I held a 16-year-old so he wouldn't take his life.

  

It happened on an Island 14 miles out in the middle of the ocean where the Commonwealth of Massachusetts sends up to eight of its most troubled and criminal youth –ages 15, 16, and 17 -  for a rehabilitation program that lasts roughly one year.

  

The Island, “Penikese,” was once the leprosy colony for the Commonwealth up until the early 1900s. 

  

It’s an island that has seen its share of pain, tragedy, and heartbreak. 

  

It’s a small piece of land, approximately one mile in circumference, surrounded by rocky slopes, finely worn cobble, and large herds of seals of various sizes and attitudes.

  

There were 6 major buildings when I lived there during the during the late 1990s.  One farmhouse, a small one-room schoolhouse, two workshops, two outhouses - one “old,” the other a bit newer with a lovely view of Cuttyhunk Island.  No heat.

  

The farmhouse, or any of the buildings for that matter, had no electricity, no lights, no television, no phones. 

  

None of the buildings had running water; water trickled down from an old cistern.

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We heated with wood.

  

They boys and staff carried kerosene lanterns while they did the dishes, reading, or other nightly activities. 

  

We cooked on a large wood burning "cooker" stove and oven.

  

In the farmyard we raised pigs, one large boar we named “big balls,” along with two mature sows.  You never turned your back on big balls, he was a mean son-of-a-bitch, evil eyes, and larger than any full grown bull. 

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One hoary night during a cold Nor’easter, each sow decided give birth to exactly the same equal number of piglets, at exactly the same time; I think it was 7 each - but could have been more.  One of the boys, a young “gangsta” from Boston, had to reach up into one sow to assist with a breach. 

  

Weeks after the piglets were born, before they were shipped off island, the boys use to occasionally catch one to play tricks and create other forms of mischief.  Many a day I entered that schoolhouse and said, “C’mon! whose the banana head who put that pig on my desk?”  …and one of the boys would always ‘fess up, not able to contain his laughter, with me trying to appear really upset while keeping a straight face.  “This better be the last time young man (I use to occasionally mock the “uptight white schoolmarm”)!  Next time I’m going write you up!  That’ll fix your wagon – you little fucker.”  (I must admit though, little moments like those made me love these kids all the more… and I still love them to this day, some doing well, others unfortunately no longer with us.)

  

There were no police, no firefighters, nor paramedics.  Just 2 to 3 staff members and a bunch of “Juvenile Delinquents” from some of the state’s worst cities.  At least one of "my boys" had killed before, all were hardened products of their environment.

  

There were no cells, and we weren’t prison guards.  No, for one short year we were these children’s fathers. 

  

We allowed them to carry jackknives and they sharpened and used an axe on a daily basis to chop their quota of firewood. 

  

In almost 40 years there have not been any serious injuries out there, despite most of these boys being violent offenders. 

  

The 2 to 3 three staff members living out there were built, very powerful, capable of holding our own against many attackers, but most of all, had a big nurturing hearts.  Often unconventional in our methods, two out of every ten boys never ever reentered the system – ever!  (Not even a parking violation.) 

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It was our job to keep everyone alive out there.  When we made the rare command, it was not open for debate.  The tougher and more consistent we were, the safer the boys felt.

  

As I mentioned, Penikese had no jail cells or lockups, we all lived together under the same roof.  Some of these tough “young punks” were surprisingly afraid of the dark; just babies deep down inside.  And almost every one of them would come downstairs for a hug before going to bed. 

  

One night one of our strongest and biggest kids received some very sad family news I don’t care to even repeat.  Later in the evening I noticed him sneaking away towards a wooded area carrying some rope.  I followed.  He started to run.  I tried to call for help from the main house but the ocean wind drowned out my voice.

  

I chased the poor kid to the southern-most point of the island where there was a semi-frozen pond.  He was so upset and alone in the world.  No parents.  Nobody!

  

He told me that if I didn’t leave him alone, he’d drown himself in the middle of the pond where the ice was sure to give way.  I followed him out onto that ice.  We were both alone and apparently unafraid to die.

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I wasn't leaving.

  

He yelled at me “are you crazy! Leave me alone.  Let me die!”  I was prepared to go with him as we inched out onto that ice.

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After what seemed like an hour, he seemed to be getting more and more angry at me.  “Go away!” he screamed.

  

“No!” I screamed back.  Knowing full well that I would never be able to get help and make it back in time.  My gut told me I was exactly where I needed to be.

  

Finally it came down to two souls on thin ice, both on the edge; I’ve never had a clearer moment in my entire life.  Yet, I was briefly unafraid to die.

  

“Rob! Why don’t you just LEAVE ME ALONE?”

  

“Because my life fuckin’ sucks too!  And I don’t want you to die!”

  

A connection was made.  We were able to talk.  I mean really talk. 

  

His tone changed as he suddenly wanted to know why in the world my life sucked.  We had been living together for just about six months out in the middle of nowhere, both of us “castaways” from the mainstream. 

  

I told him details about my divorce, being denied access to my kid, and the tortures of the “family courts.”  That really got to him because I always had pictures of my daughter that, for some reason I never really understood until that moment, I had always showed these boys.  They use to always ask me about her.  They seemed to think of my family life as being “normal,” and they actually liked to hear stories about how my daughter and I did things together. They even would wonder why a “good guy” like myself was getting such a hard time from the court system when most of the guys in their lives were major assholes – real assholes that the courts should have kept off the street and away from them and their families!

  

I was now close enough and able to wrap the boy up in a big bear hug, and somehow managed to carry him half the way back to the farmhouse.  I had so much adrenaline I don’t think the boy's feet ever touched the ground.  On the way the boy finally said, “Rob, it’s okay, you don’t need to hold me anymore, I’m okay, don’t worry…”  I actually believed that he was somehow in a better frame of mind, but I refused to let go of him, tears suddenly welling up in my eyes for the first time in many years.

  

“Who says I’m worried about you?”

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There were no heroes on Penikese, just damaged souls and castaways, trying to redeem themselves, with seemingly little left to give or lose.

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Misc. Photos by Penikese Island Staff