Rebel Without a Cause

by Robert M. Lindner

  L: ‘Let’s look at those things more closely to discover if we can see why you did them.’

  Well, I always broke into houses myself, always myself. I wanted to do a lot of things myself, that especially, because then I would feel like a real smart person. When I did them myself, then everything was planned and it worked out as I thought it should. I planned it. I thought I could put something over on somebody, completely fool them.

  L: ‘Put something over on whom?’

  My people, my family, somebody I stole things from. It would give me the feeling that I was more intelligent than I was to commit a crime and completely fool everyone else. I wouldn’t walk around with my head down when I committed a crime. I’d keep it up.

  L: ‘You felt even better after you had committed a crime, is that it?’

  That’s right. When we broke into lunch-wagons some of these fellows used to grab three or four bottles of soda. Me, I’d grab a whole case. I always felt that I was better than the other fellows I hung around with. I felt that I could plan things out more, do things in a way that would be better than what they could do. When I planned something like a hold-up the idea would come quickly to me. Then I’d wait five or ten minutes. I’d get nervous all over, and shaky. Then I’d wait a while until I cooled down a bit before going ahead. When I committed it I’d be afraid for a while but then, about an hour later, I’d feel better.

  I used to steal pennies from my mother when I was a, kid. I’m not sure whether I stole anything else before I was ten. O, yes … One time we tried to get even with a fellow. He had a clubhouse in his back yard, a big garage where he kept a lot of things, rifles, spears, bows and arrows, a small sailboat, several pairs of dumbbells, boxing gloves and things like that. So once he got in an argument with this gang I hung around with and he stopped travelling with us. I don’t know what the argument was about but to get even with him I planned to steal everything out of his clubhouse. So one morning about six o’clock I went inside the clubhouse and took a pair of dumbbells and the sailboat. I hid them behind the garage. I waited until I was in school and then told several fellows about it. They all seemed proud of me: they patted me on the back and said that was o.k., now we’d steal everything he had out of the clubhouse. But this fellow’s mother saw me when I was coming out of that clubhouse. She knew my mother, so she went over and told her about it. My mother called me in and told me to give the stuff to her. I denied everything even though the woman told my mother that she had seen me. I got out of it by saying that I’d look for it, so I went over to the yard and made believe I was looking for the stuff. There was really nothing to it. I made believe I was looking for it and then found it. It was the only time I ever really stole anything up to that time. Then I started hanging around with the kids on S—— Street. I started playing truant, didn’t go to church on Sundays. Then I started stealing my school money and going to shows with it. Then it got worse. In the summer we stole cakes out of the bakery. There was a truck that used to come around about nine or ten at night to bring milk to the stores. They’d leave the boxes outside the store and we’d rob stuff from them. Then we really got started stealing. We broke into a lunch-wagon and stole cigarettes and split them with the rest of the gang. About six of us broke into these wagons occasionally and we’d make off with a lot of soda. Sometimes we’d find cans of peas and beans. We didn’t want them so we’d just open them up and spill the stuff all around the place. The soda, we’d keep most of that for ourselves and just divvy a few bottles with the gang. Then we used to steal keys out of cars. I just stood by those times. I myself didn’t do much of the actual work in stealing, except when it came to lunch-wagons and so on. As for milk and things like that, there was another kid named Billie. I don’t know if he or I was the leader, but pretty soon both of us were running everything in the gang. We’d go out and see what we could steal. Billie always carried a blackjack. He was a kid about twelve and he had a blackjack he stole somewhere, from his brother I think. He and I didn’t bother with the little stuff. We’d tell a couple of kids to look inside automobiles and when they’d see a key we told them to get it. It was somehow more fun to have the kids get the stuff than get it yourself, because then you really did two things instead of one: you told someone else to get the stuff and you also planned it out. I remember how we tried to poison all the dogs in the neighborhood. We didn’t like them. Every time we tried to get through yards and jump over fences they’d bark at us. So we tried to poison them.

  Sometimes when I went away I was afraid to come home and face a beating; but when I got hungry I’d come home. When I was younger I didn’t stay out very long, one or two days and that’s all; but when I got to be older I’d stay out longer—two or three weeks, a month, even three months. Once or twice I went with Riggs but he always seemed like a baby; he seemed to want to cry for leaving home. So I tried to avoid going with him. I never liked to be with him anyway.

  When we stole something or broke into automobiles or stores I always was the one who figured out and planned how to get into it. The other fellows didn’t seem to be able to think of the ways I could think of. When we’d get to a locked car they couldn’t get it open; but if I was there I’d force the car window open just a bit and put a little wire through the window and pull the door-knob up. There it was: it came natural to me. Most of these fellows didn’t strike me as naturally born crooks. I always thought that I must be a natural born crook. For instance, when we wanted to break a window I got the idea to put some flypaper on that window and then cracking it and pulling it off with the splinters of glass on it. These fellows didn’t know much. For instance, when you wanted to open a window you’d take a pen knife and stick it between the window and the sill and pull the latch over. That’s the way I’d get into my own house.

