TY - JOUR
AU1 - Mical, Raz,
AB - Abstract In the late 1960s, Philadelphia psychiatrists evaluated every child who interacted with the city's juvenile courts. These evaluations had an important role in determining the placement and treatment of these children, and emphasized the therapeutic nature of the juvenile courts at the time. Relying on extensive case studies compiled by the Philadelphia Department of Public Welfare, this study reconstructs the roles of psychiatrists in the experiences of children interacting with the juvenile justice system, to shed light on a hitherto unknown aspect of these children's care. Gradually, the emphasis in juvenile justice shifted from a therapeutic approach to a more punitive one, from the mid 1970s and onwards. Yet the same structures of juvenile justice which allowed for individual discretion and “tailoring” of interventions to suit the child's perceived needs, rather than to fit the severity of his or her infraction, lost much of their therapeutic rationale. Still, many of these characteristics of the juvenile justice system, and in particular the practice of indeterminate sentencing, remain in place today. Questioning the role of mental health professionals in the creation and perpetuation of this flawed and often unfair infrastructure is an important first step in contemplating reforms. “I am writing this most important letter to you. Because I am very concerned about my discharge. And would like to know if you have heard any thing from Walton Village. I know you have received a report on my achievement and school behavior… I have learn a lot of thing [sic] that I did’nt know when I home [sic], and hoping to learn and achieve more in the near future.”1 Seventeen-year-old Etienne, an African American teen, wrote this letter to his psychiatric social worker in 1971 after a judge had placed him in the New Jersey Youth Center for Boys for allegedly “fighting and stealing” while in foster care. To emphasize his dedication at school, Etienne had also written earlier, enclosing a copy of the youth newsletter he founded and edited, including a detailed crossword puzzle. His social worker made considerable efforts on his behalf, updating Etienne periodically. Within six weeks of this letter, Etienne was admitted to his requested site, Walton Village, a residential treatment center for youth in the center of Philadelphia. There he attended high school, was “well respected” by his peers, and ultimately was reunited with his mother, once she was released from prison. Etienne was successful and motivated, advocated for his needs, and together with the child welfare professionals who cared for him, worked to create a placement plan that reflected his desires. Children under the care of the Department of Public Welfare (DPW) in Philadelphia in the late 1960s were often taken from their homes and placed in foster care, or residential institutions such as Walton Village, with little contact with their families and home communities. The children’s caseworkers and mental health professionals, predominately white and middleclass, shaped their placement and future, and molded their experiences navigating the complex world of child placement and services.2 Most of these youth, like Etienne, came from economically underprivileged homes, struggled with their basic schooling, and experienced poverty, displacement, and family strife.3 While a number of children petitioned to their case workers, as Etienne did, describing where and with whom they hoped to live, they were also well aware that their future placement and educational plans would be determined largely by the mental health professionals assigned to their case. In this paper, I utilize the records of the Philadelphia DPW to examine the role of mental health professionals within the juvenile justice and social welfare systems during an important period of change in their operations in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Psychiatrists during this time played a central role in shaping juvenile justice: on the one hand advocating for children and their needs, while on the other providing rationales for a wide-range of interventions done in the name of the child’s well-being. Working with psychologists and social workers, psychiatrists informed the Philadelphia court’s perceptions of what treatment children in juvenile justice system needed and what was an appropriate site of care. They also assessed these children’s intellectual abilities and potential, taking part in the contemporary debate over the determinants of intelligence. Community-based interventions such as Walton Village, which emphasized group dynamics and individual responsibility, were developed in this context to create therapeutic environments for disadvantaged children. The analysis of interrelations among mental health, social welfare, and juvenile justice in Philadelphia during this period helps to elucidate the far-reaching social effects of medical expertise in this urban community during a time of change. Juvenile Justice at the Brink of Change The late 1960s were a therapeutic heyday in juvenile justice and child welfare administration nationwide, and in Pennsylvania in particular. The primary goals of the juvenile justice system were still largely therapeutic and rehabilitative, placing perceived mental health at the crux of interventions ostensibly designed for the benefit of youth. Furthermore, mental health professionals and the theories of psychological well-being that they promoted enjoyed particular cultural valence at the time, informing public policy and shaping American popular discourse.4 Lack of appropriate mental health treatment for disturbed and delinquent children, as Deborah Doroshow has shown, was a pressing public concern in the early 1960s. The Warren Commission’s investigation of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination found that Lee Harvey Oswald was diagnosed as emotionally disturbed in his youth, yet never received appropriate psychiatric care. Psychiatrists and lawmakers alike responded by pressing the issue of child mental health. By the mid-1960s, proper treatment for disturbed children became a rallying cry for progressives. Simply punishing children was depicted in the media as backwards and ill informed.5 But the enthusiasm for therapeutic and rehabilitative approaches would meet with significant challenge. In 1967, the US Supreme Court case handed down a landmark decision in the case of In re Gault. Fifteen-year-old Gerald Gault had been adjudicated delinquent and was committed to the State Industrial School for a period of up until his twenty-first birthday, for allegedly making a lewd phone call. Had Gault been over eighteen, this same charge would have led to a $50 fine or two months’ imprisonment. The Supreme Court found that Gault, and youth in general, should be afforded due process in the juvenile court, and questioned the rehabilitative rhetoric of the juvenile judicial system.6 The ensuing judicial reforms of the late 1960s, particularly in the field of juvenile justice, responded to a legal system increasingly seen as unfair, disproportionate, and often discriminatory.7 Legal scholars, most notably Christopher Manfredi and Francis Allen, identify the early 1970s as the beginning of the decline of the so-called “rehabilitative ideal” in juvenile justice. In pursuing due process and the rights of juvenile offenders, the structure of the juvenile justice system changed from a focus on perceived rehabilitation and towards a focus on deterrence and even retribution.8 The therapeutic structures and processes that engaged the cause of Etienne in Philadelphia were at the brink of change. Lawmakers in Pennsylvania, as Anne Parsons has shown, were particularly attuned to the rehabilitative potential in the juvenile corrections system. The 1950s were characterized by an anti-custodial turn, rejecting institutional care. Yet both mental health and corrections systems grew in the 1950s and 60s, as the state developed smaller scale community-based programs to rehabilitate adults and youth with mental illness and criminal histories. With a focus on “brains not bricks,” the State Department of Welfare hastened a mental-health reform, disavowing large custodial institutions. This coincided with a moral panic concerning the rise of juvenile delinquency in the 1950s.9 In response, the state Department of Welfare developed numerous treatment-based interventions, designed to serve children in their communities, and in the early 1960s, developed residential facilities for juvenile offenders. Thus while embracing an approach that eschewed institutionalization in juvenile justice, the Pennsylvania juvenile system in fact grew dramatically through 1960s. This was the background for the court’s convention in the late 1960s of placing juvenile offenders associated with the Philadelphia DPW with small-scale treatment programs. Within the boundaries of Philadelphia, one preferred option was referral to Walton Village. By the mid 1960s, this shift from referring youthful offenders to large institutions to smaller programs was well established and fit well with the pronounced rehabilitative intent. Overview of the Roles of Psychiatrists The court psychiatrist had a pivotal role in shaping the care of these children as they navigated the complex world of the child welfare and juvenile justice system. As a unique legal requirement in both Pennsylvania and New York, a psychiatrist evaluated every child who had a significant interaction with the juvenile justice system. By state law, each child had a thorough medical and psychiatric evaluation, as well as intelligence testing.10 The examining psychiatrists were most often community physicians and not necessarily specialists in child psychiatry. They worked part-time for the court providing assessments of both minors and adults and were during this period under the guidance of Nicholas Frignito, Chief Neuropsychiatrist of the Philadelphia Municipal Court.11 The psychiatric evaluations had the role, in part, of determining placement, whether to a home, a residential center, or a more restrictive environment such as a correctional or training school. As placements were determined according to children’s perceived needs and rehabilitative potential, and not necessarily according to the legal infraction they had committed, mental health professionals carried significant weight in this process. While rehabilitative principles and theories of mental health permeated the child placement system, the role of the court psychiatrists was administrative, rather than therapeutic. The psychiatrists dealt with questions of diagnosis and disposition and provided therapeutic recommendations, suggesting the site and nature of care. But they provided no direct care themselves. On the ground, social workers and other therapists commonly treated children in their placements. The psychiatrists thus provided a scaffolding for the therapeutic endeavor, rather than the messy work of attending to the mentally disturbed. Additional evaluations by psychologists (mainly intelligence assessments and projective testing and drawings) and interviews compiled by psychiatric social workers factored into the child’s case file and treatment plan, but did not directly affect placement. Other psychiatrists evaluated children at their intake to residential treatment centers, and at semi-correctional “Youth Development Centers,” or at psychiatric hospitals and clinics.12 The Eastern State School and Hospital, which had opened in 1963, provided the court and the DPW with in-depth evaluations of children and their families, often but not exclusively for children admitted to their care.13 At the level of praxis, in the mid to late 1960s, psychodynamic