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“Convicts for the Pen,” Kingston Daily Standard. September 25, 1912. Page 08.

The population of the penitentiary was increased by three to-day by the arrival of Ernest Moyes, Berlin; William Stephen, Sault Ste. Marie, and John Hummell, Berlin. Moyes will serve seven years for burglary [sic. actually bigamy and perjury]; Stephen five years for attempting to steal a purse and Hummell five years on three charges of theft.

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“Alcatraz of Canada Groups Troublemakers Behind High Walls,” The Globe and Mail. September 11, 1962. Page 04.

By EDWARD CLIFFORD
Globe and Mail Reporter

Millbrook, Sept. 10 – They call Millbrook Reformatory the Alcatraz of Canada.

Behind the 20-foot brick wall are 150 prisoners living a regimented life that they leave only when they finish their terms or change their behauviour.

There have been successful or even near-successful escapes from Millbrook in its five years as a maximum security institution. Here are housed the troublemakers of the Ontario corrections system.

A visitor to Millbrook might be impressed by its efficiency, its cleanliness, even its meals. It doesn’t give the impression of tough, steel and stone Big House where defiant men are broken.

‘It doesn’t seem so tough for an ordinary law-abiding citizen,’ said Millbrook’s superintendent, J. M. Marsland, ‘but the prisoners here are essentially manipulators who all their lives have tried to adapt situations to their own advantage. Here, they can’t. This is the most frustrating experience of their lives.’

To Millbrook are sent men from other Ontario reformatories, men who have repeatedly caused trouble, instigated disturbances, or have gotten fellow prisoners into trouble.

Here also are sent drug addicts and sex deviants who are kept in groups so they will not spread their habits to younger and more impressionable inmates in other reformatories.

No maximum security prison in Canada or the United States is more modern than Millbrook, its superintendent says. Prisoners are escorted everywhere by guards. Cell and block doors are electrically controlled by other guards sitting in bulletproof glass booths.

They work together, have recreation and exercise periods together, but eat in their own cells. Because they spend much of their time alone, Millbrook prisoners have time to think about their lives and their crimes.

When a man reaches Millbrook, he spends two weeks in a reception cell during which time he sees only reformatory staff, doctors and psychologists. From then on, he gets privileges as he earns them by good behavior.

He can forfeit his privileges by loafing, failing to obey prison rules or acting up. For repeated infractions, a prisoner can earn a period of solitary confinement.

This is why criminals call Millbrook the Alcatraz of Canada, and this is why Millbrook produces some model inmates.

‘Of course, we’re not as interested in producing model inmates as we are in producing model citizens,’ Mr. Marsland emphasized.

Consequently, prisoners are encouraged to work in one of the shops at the reformatory: the laundry, tailor shop, or license-plate plant. There it is possible to learn skills that could lead to a good job when the inmate finishes his sentence.

A prisoner can also get psychological help  and, in the case of a drug addict, help in curing him of his addiction.

By demonstrating that his attitude has changed, a prisoner can earn a transfer to an institution where discipline and security are more relaxed.

Not everyone in Millbrook is able to accept the reformatory’s way of life. One prisoner collected the hems off blankets, wove them into a rope, and wound it around his waist in preparation for the day he could weight one end, toss it over the wall, and climb to freedom.

‘He wouldn’t have made it anyway,’ said Mr. Marsland. ‘The rope was discovered in a routine frisking prisoners undergo regularly.’

The only organized disturbance since Millbrook was established came shortly after Mr. Marsland arrived as superintendent three years ago.

‘They were testing me,’ he said. A group of prisoners refused to enter their cells to eat. The superintendent, an ex-Royal Air Force fighter and bomber pilot, told the men the strictest disciplinary measures would be taken if they did not go to their cells. They went.

Actually, Millbrook inmates have little cause for complaint. They know ahead of time that it’s tough and are prepared for it. They can’t object to the discipline, and there is no reason to complain about the food, accommodation or clothing.

One prisoner, however, has a decided aversion to life in the institution where all the inmates wear blue denim. Currently confined to the prison hospital, and likely to remain there until his sentence is finished, he lounges quietly in bed counting the days. His sickness: Blue denim allergy.

Caption: Millbrook prisoners line up to leave license-plate plant while guards watch (left). They are searched, then go to cells.

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“A New Home for Tough Guys,” The Globe Magazine. August 30, 1958. Cover and pages 03-05.

