Rebel Without a Cause

by Robert M. Lindner

  Another time I had a fight with Steve. He said something about my eyes and I hit him twice. He laid down and after that we were good friends. We never said anything about it, never even mentioned it after that.

  I got along with most of the fellows after that out there. I remember I used to wear different kind of clothes than these fellows had. My clothes were clean after I finished working even. I had a big wide belt with a lot of glass jewelry on it. When I couldn’t get out of going to church I dressed neatly to look my best and when I went there I would make eyes at the girls, looking at their hats or their hair. They’d feel self-conscious or something and I would laugh up my sleeve. They’d look like they were trying to shrink away.

  There was a fellow there who owned a garage. He was making a racing car, a sporty racer with curves. The wheels were small and it had mudguards and fenders and everything. Every time I saw it I would want one like it. There was a race-track nearby where they ran trotters and even cars and they would broadcast the races. I used to listen to the broadcasts but when I was working my aunt wouldn’t let me talk about it or even see it.

  My aunt is a fine woman only she’s quick-tempered and hard as steel. I guess she works too much. Most of those people there seem to me to be wasting their lives working, working, working all the time. It finally ends up where they haven’t got anything. That’s why when the opportunity afforded for me to come to you and get straightened around and study and accomplish something I was willing to do it. I don’t mind work, but when you waddle around in dirt all your life that’s a different matter. I’ve seen my uncle doing it year after year and he still hasn’t got anything. If he worked as hard with his mind he’d probably be a rich man. Some people just go along and live their life, just following it, and they never try to get anything out of it. One fellow was telling me that it was just a question of luck, that if my luck changes I’d be able to get out of here and steal money and get away with it, and if not I’d be just the kind to stay in jail the rest of my life. He seems to think it all depends on the type of breaks you get: if the breaks are for you, alright; if they’re against you it’s just too bad. But I know that it’s possible to make the chance, to make it so, or any way you want to. It don’t come just in one day or one year; it may take five or ten or twenty years, and it sure is hard work building it they tell me.

  There are some books in the library I would like to read but I haven’t the time to read them. Time does seem so short, We spend a lot of time in bed, from 9:30 at night to six in the morning. Half of that would be enough for sleeping.

  The grass outside my window is so nice and fresh when it rains. It smells so sweetly. The flowers bloom and everything is so cheerful. When it rains all the birds run along underneath the shower. I guess the birds just can’t resist the water …

  THE ELEVENTH HOUR

  I want to tell you about a dream I had last night. I remember it yet: I forced myself to remember. I dreamed about this place. We were in the mess hall eating; I don’t remember what we were eating; and I saw Lieutenant K—— standing at a post directly opposite from where I was sitting. The tables were not the way they are in the mess hall: they were lengthwise to the pillars, and my table was in between the pillars and the arch, and I was dreaming that I was directly in front of him and I was hollering for something to eat and he looked at me and smiled. Then I was dreaming that I went up and tried to get in school for the second period and I had to talk the officer into letting me go upstairs through the grille, and finally I went upstairs. It was only a few minutes to six and I looked into the typing room off the corridor and there was a friend of mine coming out of the class. There was a crowd of fellows and one of them was named Decker and there was another fellow (I can’t place him) who was speaking Polish to me, and Dobriski. This fellow Decker used to be here about a year ago. And that’s all I remember.

  L: ‘Can you report your associations to the first part of the dream, Harold?’

  All I remember is that I was sitting at the table. It seemed that the table was in between the pillars, and directly in front of me there was Lt. K——. He had on a white shirt and a hat and he was standing at one of the pillars. It seemed funny because only plain officers stand at the pillars usually, and the lieutenants stand either at one end of the mess hall or the other. I don’t know who was sitting next to me or who was sitting at the other tables. I think we were eating beans or something like that. I can’t place it very well. I know it was Lt. K—— because when he smiles his face bulges out. There wasn’t any noise or violence, just somebody hollering for something to eat. I think it was supper time, and that was funny because Lt. K—— isn’t usually there for supper time.