approaches, based on psychoanalytic thought, were still the most common in the care of mentally disturbed children.14 Behavioral approaches would only gain popularity in later years.15 Yet to this existing psychodynamic approach, which had prevailed in American psychiatry through the 1950s, the 1960s, psychiatrists added an additional focus on the influence of the poverty and disadvantage that were especially marked within the juvenile justice system. Psychodynamically-minded psychiatrists shared many unflattering preconceptions of low-income family life, and how such experiences shaped children’s psyche.16 A strong belief in the psychic damage caused by deprivation, both material and spiritual, informed much of the work of clinicians at the time.17 Specific contemporary studies published by practitioners working with disadvantaged populations in Philadelphia demonstrate that psychiatrists believed many a “child in the black ghetto” lived with significant “mental health problems,” in particular a poor “self image” and sense of “powerlessness.”18 These conceptions likely informed the approaches of many Philadelphia court psychiatrists as they evaluated children involved with the juvenile justice system. The intention here is not to argue for the superiority of the therapeutic approach over the punitive approaches that would follow. There is little reason to question the benevolent intentions of mental health care in either circumstance. Yet, this is not simply a story of well-intentioned professionals participating in a system that disproportionately served low-income children of color. As the juvenile justice system gradually moved away from the therapeutic model in the early 1970s, the same judicial flexibility meant to enable rehabilitation and treatment also enabled the disproportionate confinement of children of color. The Case Records and the Department of Public Welfare This article relies on the case files of children under the supervision of the Department of Public Welfare in Philadelphia, between the years of 1965 and 1972, conserved at the Philadelphia City Archives. This series contains twenty-three boxes of individual case files, compiled by caseworkers of the DPW, including children’s evaluations, medical records, home visits, correspondence, and legal documents. Some case files contain letters carefully penned by the children, while others contain quotes from or depictions of these youngsters. Curated by DPW caseworkers, these files contained professional impressions and evaluations, as well as copies of medical and mental health records. As minors, and subject to the scrutiny and control of both courts and medical system, these children had little role in the decisions about their disposition.19 When possible, I have called attention to their voices and their desires all the same, cognizant of the limitations placed on their actual agency. While mediated by the view of the professionals who documented their care, these records still contain valuable information about the children’s individual experiences.20 These case files were organized by case number, which were not consecutive, and no other organizational pattern was identifiable. I approached them as randomly organized, and examined every fourth box, for a total of five boxes. These boxes contained a total of 257 cases, all of which I read and evaluated. At that point I reached thematic saturation, determining that additional cases did not reveal new themes or content.21 From these cases, I focused my analysis on the thirty-nine case files for all children in the sampled records involved with both the juvenile justice system and with mental health services. These thirty-nine case files consisted of files for thirty-three boys and six girls, all in their teens. Twenty-four of the children were black, twelve were white, of whom one was noted to be Jewish, and three were Hispanic. While these cases are open and accessible at the Philadelphia City Archives, they contain highly personal information, and I have chosen to strip from this analysis all identifying information, using ethnically appropriate pseudonyms, and omitting specific dates and locations.22 By the mid 1960s, the majority of individuals served by the social welfare services in Philadelphia were African American women, who sought to provide themselves and their families with basic services. Most of the DPW files I have evaluated involve children of color.23 While children of color were overrepresented both among children served by the DPW and among those who had contact with the juvenile justice system, this research study was not designed to detect such race-based disparities, as it focused on a cohort of children already involved with both agencies. Race and ethnicity did serve as categories of analysis for the mental health professionals. This was both explicit, as mental health professionals addressed children’s cultural and linguistic backgrounds, and implicit, as these professionals employed heavily racialized categories such as “cultural deprivation” to describe the children, and discussed aspects of their intellectual potential, at a time when the determinants of intelligence were fiercely debated.24 These cases are unique in that the primary contact was with the DPW, and the case files were compiled by DPW caseworkers and social workers, and are not legal files. The children’s interaction with the juvenile justice system was either the impetus for DPW involvement (for instance in cases in which delinquency charges were converted to dependency), or alternatively, some children had already been under the DPW’s supervision when their brush with the law occurred. While children under the supervision of the DPW were certainly at high risk for involvements with the court, other children interacted solely with the juvenile justice system. These children were placed in a correctional setting and returned home without interacting with the DPW. This study does not necessarily reflect their experiences. The children whose records I examined, those known to the DPW as well as to the juvenile justice system, came from more disadvantaged backgrounds than their counterparts unknown to DPW and were subject to the supervision of individuals entrusted with their care and safety. It is reasonable to assume that their behavioral infractions may have been less severe than those that resulted in an the arrest of a child unknown to DPW: this was a population of disadvantaged children experiencing close behavioral surveillance, combined with an existing structure facilitating the transfer of children between the social welfare to the juvenile justice system. All the case files I evaluated were of children and families who had significant interactions with the DPW, usually preceding the interaction with the juvenile justice system. Most commonly, these were cases of children taken from the custody of their parents and transferred to the supervision of the DPW, which occurred in a variety of different ways. The parents or guardians of these children often requested placement outside the home for a multitude of reasons, including financial concerns and difficulties with behavior. When judicial proceedings were involved in the placement of children outside their homes, there were two main designations that qualified children for placement under DPW supervision: dependent and delinquent, terms still in use in a similar fashion today. Delinquent children were those found to have committed an act that constituted an offense, either a conventional criminal offense or a status offense. Status offenses are those behaviors or acts only considered to be criminal when performed by minors, such as “incorrigibility,” drinking, truancy, or consensual sexual behavior.25 At the time in Pennsylvania, status offenses could be grounds for delinquency proceedings and adjudication, although judges had leeway whether to adjudicate status offenders as delinquents.26 Dependent children were those found by a court as needing care outside their homes, often as a result of neglect, abandonment or abuse. For lack of space, dependent children were often held in detention at the same facilities as delinquent children. In Philadelphia, this was the Youth Study Center (YSC), a secure detention center. Judges could exercise their discretion whether to adjudicate a child as delinquent or dependent, regardless of what charges the case had initially been brought under. Probation for both delinquency and dependency cases was also a possibility. While all the thirty-nine children whose records I examined were involved with the juvenile justice system and interacted with the court, only twenty were in fact adjudicated delinquent. The others were either on probation, adjudicated dependent, or legal proceedings were not further pursued. This likely indicates a reticence to pursue delinquent adjudications on the part of the Philadelphia juvenile justice system, as well as the relatively minor nature of many of the charges brought against these children. Walton Village: A Unique Psychotherapeutic Experience The therapeutic principles that informed the Philadelphia welfare and justice systems are evident in a residential center in the heart of Philadelphia, where many of the boys who had interactions with both DPW and the juvenile court spent time. Walton Village was a YMCA-based residential center for teenage boys of all racial and ethnic backgrounds, the vast majority of whom were placed by the Philadelphia DPW. The boys, mostly between fifteen and eighteen years of age, were supervised by trained staff, and were expected to either attend school or hold jobs in the community. Job-seekers were placed in interim positions either at the residential center itself or at similar non-profits in entry-level jobs, to provide work experience. In its goal to provide for a “wholesome and therapeutic environment,” Walton Village required the boys to participate in sixty-minute group dynamics sessions, four nights a week.27 The professional staff at Walton Village was trained in working with children, while social workers assumed leadership positions.28 Given the clear therapeutic bent in a residential setting in the community, psychiatrists were enthusiastic to recommend placement of children in this setting. Walton Village first opened in late 1964, and its charismatic director Eugene Montone, a social worker, joined the following May.29 Montone considered himself a “rebel in the field.” In an interview for the Philadelphia Inquirer, he asserted, perhaps in an intentional barb to psychodynamic approaches: “we want to read a boy’s history but we don’t want to live it. So what if your mother was a whore? Let’s talk about now.”30 When describing the group therapy sessions, Montone utilized a method he explained was designed to “provoke anxiety” as a technique to promote change, and instituted a system of collective punishment to deter misbehavior. Furthermore, a self-governance system was set up, known as “The Group,” in which youth could question their peers for behavioral infractions and mete out punishments.31 Walton Village gradually expanded its capacity. In 1967, a separate addition to the program, dubbed “Rotary Village,” was developed with funds donated by local Rotarians. Rotary Village served as a graduate program for teens who had completed the training at Walton with impeccable behavior, and who continued to live at the YMCA until and sometimes past their eighteenth birthday while holding jobs in the community.32 That same year, an additional “annex” program was developed, in which boys who had committed repeated behavioral infractions could stay and “reconsider” their attitude and behavior without negatively affecting the other boys.33 By 1968, Walton Village housed forty