��� There was another dog there at the training school besides Laddie.� His name was Bingo.� He was the cottage's dog.� How come we had a dog I don't know, none of the other cottages had one.
��� � For some reason it was my job to take care of Bingo, feed him, give him a bath etc.  I think Bingo hated me though or it might have been he just liked baths for two or three times a month I would have to give him a bath.
��� Bingo was a good dog, basically.� But there was one bad thing about Bingo, he was a chicken killer.� What made it even worse, he liked to bury his kills and a few days later go back and dig them up.� You couldn't hardly get near him when he did that.
��� Two or three times a month he would kill a chicken and two or three times a month I would have to give him a bath.� They wouldn't let him stay in the cottage during the night if he stunk.� Boy did he ever, until I would give him a bath.
��� I didn't care too much for Bingo, though I did cry when he was killed out on the highway.� I had to go out and pick him up, then carry him to a pasture south of the institution, and buried him on the bank of a creek.
��� Mr. Leaper and I had been the only ones there.� I had said a prayer for Bingo, as tears had ran down my cheeks.� I had looked up at the school building, which was about a quarter of a mile north of us and I told Mr. Leaper, Bingo's grave was due south of the school building and I would always know where he was buried.
��� The only time I had been sick those ten months I had been in the training school, was shortly after I had buried Bingo.� A couple of months before I was to be released, to be sent home to my mother.
��� One afternoon I had been working alone with Mr. Parker in the butcher shop.� He had decided, he needed to go down to the slaughter house for some reason and he had told me to go along with him.� Which had been a customary practice for they would never leave me alone.� I have a feeling they never really trusted me not to run.
��� On the way to the slaughter house, we stopped at the powerhouse where he visited with the supervisor there.� We had been there for several minutes when I started getting dizzy and my stomach felt unsettled.� Looking around, I had found a box near one of the big steam driven electric generators out in the main generating room, which Mr. Parker would have to pass through on the way out.
��� But sitting there, I began to feel even worse.� Thinking, sitting there next to the hot and noisy generator was making me feel worse.� As I sat there getting sicker by the minute I wished Mr. Parker would come so we could go outside where I thought I would feel better.� I knew from past experience I was not allowed to leave the powerhouse and go outside alone.� It was a rule they expected me to follow and it was a rule I tried never to break.
��� I must have waited fifteen to twenty minutes before Mr. Parker finally came.� As we walked outside, I didn't say anything to Mr. Parker about being sick.� I knew, getting into the fresh air would make me feel better.
��� Going through the front door of the powerhouse we turned left, towards the slaughter house.� As soon as the fresh air had hit me in the face I did feel a little better.� If that had been the end of it, I probably would never have remember that day.
��� But as we were walking towards the slaughter house we had to pass the smokestack in front of the powerhouse.� As we were walking past the smokestack I looked up.� It seemed to be weaving back and forth more than usual.
��� "Mr. Parker, what do you call it when you are sort of dizzy?"� I had asked in sort of a woozy way.
��� I was still looking up at the smokestack when he replied, "Light-headed."
��� Then I told him, as I watched the smokestack fall, "Sir, I think I am lightheaded. . ." I passed out right there on the sidewalk.
��� A few minutes later, when I had regained consciousness, I was laying on the grass under a tree on the other side of the road from the powerhouse.� Mr. Parker was kneeling beside me and looking down at me, "Larry. Are you all right?"� He had asked in a concerned voice.
��� I replied, "Yes Sir."� Then passed out again not regaining consciousness again until I was in the hospital.
��� In the hospital they had tried to get me to drink warm salt water.� I knew what that would do to me and I had strongly refused to drink it.� They had tried to force it down me but it had hardly wetted my lips when I had thrown up.
��� Something like dried blood had come up and when they had asked me if I had been chewing tobacco, I had felt somewhat insulted and told them I hadn't been chewing tobacco.� Looking at what had come up, it sure looked like tobacco.� I don't think they really believed me, not at first anyway.
��� After a few tests the doctor decided I was constipated.� He gave me something to drink then he told the nurse to keep me in the hospital overnight.� (This was the first male nurse I had ever seen.)
��� The next morning, the doctor checked me and I was feeling fine again and he let me return to my cottage.� After that, any time I was to tell Mr. Parker anything he would kid me, �Boy you sure are full of it.�� I hated that but there wasn't anything I could do about it.