Millbrook has a bad name, and its officials are just delighted

…a big bit is preffered

By DAVID MacDONALD

It was a sunny morning in June, the traditional time for graduations. In a rambling red-brick building overlooking the Ontario village of Millbrook – a building with the glass, tile and pastel decor of a modern high school – superintendent Hartley Paterson shuffled a sheaf of papers and glanced up at the youth who stood before him.

‘You’ve done well here,’ he said. The compliment was acknowledged with a quiet smile. ‘So you’re going to have the honor of becoming Millbrook’s first graduate. Tomorrow we’re sending you to Burwash. Congratulations.’

Though the prospect of going to the provincial prison farm at Burwash is normally not cause for rejoicing, the youth in faded blue denims broke into a wide grin and took the superintendent’s outstretched hand. After the months he’d spent behind the towering walls of Millbrook, Ontario’s tough new maximum security reformatory, the chance to serve out the rest of his sentence somewhere else seemed almost as welcome as a parole.

A petty but promising criminal and never a model prisoner, he’d been among the charter inmates of Millbrook when it was opened last September to isolate troublemakers from other reformatories in the province. Some had been released earlier after completing their time – one has since returned for a second stretch  – but this was the first to win a good-behavior transfer.

That same day, a few minutes later, another inmate came before Paterson with a special request. Soon due for release, he wanted to complete the last few days of his term in a regular reformatory. ‘Just having a record is bad enough, he explained with feeling, ‘but a discharge from Millbrook is a worse black eye.’

WITH the men who know penal institutions best – i.e. residents – Millbrook is scarcely the most popular, a fact readily acknowledged by its superintendent. ‘This isn’t the nicest place to do time,’ says Paterson, former governor of Toronto’s DDon Jail,’ and it’s not meant to be.’

What Millbrook is meant to be, what it was specially designed for shortly after an outbreak of rioting at Guelph reformatory in 1952, is a place of stern no-nonsense discipline for the more difficult inmates of other provincial institutions. It differs from most reformatories about as much as Dorchester Penitentiary differs from Disneyland. Unlike the unfenced so-called open institutions – where prisoners usually live in barracks-like dormitories, eat together and enjoy comparative freedom of movement and communication – Millbrook is tough, and a man imprisoned behind its 23-foot wall has a monastic time of it.

The first 16 days of his term there are spent in his closed-in cell, cut off from contact with everyone but his jailers, the reformatory psychologist, chaplain and doctor. His meals are pushed in to him through a small opening in the foot of his cell door and he gets out only for short solitary walks in a small exercise yard.

IF behaves well in quarantine, his life at Millbrook improves slightly. He’s allowed cigarets, visitors, a novel from the prison library and a nightly half-hour period to mingle with the other 25 occupants in his cell block. He also gets to work eight hours a day, scrubbing floors.

In time, he can win other privileges – a thin mattress for his steel bunk, newspapers, mail, movies, sports in the yard, a job making license plates, hobby periods or high-school correspondence classes. At Millbrook, a prisoner has no privileges but those he earned by good behavior. He can lose any or all of them easily – by sassing a guard, loafing at his job, or even swearing at another inmate – and he also runs the risk of solitary confinement ‘behind the little green door’ or, for really serious offences, the strap.

At a time when the trend in penology is clearly toward open institutions for treating criminal offenders rather than merely punishin them, the $3,500,000 stronghold at Millbrook has been criticized for its iron discipline, steel bars, brick walls and bullet-proof glass. As one authority in the field of corrections put it recently, ‘How are you going to prepare a man for the outside world by keeping him in a cage?’

THEN is Millbrook, for all its modern custodial trappings, an anachronism? Far from it, asserts Ontario’s deputy minister of reform institutions, Hedley Basher. You can’t have effective minimum security,’ he says, ‘without maximum security to back it up. Just the fact that there is a place like Millbrook has greatly improved discipline in our other reformatories. Maybe it’s largely a fear of the unknown. At any rate, with the troublemakers moved to Millbrook, we’ve already been able to disarm the guard at Guelph and Burwash and we expect to do a great deal more there in the way of corrective treatment and rehabilitation.’ 

If most reformatory inmates stay in line, and out of Millbrook, what about the others who don’t? There are 125 of them at Millbrook now, in three categories. The first is made up of stars, a misleading term for problem prisoners. Most of these are younger men, in their late teens and early twenties, who have already done time before. Group Two is made up of 25 sex deviates. Not rated as security risks or troublemakers – though sex offenders can disrupt normal prison life – they’re confined to Millbrook chiefly for lack of a better place to keep them. Group Three includes 40 drug addicts.