boys, and in 1969, a similar program, Simpson Village, was developed for girls.34 In 1969, Montone was appointed to head the YSC, the city’s juvenile detention center, and was succeeded by the then-associate director, Robert Blatt. Under Montone’s directorship, a series of public scandals plagued the YSC. These included sexual abuse of the youth inmates by YSC employees, physical abuse of the detained children, including allegations that Montone himself had beaten children, and inhumane, filthy conditions in an overcrowded detention center that did not provide children with educational opportunities.35 Montone had been a celebrated and successful director of Walton Village, and many of the problems at YSC predated his tenure and persisted after his forced resignation in 1975.36 The multitude of abuses and problems at the YSC and the ensuing lawsuits ultimately dogged YSC until its reopening at a new location in 2012.37 Montone’s directorship clearly did not manage to transfer the therapeutic spirit from Walton Village to the daily work at YSC. Beyond the letters conserved in the archival case files, there is little documentation about his successor, Robert Blatt, who remained in Walton Village through the mid-1970s. Under Blatt’s directorship, in contrast to his predecessor, there were few media stories or legal publications about Walton Village. Yet from the archival letters, Blatt appears to have been a fiercely dedicated advocate for children who made great efforts to know the boys he cared for, while working hard to guide their development. As a policy, Walton Village did not turn away children for misbehavior; any conduct issues were addressed as symptoms of immaturity or emotional disturbance that required greater guidance and therapy. In addition to the daily group meetings, many children continued to participate in psychotherapy at community clinics, which was often court-mandated. Children often ran away from Walton Village, only to return within hours or days. Some children stole from the center or the staff and yet Blatt would work with them to enable their return to the communal life. When each child left the center, Blatt wrote a two to three-page report detailing the child’s progress and accomplishments, or occasionally, the lack thereof. He always addressed the child’s positive personality, traits, hobbies, and other personal characteristics. Often Blatt and other staff members kept in touch with the young person upon their high school graduation, and occasionally would update the DPW staff of the latest news. I have been unable to find any details about Blatt’s professional and personal background, nor of his future career trajectory. Clearly he was deeply committed to a rehabilitative perspective, and these therapeutic principles guided his work with children. Similarly, while no detailed accounts of children’s experiences at Walton are conserved in these archives, there are records of a number of children penning handwritten letters to their caseworkers asking to be transferred to Walton Village. These children, like Etienne, whom we met at the opening of the article, were often from more restrictive institutional settings. There were some boys whom Blatt considered unsuitable, at least temporarily, for Walton Village community life. Michael, a deeply troubled white teen had been in Walton Village, ran away, and ultimately was returned to his mother. Blatt declined to accept him back. Michael later had two psychiatric admissions for suicide attempts by overdose, was arrested for check forgery, and was committed to a youth correctional center. The following year, awaiting placement in the community, the teen wrote a heartfelt letter to his case worker, saying how thankful he was that Blatt had not taken him back, as he would have still “gotten into trouble,” and that he hoped now to be able to return to Walton Village and prove that he “had changed.”38 For many teens, Walton Village was a place of hope and care. Placement Considerations Psychiatrists took into account a variety of different factors in assessing appropriate placement for the children they evaluated. Many evaluations detailed psychodynamic impressions of the child’s psychic makeup and personality traits, their ego functioning, and their levels of emotional maturity. Family dynamics factored equally as important in weighing what kind of environment a child would face at home in comparison to possible placement options. Finally, and perhaps unsurprisingly, as these evaluating psychiatrists worked directly with (and often for) the courts, the child’s willingness to accept responsibility for their sanctioned behavior and their respect (or lack thereof) towards authority were also significant points of consideration. Well-versed in the placement options available for children at the time, as well as the differing levels of supervision they afforded, psychiatrists often gave recommendations for specific facilities by name. For instance, in 1969, court psychiatrist Leonard Sattel wrote of Richard, a fifteen-year old African American boy: “his judgment is impaired by passive-aggressive personality traits and emotional immaturity. His disregard for authority makes it very doubtful that he would respond to a rehabilitation program short of institutionalization.” In light of this, Sattel recommended “commit to Glen Mills or similar setting,” a recommendation followed by Richard’s commitment to a similar institution.39 Similarly, Carlos, a boy first arrested at age eleven for burglary, followed by multiple subsequent arrests, met the court psychiatrist, identified only as S. Lombardi, at age fifteen. In Lombardi’s opinion: “While he admits to the aberrant behavior and allegations attributed to him, he fails to accept responsibility for them. He projects the blame of his difficulties onto others.” Reverting to more dynamic language, he added “drive and motivation are extremely weak and undirected.” Finally, referring to the child’s social situation, Lombardi added “this boy is the older of two boys being reared by their mother. The father lives in Puerto Rico. This situation, together with his innate limitations may be responsible for this boy’s retarded development. He is in need of a structured environment and program.” Accordingly, he recommended correctional training and sent sixteen-year-old Carlos to St Gabriel’s Hall, a local youth facility for delinquent children, where he spent over a year prior to discharge to his parents.40 These court psychiatrists generally believed that the children they encountered needed rehabilitation, of varying degrees, from a correctional to a community setting with therapeutic interventions. Their recommendations placed greater weight on judgments about the child’s personality, psychic make-up, and willingness to assume responsibility, rather than on the nature of previous acts or the potential to commit future crimes. Robert, an African American teen whose mother had abandoned him, briefly interacted with the juvenile justice system when arrested for driving a stolen car, although the system never adjudicated him delinquent. Court psychiatrist Freerk Wouters, earnestly recommended “placement at Waltham [sic] Village or a foster home through the Dept of Welfare, and psychotherapy, are urgent, very urgent, and should be arranged for with about the same haste as an appendectomy.” Walton Village accepted Robert the following month; at his discharge at age eighteen, he had numerous offers from local universities for athletic scholarships. Though described as being unenthusiastic and somewhat aloof within the dynamics of group participation while at Walton Village, director Robert Blatt expressed pride in the youth’s accomplishments. Blatt reported that the young Robert had “charmed everyone with a ready smile and winning personality.”41 Margaret Tsaltas, a child psychologist inclined to psychoanalysis, portrayed David, a twelve-year-old white boy, in a similarly empathetic light. His placement, she suggested, “depends upon how one organizes the facts he has given me.” She conceded that David “certainly” could be regarded and treated as delinquent, and that he might even prefer such an approach rather than any attempt to intervene on his life. Still, she recommended a therapeutic approach to “see if some of these patterns of conduct can be reorganized.” David spent time in an intensely therapeutic program at the Southern School for Children, a psychiatric residential treatment center in Philadelphia from which he later discharged to his mother.42 Diagnosing Youth in Trouble Psychiatrists had an important role in demarcating between normal and pathological behaviors of troubled youth, and often specifically referred to this distinction in their evaluations. In the late 1960s, numerous approaches to diagnosing childhood mental illness abounded. While no longer classically Freudian, psychodynamic theories were the most commonly invoked in making sense of childhood behavior.43 In 1966, the Group for the Advancement of Psychiatry (GAP), an influential psychoanalytically leaning organization of psychiatrists who researched pressing topics in the field and issued recommendations, reviewed the existent classifications of child psychopathology. They reviewed nearly two-dozen existing systems for classifying disorders of childhood.44 Clearly, much variability existed at the time. The GAP group recommended a hierarchical classification, ranging from healthy responses, through milder psychological disorders, and finally to syndromes that had a somatic component, such as brain disorders and mental retardations. Reactive disorders were classified as falling immediately after the “healthy” response, and included aggressive behavior; conduct disturbances, and withdrawal behavior. This terminology of viewing behaviors as “reactions” resonated of Meyerian psychobiology, still influential in contemporary American psychiatry, which interpreted psychic processes as reactions to external stressors.45 A similar categorization was outlined in the first edition of the widely influential Comprehensive Textbook of Psychiatry. Outlining causes for disorders such as mood swings and delinquency, the chapter on healthy response and reactive disorders began by asserting that adjustment reactions for adolescents were “the rule rather than the exception.”46 The 1968 second edition of the foremost classification of mental illness, the Diagnostic and Statistic Manual of Disease (DSM), reflected this approach. Psychiatrists drew on the concept of reactive disorders in their evaluations, and relied on diagnostic categories that were consistent with the DSM II approach. All children they examined were routinely assessed for hallucinations and bizarre thoughts, though none were noted in the thirty-nine cases I evaluated. Of these case files, thirty-three contained some form of psychiatric diagnosis, or referral to such diagnosis. Of these, ten children and youth were diagnosed with adjustment reaction of either childhood or adolescence; four were diagnosed with runaway reaction of childhood, three with unsocialized aggressive reaction, and three with group delinquent reaction of adolescence. All four of these diagnoses appeared in the DSM-II and had previously appeared in the DSM-I, the first edition, published in 1952.47 Adjustment reaction of either childhood or adolescence grouped under Category 307, a group of disorders termed “transient situational disturbances.” The remaining three diagnoses came under Category 308, “behavior disorders of childhood and adolescence.”48 Additional diagnoses used by psychiatrists evaluating these children referred to personality disturbances and/or behavioral disturbances. Only one girl, from the entire sample, received a diagnosis of “chronic