Edwin Alonzo Boyd

by Brian Vallee

But shortly after Willie left, the two men disappeared. Holmes quickly freed himself and ran to his hotel. In the company of the hotel detective, Holmes went up to his room where they cornered Willie and held him for the police. He was charged with three counts of robbery with violence and sentenced to three years in Kingston. He was released in early 1951. A few months later, after several drinks, he beat an elderly man unconscious with a beer bottle and robbed him of a few dollars. This time he was sentenced to seven years in Kingston and twenty strokes of the strap. Now he was in the Don waiting for a decision on his appeal of the sentence.

  Willie was soon entertaining Boyd and Lennie Jackson – and the guards – with a stream of jokes. Boyd’s impression was that he was not as bad as his record indicated. He believed that Willie’s drinking led to a lot of his problems and would always think of him as something of a simpleton who liked to hear what a good criminal he was. “I used to praise him all the time,” Boyd would say long afterwards. “He ate it right up.”

  In the Don Jail at the end of October 1951, Boyd and the two Jacksons were facing long prison terms, and when they weren’t laughing at Willie’s jokes, there was only one topic on their minds – escape. For that they needed a hacksaw, and Lennie Jackson already had that covered.

  18

  Gone

  Edwin Alonzo Boyd, working on his house in Pickering through the summer of 1951, had not been aware that other bank robbers were grabbing the headlines in his absence. When he arrived at the Don Jail he had never heard of Lennie Jackson or the Numbers Mob. But Lennie Jackson knew all about him.

  “I read about you in the paper,” said Jackson after introducing himself to Boyd. He admired the way Boyd took over a bank by vaulting the counter. Jackson didn’t go into specifics, but Boyd quickly realized that his new neighbour had also robbed a few banks. He was surprised to learn that Jackson had an artificial left foot, because he didn’t seem to limp when he walked. Boyd says Jackson was easy to talk to, but he also noticed that the other inmates on the corridor treated Jackson with a certain deference. “He had an air about him that made all the guys in the block be careful of what they said,” recalls Boyd. “I think they realized he had contacts with organized criminals on the outside.” Lennie was intelligent, soft-spoken, and didn’t swear or curse like many of the inmates.

  Boyd noticed that four or five inmates on the corridor hung around with Lennie most of the time. Boyd kept to himself but couldn’t help overhearing their conversations when there were no guards around the corridor. “He had his own group,” says Boyd. “And they were discussing how they were going to rob banks and so on.”

  Shortly after Willie Jackson arrived, Lennie took Boyd aside. “I’m thinking of breaking out of here,” he said. “Do you want to come along?”

  “How do you propose to do it?” asked Boyd.

  “Through that window,” said Lennie, nodding towards the window directly across from Boyd’s cell. Boyd knew there was about a forty-foot drop to the exercise yard below.

  “You’ll need a hacksaw and a rope,” he said.

  “I’ve got hacksaw blades,” said Lennie.

  “You do?” said Boyd, surprised.

  “In here,” said Lennie, tapping the leather brace that covered his left calf and held his wooden foot in place. “And we’ll tie sheets together to make a rope.” Boyd was impressed. So far he liked what he was hearing.

  “The bars are soft,” said Lennie. “It’s like cutting through butter.” Lennie knew what he was talking about: he had already cut through the bars in a window in an east-wing corridor, as part of a mass escape plan to coincide with the royal couple’s visit to Riverdale Park on Saturday, October 13. More than fifty thousand people were expected at the park, directly north of the Don Jail, and thousands of others would be lining adjacent Broadview Avenue to view the royal motorcade. Broadview was a stone’s throw from the jail, and the plan was that as the royals passed by on their way to Riverdale, Jackson and others would go over the wall and mingle with the huge crowd. But because of the royals’ pending visit, the guards were extra diligent and discovered a hacksaw blade and a screen with loosened bolts, just days before Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip arrived. The partially sawed bars would not be discovered for several months. The police and guards had searched the prisoners and their cells thoroughly but found no other saw blades. Lennie was subsequently moved to No. 3 Corridor.

