Letters from Alcatraz

by Esslinger, Michael

  We ran up and looked inside the truck. We knew this little boy. He was undernourished and went by the name “Mousey McDonough.” He was curled-up in a pool of blood with a little cardboard box full of French fries next to him. The cop was pulling on his jacket and pacing around while getting his alibi straight. When the others arrived I overheard him comment, “He tried to run me over and I had to fire at him to save my life.” He was a liar, but the cops ruled the streets in those days.

  Later, they arrested me in an ice cream parlor with three of my friends, hollering inappropriate insults at me, and saying “Whitey you’re under arrest” for no other reason than they had seen me at the crime scene when they shot Mousey. They put me in a paddy wagon and then a young couple came up and politely asked the cops if they could take me home as they knew my mother. The cops arrested the woman for assault because she touched the cop’s arm to get his attention, and then if that wasn’t bad enough, they arrested her husband for “interfering.” Gallant was the name of the young couple.

  When we got to Station 6 in South Boston they let the couple out and kept me in the paddy wagon in the garage until after they were booked. They wanted them secure in their jail cells so they couldn’t witness what was coming next for me. The cops formed a gauntlet and then said, “Come on Whitey.” I was led out of the paddy wagon and then had to make it through them as they delivered kicks and punches - hardly any pain as they were eager to get in each other’s way. They systematically delivered punches and kicks, and then struck me on top of my head with a heavy phone book. Painful, but it left no marks. If you complained they’d tell the judge that you resisted arrest, and of course the judge was usually an ex-cop.

  The worst beating of my life was given by a drunken cop who took me down into a project basement off the street, where another cop was down there drinking booze at a desk about ten o’clock at night. It was only the three of us there. The cop’s name was McDonough (he was a young guy) and he started to beat me with the club across my legs and with his fists. He put me down with his kicks, knees to the face, and then held me by my hair. McDonough was beating me fiercely, screaming and cursing, and I could smell the booze and knew that he was drunk.

  The bastard spit in my face, which was the worst part of it. He took the polished hardwood club (which was a little over a foot long with a hole drilled in it and filled with lead) and screamed “I’m gonna put your nose all over your face, pretty boy.” As he came down with the club, I put my arm over to protect my face and I felt a sharp pain and a flash of white light in my head. I felt numb and fractured my arm.

  Then he took out his thirty-eight revolver, put it in my mouth, shutting it down my throat, and cocked it. I swear I heard two clicks and then heard him screaming. “I will blow your fucking brains out.” I thought that I was going to die and because I wasn’t in a police station, I thought this bastard was going to kill me. The other cop rushed over and hollered “Stop, you’ll kill him.” At this point I was numb, and the cop straddled me on the ground and spit in my face again. I vowed then that I would kill him if I got out of there alive. I can still picture his face, how tall he was, and that whole night is still vivid in my memory.

  From there they carried me out of the basement. They shoved and kicked me down through the back of the project (Old Colony) out onto the lighted street. I collapsed right in the middle of the street. The cops stayed in the shadows. A motorist picked me up and I wound up in the Boston City Hospital Emergency Room. A cop holding a clipboard walked in and asked me what happened? I told him I was cutting through Columbia Park and was jumped by some guys who beat me up.

  Things like that went on for a while. To rat out a cop was against the grain for most of the guys. I had a German Luger 9mm and looked for McDonough to take revenge on him, but I never saw him in Southie again. I suspect the other cop may have reported him or that neighbors who lived upstairs in the building may have said something. I was too young then to be paying cops off.

  Of course, years later “money talked,” and all the information could be purchased if the seller was convinced the buyer would never betray him. In fact, the cops all knew well who would and wouldn’t talk, because they were put to the test in Station 6’s famous “Blue Room,” the name for their interrogation room. I had a serious session in there with two detectives whose specialty was working guys over and getting confessions. They failed in my case, even after causing me much pain and blood.

  It’s a long story, but from my earliest years I never trusted cops, and I hated them. All those years and days were stressful. Years later when I rose up, they each wanted a piece of the action. And that’s the system for you.

  The 1945 motion picture Dillinger, staring Lawrence Tierney, was described by Bulger as a favorite film of his youth, and that Dillinger was a hero to the kids growing up in the tough projects of South Boston.

  Another thing ... when I was a kid, I loved all of those old crime movies and the “bad guys” like Cagney, Bogart, Edward G. Robinson, and George Raft. Those men were the heroes to kids my age in the Projects. The 1940’s Dillinger film was one of my real favorite movies. Years later, Charlie Catalano and Tommy Devaney hit the bars raising hell with Lawrence Tierney (who played Dillinger in the film and later played the bald headed old gruff gangster in the film Reservoir Dogs) all over New York City. It was a really memorable night for all of us.