schizophrenia,” despite indicating that she was not psychotic nor did she suffer from hallucinations.49 Court psychiatrists or psychiatrists affiliated with the courts diagnosed most of these youth with non-severe psychiatric disturbances, which suggested to them the need for therapeutic intervention, ranging from psychotherapy to non-medical social intervention. These non-medical interventions seem to have carried particular gravitas when made by physicians. One exemplary case was that of a fourteen-year-old African American boy, held at the YSC, whom the staff psychiatrist for the Family Court and at YSC, Robert Donovan referred.50 Donovan diagnosed the teen with “runaway reaction of adolescence,” recommending “social investigation” to see whether the teen’s desire to live with his grandmother could be feasible. The court subsequently discharged the teen to live with his grandmother.51 Psychiatrists employed a medicalized language to assess and diagnose the youth referred to them by the courts. Yet they were acutely aware of the difficult social circumstances these children faced, and the diagnoses they reached reflected their understanding of the child’s milieu as well as the child’s response to it. Often suggesting mundane solutions such as identifying a family member who could care for the child, psychiatrists harnessed their professional authority to advocate for the children they evaluated. This follows a tradition of psychiatrists and mental health professionals advocating for the children they evaluated and cared for, as documented by historians of earlier decades.52 Family Dynamics Historian Deborah Weinstein has charted the rise of family therapy during the 1960s, demonstrating how “schizophrenia and delinquency” came to be seen as “disorders of the family.”53 She describes how family therapists adopted 1960s tropes of the “culture of poverty,” locating the roots of social disadvantage in family structure and disorganization, rather than social inequalities.54 Family therapists adopted the concept of “culture” as a determining factor in family pathology, and Weinstein shows how a contemporary family therapy journal of the time, Family Processes, became a locus for ethnographies, including those of the “urban ghetto.”55 These same approaches were evident during the late 1960s in Philadelphia. In particular, the family therapy pioneer Salvador Minuchin co-authored Families of the Slums while working at the Wiltwyck School for Boys, a study of family therapy with juvenile delinquents, Minuchin became head of the Philadelphia Child Guidance Clinic in 1965, where he continued developing his family therapy approach, including his work with juvenile delinquents.56 Mental health professionals committed themselves deeply to understanding family dynamics, often seen as the core cause of the children’s psychic troubles. All psychiatric evaluations referred to the child’s home situation, and children considered deeply troubled were sent for in-depth evaluations to the Eastern State School and Hospital, a state psychiatric hospital for children. Often, individual therapy or counseling for parents formed part of the recommended therapeutic intervention, and family dynamics factored into account when making placement recommendations. Nick McDougall, a twelve-year-old boy from an Irish Catholic family, had struggled at school and at home from since the age of nine when he first began psychiatric therapy. Nick, the oldest of four children, was born when his mother was sixteen-years-old; both she and the child’s stepfather had spent time in different child placement facilities in Philadelphia. The family had been in therapy through Catholic Charities services until Nick turned eleven; that year he began psychiatric treatment at a community hospital. After eight months of therapy at the community hospital, Nick was referred to Southern School for Children. In his intake, the list of presenting problems included “school truancy, running away, lying and stealing $800 from a local beer distributor.” At a follow-up clinical conference a few months later, staff described the stepfather as “critical and demanding,” having “no interest in changing himself.” Nick’s mother, the report continued, “gripes and gets a lot from a group of girlfriends.” Their marriage was “shaky” and needed “a lot of work or divorce.” Nick’s stay at Southern was not considered a therapeutic success; staff described him as having difficulties relating to group processes, a “loner,” requiring constant supervision. Nearly a year after his admission, he and four other boys broke into the school’s kitchen. Nick obtained five butcher knives and allegedly threatened a staff member with them. Following his arrest, he was held in secure detention at YSC pending adjudication. Southern refused to accept him back, noting that the staff did not trust him. Nonetheless, the psychiatric social worker visited Nick three times in detention. She noted that Nick seemed “extremely tearful and depressed,” and unable to accept the idea that he would not be able to return to Southern. Despite declining his admission, the staff advocated that Nick be released to his parents. In a two-page clinical conference evaluation prepared by the staff at Southern a week following Nick’s arrest, the psychiatric social worker noted that Nick’s mother and stepfather were coming in regularly for therapy, but their “personal needs were so great,” that it was unclear how much they could help Nick. Furthermore, “in assessing whether or not [Nick] might again become involved in dangerous behavior” such as which had led to his arrest, the psychiatric social worker thought that the “psychiatric and psychological studies” indicated there was significant cause to believe that he would engage in the same behavior. In fact, his “impulse control” and “social judgment” were so poor that there was worry he could be a danger to himself or others. The staff opined that Nick “did not have the strengths” to make use of the therapeutic program at Southern. Somewhat incongruently, the evaluation concluded with the recommendation to release Nick to his mother and stepfather. They had moved to New Jersey, were in a safer neighborhood and their “marriage had become somewhat more stable” since the move, and in addition Nick reported that he had “learned a lesson” from his stay in the detention center. With this recommendation in hand, the judge agreed to discharge Nick to his parents, while referring him to the New Jersey court for probation.57 Other evaluations focused similarly on family dynamics and family therapy. A community psychiatrist referred Lawrence, an eleven-year-old African American child, to the Eastern State School and Hospital for a comprehensive psychiatric evaluation. This nine-page document recorded the impressions of child psychiatrists, psychologists, pediatricians, social workers and caseworkers, conferring with the family and the boy. Lawrence, despite his young age, had had multiple encounters with law enforcement, for robbery, truancy, and incorrigibility. At one point, he had set fire to his bedroom. His mother, a single mother of four children, with the first born already in her teens, was described as “depressed and ineffectual,” and “angry” about Lawrence’s recent behavior. The case files said she “may very well reject him in light of her hostility towards men.” As his mother had not been utilizing the help offered to her, such as a “Behavior Modification Educative Program,” Lawrence’s “needs could not be met in his current home setting.” The files suggest Lawrence’s placement was in a dependent, rather than a delinquent setting. In order to “prepare for his return home,” that files further suggest that his mother undergo “intensive counseling or most likely psychiatric treatment.” Unfortunately, Lawrence ran away from his placement, and no further information is available in his file.58 Perceived pathological family interactions were taken to be at the core of many of the troubles of these youths. Family dynamics were accepted etiologies for delinquency and behavioral disturbances, and family therapy was often the recommended intervention. As historian Deborah Weinstein has noted, therapists often focused on those perceived elements of low-income home life that were seen to contribute to children’s psychological troubles. Family therapists were not oblivious to the wider social issues at play; yet they advocated individual family therapy as an immediate response, while supporting large-scale interventions to address social inequities.59 In other instances, psychiatrists noted that normal yet complicated family dynamics were at play, rather than complex legal or judicial questions. Court psychiatrist Freerk Wouters noted ongoing disagreements between a young teenager, Noelle, and her parents. The court, Wouters lamented, was called upon to settle a family dispute. He suggested they “split the difference” between Noelle and her parents, with placement in an open situation with regular psychotherapy.60 The girl was placed at Simpson Village, and attended psychotherapy with a child psychiatry fellow at the Philadelphia Child Guidance Clinic, headed by family therapy pioneer, Salvador Minuchin.61 As a condition for placement in the community, court psychiatrists often required many of the children under evaluation to participate in regular psychotherapy. These youth could expect to receive therapy at no personal cost. These community psychiatrists provided documents to the court, noting the child’s cooperation with therapy, and often advocated for the child’s desires in terms of placement, educational plans, and other concerns discussed during the weekly sessions. For instance, Noelle’s psychiatrist at the Child Guidance Clinic, Ronald Liebman, wrote the court that Noelle had difficulties with the group-based “living situation at Simpson Village” as well as “the acting out behavior of some of the residents”; she further noted that Noelle hoped for a more “individually oriented” setting. He also noted that she was “emotionally capable of negotiating a change” and that there was “no contraindications” to her moving. With this recommendation, Noelle received permission to leave Simpson Village to live with an adult she knew, who was appointed as a foster mother.62 Thus, Noelle’s psychiatrist served as an advocate for her desired social situation, in this case, placement. After Placement As in Noelle’s case, psychiatrists often played an important role not only in recommending placement, but also in allowing for discharge. Zachariah, an African American teen living with his maternal grandmother, had repeat interactions with law enforcement from the age of ten when he was arrested for “malicious mischief,” breaking light bulbs at a train station. Initially placed on probation, by age fifteen he received admission to a residential center, the New Jersey Youth Center, where he spent nearly two years. At the Youth Center, a psychologist evaluated Zachariah’s first year, noting that “youngsters with his character make up are usually refractory to treatment and have a long history of anti-social acts.” Zachariah was seen to have made an “adequate adjustment” but would require ongoing intensive residential care. By the following year, however, Zachariah’s academic evaluations all noted improvement, he was awarded a certificate of excellence in arts and crafts, and the psychiatric social worker at the school wrote letters to the DPW social worker, advocating for his early release to his aunt. The entire staff felt, the social worker noted, that “it would be in the best interest of [Zachariah] who has certainly demonstrated and merited his termination with the New Jersey Youth Center.” Zachariah corresponded regularly with his DPW social