  L: ‘Does this dream mean anything to you?’

  I’m not sure. I see him in the mess hall occasionally but I see Lt. R—— more often. I forget whether I have ever spoken to him but I have seen him without his coat; yet I’ve never seen him leaning against a pillar. And the funny part about it was that the table was lengthwise, not the way the tables are arranged, but in between the pillars. The table was right underneath the arch and he was standing directly in front of me, right against the pillar. The tables aren’t set that way.

  L: ‘Now, Harold, you know that often the objects seen in a dream may symbolize something else, stand for something else. We have got to try and discover what they symbolize. One way to do this is to fix on one thing and speak of everything it brings to mind. For instance, the table might suggest eating, eating might suggest a special type of food, and this might recall a pleasant experience you have had with someone while dining. Now can you follow it through yourself?’

  Well, I worked for Lt. K—— for about two years and I have grown to like him a lot. I don’t remember hitting the table or anything, just hollering to him I wanted something to eat.

  L: ‘Does it suggest that you were starved?’

  I don’t know. I don’t eat very much. O, I eat all of the pork chops and steaks I can get hold of.

  L: ‘Was there any reason for you to be so hungry?’

  I haven’t had a … I have been in this place for about two years now and I sort of forget everything on the outside. I don’t know. I can’t place anything, can’t see any meaning in it. I think that’s why the table was between the pillars underneath the arch. That might suggest intercourse with a woman. The table may be the penis and the two pillars and the arch a uterus or something. This is the first time I thought about it. I don’t know what made me think of it. If I was dreaming that, why would it be Lt. K—— who was in it?

  L: ‘Are you implying that the business of eating was disguising a sexual significance?’

  I guess that’s what I mean. The sexual act resembles eating a lot. It’s the satisfaction of a certain desire. It’s perfectly possible that in my dream this desire was disguised.

  L: ‘Well, let’s start from the fact that this dream may have a sexual significance, the two pillars representing what you called the uterus, and the table the penis.’

  Well, I know that there are different symbols representing different sexual organs. I read a book that said something like that. The Outline of Mentality. It deals with history, religion, sex, geography, everything. I remember it stated some of the sexual symbols like the number three, or a cave, or a window. I never realized that a dream would have a bearing on some thought like that. I never thought about it very much. I just tried to remember what I dreamed. It never occurred to me that …

  I haven’t had any sexual affairs with anybody in this institution. I don’t think it’s right for two men to do things like that.

  Wait! Maybe that’s why the Lieutenant was there. To stop me from …

  About the other part of my dream, about going up to the classroom through the grille. I had to talk the officer into letting me go up; I had to show him passes and papers. I looked into the typing class and they were getting through with their class. My best friend attends that class. There also was one fellow I used to as
sociate with, a fellow named Decker and there was another fellow who talked Polish to me. This other fellow started talking to me about my trial, about too much time I got, and about a fellow named Felix. I don’t remember the last name of the person. He said, “Why don’t you see Felix?” I can’t place it anywhere. I don’t remember if I ever knew anyone named Felix. It couldn’t be Felix the Cat but that’s one of the things I always read in the newspaper in the comic sheet. I’m not much interested in the news. I look at the headlines and once in a while glance at the editorials. If they are interesting I read them, but they usually seem one-sided to me. I look at the pictures and the maps and the funny sheets and the financial sheet. There is a column every day on finances by a fellow called B. C. that I read. I look at it and the business graphs. Pictures are alright. I like to look at them but I don’t like strung-out articles. They can be condensed down to a few short lines if you ask me. Life magazine condenses everything down to just a few pictures and a little bit of understanding explanation. I like to read a little bit and have a clear understanding. I don’t read everything in Life. Some people tell me it’s the best magazine in the market. Maybe. I like to read Fortune and the Reader’s Digest. I don’t read everything in these magazines, just the things that interest me. I don’t read the Saturday Evening Post or other magazines like that. I have a magazine now where they analyze the industries in Mexico. I like to read something like that because I learn something. Fortune carries a lot of advertisements. You can learn a lot from advertisements too. I remember one. On a white sheet of paper they had a black spot in the middle, a black spot to attract one’s attention, like making a black dot in the center of a circle …

  L: ‘Let’s get back to the matter of your first dream, Harold.’

