Crime and Punishment in American History - Lawrence M. Friedman [2]
These are not completely idle notions. Serious crime has skyrocketed in the second half of the twentieth century. We seem to be in the midst of a horrendous crime storm-a hurricane of crime. The homicide rate in American cities is simply appalling. It takes months or even years for Helsinki or Tokyo to equal the daily harvest of rape, pillage, looting, and death in New York City. Why is this happening to us?
A history of criminal justice can, I think, help illuminate this question. It can tell us where we were, and why; and more or less where we are going. At least it can try. History does not give us answers; but it does sometimes dispel myths, and it can be like a flashlight shining in dark and deserted comers. Hence I felt the story needs to be told.
No author works completely alone. I have to take responsibility for shortcomings, but I also need to thank at least some of the people who helped me. There are, first of all, the scholars who made my job easier because of their own work in the field. There are too many to name, but I want to express admiration and gratitude for the historical work of Edward L. Ayers, Michael Hindus, Roger Lane, Erik Monkkonen, Mary Odem, and Samuel Walker, among others. I also want to acknowledge the help of John Bogart, Sarah Friedman, Joanna Grossman, Chris Guthrie, David Himelfarb, Leslye Obiora, Thomas Russell, Reid Schar, and Paul Tabor. Lynne Henderson made detailed comments on an earlier draft, which were enormously helpful. I also benefited from comments by Barbara A. Babcock and Robert Weisberg. Joy St. John, as usual, helped me greatly with the manuscript at various points; and I owe a debt, too, to the staff of the Stanford Law Library for their patience and cooperation in running down the odd sources I demanded from time to time.
Stanford, California
February 1993
INTRODUCTION
ABOUT THREE AND A HALF CENTURIES AGO, THERE WAS A STIR IN THE COLONY of New Haven, Connecticut. A sow had given birth to a “monstrous” piglet. In the minds of the colonists, this was no accident. Surely the misbirth was some sort of omen. Specifically, it had to be a sign of sin, a sign of a revolting, deadly crime: carnal intercourse with the mother pig.
Who could have done this horrendous act? The finger of suspicion pointed to Thomas Hogg (unfortunate name). Hogg insisted he was innocent. Was he telling the truth? The magistrates put him to the test: they took him to a pigsty, and forced him to scratch at two sows in the enclosure. One sow, the mother of the monster-piglet, reacted with a show of “lust” when Hogg touched her. The other sow made no reaction at all. Hogg’s guilt was now crystal clear.1
Another scene: it is New York City, spring 1989. A group of young males in their teens, mostly black, sweep through the darkness of Central Park, in a mood of wild exuberance. First they chase a man on a bicycle. When he gives them the slip, they find and attack a young woman who, somewhat recklessly, has been jogging in the park. The woman fights back, but she is all alone; there are many of them, and they are much too strong for her. They rape her, beat her savagely, and leave her bleeding body in the bushes. The woman, who is white and works for a brokerage house, comes within an inch of death, yet somehow survives. The police find and arrest the young men who attacked her, and they go on trial in a blaze of publicity.
Still another image: it is a few years before the Central Park beating. Two wheeler-dealers issue stock to themselves in corporations that had, in fact, no assets at all. They sell this stock, unregistered, to suckers