I noticed the photographs recently of Delaware County's new public safety building and jail. And I recall touring Otsego County's new jail a few years ago. Brand-new cells and cellblocks, new floors and showers.

Seeing the photos of Delaware's new operation got me thinking of the last time I was in a jail. It was so bad that, in comparison, the old county lock-up in Delhi likely would get at least a three-star hotel rating.

The Warren County Jail in Lebanon, Ohio, was a dive. And I still can't believe, after all these years, how I ended up spending a day there.

It was the first week of May 1970. With the Vietnam War effort continuing to deteriorate, President Nixon had just ordered air strikes in Cambodia. On May 3, they became public knowledge. On May 4, the protests began in earnest.

College classes had just ended in relatively sleepy Florida, so a buddy and I decided to head north where the action was taking place on just about everything.

Driving in my 1959 Volkswagen bug (complete with redneck bullet hole in the side and peace symbol on the back), we heard about the murders at Kent State on the radio. We couldn't believe it. Now they were gunning down peaceful demonstrators. Let's step on it, we thought.

We were almost to Tennessee, listening to Thunderclap Newman sing of revolution, when, noticing my bare feet, I realized I forgot my shoes. Living on the beach, I hadn't worn them for a few weeks and failed to think that it was still chilly up north.

Mike held up his worn and torn running shoes and said, "shouldn't we be wearing combat boots or something, like shoes at least."

On May 5, still on I-75, we stopped at a couple of colleges in Kentucky, including UK in Lexington. We joined some demonstrations. At night, when we noticed the ROTC building in flames, we decided to hit the road.

But we didn't get far. About 40 miles north of Cincinnati, on I-71, the car suffered a sudden but serious ailment and died. It was late. We spent the night in the car. (Boy, were my feet cold.)

An Ohio highway patrolman made sure we didn't oversleep, and told us to get moving or he'd call a wrecker. The car was dead and we had about $30 between us. "You tow it and you can have it," I proposed to the wrecker, who reluctantly accepted.

The patrolman took us to the next exit and abandoned us on a desolate road with the warning that hitchhiking was illegal. We waited for him to leave and decided to go back to the interstate and hitch a ride. We were about half way up the entrance ramp when our friend the patrolman returned, suspicious of our intents, no doubt.

"Occupying space on a federal highway," he repeated, looking in his rearview mirror, in answer to our question from the backseat about why we were being arrested. "We don't need any more outside agitators in this state," he added.

"How could occupying space be illegal?" I asked as he pulled up behind the Warren County Courthouse. "This is harassment." Silence.

We were taken into the jail, told we had to post $50 bail each and, after confessing we didn't have the money, were pushed into the cellblock. It was as bleak and dark as a dungeon.

"Aren't they pretty," came the cry from one of the inmates seated around a table, as a few others whistled. "Hey, Frank, you shouldn't let girls in here; Jimmy here's a rapist, you know. Ha."

Oh, great, we were thinking. But the inmates turned out to be OK. In fact, a car thief found me some socks for my feet, numb by this time from the cold cement floor.

The place was filthy. There were no individual cells; just the open area with sleeping holes that looked more like the body cubicles at a morgue.

The boys were sitting around the table playing cards, and they had a good laugh when they found out what we were in for. I was just thinking: how are we going to get out of here without serving out the $50 or 15-day sentence.

Desperate by the end of the day, I used my one allotted call to contact an old friend in Cincinnati, who said he'd come the next morning to bail us out. I didn't get much sleep; no way was I going to crawl into one of those holes with who knows how many creatures living in there.

We ended up taking a bus through Ohio, and I never went back to Warren County to plead the injustice of the occupying-space charge. I never wanted to be anywhere near that jail again.

It's no fun being locked up, but I bet at the new jails around here they at least give you some shoes.

Cary Brunswick is managing editor of The Daily Star. He can be reached at 433-3055or cary@thedailystar.com.