  We had hundreds of keys, just hundreds. When I was hanging out with that gang on S—— Street everybody always had a dozen or more keys. Billie made the other kids carry them in their pockets. Every once in a while we’d get to a garage door and then everybody would try his keys …

  Why did I steal? I guess in a way I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. I always wanted to prove to myself that I could steal something and get away with it; that I was a better man than my father thought I was. I’d think better of myself then. Even if I would never use it, even if I would throw it away … Every once in a while I would steal a battery all by myself. I’d sell it to a fellow in a garage nearby and he would give me a dollar for it. He knew damn well it was stolen but he didn’t mind. I’d keep the dollar all to myself. I needed money then.

  L: ‘What did you need the money for, Harold?’

  When I got the money I didn’t know what to do with it. I’d buy a few ice-cream sodas and go to the show. About forty cents was all I really needed.

  L: ‘And you could have got that money from your mother, just by asking for it, couldn’t you?’

  When my father was home my mother used to give me money to get rid of me, to get me out of the house. I used to wonder why she would do that. Sometimes my mother would come to me and give me a little money to get out of the house. There were many times when she would do that. I’d wonder why my mother gave me money to go to the show without me asking her for it. When my father was home my mother would try to keep me and him separated. It appeared to me that way. When we lived on S—— Street I got into trouble with some other guys when we broke into a store and got caught. I almost cut a fellow with my knife. I would have cut him if he hadn’t twisted my arms and taken the knife out of my hand. There were some detectives came down and investigated the store where we broke in. They knew that a lot of kids were hanging around the clubhouse so they started shaking it down. They really shook it down! I was coming along the street and one of them saw me. I don’t know whether he was a dick or not. He chased me about six blocks. I was jumping over fences and dodging through alleys but I couldn’t lose him. I had a big knife with me, about ten inches long, so when the fellows standing a
round began to yell and he kept coming right after me I got a funny feeling in me and I just stopped. I stopped and pulled the knife and put my hand back over my shoulder. He came at me and grabbed my arm and twisted it until I dropped the knife. Nothing much happened: I got a year’s probation. So I went home and pretty soon I got into some more trouble. During that time my father didn’t work much and he was sore because he couldn’t find any work. He would work for only two or three days a week. I went to school then, High School, but some days when I was home from school—like Saturdays and Sundays—my mother used to give me twenty-five cents or so and I’d go away and wouldn’t come home until supper. She used to tell me, “When you come home you just tell your father you’ve been at your grandmother’s.” So she’d fix it up with him and everything would be o.k. I’d go to bed and nothing happened. This didn’t happen every week, just some weeks, especially when he was home in the afternoons. It kept on until I was around seventeen and then I started getting into trouble again. I don’t know whether she suspected my father didn’t like me or what. I often wondered why she gave me the money. I guess I used to think that maybe she liked me better than my sisters.

  L: ‘You wanted her to like you more than your sisters?’

  Yes. O, yes! My mother always was good to me. When I’d come home she’d come in the room where I was to see if everything was all right. Yes. I know my father would argue with her about me. When I’d hear it I’d say nothing about it. I’d just go away for a week or so. The last time I heard them arguing about me was before I got that stretch in the jail. I heard them arguing when I was coming up the stairs. I heard my father talking to my mother about me. I guess he was sore because I didn’t have no job and my mother was telling him to wait a while. He was saying that it was always the same thing, that I was never going to be any better. I turned around and went out and didn’t come back for a couple of days.

  I very seldom used to see my father. I didn’t like to see him. My mother always made me go out. When he was coming in the front door I’d go out by the back. A lot of times she handed my coat out to me. Sometimes I’d stand out in the cold and shiver for quite a while, waiting for my coat or sweater. When I got them I’d go to a poolroom and sit around and wait. When I got home late at night he would be sleeping. My mother tried not to agitate him. After the last time I heard them arguing I decided to go away and so I left and stayed away for six months or more.

  The last time I saw my father was in the Judge’s chambers. He wanted to shake hands with me. I didn’t want to shake hands with him. The marshals pushed me in there. When the Judge gave me all this time everything got blurry: I couldn’t say anything; I couldn’t make him out. I know I was crying because I got so many years. I cried for about an hour and then it was all over. Then the Judge told the marshals to take me to his chambers to see my mother and father; he said my father wanted to shake hands with me. I didn’t want to go in so they started to turn me around. When I came in my mother started crying, so I put my arms around her. She fainted afterwards and they brought her to. I was in another room when she fainted. They took me away. I was crying then. I didn’t want to shake hands with my father. I don’t know whether I blamed him for being sent up or not. If I hadn’t heard him arguing with my mother; if he had helped me get a job somewhere …

  THE FORTY-FOURTH HOUR

  I just feel bad today, I guess.

  L: ‘Why do you feel that way?’

  I don’t know. I used to feel like that occasionally on the outside. I know it’s just one of those days. I was like that yesterday. I was out in the yard and I had a box of matches in my hands. I tore the cover of it all to bits. Then I spoke to C—— and he said I was just jittery, nervous and jumpy. I’m not angry. I’m not really angry at anybody. I just don’t want to talk to anybody. When anybody talks to me I answer them. I just don’t want to talk to people first when I feel like this. I can’t explain that feeling; but the feeling is—well—it’s—I guess it’s a feeling of a longing for loneliness. But there is nothing really worrying me, nothing I can think of. I don’t worry about many things any more. I feel like laughing now. I can’t even read a newspaper. Nothing seems to interest me.