worker, explaining his progress and arranging for his evaluations to be forwarded. African American psychiatrist and Howard graduate, James D. Nelson, who evaluated Zachariah at least twice while he was at the youth center, was asked to weigh in on the discharge. Nelson described Zachariah as “quite anxious” over the “possibility of my throwing a monkey wrench into his discharge.” Nelson attributed this anxiety to Zachariah’s “mild paranoia”. Nelson discussed Zachariah’s future plans, and the teen said he “planned to return to high school, complete high school and go on to college and later law school.” Nelson noted that Zachariah’s academic record could be a barrier, but stated: “I did not discourage him, realizing that the IQ scores are often based upon certain middle class prejudices and I did feel that it was quite possible that this boy did have the intelligence and the motivation to get a high school education. I asked him to contact me should he run into any difficulty getting a college course at the high school which he would be attending.” Zachariah was discharged to his aunt and no further interactions with the DPW are noted in his file.63 Outspoken and socially progressive, Nelson wrote a regular column for the historically black Philadelphia Tribune titled “Social Psychiatrist Discusses Problems.” In this column, Nelson participated in the ongoing debate about the roots of intelligence, and the cause of the racial gap in intelligence tests. This debate reopened with psychologist Arthur Jensen’s controversial 1969 publication in the Harvard Educational Review, which argued for the hereditary nature of intelligence, the futility of intense enrichment programs, and genetic differences in abilities between racial groups.64 In a May 1969 column written a few months before his evaluation of Zachariah, Nelson directly referred to Jensen’s arguments in this debate.65 Although Nelson was more politically engaged than many of his local contemporaries, many of the DPW case files implicitly address. Intelligence Testing, Race and Potential The debate over race and intelligence exemplifies how contemporary Philadelphia court psychiatrists resisted racist concepts of African American inferiority and replaced a reliance solely on numerical measures with a more holistic analysis of the child’s individual and social circumstances. Following Jensen’s 1969 article, the determinants of intelligence were increasingly disputed, and a number of prominent lawsuits were filed to contest the overrepresentation of African American children in “special education” classes, prompting a public debate nationally, and, in California, a moratorium on intelligence testing in schools.66 Despite this, every child seen in the Philadelphia court system received a mental health evaluation, including an intelligence test, which the psychiatrist discussed with them during his or her final assessment. Nearly all of the psychiatric reports compiled by the court psychiatrists included two diagnoses: an assessment of intellectual capacities and a psychiatric diagnosis. These tests were not reserved solely for children who suspected of delinquent acts; many children in need of placement outside their homes also received the same tests in order to help determine their placement. The terminology acceptable at the time referred to children as bright, normal, dull or “retarded”; the assessment also noted an intelligence quotient derived from the Wechsler Intelligence Testing for Children (WISC) tests.67 According to the definition offered by the American Association on Mental Deficiency, mental retardation as indicated performance at a level lower than one standard deviation below the mean in tests designed to measure intelligence. Accordingly, lower-level performance appeared alongside a failure of “adaptive behavior,” an ambiguous concept tied to intellectual and emotional maturity.68 The terms “dull” and “dull normal” were also commonly used in interpreting WISC tests. Among the thirty-nine cases at the core of this analysis, thirty-four cases included the results of intelligence testing in the actual case files or in subsequent reports. There is no mention of whether the remaining five children had been tested, but the results were not preserved in their files. Of the thirty-four children whose results were available, one child, an African American boy, was diagnosed as “retarded” with an IQ of fifty-nine, and eventually was institutionalized. Ten children were described with normalizing terms such as “average,” “normal,” or had an IQ score recorded that was consistent with average intellectual abilities. Of these children, seven were black and three were white. Eighteen children were diagnosed as either “mildly retarded,” “borderline retarded,” “defective,” “dull” or “dull normal,” though some of these children were noted to have “normal potential” but to be functioning at this impaired level. Of these children, eleven were black, two were Hispanic and five were white. Five youth were described as bright or “superior” abilities; of these, four were white and one was black. While this is not a sample designed to allow for statistic analysis, it does show that, as was the case throughout the nation, black children were disproportionately identified as intellectually disabled.69 Yet, in contrast to assumptions offered by later educational reformers and activists, most of these intelligence assessments did not significantly affect placement, nor did they necessarily stigmatize the children or predetermine educators’ perceptions of these children’s abilities once placed.70 In fact, some children’s performance and abilities, once settled in a stable situation, contrasted positively with the diagnoses they had initially received from the court. In a 1969 letter summarizing Charles’s stay at Walton Village, Director Robert Blatt wrote a detailed account of the teen’s progress, affectionately referring to him as Chuck. Chuck “was a prime example of a boy whose IQ showed him to be retarded and yet he was one of our most functional residents.” Blatt went on to note that though Chuck’s reading and math abilities were not high, they met his needs, adding that “his wheeling and dealing with money makes Howard Hughes look like a schoolboy.” Chuck was a “contributor to Walton Village culture,” a trait Blatt and his colleagues highly valued in creating the therapeutic environment they sought to foster. In closing, Blatt noted that he was “grateful for the opportunity” to work with Chuck, and was sure he would be a credit to both Walton and the DPW.71 Experts similarly contextualized children’s scores on tests designed to evaluate their intellectual acumen, reflecting contemporary debates as to the determinants of intelligence. Jerome, a teen initially known to the DPW after being charged with arson and, later, tampering with a fire hydrant, came from a family in which all other siblings had been removed from the home by Philadelphia’s child protective services. Initially placed with Youth Services, Inc., a residential center in Philadelphia, he completed an IQ test first in 1965, and then in 1966. The 1965 testing indicated a full score IQ of 72, but a verbal IQ of only 59; the testing psychologist noted that “only severe deprivation combined with emotional disturbance” could account for the “impoverishment” of the verbal language. She suggested the child had been “hopelessly stifled and crippled.” Psychological factors, and particularly the concept of deprivation, enjoyed widespread acceptance in understanding why children from disadvantaged environments did not reach their full potential, and served as the scientific rationale for educational enrichment programs.72 Following placement, Jerome showed a great interest in school, to the point that the social worker describing his progress noted that he had to be “forced” to stay home when sick. His relations with classmates and teachers greatly improved. The same psychologist administered testing in 1966, and noted a sixteen-point increase in his verbal IQ, his full score was now eighty-eight, and suggested that Jerome was now functioning at or above his optimal level. In light of these gains, the psychologist advised against allowing Jerome to return home to his family, as this would be “tantamount to trial by fire,” given the stress she recognized in the child’s relationship with his mother. Despite the psychologist’s opinion, the caseworkers at Youth Services proceeded to arrange for Jerome’s transfer home, and no further involvement with DPW or the legal system is noted. Jerome’s perceived low intellectual ability did not prevent him from returning home, which he clearly desired. This episode demonstrates that child mental health professionals in Philadelphia viewed IQ as malleable, consistent with contemporary notions designed to increase intellectual abilities by educational enrichment, which served at the base of large-scale interventions, such as Project Head Start.73 Although the rise in IQ was not the only factor noted as evidence of Jerome’s progress, it received citations in multiple documents in his file; his caseworker called it the “most graphic illustration” of his progress. At a time when increasing IQ through compensatory education attracted public attention, this case demonstrates that even for these disadvantaged and disempowered children, experts believed it was possible to increase their intellectual capacities. Indeed most descriptions of the children noted to be “dull” or “retarded” included considerable background on the children’s home environment, and how this might serve to hinder their intellectual or linguistic development. For instance, Juan, a Spanish-speaking teen, was assessed by the evaluating psychologist as follows: “despite being handicapped by a bilingual background, Juan functions within the dull normal intellectual range and displays greater potential.”74 Another child, David, tested as “mildly retarded.” Yet the evaluating psychologist also noted that he suffered from “emotional disturbances influencing intellectual functions,” and fatigue, as he had yawned throughout his examination, and had slept little the night prior.75 These assessments were the norm in the files I reviewed, indicating a malleable approach to the determinants of intelligence and a focus on the role of nurture, rather than nature. Progressive psychiatrists and psychologists in Philadelphia argued against racist views of innate inferiority, yet while doing so, there was nearly always a concomitant pathologization of poverty implicated as the cause for suboptimal intellectual development, as often understood to be the case in non-majority cultures.76 Child Services Professionals, the Juvenile Justice System and Pediatric Mental Health: Previous analyses, such as those by legal scholar Dorothy Roberts and socio-medical historians David Rosner and Gerald Markovitz, have called attention to racial disparities in the application of mental health theories and treatment models.77 Children of color were more likely to be met with a punitive approach rather than a therapeutic approach, and were less likely to be beneficiaries of rehabilitative intervention. But overt forms of bias were less apparent in the case in the files I have examined. The evaluations were empathetic, thorough, and attuned to larger debates regarding racial and social inequities. The cohort of children I examined were all involved with both the DPW and the juvenile justice system, and a clearly disproportionate majority were African American, reflecting deep-seated inequalities. Yet, once these children were within these systems, I found that children regardless of race and ethnicity had attention and care based on prevailing therapeutic principles. Recommendations by the