  “How do we get through the screen and out the window without the guards noticing?” asked Boyd.

  “We cut the bolt on the bottom hinge and bend the screen up enough to get a man in there to work on the bars,” said Lennie.

  “They’ll see the bolt is missing.”

  “I’ll have a replacement. They won’t notice it.”

  Boyd had already studied the screened window, which was six feet high and three and a half feet wide. It was part of a row of windows facing into the small exercise yard below. The windows were recessed and could not be seen from the guard station on the landing at the end of Corridor No. 3. With Sanderson’s new deal, inmates competed in bean-bag bowling and played cards on tables in the corridor until 8 p.m., when they were locked into their cells for the night. Sawing a bar with a soaped hacksaw blade would not be a noisy operation.

  Jackson’s preferred window was the third one from the farthest (northwest) corner of the corridor. The screen covering it was made of heavy woven wire, tightly meshed in a diamond pattern and about one-eighth of an inch thick. There was a half-inch metal support bar across the centre of the screen; the bar was attached to a steel frame around the perimeter. On one side were three bolted hinges holding the screen in place; on the other was an iron angle bar with a slot at the bottom end that fit into an iron staple embedded in the wall. A padlock through the staple held the bar in place. Behind the screen was the frosted glass window. The bottom half of the window was fixed in place; the upper half was on a pivot that allowed it to swivel open for ventilation. Guards and inmates usually used a broom handle to open or close the window. As long as the screen was in place, guards would have no reason to think the bars beyond it had been tampered with. To get at the bars, an inmate would have to get behind the screen and through the window.

  Boyd, at five-foot-eight and 140 pounds, was about twenty-five pounds lighter than Lennie Jackson and almost two inches shorter. He quickly realized that Jackson wanted him in on the escape because he was small enough to crawl under the screen and through the window opening to get at the bars. Jackson agreed that was true, but added that he also appreciated Boyd’s agility and daring. Boyd thought it over for a moment.

  “We have to plan every detail,” he said finally.

  Jackson nodded agreement.

  “Okay, I’m with you,” said Boyd.

  Most of the bars on the windows of the Don Jail had been in place since it was first built almost a century before. The bars were “cold-rolled,” made of iron imported from Russia. A good hacksaw blade could certainly cut through them, but it wasn’t as if they were being held in a vice and cut on a workbench using a hacksaw with a proper handle. Boyd would be in a cramped position without proper leverage,

  using a blade with no handle. He would need someone to spell him off. Lennie picked Willie Jackson, who had heard about the plan and was eager to get in on the escape. None of the other fifteen prisoners would be going with them, although Lennie expected them to help keep the guards distracted. Ed Boyd and Lennie Jackson knew that if their escape was going to succeed, they would have to study the daily routines and rhythms of the jail and use them to their advantage.

  The day usually began with the inmates cleaning their cells before breakfast. Since the eighteen inmates on No. 3 Corridor were Kingston prisoners, they were never brought into the dining room at the same time as the rest of the Kingston prisoners, who were in cells on a another corridor. Sanderson believed it was too dangerous to have them all in the same room at the same time. The jail’s dining hall had a seating capacity of one hundred, a
nd there were usually three or four different sittings for each meal. The breakfast call for No. 3 Corridor could come at any time between 7:20 and 8:10 a.m.

  All day long there was constant movement and bustle in the Don. After breakfast the prisoners were required to clean their corridors and other common areas, including the toilets and sinks that were found on each corridor. In other parts of the jail, those inmates who had served their time were escorted to the property room to pick up their clothing and personal belongings. They were usually released between 8:45 and 9 a.m. Other prisoners were readied for transport to the courts for appeals, remands, or preliminary hearings. There were also daily parades of prisoners going to and from their weekly shower.

  The breakfast routine would be repeated at lunch and dinner. Between meals – morning and afternoon – guards would escort prisoners, in groups of fifty to eighty, to the exercise yard, where they walked in circles in the “bull ring,” played quoits, or stood around talking. Also, some prisoners would be escorted to the visiting area to meet with family, friends, lawyers, or clergy.

