon of the following Wednesday two days later.  I had been working in the carpenter shop when Rev. Blandeau came and took me outside, across the road to the assembly area.
     He said, "Larry, I have some bad news for you."  Immediately, "My mother is dead," flashed through my mind.  That was the worst I thought could happen.
     He had put his arm about my shoulders and said, "Your sister has been killed in an accident."  I went numb throughout as though everything stopped.  I felt faint and only the strength of Rev. Blandeau had kept me from falling.
     I find it so difficult to describe that moment, so difficult I don't even want to try.  I was in some sort of shock as Rev. Blandeau walked me back to my cottage.  I put on my Sunday clothes and he had driven me home to my mother in Nevada.
    Rev. Blandeau had taken me to my grandparent's address, above my uncle's plumbing business.  That was where all of the family had gotten together.  Rev. Blandeau had said a prayer in my grandparent's living room then told my mother after the funeral I needn't return to the training school.  Then he left, to visit for a few minutes at the funeral home where my sister laid in her casket.
     I had sat in my grandparents’ living room for about an hour when I had overheard my sister's body was in the funeral home and I wanted to go and see her.  So without telling anyone I had quietly slipped out unnoticed.
     There was only one funeral home in Nevada I was aware of and it was only a couple of blocks away, so I went there.  As I opened the front door of the funeral home, the solemn quietness seemed to engulf me.  The aroma of flowers filled me.  I was all but overwhelmed by the atmosphere.  A great depression swept through me.  It had been so overpowering, I wanted to die.  I wanted to find my sister.  I wanted to be with her in death.
     Inside of the door stood a man.  He asked me if he could help me.  I told him as though I was in a trance, I had come to see my sister, giving him her name.  He gave me directions and asked me if I would like to sign the guest book.  I had told him, "No, she is my sister, all I want is to be with her."
     There was no one there when I stepped into the room.  I was thankful I could spend the first few minutes alone with her.  I had stood there by her casket, tears streaming down my face.  Nothing in all of my life has hurt me so badly as that day I looked down into my sister's casket.  As I stood there by her side I had promised her, "Someday, I will have a daughter and I will name her after you."  A day, an event and a promise that was to eventually guide me through the gardens of torments, to the very gates of Hell.
     I don't know how long I stood there before I could pull myself from her side.  I didn't want to leave but I knew that I had to.  If I could have willed my heart to stop, I would have.  For now I felt there was no longer anyone in this world for me.  My whole life was laying there dead before me.  I had felt so utterly alone.
     When I had left the funeral home, I walked several blocks to a park my sister and I had sat in just before she had left home.  Now it seemed as though it had been a thousand years ago.  I had laid there on the grass, about where we had laid before.  I tried to think what we had talked about but all I could think was how beautiful she had looked laying there beside me so long ago.
     I don't know how long I laid there, it could have been only a couple of hours.  I didn't have any idea what time it was.  By now it had gotten dark.  I had no conception of time.  I was in an abyss of total despair.
     When I had gotten up I had walked back towards my uncle's shop and apartment.  When I had left the park it was like I was walking in a trance, I didn't know where I was going.  I had just started walking and my uncle's apartment is where I wound up.
     When I had gotten there I had walked up the stairs then into my uncle's kitchen.  There were several people sitting around the kitchen table, all closely related to me, except for one.  My mother had introduced him to me as "P.D." my sister's fiancé.  They were all sitting around laughing.  I heard someone say how lucky "P.D." was in being able to jump from the truck before it went over the side of the mountain.  Their whole attitude crushed me.  I couldn't understand how they could all sit there and act the way they were with my sister laying in the funeral home.  It seemed, I was the only one that cared.  I went away from them.  I don't know where.  Maybe the funeral home again, or home, just so I could be alone.
     Before the day of the funeral I spent a lot of time standing there by the side of my sister's casket.  Thinking, thinking, I guess doing a lot of crying.  It had been one time in my life I didn't care who saw me crying.
     After seeing what I had seen at my uncle's apartment I would never go back there.  When I wasn't in the funeral home, I was home alone in my mother's apartment.  I played the record, by the York Brothers, "Please Speak To Me My Little Darling."  I played it over, and over, and over again.  Inside, I was tearing myself apart, as though, if I could only hurt enough it would bring my sister back to me.

Larry Eugene. The day of of his sister's funeral. In front of Larry Eugene, about fifty feet away, the grave side services are being held for his sister. He couldn't handle it and had to walk away.  Here his is, crying, trying to hang on the best he could.
Oh how he hated those baggy clothes.

     At my sister's funeral, a friend of my sister's (a friend from the Iowa Training School for Girls) had sung, "Beyond the sunset."  Near the end of the song she had started crying and it had been difficult for her to finish the song.
     I was sixteen when my sister had been killed.  No one noticed but my life was in a crises.  But other than that and my sister being killed, nothing had changed at home.  My stepfather was still about the same, if anything worse.  The sheriff was sure to stop me whenever he seen me on the street or pay me a visit from time to time whenever he thought I might have done something that might have happened in the county.