mental health system were interpreted within a broad framework that took into account the child’s background and emotional state, and the IQ itself was portrayed as a malleable target of intervention. This progressive view of the determinants of intelligence, during a period of fierce public debate, suggests that the mental health professionals aligned themselves with contemporary anti-racist views, embedded in a more holistic appreciation of children’s needs and abilities. Factors such as gender clearly mattered too, but the numbers of girls in the system was small, and the records incomplete. Of the six girls in my thirty-nine cases, all were involved with minor infractions (truancy or incorrigibility). Four ran away with no further note of contact, and for the fifth girl, there was no indication of a final disposition in her case, so no further details were made available. The sixth girl, Noelle, as we saw, was discharged at her request to a family friend. While a sample that included only six girls provides very limited information, it confirms a general observation confirmed in numerous settings, including a large-scale study of delinquency in Philadelphia in the 1980s that boys were much more likely to be involved with the juvenile justice system, to have more extensive involvement, and to experience harsh treatment.78 Despite a holistic and often racially sensitive approach to individual children, however, these Philadelphia clinicians functioned within a system that predominantly identified poor children of color as being in need of interventions that resulted in their removal from homes and communities. This again highlights the slippage between individual intention and the reality of structural inequality. Judges, in general, stated clearly and repeatedly that they wanted to avoid delinquency charges, or strived to replace delinquency proceedings with dependency. Occasionally, judges oscillated between the two options, in attempts to find the best location to house a child. For instance, in 1968, a caseworker noted that Charles (who later went to Walton Village), was committed by a judge to a delinquent facility as a “holding place.” In chambers, the judge explained to the caseworker that he thought it would be a better fit for the boy than sending him, as a dependent youth, to YSC. In response, she advised him to have the child committed as a dependent, so that DPW could arrange for his placement. Accordingly, Charles was transferred to YSC and from there, to a correctional institution, where he stayed for a few months until his acceptance at Walton Village.79 There was significant overlap between delinquent and dependent placements. When arrests were made on truancy charges or other status offences, these were most often either dropped or replaced by dependency proceedings.80 When children ran away from placement, case workers often used this opportunity to examine the new living situation, and to assess whether it would be feasible to keep the child with the adult to whom he or she had been returned. In at least two of the thirty nine cases examined, when a teen ran away from placement and was found to be adjusting successfully at home, the DPW agreed to continue this arrangement and forgo placement plans, or at least set up a trial or transition period.81 When there were no court proceedings pending, cases of children who ran away or were lost to follow up were not referred for judicial action. The cases were simply closed. At times, judges expressed a clear rationale why they preferred to avoid delinquency proceedings. Zachariah, who had been arrested numerous times for acting as a lookout in an attempt to steal charity canisters from neighborhood stores, and later for throwing stones at a train, had been on delinquency probation. The judge expressed concern that delinquent placement would worsen Zachariah’s behavior, and instead, discharged him from delinquent probation, and committed him to DPW as a dependent.82 Again, while this sample is not large enough to draw conclusions about racial biases, I found no evidence that judges were less lenient on children of color.83 Many of Philadelphia’s disadvantaged residents perceived the DPW as a potential source of assistance and support.84 Expectant mothers, overwhelmed fathers, worried grandmothers, neighbors all reached out to DPW to request different services, or simply to meet with a caseworker and hear what services were available. Children were rarely removed from their parents’ home against the parent’s wishes, and only in cases of extreme and documented abuse. In fact, in reading the 257 files, I found that even most cases of documented abuse did not lead to the removal of children from their home. Caseworkers in the DPW actively advocated for the children’s safe return to their communities and assisted in arrangements for discharge from supervised care. They often also helped arrange for the material needs that families would require in order to preserve the family unit. For instance in 1971, a supervisor in the Protective Services Department (a part of the DPW) wrote to the Philadelphia Housing Authority, asking to prioritize assistance in housing for a mother of four, three of whom were in dependent placement. “The children have been in placement too long for their own good,” she argued, going on to say, “if Mrs. Smith only had a house, she could have her family together.”85 Numerous legal scholars have described the disturbing trend of blaming families for being poor, and viewing poverty as a justification to forcibly separate children from their parents, as the effects of poverty are too often conflated with neglect.86 This can be seen as part of a larger process of the criminalization of poverty and of individuals relying on welfare services, which coincided with the rise in urban women of color relying on these services from the 1960s and onwards, as welfare services gradually became identified with this group.87 Yet this pattern did not seem to hold in the setting of the Philadelphia’s DPW adjudications in the late 1960s, in which social welfare services attempted, certainly not always successfully, to distinguish between poverty, criminality, and abuse, and to offer therapeutic services for children in need. Epilogue: Rethinking the Role of Mental Health in Juvenile Justice A reading of the case files and the evaluations of the mental health professionals might suggest that children’s experiences with the juvenile justice system in the period before the “decline of the rehabilitative model,” were generally positive, therapeutic, and child-centered. Unfortunately, that may have not been the case. The particular perspective gained from these files represents only a select group of children who were simultaneously involved with both mental health services and the justice system. Philadelphia judge and lifelong advocate for children’s rights, Lois Forer, documented the experiences of a broader swathe of children involved with the juvenile justice system in Philadelphia, in her 1970 book titled No One Will Lissen.88 In contrast to the cohort of children whose cases I examined, Forer focused on children whose primary interaction was with the juvenile justice system (rather than the DPW). Forer presented readers with documentation for shocking cases of abuse, prolonged confinement, lack of due process, and racial and socioeconomic discrimination in a setting in which the stakes were the highest – the children’s personal freedom. Many of these abuses stemmed from the same premises that allowed the juvenile court to champion mental health – a belief that judges could assess what was in the child’s best interest and a significant discretion and lack of oversight in the judiciary processes, combined with confidence in the therapeutic potential of the system.89 Another caution is necessary in any generalization from this study. The primary sources for this analysis are archival files written by the professionals involved in the children’s care. The records tend to reflect the belief of these providers that their interventions were therapeutic. The children’s voices were rarely heard in these files, and when they were, it was often in poignant letters to caseworkers attempting to advocate for themselves, arguing for their personal progress or “improvement” and requesting their release to the community or transfer to a less restrictive setting. As historian Elizabeth Hinton has argued, the relations between welfare and law enforcement services changed from the late 1960s and into the mid 1970s, with growing cooperation and interdependence between the two agencies. In her compelling analysis, she shows how social agencies collaborated with law enforcement initially as a means to access funds available for crime reduction, and later as a way to prevent future crime (ultimately leading to the criminalization of black youth and their urban communities). At the same time, youth who were judged to be less dangerous, nearly always white and from more privileged backgrounds, were diverted out of formal court and prison systems and into smaller community-based and private organizations with therapeutic goals.90 The close relations between the DPW and the juvenile justice system in the late 1960s set the stage for the future collaboration between the two agencies. Furthermore, personnel changes, such as the appointment of Eugene Montone, former head of Walton Village, to head the YSC detention center, and later to serve as director of Children and Youth Services in Mercer County, Pennsylvania, a child welfare agency, indicates the many continuities that existed between the confinement and the care of children.91 In keeping with the 1960s emphasis on the rehabilitation of juveniles, the Philadelphia juvenile justice system and the DPW worked together to provide therapeutic services to the children under their care. There was no follow-up on these children, however, once they were discharged from placement. The system kept no systematic data on the long term outcomes of its interventions. We might consider these gaps in light of present-day studies suggesting that recent forms of therapeutic intervention for children who are adjudicated delinquent are ineffective at best, and even counterproductive.92 It is unclear whether the therapeutic approach of the 1960s was superior to a punitive approach the followed it. In fact, the two approaches came to overlap significantly in terms of the child’s experience of confinement and isolation. While therapeutic interventions may have been beneficial for some children, for others it may have been a disproportionate response to simple maladaptive childhood behavior. Indeed, since there is a present-day understanding that children often outgrow delinquent behavior, it is possible that neither therapeutic nor punitive interventions were warranted for many of the disadvantaged children referred to in this article.93 Alternative approaches prioritizing education and alleviating poverty may have been more effective, as well as morally sound. Additionally, as the system focused on the evaluation of the children’s perceived needs and potential, rather than on the severity of their actions, it created room for discretion and judgment that was equally an opening for individual bias and prejudice.94 Thus despite the fact that many psychiatrists were dedicated to the children they cared for, and espoused progressive and anti-racists views, there is no evidence that the care they provided within the juvenile justice system was helpful to these individual children. The role of psychiatrists within the juvenile justice system, at the cusp of the decline of this therapeutic approach, is important in particular because of its long-lasting legacy. The decline of the rehabilitative