  If he had been allowed, he would have wasted the hour in just such evasive chatter as he was recalled from at this point.

  What I think about mostly in this institution is eating and studying. I don’t think very much about sexual relations with anybody or with any woman. I like to get my hands on a good meal once or twice a week. I buy some pork chops and steaks from a fellow once in a while. It doesn’t seem enough to me. I can’t even steal anything, not that I look for anything to steal, I just do my work and leave. That’s why I tried to get into the officers’ mess a month or so ago, because there you’d get a decent meal, decently cooked food once in a while, fried or something, not always steamed like they do on the main line.

  When my sexual desires get bad I satisfy them by masturbation. I don’t get very many urges. I guess you might call me a habitual masturbator for the past few years. When I go to bed at night and my eyes are hurting from reading too much and I can’t sleep, I get up and go to the window and look outside and smoke a few cigarettes. Then when I’m tired I lay down again and sleep and in the morning when I wake up I find my penis hard and, well, occasionally I get up early in the morning and try to hold myself back. But when I feel the urge I don’t care what’s what, and I release the excess.

  I’ve had a lot of wet dreams. I remember one like that. I was dressed up like a Marine, with a white hat and a white belt—one time I tried to enlist in the Marines—and I was in bed with four girls at the same time. I don’t remember much about this dream but it stood out in my memory because I was dressed like a Marine.

  The orthodox analyst will recognize in this series many symbols of Don Juanism, anal-erotism, and wishful thinking.

  I find that when I wear shorts in bed I dream more often of women. When I don’t wear any it’s hard to have a discharge; the reason is that there is no irritation.

  I can’t understand how it was that I thought of the symbols, the two pillars and the arch and the table directly underneath the arch.

  I can remember that the plate was dirty, but I don’t remember if there were any knives or forks or spoons or cups, the people at the table, who they were. There were a lot of other tables around and every one seemed to be filled. I remember we had beans; I don’t know what kind. The plate was dirty, sauce all over it.

  I’ll take steak anytime rather than beans. Can’t see any connection there. I remember hollering at Lt. K—— that I wanted something to eat and he looked at me out of the corner of his eye and smiled.

  I don’t even remember if the tables were in line or how many people were sitting at each table. Lt. K—— was standing directly across the table from me, right under the arch. It seemed to me I was sitting at the second table from the end, at the center of the table. I wonder if that could have any bearing on the sex act? I remember the scar on the lieutenant’s face distinctly. It seems to me that there were nine or ten other fellows at the table with me, and I remember there were fellows across the table from me. I don’t know who they were and I can’t place them. It struck me funny at the time because I knew that the tables didn’t face that way, they face toward the arches, lengthwise, and no officer stands that way, leaning against a pillar. Why, any of the arches, the pillars and the arches in the entire institution, anywhere, might resemble a vagina. I don’t know what made me think about that. Perhaps my going through the door, the grille, walking up to the education section might mean the same thing!

  The reader will note that the patient himself arrived at all interpretations of symbolic material naturally and spontaneously. The correctness of the interpretations from any point of view does not matter. What does matter here is the ease and facility with which these interpretations are made and accepted.

  I don’t remember who was sitting at the table with me. If I could only think! But all the fellows looked the same to me, their clothes were the same, their faces the same; the only thing about them was their hair. Their hair was either black or white. Perry’s is black; Yuggie’s is white; Mike’s is white, Don’s is white. Perry is the only one who has brown, black hair; the others are all white or blond or grey.