  I did take some legitimate employment during my youth, but things never seemed to work out. I went on the road with the circus for a short period. The job paid $10.00 a week with a place to sleep and free meals. They had a big top and good food. I primarily did jobs like painting and putting performers up on floats and circus vehicles when they made their spectacular entrance with the loud music. They’d go around and circle inside the tent, then exit, and I’d help pick performers off the vehicles. I was really young at the time. The Lilliputian family—real little people who had beautiful teen daughters—would dress up (the males in fine tuxedos) and then the females would holler for me to take them down. I always did little jobs like feeding the animals, moving wardrobes, trucks, and equipment.

  The workers were drunks, ex-cons, fugitives, thieves, perverts, and mental cases. They were the worst collection of flotsam and weirdoes under one huge tent. The sleeping train was filthy, loaded with drunks and fighters, so I slept in a tent on the lot. I kept my clothes and boots on—I had metal cleats on my heels—and I also had a spade in the trunk with me to keep safe. I finally hitchhiked home and went back to the streets.

  James Bulger’s 1953 booking photo.

  Excerpts from Bulger’s inmate case file at USP Atlanta chronicle the criminal activities that landed him his first federal prison sentence, and his eventual transfer to Alcatraz.

  The United States attorney indicates that on May 17, 1955 Bulger—together with Donald Dermody and Carl Smith—participated in the armed robbery of the Industrial National Bank, Darlington branch, in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. In participating in this robbery, Bulger carried a .22 revolver and forced two employees of the bank to lie on the floor during the course of the robbery. The getaway from the robbery was accomplished by the use of a car stolen by the three participants just prior to the robbery. The amount stolen was $42,112.00.

  On November 18, 1955, William L. O’Brien participated in the hold up of the Highland branch of the Melrose truck company, in Melrose, Massachusetts. Prior to the robbery they stole the car to be used in the getaway from a MTA parking lot in East Boston. They placed their switched cars in the parking lot of the Roosevelt school in Melrose and proceeded from there in the stolen car to the bank. Both O’Brien and Bulger were armed and took part in forcing the employees and customers in the bank to lie on the floor during the robbery. They left the bank in the stolen car and switched their own cars at the Roosevelt school in Melrose. The total amount stolen in this case was $5,035.

  Then on November 23, 1955, Bulger, together with Richard R. Barchard, participated in the hold up of the Woodmar
Branch of the Hoosier State Bank, in Hammond, Indiana. Bulger and Barchard set up the robbery of this bank earlier in the fall of 1955 and made the trip from Boston to Indiana on or about November 23, 1955 for the expressed purpose of accomplishing this robbery. Both Bulger and O’Brien entered the bank. Bulger held two pistols on the persons in the bank while Barchard, unarmed, took the cash out of the drawers.

  Richard R. Barchard

  Inmate’s Version of Present Offense

  During the initial social interview Bulger stated that he was introduced to Carl Smith by an ex-convict and later encouraged to drive for Smith on some deal that he did not know about at the particular time. When he learned that this deal concerned a bank robbery he wanted to back out. He claims that he was even more afraid when he learned that he had to go into the bank and that two people previously involved had backed out.

  Bulger stated that the bank robbery was successful, and that afterwards he was in on three more bank robberies. Eventually Smith was caught, after he robbed a bank with two men in Tennessee, then returned home and spent the money extravagantly. Bulger said that Smith “squealed on us” after he was caught.

  Bulger states that he was caught in a nightclub in Revere, Massachusetts after being a fugitive for two months. He believes that a friend walked him into a trap. He states that he had dyed his hair and started dressing in contrast to his previous style of dressing.

  Personal History and Family Background

  This man is the second of six children and was born September 3, 1929 in Boston, Massachusetts. His father, James J. Bulger, Sr., was born in St. John, Newfoundland about sixty years ago. He is retired now, according to his mother, and is in good health. He was employed by the WPA. He was employed until recently as a watchman. He’s had no serious difficulty with the law. He was arrested for assault with a revolver in Roxbury, Massachusetts once, but the case was dismissed. The mother, Jean (McCarthy) Bulger, was born in Massachusetts about fifty years ago. She is in good health, and is a devoted mother and housewife.

  The probation officer’s report indicates that this man has had very little to do with his parents. They were unable to control him during his early years. His companions were usually persons of poor reputation and far from a good influence upon him. He would associate with known thieves and ex-convicts.

  His schooling consisted of attending both parochial and public schools in South Boston, Massachusetts. He had very little interest in school. He went for a short time to the Brandeis vocational school in the Ninth grade but then left to go into military service. While in the United States Military, he attended school and received a high school diploma.

  As indicated above, this man has spent most of his time in local taverns, where he associated with known criminals. Although this was his first penitentiary sentence, it is indicated that he has always been willing to participate in any violations of the law, even if it meant using firearms to accomplish his goals. The police department records reveal episodes of juvenile delinquency and also that fines were paid as an adult for assault and larceny. This man was AWOL in the Army, but he received an honorable discharge.

  Present Situation [1955]

  Bulger is a twenty-six-year-old single native of Massachusetts with a legal residence in Boston, Massachusetts. He is serving twenty years for the robbery of an FDIC Bank. He has a possible murder charge indictment against him pending by the state of Indiana. He denies his guilt, although he is accused by alleged eyewitnesses who are also his co-defendants in an Indiana bank robbery. Bulger wrote an anxious letter to his brother about this charge, but it was difficult to tell whether he was bragging or complaining about the charge. Under any circumstances, he appears deeply concerned that such a warrant would affect his adjustment here.