  L: ‘What do you think would interest you?’

  What would interest me? I don’t know; dreaming I guess.

  L: ‘Dreaming about what?’

  Riding upstream in a canoe, or something like that: dreaming about plans. I guess it doesn’t mean very much. On a day like this I like to be alone, away from everything and everybody. A long, long stream, and going upstream in a canoe that’s easy to paddle and would go fast. I get like that once in a while. I don’t think the treatment is the cause of that feeling. Some of my friends in here, when they talk about my treatment, they irritate me. I don’t like to talk about it to anybody. Last night a friend of mine was talking about it. He was describing me to another friend of mine and he said I liked to be pushed around, I like to have somebody to look after me, to see that I do the things I should do, comb my hair and things like that. I didn’t like it. So, I don’t know … This morning I started typing one of my lessons and I made a lot of mistakes with the typewriter. I didn’t finish my lessons. I used to feel like this a long, long time ago, not just yesterday.

  Harold’s behavior during the forepart of this session demonstrates his ambivalent attitude toward the writer and the therapy. On the one hand, to hide the disappointment caused him by his correct anticipation that treatment was drawing rapidly to a close, he took occasion indirectly to chastise the writer and to minimize the therapeutic benefits. On the other hand, like all patients, he fought tigerishly against surrendering completely the neurotic so-called ‘secondary gain’ which had until now provided him with reasonable protection and excuse for his behavior. Finally, he grudgingly admits the value of the therapeutic efforts and presses urgently for its continuation.

  L: ‘Is this the first time you have felt like that since we began this work?’

  No. The last time was Sunday night; but before that I just used to go outside and walk by myself, not talk to anybody. When somebody would say something to me I’d just say “sorry” and keep on going. No; this isn’t the first time. I want to get away from everything.

  L: ‘What do you want to get away from now?’

  I don’t know. I want to get this treatment over with fast, as fast as possible.

  L: ‘Why?’

  Well, I don’t know. I’m coming over here and it is doing me real good. My eyes are a hundred percent better, more efficient. They feel heavy and strong.

  L: ‘Have you ever considered the possibility that you would really rather remain as you are, as you were before you undertook this work?’

  That may be so. Sometimes it feels almost like going into something worse, knowing all this about myself. And a few friends of mine say to me that you are young, and you may do the wrong thing, you haven’t got enough experience, you may be hurting me instead of helping me. But I think you are all right, Doc. These friends, when they say something about my eyes I jump up and tell them I don’t want to talk about it. They think the treatment is getting on my nerves. It’s hard for me to explain it. I think I’ve said everything. When I think back now I imagine some of the things were wrong, that I must have created them in my imagination. Maybe I don’t remember what I was doing when I was ten, or twelve, or five. It’s all strange, probably because I don’t know anything about it. I don’t even know what I’m saying now. I just like to get away from everything and not even listen to any noise, just listen to the birds flying by and have everything nice and quiet with a little bit of sunshine.

  L: ‘Harold, do you remember when we were speaking some time ago of resistance?’

  Maybe that’s it …

  L: ‘You are sure you know what that means?’

  I—I think—it means—a force—which creates a—feeling to—cover something up, to hide something, keeps you from—telling, holds you—back, separates me—us—from—wha
t we want to find out.

  L: ‘Now, Harold, I want to get back to the problem of why you stole?’

  Why did I steal?

  Well; I can’t tell you the reasons. I don’t know. When I was twelve, when I used to hang out with that gang of kids, we stole everything that wasn’t nailed down. I went to school, to St. A——’s School, and several of these fellows were in the same class with me and they lived in the same neighborhood. So I got into this gang. We were all the same age, most of us the same size too. I wasn’t smart; but when it came to seeing things about stealing, to planning things out and so on, I could do better than they could. We used to divide ourselves into three groups and we’d separate, here one section and there one section and so forth, and we’d steal everything that wasn’t nailed down. Then we’d bring the stuff to the clubhouse and if it was anything good we’d split it up. I guess I thought I was a pretty smart kid, not afraid of anything or anybody. I didn’t have very many companions before I started going with this gang. They all seemed like swell, very swell fellows to me. There was another fellow named Billie—I don’t know whether he or I was the leader—and most of the other kids looked up to us. When they’d steal something they’d show it to him or to me and we’d get together and decide what to do with it … batteries and car tires and everything like that. I guess I took a delight in having all these kids come to me and treat me like I was a father …

  L: ‘What does that suggest to you, Harold?’

  It would suggest—that because of my—relations at home with—my father and my mother, I would naturally look for something like that to—balance off my feelings.

  L: ‘You’re beginning to see why you stole. Now carry your line of reasoning a little further.’

  Well, I used to feel that I wanted to be with the gang because I wasn’t wanted at home by my father and mother.