��� Somehow my mother found out where I was and she and my stepfather, Ed came to visit me.� They were living in Nevada, Iowa about thirty miles from the training school.� I guess they had been living there for the last two years or so.� It was the same town my grandparents lived in.
��� Because of my good record they had been able to take me off grounds into town.� Also to Pine Lake, a couple of miles north of Eldora.� They had taken me as far as Iowa Falls, a town about fifteen miles north of the training school.� That I don't think they were suppose to do.� But we had gone there to visit some relatives, I guess to kind of show me off.

Larry Eugene 14 years old. During the visit to Iowa Falls, Iowa. Sitting on the fender of Ed's car, an old Packard.

��� A few days before my fifteenth birthday I found out the evening of my eighth grade graduation I would be able to go home with my mother.
��� Here I was, almost fifteen years old, ten months out of the juvenile home and now I was being allowed to go home to my mother?� What happened?� Why now?� Did the state have a change of heart?� Were they aware I was being released to my mother?� I sure wasn't going to question it.� But I did have the fear, before my mother would come for me, someone would remember I was from the juvenile home and send me back there.
��� Most, if not all of the boys had gotten in trouble with the law and had been sent to the training school, to be released at a later date to return to where they had come from, their home.� I came from the State Juvenile Home in Toledo.� Could it be, the training school assumed, I was to be sent home to my mother?� Or did they screw up and forget to check out my status with the Board of Control, the Board which overseen all institutions in Iowa?
��� That last day in the training school had been a very conflicting emotional day for me.� I was scared, I was sad and yet I was happy because I would be going home with my mother.� I was going home!
��� I was afraid that someone would change their mind and I wouldn't be allowed to go.� I was scared, even to the last few minutes, of the training school.� You see, I never found out where "they" kept those straps "they" beat boys to death with.� I never found out who "they" were.� I never found out where "they" did it, except I suspected it was "Across The Road."
��� I was sad because I was leaving Mr. Parker, Laddie and Mr. Cosgrove they were the only friends I had.� Though from time to time I had talked with most of the boys in my cottage I had never developed any friendships among any of them.
��� That evening the dining room was quiet as all of the boys ate their supper as it always was for talking wasn't allowed.� Only the noise of eating and the occasional voice of one of the staff members, saying something to one of the boys could be heard.
��� As I sat there at a long table, where ten boys sat on each side of the table, I glanced first one way then the other way at the boys sitting there at the table with me.
��� Even though I had lived with most of the boys over the last ten months, some I didn't even know their names or why they were in the training school.� I hadn't been close with any of them.� As I sat there at the table thinking, tears started to fill my eyes.� I couldn't let the other boys see me cry for they wouldn't have understood.
��� Before going to supper that night I had said, "Good-by" to Mr. Parker and Laddie.� Mr. Parker was about the best friend I ever had.� Laddie was like my own dog.
��� Yes leaving Mr. Parker and Laddie would be hard, even though this was the night I would be going home with my mother who I hadn't lived with for over nine years.
��� Mr. Leaper had walked up to the table, glancing at his watch had said,� "OK boys, it's time to go."
��� Standing in unison us boys had stood then going to the back of our chairs we slid them in under the table.� Then turning towards Mr. Leaper we came to attention, waiting for the order to march.
��� When the order came the boys on the far side of the table had filed out first then my side of the table followed, to form a single file down the stairs.� Once outside of the building we formed up two abreast.
��� As I have said before Mr. Leaper was an ex-navy man and he took a lot of pride in making us march in a strict military fashion, spending many hours a week having us boys march.
��� This had been the way of life in my cottage.� None of the other cottages had to march that way.� But Cottage #1 sure had to, wherever we went in a group, dining room, school, work assignments, church or anywhere else.� Woe to the boy that wanted to act up or play in the line.� On this night it had been no different, he wanted to hear those heals click as we marched towards our cottage.
��� Each boy had three sets of clothes to wear.� One set to work in, one for meals, school and movies, and one set to go to church and Sunday diner.� Each week the work clothes were sent to the laundry, the cleaner set became our work clothes, getting another set of clean clothes for our meals.� The Sunday clothes were never changed, they were our good clothes and were always kept locked in the clothing room.