The youngest convict at Millbrook is a baby-faced 17-year-old who knifed a guard at Guelph, the oldest a sex offender of 61. Most inmates have little education but there are some striking exceptions – a dope-addicted doctor and two high-school teachers, both in for sex crimes.

IT’S worth noting that the star prisoners – the troublemakers – cause little trouble at Millbrook, if only because they get little opportunity. Says Paterson: ‘Most of them come here with that hostile spit-in-your-eye attitude. But after a couple of weeks in their cells, with nothing much to do but think, they usually simmer down.’ One reason for this, the superintendent thinks, is the incentive system of privileges. ‘They soon realize that the kind of life they lead here is entirely up to them. If they behave, it gets progressively easier. If not, they can do hard time. The choice is as simple as that.’

Another reason is advanced by Douglas Penfold, a psychologist with the Department of Reform Institutions who spends most of his time at Millbrook. ‘A lot of these men just can’t seem to adjust to group living in an open institution,’ he says. ‘Here they get lots of time to themselves, away from the influence and distractions of other inmates, and they have a better chance to start thinking seriously about their problems and their future. I’d say the attitude of at least 25 per cent of our so-called disturbers had undergone a distinct change for the better.’

While Millbrook may never set any records for turning out model citizens – since its clients are judged to be the worst of a pretty bad lot – an attempt is being made there to reform them. As well as up-to-date medical and dental clinics, two psychologists, a psychiatrist and a case-worker from the John Howard after-care agency are on hand to help prisoners get at the causes of their criminal behavior and fix on some way of overcoming them.

AFTER careful screening and preliminary treatment at Millbrook, many Group Three prisoners have been sent on the provincial clinic for addicts at Mimico. In addition, one Millbrook psychologist, Gordon Johnson, has recently been working at the forensic clinic of the Toronto Psychiatric Hospital, preparing a rehabilitation program for the reformatory’s sex offenders.

Perhaps the most significant development at Millbrook is the fact that its star prisoners will soon be introduced to group counselling, a form of psychotherapy that has proved highly successful in some of the world’s most advanced penal institutions. Members of the custodial staff, who will act as group leaders, are now attending a series of lectures by psychiatrists and sociologists – on their own time and by their own choice.

All such clinical work has the full approval and support of superintendent Paterson, a breezy 44-year-old onetime Royal Canadian Regiment colonel, and his chief aid, James Rea, a big greying man with 20 years’ experience in prison work.

‘This place could never justify itself,’ Paterson believes, ‘if it was nothing but a lockup for bad actors. True, it’s having a good effect on other reformatories. But we want Millbrook to have some positive value for the men who are here, to help them go straight when they leave. If so, Millbrook could be a big advance in penology in Canada.’

AS for Millbrook’s inmates, its strict discipline and rigid routine affect them in various ways. ‘I guess I’d better behave myself here,’ one prisoner wrote to his wife. ‘They’ve got more strap than I’ve got backside.’ Another, on the eve of his discharge, told Paterson that he’d never, never be back in Millbrook again. ‘Next time,’ he said, ‘I’ll make sure I get a big bit.’ In prison parlance, a big bit is two years or more, a term in a federal penitentiary. Perhaps the most remarkable reaction to Millbrook was expressed not long ago by a 19-year-old star prisoner. He arrived there spouting defiance, paid for it in solitary confinement and wound up meekly asking for vocational guidance and advice from psychologist Doug Penfold. When his behavior had improved so markedly that he was offered a transfer back to an open institution, he astounded all by declining with thanks. ‘I can learn a lot more here and keep out of trouble,’ he said. ‘So I’d like to stay till my time’s up.’

Millbrook officials were secretly delighted at this unlikely testimonial. But they didn’t advertise it. After all, the place just can’t afford to get a good name.

Mr. MacDonald was the author of a recent Globe Magazine article on problems facing the courts

Captions:

1) If he behaves, he’s allowed a mattress, mail, novels, prison company and visitors

2) The design of Millbrook is modern, but the walls that make a prison haven’t changed much over the years; Millbrook’s are 23 feet high

3) The job of making license plates for cars is a privilege, awarded for good conduct

4) Guard Lawrence Wiles keeps watch as one prisoner cuts another’s hair; at Millbrook, an inmate has to win the right of mixing with his fellows.