  The dinner sittings, which started at 5 p.m., were always preceded by roll call in each corridor. Boyd noticed that the guards seemed uninterested as they called out the names, usually not even bothering to look up. After dinner, the inmates returned to the corridors for bowling or cards until they were locked in their cells at 8 p.m. There were no lights in the cells, and those inmates who wished to read had to do so by the dim light from the corridor. Three nights a week, radios were allowed in each corridor from 8:30 to 10 p.m., with the prisoners deciding, by straw vote, what program or sporting event they wanted to listen to. This was another of Sanderson’s popular innovations.

  Lennie Jackson had heard from some of the long-time prisoners how much better conditions were under the new governor of the Don. It impressed him enough that on October 14, he wrote to Ann Roberts:

  Once again I have the pleasure of writing to you my darling, and being allowed and able to do so. It may sound funny when I write this way, but when you are in the grips of the law, and you haven’t the money behind you, the privileges cease. Believe it or not, I am lucky to be in custody under supervision of a man who has the integrity and honesty to treat us as human beings, which takes the bitterness out of the inmates. I have nothing but contempt for the law enforcement of this fair city. At one of the stations, an officer whom I had served overseas with, promised to phone my lawyer for me, but neglected to carry out the promise. The reason that I’m writing this my darling is that we, myself and other inmates, are being treated in the best possible manner. Of course there are rules which have to be abided by, which I find isn’t hard to do. They have a change of clothing, bed sheets, and a shower once a week and continuous hot water available, so my darling my real punishment is being kept away from you.

  The letter went on to profess his love for Ann in language right out of a Hollywood melodrama:

  You can’t judge a book by its cover. Meaning you my precious, you are not only beautiful to look at, but your heart and loyalty is bigger than this cockeyed world that we live in … A man can ask no greater reward than the warm-hearted love of a beautiful woman. Well bunny … I’ll have to close for now.…

  When Lennie was arrested, his prized Oldsmobile was seized by the police. When they released it to Ann Roberts in September 1951, Lennie instructed her to sell it to Orgell Motors in Toronto, where he had purchased it. She received $1,300, of which $200 went to Lennie’s legal fees. She was living off the remainder and had about $350 left by the end of October.

  Roberts could probably have gone back to modelling if she’d had to. Circumstances were more difficult for Dorreen Boyd. She was distraught when she visited her husband at the Don. There was no money coming in, and she had the Pickering house and three kids to worry about. Ed told her he would figure out something.

  Boyd also had a visit from his father, Glover Boyd, who had moved with his wife and son to Wiarton, Ontario, and opened a small store after retiring from the police force.

  “What are you going to do now?” he asked his eldest son.

  “I don’t know. It depends on the law, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess it does. You’ve got yourself into a jam. I don’t know how you’ll ever get out of it.”

  Ann Roberts continued to visit Lennie Jackson twice a week, sometimes accompanied by his sister Mary, or his friend Val Lesso, who was now calling himself Steve Suchan. Although involved with another woman, Suchan was attracted to Mary and had begun dating her. During a visit in late October, Jackson whispered instructions to his sister, who was to pass them on to Suchan.

  Lennie Jackson and Boyd had decided that the best time to work at sawing their way out of the Don Jail was in the afternoon and early evening. During their walks around the bull ring in the exercise yard, they had studied their target window and estimated the distance to the ground. And they had decided on the best location to scale the eighteen-foot outside wall.

  They went into action after dinner on November 2, a Friday. Willie and Lennie joined some other inmates in a lively game of bowling; still others sat at worn wooden tables and played cards. The tables were near the landing, where the guard sat at his station behind a steel grille. Beyond the guard station was a second grille that closed the landing off from the main gallery or rotunda. Everything seemed normal. But the recessed windows were not in the guard’s line of vision, and a casual observer would not notice that the bolt on the bottom hinge attaching one of the window screens to the wall had been sawed through.