model, hastened by disillusionment with social welfare interventions in the early 1970s, heralded a punitive era in corrections in general.95 In the juvenile justice system, this change was two-tiered. In the post-Gault era, children who committed minor offences were funneled away from juvenile justice interventions and, instead, subject to child welfare interventions. The 1970s saw a tremendous growth in the placement of children in residential treatment centers and childcare institutions, funded by social services funds made available after the Social Security Act amendments of 1967. However, children who had committed more serious offences were placed in juvenile correctional facilities or even transferred to the adult courts. This was and remains a site in which racial and socioeconomic biases come into play, as African American children and poor children are more likely to be subject to corrections rather than treatment. If they are referred to treatment facilities, these facilities differ in standards and tend to be underfunded, allowing for underprivileged children particularly to be subject to abuse and harsh treatment.96 Yet, as the juvenile justice system has grown more punitive, resembling more closely the adult criminal court, its stated goals remain rehabilitation.97 Therapeutics often serve as a justification for depriving children of their liberty and their communities, a legacy of the close involvement of psychiatrists in juvenile justice. In a tautological fashion, in a system designed for a rehabilitative ideal, any new interventions or programming were necessarily touted as therapeutic. This enabled the juvenile justice system to retain remnants of earlier therapeutic systems, such as indeterminate sentencing, without the protections (albeit imperfect) provided by the adult criminal court. Indeterminate sentencing allowed youth to be confined for years, ostensibly to complete prolonged course of therapy, for non-violent offenses that would have led to a fine or a short prison sentence in the adult criminal court.98 A system in principle rehabilitative, but in practice punitive, ultimately ended by disproportionately punishing and confining low-income boys and girls of color.99 Ironically, these aspects of the juvenile justice system may be the strongest legacy of the 1960s psychiatrists’ work. Identifying the role of mental health professionals in this infrastructure is an important first step in contemplating reform. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The author wishes to thank Robert Aronowitz, Naomi Rogers and Dorothy Roberts for their generous mentorship and wise comments on earlier drafts. Faculty and fellows at the University of Pennsylvania's Robert Wood Johnson Clinical Scholars Program provided support and helpful insight. The author is also grateful to Christopher Crenner for his astute editorial advice. Footnotes 1 File on Etienne Brown, Box 5031, Record Group 84, City Archives, Philadelphia, PA. For brevity, these references will be cited subsequently by pseudonym and box number only. 2 For a study of race and class in the rise of social work, see Daniel J. Walkowitz, Working with Class: Social Workers and the Politics of Middle-Class Identity, (Chapel Hill: UNC Press, 1999). 3 In her sociological study of race and welfare, legal scholar Dorothy Roberts has outlined the ways in which poverty and racism led to the overrepresentation of African American children in care outside their homes, and subsequently, to their disproportionate involvement with the juvenile justice system. Dorothy Roberts, Shattered Bonds: The Color of Child Welfare (New York: Basic Books, 2002), 202-3. 4 Ellen Herman, The Romance of American Psychology, (Berkley: University of California Press, 1995), 304-17. 5 Deborah Doroshow, “Emotionally Disturbed: Residential Treatment, Child Psychiatry, and the Creation of Normal Children in Mid-Twentieth Century America,” (doctoral dissertation, Yale University, 2012), 376-8. 6 Feld, Bad Kids, 99-123. 7 Christopher P. Manfredi, The Supreme Court and Juvenile Justice, (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998), 80-129. 8 Legal scholars, most notably Christopher Manfredi and Francis Allen, identify the early 1970s as the beginning of the decline of what has been termed the “rehabilitative ideal” in juvenile justice. Manfredi, The Supreme Court and Juvenile Justice; Francis A. Allen, The Decline of the Rehabilitative Ideal: Penal Policy and Social Purpose, (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1981), Ethan G. Sribnick, “Rehabilitating Child Welfare: Children and Public Policy, 1945– 1980” (Ph.D. diss., University of Virginia, 2007). Andrew J. Polsky, The Rise of the Therapeutic State, (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1991). 9 Jason Barnosky, “The Violent Years: Response to Juvenile Crime in the 1950s,” Polity 38, no. 3 (2006): 314-44; Barry C. Feld, “Race and the Jurisprudence of Juvenile Justice: A Tale in Two Parts, 1950-2000,” in Our Children, Their Children; Confronting Racial and Ethnic Differences in American Juvenile Justice, ed. Kimberly Kempf-Leonard and Darnell F. Hawkings (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), 122-63. 10 Hermann Mannheim, Group Problems in Crime and Punishment, (Montclair, N.J.: Patterson Smith, 1971), 215. 11 Miriam L. Gafni Barney B. Welsh, “Post Conviction Problems and the Defective Delinquent,” Villanova Law Review 12, no 3 (1967): 545-602. On Dr Frignito, p. 556. Also, Leonard Sattel, February 4, 2016, Personal Communication to Author. 12 For a history of residential treatment centers, see Deborah Doroshow, “Residential Treatment and the Invention of the Emotionally Disturbed Child in Twentieth-Century America,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 90 (2016): 92–123. While Doroshow draws clear distinctions between training and reform schools and RTCs, in Pennsylvania at the time, it appears to have been more of a spectrum of placement options. See also Lisa Aversa Richette, The Throwaway Children (New York: Dell Publishing, 1969), 26-28, for descriptions of some of the contemporary facilities. 13 Richard Berkowtiz, “Eastern State's Closing Official,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 14, 1995. 14 Jonathan Engel, American Therapy: The Rise of Psychotherapy in the United States (New York: Gotham Books, 2008). 15 Anthony Davids, “Therapeutic Approaches to Children in Residential Treatment: Changes from the Mid−1950s to the Mid−1970s,”American Psychologist 30, no. 8 (1975):809–814; Bertram J. Cohler and Patrick Zimmerman, “Youth in Residential Care: From War Nursery to Therapeutic Milieu,” Psychoanalytic Study of the Child 52 (1997): 339–385. 16 Eleanor Pavenstedt, ed., The Drifters: Children of Disorganized Lower-Class Families, (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1967). 17 Mical Raz, What’s Wrong with the Poor: Race, Psychiatry and the War on Poverty, (Chapel Hill: UNC Press, 2013). 18 Richard H. Taber, “A Systems Approach to the Delivery of Mental Health Services in Black Ghetto,” American Journal of Orthopsychiatry 40, no. 4 (1970): 702-709, quote on p. 703. For a contemporary Philadelphia overview, see also Stephen I. Ring and Lawrence Schein, “Attitudes toward Mental Illness and the Use of Caretakers in a Black Community,” American Journal of Orthopsychiatry 40, no. 4 (1970): 710-16. 19 On the challenges of writing the history of children, while relying on adult sources, see Peter N. Stearns, “Challenges in the History of Childhood,” The Journal of the History of Childhood and Youth 1, no. 1 (2008): 35-42. For a call to focus on children in medicine, see Russell Viner and Janet Golden, “Children’s Experiences of Illness,” in Medicine in the Twentieth Century, ed. Roger Cooter and John Pickstone (London: Harwood International, 2001), 575-588. 20 Guenter B. Risse and John H. Warner, “Reconstructing Clinical Activities: Patient Records in Medical History,” Social History of Medicine 5 (1992): 183–205; and Warwick Anderson, “The Case of the Archive,” Critical Inquiry 39, no. 3 (2013): 532-547. 21 Benjamin Saunders et al., “Saturation in Qualitative Research: Exploring Its Conceptualization and Operationalization,” Quality & Quantity (2017): 1-15. 22 All material is cited solely according to the pseudonym of the child’s file in which it is preserved (usually first name only, unless pseudonym of last name is revealing of likely ethnic background), and the box, and no separate documents are identified, as these would require providing details such as dates that are intentionally omitted. See also, Susan Lawrence, “Access Anxiety: HIPAA and Historical Research,” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 62 no. 4 (2007): 422-460. This current article is part of a larger study that was reviewed by the University of Pennsylvania Institutional Review Board (IRB) on 11/9/2015, and was determined to meet eligibility criteria for IRB review exemption authorized by 45 CFR 46.101, category 4. 23 Lisa Levenstein, A Movement without Marches: African American Women and the Politics of Poverty in Postwar Philadelphia (Chapel Hill: UNC Press, 2009), particularly pp. 1-30. 24 For a full discussion of the racial implications of deprivation theory, and their influence on perceptions of intelligence, Raz, What’s Wrong with the Poor, 2013. 25 See Barry Feld, Bad Kids: Race and the Transformation of the Juvenile Court (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999) 61-65; 185-88. As numerous scholars have noted, consensual sexual behavior was criminalized nearly solely for girls, and was often grounds for punishment and removal from their homes. On this see, Lisa Pasko, “Damaged Daughters: The History of Girls’ Sexuality and the Juvenile Justice System,” The Journal of Criminal Law & Criminology, 100, no. 3 (2010): 1099-1130. 26 While different states held different standards for dealing with status offenders, the 1974 Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention Act required states to find community–based solutions for status offenders in order to be eligible for federal funding through this act, in a provision known as the Deinstitutionalization of Status Offenders requirement. In 1960s Pennsylvania had no such requirement. For a history of the treatment of status offenders, see Robert W. Sweet, Jr, “Deinstitutionalization of Status Offenders: In Perspective,” Pepperdine Law Review 18, no. 2 (1991): 389-415; Lee Teitelbaum, “Status Offenses and Status Offenders,” in Margaret Rosenheim et al, eds. A Century of Juvenile Justice (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002), 158-75. 27 Eugene Montone, “Walton Village: A YMCA Residential Center for Delinquent Teenage Boys,” Federal Probation 31, no. 2 (1967): 27-32. 28 No author, “Walton Village Cares for Rejected,” Philadelphia Tribune (1912-2001), Sep 23, 1969, p. 15. 29 No author, “32,000$Willed to Y for Use at Walton Village,” Philadelphia Inquirer, May 29, 1965, Philadelphia Inquirer Collection, Special Collections Research Center, Temple University Libraries, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (hitherto, SCRC, Temple). 30 Edward Eisen, “Castoffs Get 2nd Chance at Walton Village,” Philadelphia Inquirer, January 22, 1967, SCRC, Temple. 31 Jack Markowitz, “Walton Village Pioneers Live for Future,” Philadelphia Inquirer, October 6, 1965, SCRC, Temple; Montone, “Walton Village,” p. 29. 32 No Author, “Village on the 26th Floor, “The Rotarian, March 1968, p. 49. Nathan Kleger, “8 Delinquents in Penthouse, As Long as They Behave,” Philadelphia Bulletin, October 8, 1967, p. 36, Philadelphia Bulletin Collection, SCRC, Temple. 33 Montone, “Walton Village,” p. 29. 