��� The highest grade here in the reform school was the eighth grade and this was the night everyone would go to the church and see the eighth grade graduate.� This was my graduation night.� This was the night, right after the graduation ceremonies I would go home with my mother.
��� As soon as all of us boys were in the cottage that night after supper, Mr. Leaper told all of us, "All right boys, get stripped down and into the showers.� As soon as you are done, line up by the clothing room door and get your clean underwear and good clothes."
��� He had turned towards the clothing room, then he turned back, raising his voice so it could be heard above the din the boys were making as they prepared to take a shower, "Larry, where are you?"
��� I was sitting near my locker at the far end of the room, dragging my feet as usual, waiting for most of the boys to take their shower.
��� Standing up, still with most of my clothes on, I replied, in a raised voice, "Here Sir." Then pulling my pants up the rest of the way, I walked over and stood in front of Mr. Leaper.
��� "Since you will be going home tonight, I want you to clean your locker out and bring everything to the clothing room."� Then as though as an after thought, "Do you have any personal things?"
��� "No Sir, all I have are my clothes."� I had replied.
��� "OK, then let's get those clothes off and into the shower."� With that, he turned not waiting for my automatic "Yes Sir."� But then he knew that I would say that for everyone here in the reform school talked that way.� "Yes Sir," "No Sir" or "Mam" if it was a woman and if you called them by name, you always said Mr. or Mrs. first.� As far as I was concerned that night was no different.
��� By the time I had undressed most of the other boys had finished their bath and were over by their locker or standing in front of the clothing room door waiting for their underwear and good clothes.� Some of the boys, I suppose out of modesty, had towels wrapped around themselves.� Some of the boys didn't.� I was one of those boys that never gave it much thought one way or another.
��� Once I had taken my shower I had returned to my locker and dried off.� Then taking everything out of my locker I wrapped it in my towel and took the bundle to the clothing room.
��� Handing the clothes to Mrs. Leaper I said, "These are all of the things I have.� Mr. Leaper told me to bring them to you."
��� Taking the clothes and towel she sorted them into baskets on the floor.� Then turning to the clothes rack behind her she took some clothes from the rack, checking the number inside of the suit against a list by the door.� She said, "OK, these are your clothes."� Then pointing to a table by the inside of the door, "Get some underwear off of that table while I get your shoes."
��� I had to sort through the underwear for something I could wear, seeing that most of the other boys had already looked through them.� A lot of the shorts were too big, some of the shorts had strings missing from them and most of the T-shirts were stretched out of shape.
��� By the time Mrs. Leaper got back with my shoes I had found a pair of shorts I could wear, though I didn't like them.� Mrs. Leaper dropped my shoes in front of me as I had been pulling my shorts up.� "Where are your other shoes, the ones you wear every day?" She had asked.
��� "Oh, I am sorry Mam. I left them in my locker.� I'll get them."� With that I had quickly turned back towards my locker.� I had forgot my shoes and I felt Mrs. Leaper thought I was trying to steal them and take them home with me.
��� I had been very nervous that night and as the approaching time for my release came closer I became even more nervous.� I sure didn't want anything to go wrong so I couldn't go home.
��� Going towards my locker I had quickly pulled my shorts up, pulling the strings to my shorts tight in front, then circling about my waist to be tied in front of me.� Oh how I hated those shorts.
��� Retrieving my shoes I had returned to the clothing room and Mrs. Leaper.� Giving the shoes to her I had said, "I'm sorry Mam, I forgot."
��� As I had spoken, I was looking at her eyes.� Noting as I had on many occasions, one of her eyes was brown the other one was green.
��� Looking into any adults eyes had always made me feel uncomfortable.� As though they could look into my eyes and see the boy I felt I really was and all of the terrible secrets about me I hid there.� So when her gaze had met mine, I had lowered my eyes to her lips where I normally looked when I was in the presence of any adult.
��� "All right, get dressed.� All of the other boys are dressed and in the other room waiting."� She halfway scolded.
��� I had replied, "Yes Mam" as I had picked up my clothes and headed back towards my locker still dressed only in my shorts.
��� Getting dressed, I went to one of the sinks to comb my hair.� There on the sink were some razors for some of the boys who shaved.� I had hoped it would be a long time before I would start shaving.� It had been almost an obsession with me.� I did not like hair on my face or anywhere else on my body.