  The bolt was removed, and the bottom corner of the screen was bent upward until Boyd was able to crawl up under it to the window sill. From there, Boyd tilted open the upper window and pulled himself through until he was in the narrow space between the frosted glass and the bars. Those behind him pulled the screen back into place and replaced the bolt. With the window in shadows, Boyd could not be seen behind the wire mesh and the glass. After rubbing the saw blade with a mixture of soap and dirt, he wrapped one end with a rag and began sawing the bar. It was tedious, difficult work, and after half an hour it was Willie’s turn – and then Boyd’s again.

  It had been decided to cut through a single bar, once at its base and again at the top just below the crossbar. That would leave a hole about nine by fifteen inches. Boyd would conceal the cuts with softened soap mixed with dirt and crawl out of the cramped space. The screen would be forced back into place and a replacement bolt, smuggled into the jail on Lennie’s instructions, would be slipped into place on the hinge. Even with close scrutiny, nothing looked amiss.

  On Saturday after dinner, Boyd was back in position, hunched over and in a half-crouch position, sawing furiously at the bar. Suddenly his knee locked and gave way. As he struggled for balance, his elbow struck the lower half of the swivel window, smashing it. The sound of breaking glass startled the Jacksons and the other inmates. It was loud enough that the guard heard it.

  “What’s going on?” he bellowed, getting to his feet on the landing. Willie grabbed the broom near the window and began sweeping up the bits of glass that had come through the screen to the floor. He had often entertained the guard with his jokes, and as the guard approached he smiled impishly. “It’s just me,” he laughed. “I was trying to close the window and I put the broom handle through the glass. I’m cleaning it up.” The other prisoners went back to their cards and bowling, and the guard could see the screen was in its place behind Willie. He stared for a moment and returned to his post, shaking his head. Minutes later, Boyd, his heart pounding, was back in the corridor. The next morning the padlock was opened, and the screen was swung open as maintenance staff replaced the broken glass. The guard accompanying them gave the bars a cursory visual inspection, but saw nothing unusual.

  The next day, the chief turnkey, Alfred Bennett, who was in charge on the 3 to 11 shift, inspected the windows at the start of his shift and noticed nothing amiss. It was Sunday, November 4. Sometime around 3:30 p.m., whi
le the other inmates were playing cards and bowling in the corridor, Boyd and the two Jacksons removed sheets from several cells and knotted them into a fifty-foot rope. They also tore strips from other sheets and loosely braided and knotted them into a shorter rope, which they looped at one end like a lasso. By 4:30 p.m. the screen had been unbolted and Boyd was in his familiar position between the bars and the glass window. The bar he and Willie Jackson had been working on seemed no different from the others, but it had been cut almost entirely through, top and bottom. It took Boyd less than two minutes to finish the job. The exercise yard, surrounded by eighteen-foot walls on three sides and by the jail itself on the other, was in deep shadow. The newspapers said the sun would set at 5:05, but there was no sun. It was a dull and unseasonably cold day, with the temperature below freezing and a light dusting of snow on the ground. Dressed only in his jail denims, Boyd shivered from the cold as he tied one end of the knotted sheets around another bar and dropped the other end to the exercise yard below. The smaller rope was coiled over his shoulder and around his chest. He quickly lowered himself forty feet to the ground. The two Jacksons soon followed. They moved speedily along the base of the west wall of the exercise yard to where it joined the north wall.

  On No. 3 Corridor the guard had started the usual roll call prior to the 5 p.m. parade to dining hall. As prearranged, other prisoners responded “Present!” when the names of Boyd and the two Jacksons were called out. The guard didn’t even look up as he marked the three as accounted for.

  Outside in the exercise yard, Lennie Jackson, arms outstretched, braced himself against the north end of the west wall. Expanding the loop on the short rope, Boyd handed it to Willie and stood legs apart, leaning forward, his hands on Lennie’s shoulders.

  Willie clambered over the two men until he was standing, balanced, with one foot on each of their shoulders. With his arms stretched above his head, it was no more than six feet to the top of the wall. On his first attempt he lassoed the decorative Victorian cornice where the two walls came together. Tugging to tighten the loop, Willie pulled himself up the rope, hand-over-hand, to the top of the wall. Boyd followed and then Lennie. “Lennie was very determined,” says Boyd. “He was quite adept and he didn’t let his foot get in the way of anything.”