Darwin E Coon - Alcatraz: The True End of the Line

I would like to dedicate this book to my sister

Harriet Jean Ralston

for her support and help in all aspects of my pursuits in writing this book.

CONTENTS

Preface

IntroductionConcerns of a Prison Inmate

Iowa Training School for Boys

The California Youth Authority

Federal Reformatory, El Reno, Oklahoma

Nevada State Penitentiary

Federal Penitentiary, Leavenworth, Kansas

Alcatraz

Freedom

Interesting Facts About Alcatraz

My Little Boy

Once he was my baby boy

I held his tiny hands

And helped him

Through his toddlin day

As he grew up to be a man

Id kiss the bumps he got each day

And love his curly head

Id rock him off to slumber land

And tuck him in his bed

Id told him bedtime stories

Of the little bears

Id even told him stories

Of the golden stairs

I taught about the Bible

And the straight and narrow way

But somewhere on the road of life

He turned and went astray

Now its too late for mother

To help her a wanderin son

She cannot reach those hands

Nor can she guide those feet

For he is in prison

Where mother cannot reach

But mother keeps on praying

Yes praying night and day

That God will go through those gray walls

And ease his troubled heart

And bring him back to this cold world

A man to do his part

By Florence Coon 1958

PREFACE

An incorrigible person is a threat to the citizens of the United States of America. I had realized that all I wanted to do was serve my time and become a productive citizen. That is to me a great problem in the prison system of this country. A person gets a sentence and there is no escape from that sentence. No matter how much that prisoner would like to give up and say, Ok, you win, I surrender; a prisoner has no place to give up. If there was some way to determine when a prisoner reached that point, a lot of money could be saved and that inmate could be returned to the free world to become a productive citizen.

Alcatraz was considered the last resort. When the authorities of the federal prison system made the decision that an inmate should be housed at Alcatraz, they had made that decision based on the past conduct of that in-mate. The inmate in question was considered to be an in-corrigible person and would probably spend the rest of his life in prison. Of course this is a falsehood, because no one can determine what any individual will do from day to day or from year to year for that matter. Im an example of that very fact. I was released in 1972 after being in numerous prisons and spending most of my prime years behind bars. I have done nothing unlawful since. To me, this proves that anyone can change. You should never prejudge anyone because of the situation that person is in.

People are very curious about what went on inside Alcatraz when it was open and operating. There were some truly terrible things that took place on that little is-land in San Francisco Bay. One of the most historic events that took place while I was housed there was the attempted escape by Frankie Morris and by John and Clarence Anglin.

Alcatraz was the true end of the line. When the federal prison system sent you there, you were considered by them to be beyond redemption. I was sent to Alcatraz from the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas in 1959.1 spent four years of my life on the island of Alcatraz and I was one of the last group of men to leave it when it was closed in 1963.

INTRODUCTION

Concerns of a Prison Inmate

There are always three things that are on the mind of a man serving time in prison. I guess I should re-phrase that and say that there were three things constantly on my mind! My number one concern was staying alive. Number two was to keep from going crazy, and number three was my struggle to keep away from being homo- sexually assaulted by other inmates.

Prison is such an unnatural environment and there are always those inmates who really dont care what happens. They are always looking for some way to cause problems. They will agitate others into riots, fighting, etc. and when the chaos starts, they will slip away into the background, so as not to be seen as directly involved. It is really surprising how many such characters like that there are in prisons. Of course, these types of people do get involved many times because sooner or later the other inmates figure out how they are being manipulated and many of the offenders wind up dead.

There are many things that can cause problems inside a prison. Gambling causes a lot of trouble between in-mates. There is a lot of betting carried on inside, especially on sporting events. When it comes time to pay up, and the loser cant, or wont pay, then there is serious trouble. The same thing happens when one inmate borrows something from another one and neglects to replace it.

However, if you were to ask anyone who has served time, what it is that causes the most friction, ninety-nine out of a hundred will tell you that the answer is homo-sexuality. I dont think that they keep records, but I would say that 90 per cent of all killings inside prisons are connected with it.

One inmate stealing anothers goods is also a frequent source of conflict. If you witness a break-in, its your duty as a stand-up con to inform the inmate who had his belongings stolen, who did it. Of course, sometimes this will result in a very big problem for an innocent person. If an inmate should have it in for another, he will tell the inmate whose stuff was taken, that Joe Blow was the of-fender when he really wasnt. Unfortunately, there is a lot of this type of thing and oftentimes the wrong inmate will get beaten up or even killed over something that he didnt do. Prison is a big powder keg and you never know when someone will light the fuse. You have to be constantly aware of everything that is going on around you, or you could wind up getting released early by going out the back gate in a pine box.

Iowa Training School for Boys

It was a day in late September and the blue waters of San Francisco Bay sparkled merrily in the warm rays of the sun. From the slatted wooden deck of the prison boat, the venerable Warden Johnson, I felt anything but merry though as I gazed wistfully back to watch the skyline of that famous Baghdad-like city fall away, marking the ends of the earth where I had just dropped off. Shackled in leg-irons to a half-dozen other men, I was dirty and weary from my long train ride out of Wichita, Kansas. I pulled the last long drag out of my Marlborough Red and flicked the stub into a passing wave. I was headed to Alcatraz, to become forever, along with a thousand other men, and more, a part of The Rock. It was autumn, 1959 and I was twenty-six years old.

Still chained together, we were debarked and unceremoniously herded into an old yellow school-bus, and as it crept, laboring and protesting up the serpentine slope that led to the front of the dreaded prison, I wondered what would happen to us if the brakes suddenly gave way. On our right-hand side, there were but inches to where the steep granite cliffs fell away into the churning waters below. Out in the Bay, near a mass of land that I later learned was Angel Island, a few delta shaped sailboats bobbed brightly about. Further to the right of them, I could just make out the graceful arch of the famous Golden Gate bridge, half-hidden in a thick cloud of morning fog.

When the bus finally negotiated the last hairpin curve and came squealing to a rolling stop, I was relieved, to say the least. We were quickly marched out and made to shuffle over and form a line facing several uniformed guards who were standing on a portico in front of the solid steel doors that framed the front of the main building. The salt air was crisper and damper up here than it had been down on the dock. The chill permeated my thin cotton jumpsuit and I shivered involuntarily. Directly opposite the prison doors the jagged outline of the city of San Francisco loomed shockingly close, so near it seemed that I could reach out my hand and touch it, yet so far, that it may as well have been on the moon. A seagull wheeled restlessly overhead, its raucous calls of freedom mingling incongruously with the sounds of feet and chains scuffling on cement.