��� As I stood there combing my hair, I thought with mixed feelings, "This is the last time I will ever comb my hair here."� "I wonder what home will be like?"� I had thought as I stood in front of the mirror, looking at a reflection of a boy I didn't think too much of.� I didn't see how anyone could like that boy.
��� I had felt somewhat unsettled as I had thought along those lines for I had no idea what tomorrow would bring let alone what that night would bring when I met my mother and stepfather and went home with them.� How was I suppose to act?� Surely not the way I felt for in a way I was really sad, I was leaving the only life I knew.
��� I was deep in thought when I heard Mr. Leaper yell, "Larry, get a move on it."
��� Startled I had turned towards Mr. Leaper and saw all of the boys filing out of the day room, to reassemble outside on the front walk.� I had quickly put the comb down and joined the other boys.
��� Once we had all assemble in a double file and Mrs. Leaper had joined us at the back of the line, Mr. Leaper in a loud military voice yelled, "Atten---tion.� Forward---Harch.� I want to hear those heals click as they hit the ground."
��� As we marched we passed the parking lot near the administration building.� I looked to see if my stepfather's car was there.� I couldn't see it, even though I had looked several times, it just wasn't there.
��� "Maybe something happened and they won't come."� The thought races through my mind. "Maybe someone forgot to tell them I could go home tonight."� The church was not far and I looked there at the people standing out in front of it for my mother but she wasn't there.
��� The graduation ceremony had been practiced earlier in the week so all of the graduating boys knew where they were to sit at the front of the church facing the pulpit.
��� As I had walked down the isle to the front of the church, I had looked for my mother but still I couldn't find her.� It had been after I had sat down in the front pews of the church and a few minutes before the ceremonies were to start, I had turned and seen my mother and step-father come in.
��� I had smiled and waved to them showing them how happy I was that they had come to take me home with them.� Inside though, I didn't know what to feel and I felt bad about myself for not feeling as happy as I was acting or I thought I should be feeling.
��� There had been well over two hundred boys in the church that night, besides the boys who were graduating from the eighth grade.� Their ages ranging from about twelve to about eighteen years old.� The boys from the older boys cottages were sitting in the back of the church and the younger boys were sitting towards the front.
��� The ceremonies had lasted about an hour.� The superintendent, then the minister made speeches then the diplomas were passed out.� I had received two diplomas, one for graduating and one for penmanship.
��� Mr. Parker had sat there all through the ceremonies.� I was sure proud that night as my mom and Mr. Parker watched me graduate.� I was graduating from the eighth grade, you would have thought I was graduating from collage the way I was acting.
��� The boys who graduated were happy they received a diploma for graduating from the eighth grade.� The rest of the boys were happy because it was over with.
��� When the ceremonies were over with, the older boys at the back of the church filed out to form up in double file to return to their cottage.� The boys in the training school had been separated into cottages by age so the graduating boys, which were of different ages, would watch for their cottage to leave then they would get up and join them.
��� When my cottage got up to leave I went to my mother and put my arms about her.� It had made me feel uncomfortable putting my arms about an adult but I had thought it was expected of me.
��� I had looked about the church for Mr. Parker for I wanted to say "Good-by" to him once more but I couldn't see him for he must have left right after the end of the ceremonies.
��� Ed Chance, my stepfather, said, "Well everything has been taken care of here, so let's get going."� Then as we stepped through the front door of the church, "It is getting dark and I want to get home as soon as we can."
��� Then as though as an explanation to me, "I am having troubles with the car lights."
��� On the way home that night the car lights had gone out.� Ed getting out of the car, raised the hood and in a few seconds the lights were back on and we had continued our journey towards home.
��� Yes, home was only thirty miles from the training school but my mother and stepfather had only come to visit me once in the ten months I had been there.� Though I had written letters to my mother while I had been in the juvenile home and the training school I had never gotten any letters back.� I would write my letters put them in an envelope leaving it unsealed so the staff could read what I had written.� If there was something in the letter they didn't like I would have to write the letter over.
��� I never knew where my mother lived so they had to put her address on all of my letters.� All of the other boys knew where their parents lived but I never did.� I guess they didn't want to tell me for unlike the other boys, I had a history of running away.� Maybe they thought if I knew how close my mother lived to the training school I might run away and try to get to her.� Then again, she may have wrote and the letters were never given to me, thinking they may upset me.� Which they probably would have.