  This man has close family ties and there are other persons in the community who have shown some interest in his welfare. He wants to have training and typing here, and is thinking in terms of working his way into a clerical assignment.

  PRISON

  Bulger’s 1956 USP Atlanta mug shot.

  On June 21, 1956, Bulger was convicted and sentenced to serve 20 years in a federal prison for armed robbery. He was sent to USP Atlanta. Bulger’s inmate case file shows that he was subjected to extreme testing through the Project MK-Ultra. MK-Ultra was the code name of a government covert research operation experimenting in the behavioral engineering of humans through the CIA’s Scientific Intelligence Division. The program began in the early 1950s, and employed many illegal activities; in particular it used unwitting convicts as its test subjects, which led to controversy regarding its legitimacy. MK-Ultra involved the use of many methodologies to manipulate people’s mental states and alter brain functions, including the surreptitious administration of drugs and other chemicals, hypnosis, sensory deprivation, isolation, as well as various forms of torture. For eighteen months, Bulger and eighteen other inmates—who had volunteered to lessen their sentences—were given LSD and other drugs and potent chemicals. Bulger later stated that he and the other inmates had been “recruited by deception.” Bulger remembered:

  I am cursed because I volunteered for those Medical Research Projects in the Atlanta Penitentiary, one of which was run by Dr. Carl Pfeiffer of Emory University. The doctor was allegedly searching for a cure for schizophrenia. I was on this project for one year, and it was the worst year of my life. Two other volunteers went stark raving mad and psychotic. Benoit, Jennings, and others (myself included) wound up with residual effects. Since then, I have never had a good night’s sleep; my sleep is filled with violent nightmares and restless nights. When I finally made it to Alcatraz, I always had a cell with light coming through the roof of the cellhouse, so that I could use the natural light that shined through the bars to read at night. I’d lie awake for hours on end.

  Documents from Bulger’s prison medical file shows the extensive and repeated LSD and chemical testing he was subjected to as part of the MK-Ultra Program.

  The clinic at USP Atlanta where various medical experiments were conducted on resident inmates.

  Percy “Jack” Geary, AZ-456

  One of the worst experiences during the Project MK-Ultra experiments involved the death of a good friend named Jack Geary. As I recall, Jack’s real name Percy, and with a name like that, you learn to fight or become a punching bag. At a young age, after being arrested, a court official said to him “How could you commit these crimes? You have the face of an angel.” Because of this comment, the press gave him the name “Angel Face.” He really got a laugh out of telling that story.

  I met Jack through Henry Reddington, a friend in Atlanta. He was a jolly, overweight, non-violent guy. After getting out of prison, he was taken captive in his house and tortured by a knife, and then shot to death. I was in prison when this took place. Later, the killer was shot a few times by a .38, which he survived. Even later, he was machine-gunned down and given a few pistol shots in the head for good measure. Jack and his gang— Jack Oley and McGlene and a couple of others—kidnapped for ransom a guy from Albany, New York (who was named O’Connell or something similar). The family was friends of the then-Governor Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

  The New York State Police got the number on the gang, conducted a long torture session, put one of the gang into a burlap bag, cuffed him into a rowboat, floated the boat to the middle of a lake in the dark and threw him in-and-out of the water. Another gang member was tied up and hoisted up a flag pole by his feet. Two of the other gang members committed suicide. The same gang committed one of the biggest cash hold-ups on record, the robbery of a Brinks armored car carrying over $1 million. Jack was pushing a covered cart on the street and when the armored car door opened, he pulled out a Thompson submachine gun and got the drop on them. The money was from the Coney Island Collection.

  Jack ran many stories by me when he was a patient in the hospital (which is where I worked at USP Atlanta). I spent a lot of time in his cubicle-like room. I’d buy a cigar for him and he’d cut it in ha
lves and beam “Can’t Beat This!” He was always making the best of it. He liked to talk about the Good Old Days, such as the Hotsy Totsy Club, Legs Diamond in New York, and other old gangsters.

  Then comes Dr. Brailler, a really incompetent swine and religious nut. He held services for the men in his office. Some cons played along by kissing ass, thereby hoping for an early parole. The doctor operated on Jack for gallbladder problems and screwed him up. He did a second surgery to correct it, but to no avail. Jack was left in deep pain and was vomiting. Dr. Brailler barred Jack from sick call; if he didn’t see Jack he could forget his mistake.

  One day I was coming out of the mess hall and Jack was waiting for me. He told me he wanted to say goodbye and commented that I was a good friend. He was assigned to one of the large eight-man cells and said “I’m real sick and it disturbs the guys in the cell. I don’t like being a bother to anyone. I should have done this twenty years ago.” He told me that he was going to kill himself. I told him not to talk like that and that my friends were going over the wall and that I’d put him in on it.