5) Head man: Superintendent Hartley Paterson; The resident chaplain, Dr. Harold Neal, conducts a service; Deputy Superintendent James Rea

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“Six Years for Horrible Offence,” Kingston Daily Standard. August 1, 1912. Page 08.

For committing one of the most repellant acts which has ever been brought to the attention of the Toronto authorities, John Ryan, a middle-aged man, a hostler by calling, was sentenced to six years in the Portsmouth Penitentiary. The maximum which can be given for an offence like Ryan’s is imprisonment for life.

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“Kingstonian for ‘Pen.,’ Kingston Daily Standard. June 15, 1912. Page 08.

The man Delaney was brought down to the Penitentiary last night to serve two and a half years in the Penitentiary for assault. Delaney is a former Kingstonian. He left here about six years ago, but has no relation left in the city. He was sentenced in Chatham.

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“Gripping the leatherette arms of an easy chair in a darkened
room, a convicted rapist gasped as scenes of frightened
women and aggressive sex flashed on screen. A recorded
voice droned, telling intimate scenes of women and men
“. .. the little pigs, how you hate them all." 

"Stop!” Fantasy, tape, pictures halt, the rapist flicks an elastic
band on his wrist. He is well into a course of behavior
therapy – the elastic band, sex scenes, and droning voice
are part of the day’s session. 

Behavioral therapy, behavioral modification, either expression
evokes strong reaction, especially when in a prison
setting. A scalpel, an inert figure stretched on an operating
table, and surgeons redirecting the patient’s actions by deft
movements into his brain – this is the picture behavioral
modification conjures up to the uninitiated. At the prison
medical centre in Ontario, there’s no operating table or scalpel
– but words projected into understanding of a man’s
problem. It isn’t new. Various forms of changing human
habits have been used throughout the ages. What is new at
the Regional Medical Centre in Ontario is the application of
tried methods in a prison setting. The special treatment
program functions on an evaluation teaching and treatment
centre for the Ontario region of the Canadian Penitentiary
Service, where some 2,200 inmates are incarcerated. 

Critical reactions to behavioral modification techniques vibrate
around the world. In Canada, Transition, March 1974,
a magazine written and edited by inmates and former inmates,
expressed fear that inmates are used inhumanely
in behavioral modification experiments. But the Canadian
Penitentiary Service has established ethical procedures to
protect inmates from being used in research that would be
detrimental to physical or mental health. “We do not feel we
can impose treatment or experimentation on people simply
because they are found guilty of an offense under the criminal
code,” stressed John Braithwaite, deputy commissioner,
inmate programs. Any treatment program for inmates is explained
in detail and requires the inmate’s signed consent. 

An article appearing in Psychology Today, estimates 70,000
brain operations were performed in the United States and

Britain from 1930 to 1950 in an effort to change man’s
habits. According to the article psychosurgical practise was
halted when after-effects, such as blunting of the intellect,
impairing judgment, and reducing creativity, were
discovered.

In the last 20 years, the magazine says, psychosurgeons
have developed a technique where probes or electrodes
composed of fine insulated wires are directed through the
skull into specific areas of the brain. A weak electric current
directed through the implanted electrode can produce a behavioral response in the patient, and a strong current can
destroy the brain tissue in the vicinity of the electrode tip.
These practices are not used in CPS.

A less intense form of behavioral change used today
guides the patient through therapy sessions intended to acquaint
him with the need for behavioral change. Aversion
conditioning, premised on punishing undesirable behavior,
conditions the patient not to repeat the behavior. Drugs,
such as the vomit-inducing apomorphine can be used, but
are not used in CPS. Electric shock, another form of treatment,
is used by the Service but not frequently. Most treatment
is directed toward therapy that encourages the patient
to change unacceptable behavioral habits himself, minus
the scalpel or electrodes.

Questions on the duration of aversion conditioning have
been raised. According to some psychological authorities,

behavioral change wears off, patients need booster treatments
to retain changed behavior. There are others who do
not believe in the treatment at all. 

Reward systems, changing behavior with positive
reinforcements for desired behavior, according to Dr Hugh
Haley, CPS chief psychology services, are contemporary
techniques which have greater success potential. Teachers,
he says, are reaping the benefits of these systems in controlling
difficult children. 

