In its last days Joliet prison closing after more than 140 year

JOLIET, Ill. -- Behind its massive limestone walls -- five feet thick and as much as 40 feet high -- have walked such infamous criminals as Baby Face Nelson.

And movie fans may know Joliet Jake (John Belushi) got sprung from there at the beginning of "The Blues Brothers," or that a riot scene from "Natural Born Killers" was filmed in the one-time women's prison across the street.

Now, Joliet Correctional Center is in its last days. One of the nation's oldest prisons, built before the Civil War by inmates from another prison who were literally sent up the river (the Illinois River) to do so, is closing -- the victim of its own obsolescence and Gov. George Ryan's recent efforts to cut the state budget.

Once it was among the largest prisons in the country, but Joliet's permanent population has shrunk to about 200, and for decades it has served mainly as the state prison system's intake valve. Most prisoners stay about 10 days, long enough to be processed and sent to another prison.

With a new facility to handle that chore being built across the river at Stateville Correctional Center, Joliet and its annual $4 million budget stood out when Ryan went looking for places to cut spending.

'The crown jewel'

That's good news in a community where civic boosters have worked to portray Joliet as something other than a prison town.

But for others it signals the end of something.

"As a prison, I really believe Joliet has always been the crown jewel of this department, said warden Ron Matrisciano. "And I think from a historical standpoint throughout the United States ... I think Joliet is synonymous with the penal system."

It is also a part of Illinois history. If the fortress-like structure looks familiar, it might be because it was designed by William Boyington, who also designed the Chicago Water Tower and the state Capitol in Springfield.

The structure itself is a kind of monument to a time when prisoners were treated far differently than they are today. Construction, which began when floggings were still acceptable, was the job of inmates at Alton, the state's only prison at the time.

Brought in 1858 to live in what is now the segregation unit, the inmates broke chunks of limestone at a nearby quarry and built the prison around them.

Joliet gained a reputation as one of the toughest places a man could do time. The prison lagged behind by decades other prisons in building dining halls and allowing outdoor exercise, said Mara Dodge, a historian at Westfield State College in Massachusetts who once taught at Joliet.

Into the early 1900s, prisoners ate and relieved themselves in cells that did not have running water or toilets, Dodge said. "The stench was overwhelming," she said.

Conditions were so unsanitary it was widely assumed that when Stateville opened in 1925, it would spell the end for Joliet. But the rising crime rate during the 1920s and '30s meant more, not fewer, prisons were needed and Joliet was saved.

Tried reform programs

Naturally it follows that the history of Joliet, like other prisons, includes men who thought they should be the ones to decide when to leave.

Men like Baby Face Nelson. In those days, inmates would take the train to court, said Franklin, who added that inmates were sometimes transported to and from the train station in, of all things, taxi cabs.

"He had one of his confederates slip him a gun on the train and he used it to escape from the cab," she said.

Over the years, Joliet was the site of penal reform programs that have been copied at prisons around the country. Franklin pointed to Joliet's history of training inmates for jobs they could do once they got out of prison. Beginning in the 1870s, the prison had local contracts to operate a host of businesses.

Ryan's decision was met with sadness but with understanding. "In any industry, better ways are developed to do things," Matrisciano said.

Phil LaPointe doesn't like the idea of moving either. Convicted of murder in the late 1970s, LaPointe has spent most of his time behind bars -- about 17 years -- at Joliet.

"No, I don't want to go," he said. "They treat you like an individual."

What happens now is anyone's guess. There is talk that Will County could use it to jail its own inmates.

"I've heard everything, even a bed and breakfast," said Sergio Molina, spokesman for the Department of Corrections.