34 “Walton Village ‘Cares’ For Rejected Youth,” Philadelphia Tribune, Sep 27, 1969, p. 14 35 J. Brantley Wilder, “Rizzo Backs Suspended Youth Study Center Workers' Right To File Complaints With Him,” Philadelphia Tribune, Oct 23, 1973, p. 1; Ed Stenson, “Homosexual Issue Spreads at YSC As Six More Aides Are Arrested,”Philadelphia Tribune, Feb 8, 1975; J. Brantley Wilder, “Youth, 14, Says Disease Was Contracted From Male ‘Lover’ at Center” Philadelphia Tribune July 27, 1974. 36 J. Brantley Wilder, “YSC Director Lashed At Council Hearing,”Philadelphia Tribune, Oct 22, 1974, p. 2; No author, “Montone Is Leaving Youth Study Center” Philadelphia Tribune, Jan 4, 1975, p. 1; No author, “Y. S. C. Expose Wins National Award” Philadelphia Tribune, July 9, 1974, p. 2 37 In particular, the lawsuit Santiago v City of Philadelphia, 435 F.Supp. 136, Case number 74-2589, filed in 1974, and sought to end crowded and abusive detention conditions at the YSC, and settled in 1989. This lawsuit named Eugene Montone as one of the defendants. For a detailed history of the litigation, see Robert G. Schwartz, “Litigation and Mediation Reduce Detention Center Overcrowding,” The Prison Journal 71, no. 1 (1991): 68-76. 38 Although Michael was planned to be released to Walton Village, an administrative change in his release date led to his release to a similar program at a YMCA in New Jersey, rather than to Walton Village, Michael Gambini, 5035 39 Richard, 5035. 40 Carlos, 5047 41 Robert, 5039 42 David, 5043. On Southern School for Children, see Stanley L. Rosner and Lauren A. Spinelli, “A Summer Educational Program for Disturbed Children,” The Reading Teacher 21, no. 8 (1968): 717-23. 43 Nathan J. Hale, The Rise and Crisis of Psychoanalysis in the United States: Freud and the Americans, 1917-1985 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995); and Engel, American Therapy, 2008. 44 Committee on Child Psychiatry, Group for the Advancement of Psychiatry, Psychopathological Disorders in Childhood: Theoretical Considerations and a Proposed Classification (New York: GAP, 1966), 297- 325. They committee reviewed 23 classifications and included a reference to an additional researcher who had suggested a partial classification, and had influenced others in the field. 45 Susan Lamb, Pathologist of the Mind: Adolf Meyer and the Origins of American Psychiatry (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014), 152-57. 46 Alfred M. Freedman and Harold I. Kaplan, Comprehensive Textbook of Psychiatry (Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins Co., 1967), 1366. 47 The Committee on Nomenclature and Statistics of the American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, second edition, (Washington DC: American Psychiatric Association, 1968), 11-12, 49-51. Comparisons between editions on p. 81. 48 Ibid, 49-51. 49 Martha, 5043. On changing definitions of schizophrenia, see Jonathan M. Metzl The Protest Psychosis: How Schizophrenia Became a Black Disease (Boston: Beacon Press, 2009). 50 Dr Robert Donovan, Obituary, Times Leader, Wilkes-Barre, Scranton PA, December 3, 2008, available at http://archives.timesleader.com/2009_6/2008_12_03_03_scranton_obits_12-03-2008_QV9AUU6_–.html 51 Clement, 5047. 52 Jones, Taming the Troublesome Child, 62-90, and Markowitz and Rosner, Children Race and Power, 137-150. 53 Deborah Weinstein, The Pathological Family: Postwar America and the Rise of Family Therapy, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013), 174. 54 Ibid, 98-109. 55 Ibid, 103. For a contemporary perspective on “cultural” explanations of health disparities, see Robert Aronowitz et al., “Cultural Reflexivity in Health Research and Practice,” American Journal of Public Health 105 (2015): S403–S408. 56 Ibid, 155; and Salvador Minuchin, et al., Families of the Slums: An Exploration of Their Structure and Treatment (New York: Basic Books, 1967). 57 Nick McDougall, 5047. 58 Lawrence, 5043. 59 Weinstein, Pathological Family, 103. 60 Noelle, 5047. 61 Ronald Liebman, Personal Communication to Author, February 8, 2016; Herbert Goldenberg and Irene Goldenberg, Family Therapy: An Overview, 7th edition, (Belmont: Thomson Brooks/Cole, 2008), 237-39. 62 Noelle, 5047 63 Zachariah, 5039. 64 Arthur Jensen, “How Much Can We Boost IQ and Scholastic Achievement?” Harvard Educational Review 39, no. 1 (1969): 1-123. 65 James D. Nelson, “Social Psychiatrist Discusses Problems, “Philadelphia Tribune, May 3, 1969, p. 6. 66 For a full discussion, Raz, What’s Wrong with the Poor, 67-75, 112-141. 67 In this analysis, I will use the term “retarded” as an actor’s category, and otherwise rely on the accepted terminology of intellectual and developmental disability. See Robert L. Schalock, Ruth A. Luckasson, and Karrie A. Shogren, “The Renaming of Mental Retardation: Understanding the Change to the Term ‘Intellectual Disability,’” Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities 45, no. 2 (2007): 116-24. 68 Raz, What’s Wrong with the Poor, 114. 69 Beth Ferri and David Connor, “Tools of Exclusion: Race, Disability and (Re)segregated Education,” Teachers College Record 2005, 107(3): 453-74. 70 Raz, What’s Wrong with the Poor, 112-41. This interpretative approach to the IQ tests is similar to that described at Kenneth and Mamie Clark’s Northside Clinic. See Markowitz and Rosner, Children, Race and Power, 123-28. 71 Charles, 5035. 72 Raz, What’s Wrong with the Poor, 37-75. 73 Barbara Beatty, “The Debate over the Young ‘Disadvantaged Child’: Preschool Intervention, Developmental Psychology, and Compensatory Education in the 1960s and 1970s,” Teachers College Record 114, no. 6 (2012): 1-21; Raz, What’s Wrong with the Poor, 76-111; Maris A. Vinovskis, The Birth of Head Start: Preschool Education Policies in the Kennedy and Johnson Administrations (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005); Diane Ravitch, The Troubled Crusade: American Education, 1945-1980 (New York: Basic Books, 1983) 74 Juan, 5047. 75 David, 5043. 76 Dennis A. Doyle, Psychiatry and Racial Liberalism in Harlem 1936-1968 (Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2016), particularly p. 151. See also Daryl M. Scott, Contempt and Pity: Social Policy and the Image of the Damaged Black Psyche, 1880-1996, (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997). 77 David Rosner and Gerald Markowitz, “Race, Foster Care and the Politics of Abandonment in New York City,” American Journal of Public Health 87, no. 11 (1997): 1844–1849. Roberts, Shattered Bonds, 13-14. 78 Paul E. Tracy, Marvin E. Wolfgang, Robert M. Figlio, Delinquency in Two Birth Cohorts : Executive Summary, (Washington D.C.: U.S. Dept. of Justice, 1985 ), 5-6; and Laura Ann Otten, A Comparison of Male and Female Delinquency in a Birth Cohort (Status Offenses, Age of Onset, Gender, Recidivism) (Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 1985) 79 Charles, 5035 80 For instance, John Fabry, 5039 81 John Fabry, 5039 and Robert Lynch, 5031. 82 Zachariah, 5039 83 In contrast, current studies of court dispositions in Philadelphia indicate that black children are sentenced more harshly for similar offenses. Jamie J. Fader et al “The Color of Juvenile Justice: Racial Disparities in Dispositional Decisions” Social Science Research 44 (2014): 126-40. 84 For a contemporary analysis of the often detrimental roles child welfare services can assume within a given community, see Dorothy Roberts, “The Racial Geography of Child Welfare: Toward a New Research Paradigm”Child Welfare 87, no. 2 (2008): 125-50. 85 Oscar Smith, 5043. 86 Roberts, Shattered Bonds, 25-46; Stephen Wizner, “Do the Poor have a Right to Family Integrity,” in S. Randall Humm et al, (eds.) Child, Parent, and State, (Philadelphia, Temple University Press, 1994.) 87 Kaaryn Gustafson, “The Criminalization of Poverty,” Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology, 99, no. 3 (2009): 643-712. Michael B. Katz, The Undeserving Poor: From the War on Poverty to the War on Welfare, (New York: Pantheon, 1989), Jill Quadagno, The Color of Welfare: How Racism Undermined the War on Poverty, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994); for an analysis of African American women utilizing welfare services in Philadelphia, see Levenstein, A Movement without Marches. 88 Wolfgang Saxon, “Lois G. Forer, 80, a Judge and Author, Dies,” New York Times, May 11, 1994. Lois G. Forer, “No One Will Lissen”: How Our Legal System Brutalizes the Youthful Poor, (New York: John Day, 1970). 89 Forer, No One Will Lissen, 153-71; Feld, Bad Kids, 245-85; Sribnick,”Rehabilitating Child Welfare,” 100-115. 90 Elizabeth Hinton, “Creating Crime: The Rise and Impact of National Juvenile Delinquency Programs in Black Urban Neighborhoods,” Journal of Urban History 41, no. 5 (2015): 808-824; see also Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness (New York: New Press, 2012,) 86; 118-20; 222. 91 No Author, Eugene J. Montone, Obituary, The Herald, April 2013, Sharon, Pennsylvania, available online: http://www.sharonherald.com/obituaries/eugene-j-montone/article_fc5b8304-d948-51f7-a162-8587b8e84a34.html. 92 Feld, Bad Kids, 279-83; Pew Charitable Trust Report, “Re-Examining Juvenile Incarceration: High Cost, Poor Outcomes Spark Shift to Alternatives” April 2015, available online at: http://www.pewtrusts.org/en/research-and-analysis/issue-briefs/2015/04/reexamining-juvenile-incarceration. 93 Feld, Bad Kids, 97-98; Laurence Steinberg, Elizabeth Cauffman and Kathryn C. Monahan, “Psychosocial Maturity and Desistance from Crime in a Sample of Serious Juvenile Offenders,” Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention, US Department of Justice, March 2015. 94 Bush, Who Gets a Childhood, 150-172; Geoff Ward and Aaron Kupchik, “Accountable to What? Professional Orientations towards Accountability-based Juvenile Justice,” Punishment & Society 11, no. 1 (2009): 85-109; Feld, Bad Kids, 264-275; Miroslava Chavez-Garcia, States of Delinquency: Race and Science in the Making of California’s Juvenile Justice System (Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of California Press, 2012). 95 Manfredi, The Supreme Court and Juvenile Justice, 1998; Allen, The Decline of the Rehabilitative Ideal: Penal Policy and Social Purpose, 1981; Sribnick, “Rehabilitating Child Welfare,” 2007; David Garland, The Culture of Control: Crime and Social Order in Contemporary Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 34-52. 96 Barry C. Feld, “Abolish the Juvenile Court: Youthfulness, Criminal Responsibility, and Sentencing Policy,” Journal of Criminal Law & Criminology 88, no. 1 (1997): 68-136. Bush, Who Gets a Childhood, 1-3; 203-208, 97 Paul Lerman, “Child Welfare, the Private Sector, and Community-Based Corrections,” Crime & Delinquency 30, no. 1 (1984): 5-38. 98 Feld, Bad Kids, 245-259; David Rothman, Conscience and Convenience: the Asylum and its Alternatives in Progressive America (Boston: Little Brown, 1980), 33-46, 194-5; Pamala Griset, Determinate Sentencing: The Promise and the Reality of Retributive Justice, (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991), 25-38. 99 See for instance, Jaya Davis and Jon R. Sorenson, “Disproportionate Minority Confinement of Juveniles: A National Examination of Black–White Disparity in Placements, 1997-2006,” Crime & Delinquency 59 (2013): 115-139; Ellen A. Donnelly, “The Disproportionate Minority Contact Mandate: An Examination of Its Impacts on Juvenile Justice Processing Outcomes (1997-2011)” Criminal Justice Policy Review (2015): 1-23. © The Author(s) 2018. Published by Oxford University Press. All rights reserved. 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TI - Psychiatrists and the Transformation of Juvenile Justice in Philadelphia, 1965–1972
JF - Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences
DO - 10.1093/jhmas/jry016
DA - 2018-10-01
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