People seem to think behavioral modification techniques involve
strange awesome powers, says Dr Haley. “Apply the
principles of learning theory to treatment programs that do
not involve chemical or physical intervention and it would
appear behavioral modification has the greatest potential in
dealing with anti-social behavior learned through an inadequate
social environment.”
Hidden behind the high gray limestone walls of Kingston
Penitentiary, on the shores of Lake Ontario, the Regional
Medical Centre harbors a group of inmates with sexual problems.
They are all volunteer patients. Psychosurgery is not
performed, neither is it contemplated. Chemotherapy is
available, but its use is discouraged. The program emphasizes
that treatment is only “a stab” at giving soon-to-be
released sexual offenders a chance for treatment before returning
to society. 

Following recommendations of the Sex Offenders Advisory
Board, at CPS, Ottawa, Dr G D Scott, director of the Centre,
initiated a program for treatment of sex offenders. Dr D J
McCaldon, a psychiatrist, and psychologist Dr Bill Marshall
set up the unit a year ago. They blended psychotherapy and
behavioral therapy, described as traditionally uneasy companions.
Imminent release or parole consideration was a
selection criteria. “Our goal was to take people who were 16
to 20 weeks away from release. We felt we’d be able to do
vigorous therapy and make changes fairly rapidly,” said Dr
McCaldon. 

The two doctors based their treatment on seven weeks of
psychotherapy and seven of behavioral therapy, with a
week for assessment at the beginning, middle and end of
the program. Inmates were put into one of the two sessions
and exchanged at mid-point. 

Determining who should be invited to participate was a
laborious job. Stacks of files were searched and classification
officers contacted. “It was not only finding the overt
sexual offender, but trying to identify the latent ones that
made the search difficult. After selection, we explained the
program to each inmate, pointing out we hoped to modify
the problem that brought him to prison. Treatment, we emphasized,
was voluntary,” said Dr McCaldon.

All were evaluated through assessment surveys involving
sexual attitude questionaires and physiological response
testing apparatus. When the inmate’s deviance was found,
treatment was plotted by therapists. 

Behavioral therapy involves sexual reeducation, whereby a
person’s basic sexual urges, from a deviant object to a more
appropriate one, are changed. Social education is also
necessary, noted the doctor. “It doesn’t help a patient if he
gives up a fantasy for little children, replacing it with fantasy
for adults, if he still doesn’t know how to talk to girls. He can
hardly suggest sexual intercourse if he doesn’t first have the
wherewithal to make a female’s acquaintance." 

Aversive conditioning by electric shock is used occasionally
in the program. Greater than a tickle and less than a sharp
pain, the strength of the shock is predetermined by the inmate
before treatment. "It used to be thought if you had
very strong aversive stimulus and could make it horrible for
the person, it would really make an impression. It does! The
patient usually ends up becoming aversive to his therapist
instead of his deviances,” said Dr McCaldon. 

Seated in the darkened treatment room, listening to his own
pre-recorded fantasies, the inmate-patient observes pictures
projected on the wall. Known to have molested little girls, he
watches a sequence of events unfold until he is faced (on
screen) by a little girl. The pictures depict the molester as he

becomes interested and approaches the little girl, ultimately
forcing sexual relations. Dr McCaldon explained, the inmate-patient
will react to these slides. In aversive conditioning,
during the time the slide is shown, a shock is applied
to his ankle or calf, thereby punishing the undesired
behavior.“ 

Similarly, using a thought-stopping technique, the inmate-patient
is allowed to engage in his fantasy. When aroused
sexually a thought-stopping reaction is applied. "Stop!”
shouts the therapist, or an elastic band on the man’s wrist is
flicked. Both actions demand quick action. Whenever the
patient feels his thoughts are getting out of hand, when
away from treatment, he resorts to the rubber band or
“stop” action. 

Dr McCaldon believes depriving a person of his sexual drive
through chemical means is preferable to castration. Stilboestrol,
a synthetic female hormone, relieves potency, he
says, and cyproterone acetate, acts as a sexual dampening-down
drug. He hasn’t used the drugs at the Centre. 

Occasionally Dr McCaldon uses pentothal or methidrine,
a disinhibitor and stimulant. “Inmates hear about them and
feel the drugs help them to remember something in their
past. One case had immediate results. Memories the patient
had hysterically repressed or had forgotten, were graphically
brought back and replaced by positive direction." 