  Dobriski is the best friend I have here, but there is nothing between us. The most is that sometimes he puts his arm around my shoulder or I put my arm around him. He is really a fine fellow, only kind of dumb. He’s just like a brother to me. I used to argue with him but even though I felt like hitting him a couple of times we never had a fight. Sometimes we’ll get mad at each other and won’t speak for weeks, maybe a month. We’ve been good friends for about three years and I think we will be good friends for ten or fifteen years to come. We don’t argue like we used to; I guess we are getting older. He’s about two or three years older than I am and he looks out for me. I don’t like some of the fellows he fools around with, and I tell him I don’t like them and to keep them away from me. He does. Now I see him occasionally in the mess hall and I wave to him. One time he was sitting at the moving pictures with some Swedish kid and they were holding hands. It made me so mad I didn’t speak to him for two weeks. I hated to see him get mixed up with anybody like that, but I guess he can take care of himself. He’s interested in putting up money and getting out a ‘lovelorn’ magazine when he gets out, so I gave him a few ideas how to get people to subscribe to his magazine, how to get a big list of names. He seems positive about going straight when he gets out. He has been in the reformatory for about two years but he’s a quiet kind of a kid, doesn’t holler or shout when he talks, but he always spreads his hands all over the table.

  Perry is a fine fellow. He’s a little crazy of course. He lives in my cell block and he doesn’t go out very much, stays in a lot. I seldom see him outside because he would rather stay in with his work and you can’t even drag him out with a team of horses. We have lots of fun converting a lot of fellows to any faith we want to, changing their minds to capitalism or socialism, lots of other things, just for fun, just to pass the meal away.

  I have another friend, Carlson, and I sometimes see him on Sunday mornings. He is about thirty and his mother has been to see my mother a lot since I am here. I was around the ball-players a lot and I used to see him and Dobriski eating on Sunday evenings. Carlson always asks me if I want a steak or something. He’s
a very radical fellow, a real radical, radical as hell. He’s against everything, the New Deal, the country, the place, everything. He’s always got a joke up his sleeve he wants to tell. Sometimes when you talk to him he pretends he’s asleep. That way he lets you know he don’t care to listen to you. He’s a smart fellow, no getting around that, and he’s a chemist by trade. He gambled a lot and made a lot of money gambling and conniving, talking people out of things.

  Carlson doesn’t like Perry. Dobriski is different: he seems to say, if he’s your friend he’s my friend too. I never heard him criticize Perry. If he ever wanted to criticize he’d keep it to himself. He’s the one fellow in the world who can get along with everybody, no matter who. I couldn’t listen to a lot of things people tell him, all of their troubles. He’s very anxious to start some business when he gets out and he offered me a partnership. He likes me a lot and he shows it. He’d kid me by saying my head was filled up, that my capacity to learn was too small, that I would have to stop. When he said that I didn’t like it and I got mad. I know he did it on purpose. I didn’t talk to him for three weeks until one Sunday morning he came over and sat down right next to me and put his arm around me. Perry didn’t like that. Something funny going on here, something wrong. I guess Perry is alright; he is what he is, but I don’t want to have anything to do with him that way. It isn’t right. I wouldn’t feel right. I don’t see why when the days are going by just fine, rolling along, why I should do anything like that to spoil it for myself. We’ve been friends for a year, more than that. Sometimes he gets those moods or spells. Most of the time he hasn’t any relations with anybody and spends his time with his books. Sometimes he wants me to go and check this or that in the library for him. I enjoy his company: I like to be friends with him. We’ve been friends for a long time and I don’t want to spoil it by doing something that isn’t right. It wouldn’t be right for me. A lot of people know that Perry is bi-sexual. I never did anything like that with him and I hope I never will. It doesn’t matter what they think of me, or what I think of them. Only what I think of myself.