One problem constantly harassing Dr McCaldon is the
guessing game in selecting inmates close to their release
date. "If a man is due for parole in a few months we don’t
know how the parole board will view his case. You can’t just
apply treatment and say, ‘0K, you’re done. You can go out
on the street — goodby!’ We don’t know when they are
going to be released for sure.” The doctor’s problem could
be solved ere long. The National Parole Board is discussing
collaboration with CPS on the treatment program. 

Dr McCaldon is also concerned with a problem that affects
a patient returned to a non-medical institution. Identified as
a sex-offender, he is liable to face hostility. “We don’t see
manifestations of inmate subculture in the RMC. Acceptance
is general. We tell our patients there’s no such thing
as undesirable." 

Admitting to guesswork in the program, he conceded, "How
can we be sure a person is cured?” A sign Dr McCaldon
watches for is less reaction to a deviant stimulus and more
to planned treatment. “When this occurs the patient is a
good bet to stay out of trouble." 

Physiological tests, questionnaires, clinical impressions, and
reactions to staff and other inmates, are also noted, ”.. .
mostly we’re enthusiastic about our recommendations, confident
the patient will do well on parole with Dr. McCaldon’s
prognosis.

Reactions from inmate patients to the program vary. One
found the behavioral therapy positive and helpful. Although
not close to release, he volunteered for treatment. A convicted
arsonist, his criminal actions were considered sexually
motivated. Dr McCaldon, describing the case as a
psychiatric emergency, accepted the inmate because of his
willingness to subject himself to therapy.

 Said the inmate, “I thought the group therapy was good. I
was shaking when I first joined. But I had to bring out my
horrible problem in front of the others. I wanted to quit, but I
didn’t. After I had heard the problems of others, I didn’t feel
so bad." 

Having attempted suicide 13 times the man knew he had to
seek help. He feared being released with the same problem
after a seven-year sentence. Another offense he knew
would mean prison for life. 

Behavioral therapy gave him a positive reaction. "I can look
at the pictures that used to turn me on and now they don’t.”
He is sure his problem is 75 per cent solved. “If I start thinking
of the wrong thing, I think the word ‘stop!’ I get myself
away from the wrong thought. Before the treatment I would
dwell on it and hate myself." 

Not only has the program helped the patient toward overcoming
his problem, he can now articulate. "A year ago I
couldn’t talk about my problem. Now I can and not feel bad
about it. Changing my fantasies is very hard, but if you’re
willing to take the treatment, it works.”
A rapist found treatment at the RMC easy after undergoing
four months of intensive therapy at a provincial psychiatric
hospital. “I was on a punishment program most of the time.
It was rigid — heavy confrontation from morning till night. I
hated the place with a passion, but I’m thrilled I went there
because it helped me." 

A strong believer in psychotherapy, the innnate knew his
attitudes changed during his stay at the provincial hospital.
Back at RMC in Kingston, he volunteered for Dr McCaldon’s
program. He described the psychotherapy there as anticlimactic
and said he didn’t get much from behavioral
therapy. 

Dr McCaldon said the two cases indicate there’s no single
answer to treatment of sexual problems. "Ithing we’re going
to find this with most of our patients — some are going to
benefit more from one phase than another." 

What Dr McCaldon and his team, at the Regional Medical
Centre in Ontario offers is a chance for treatment before an
inmate with sexual problems returns to society. He is seeking
greater support for his work, and in surroundings conducive
to mental therapy.”

– “A Chance to Help,” Discussion. Vol. 2, no. 4. Dec. 1974.

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“Two Bigamists Get Three-Year Sentences,” Toronto Globe. June 3, 1914. Page 02.

Joseph H. Knapp and Mack Peace Before Sarnia Magistrate.

(Special Despatch to The Globe.)
Sarnia, June 2. – John H. Knapp appeared before Magistrate Fleck today on a charge of bigamy. The two women who claim Knapp as husband were in court and gave evidence against him. It was proved that Knapp had married a Mrs. Kennedy on December 21, 1912, the marriage being performed by Rev. W. H. Barraclough. It was also proved that he married a Mrs. Matthews on January 6, 1914, the ceremony being performed by Rev. Walter Rigsby. He has been living here since the last wedding. The first wife was located in St. Thomas. Knapp, who formerly lived in London, was given three years in Kingston Penitentiary.

Mack Peace, another Sarnia man, was also up to-day on a similar charge, and he also received three years in Kingston. Peace was first married in a village near Montreal, about eight years ago, and married Miss Williamson of Sarnia a couple of months ago.

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