by David Ward
A UNIQUE POPULATION
Although they had much in common with prisoners anywhere, it was also true that the Alcatraz inmates differed from most of their counterparts in state and other federal prisons—and this fact had important implications for their prison society. Many had been the leaders of sophisticated criminal enterprises, or the leaders of escape plots in other prisons. Compared to the average felon, they were intelligent, strong-willed, and self-assured. Almost all of them had accumulated considerable experience doing “big time” in very tough prisons. The members of this unique population approached their years on the Rock with a mindset somewhat different from that of their counterparts at Leavenworth or San Quentin. They referred to themselves as “convicts,” not as “inmates,” a term that connoted subservience to authority.
Each of them had been specially selected for transfer to the Rock, which even before it opened was widely regarded as the toughest joint in the country. For those who appreciated or sought reputations as the best of the bad, a transfer to Alcatraz could be seen as an achievement—a measure of a man’s status in the world of penitentiaries. Being sent to serve time with Al Capone, Dock Barker, Machine Gun Kelly, Alvin Karpis, and the country’s most notorious “public enemies,” tough guys, and escape artists was, for some of these men, akin to gaining admission to the most prestigious law school or graduate program in the nation. Many Alcatraz inmates had large egos and an enhanced sense of their own importance. Warden James Johnston recognized this quality in the men who arrived on the first trains from Atlanta and Leavenworth:
They were supposed to be the worst men in the country. They were reported to be dangerous. It was apparent that some of them liked the idea of being rated tough and intended to live up to their reputations—to do what they were expected to do to qualify as “big shots.”1
Alcatraz convicts were also more likely than other prisoners to highly value and express the macho characteristics of toughness and the ability to endure hardship. While American culture in general encourages seeing hardship and overcoming obstacles in a positive light, Alcatraz prisoners saw doing time in a prison called the Rock as a test of character. If being able to take anything that prison guards could dish out without showing fear or weakness was an important measure of strength for American convicts, then the challenge of surviving the experience of doing time in a prison designed to be the toughest of them all provided the supreme test of character. Those who rose to that challenge felt justifiably proud and earned respect from others.
The fact that the men imprisoned on the island were a select group sharing a very challenging experience also predisposed inmates to develop socially cohesive bonds of camaraderie and solidarity. In this sense, Alcatraz inmates were very much like the survivors of a natural disaster or the members of a military unit during combat, experiencing the unique bonds that only shared trauma or hardship can produce.
Finally, many of those imprisoned on the Rock were facing very long sentences, with an unknown amount of that time to be spent on the island. As noted several times in earlier chapters, this prospect produced in some a feeling of hopelessness that translated into a tendency to take extreme risks. As Warden Johnston noted, “they were in a mood to risk anything, not caring much whether they lived or died.”2
For prison administrators, these characteristics posed serious challenges to the task of controlling inmate behavior. On the inmate side, the particular characteristics of the men sent to this island prison created a unique prison society. To this day the successors of the Alcatraz convicts locked up at Marion, Illinois, and later at Florence, Colorado—the federal government’s supermax penitentiaries—still memorialize the men, the time, and the prison where prisoner solidarity under the convict code was a reality.
INMATE CULTURE AND THE CONVICT CODE
During the 1930s and 1940s, the informal norms and rules that governed convict life and social interaction at Alcatraz—and made up the fabric of its inmates’ culture—bore some resemblance to what prevailed at other federal and state prisons of the day. But the prison culture at Alcatraz had many distinctive features—the product of placing a unique population of inmates, with their particular value systems and life experiences, in the context of such a restrictive regime.
The majority of Alcatraz convicts were white and from working-class backgrounds. They had grown up in rural areas in the Midwest and Southwest and had been raised with very traditional values in poor but generally law-abiding families. Key among these values were the assertions that a man had to stand up for his rights and his self-respect, remain loyal to his friends, and take care of his family. These values became the foundation of a convict culture that emphasized psychological strength, solidarity with other prisoners, and unwavering opposition to the staff.
The solidarity came in part from doing time with men they already knew. During their first days on the island, many prisoners recognized in the yard, dining room, or workshops former crime partners, friends from the streets, acquaintances from other federal prisons, and associates from state penitentiaries and reformatories where they had served time. In this era of prison history, before witness protection programs and incentives for informing were in place, very few crime partners testified against each other in exchange for reduced sentences (a practice common in today’s prisons that has produced hostile and often lethal relations between once close criminal associates).3
In addition to loyalty among friends and partners, there was a strong sense among inmates of shared values and interests. Even if a fellow convict wasn’t a close friend or associate, there was a certain responsibility to look out for his welfare and expect the same in return. In a world defined by the opposition between guards and convicts, this sense of shared interests and reciprocity developed into an unwritten set of rules for behavior that idealized the white, male, working-class values shared by most inmates during the 1930s and 1940s.
This set of rules was not unique to Alcatraz. Indeed, in the 1940s it was recognized as such a distinctive feature of American prison life that sociologists began to study it and give it a name: the “convict code.”4 The convict code—with its essential proposition that one should never provide information about, let alone testify against, any fellow inmate—was very similar to the code mentioned in chapter 1. It was, in essence, the outlaw code transplanted to the prison context. Although the convict code existed in other prisons, gangster-era inmates on the Rock exemplified it: they followed its tenets more strongly and more consistently than any other group of prisoners in federal history.
For this reason, understanding the convict code is essential in understanding inmate culture at Alcatraz during the years that so many “public enemies” and their criminal associates occupied cell space. The code was much more than a prohibition on giving staff or FBI agents information about fellow cons. As an expression of a coherent set of values, it had a fundamental role in shaping the inmate community. Its general effect—as expressed by George Kelly in a letter about life on the island—was to create “comradeship—a rough kindness of man to man.”5
In their classic 1960 study, Sykes and Messinger described the elements of the code, showing how it was embodied in various maxims that could be grouped into five clusters.6 Even though their analysis was not derived from studying social life at Alcatraz itself, it accurately represents the essential components of the convict code as it existed on the Rock.
The first cluster of maxims involved group identification and solidarity. These directed a convict to be loyal to his “class,” namely himself and his fellow convicts. As Sykes and Messinger put it, “Prisoners must present a unified front against their guards no matter how much this may cost in terms of personal sacrifice.” The most important rule in this category was the prohibition against betraying a fellow convict to institutional officials, summarized by the rule Never Rat on a Con. Related maxims included Don’t Be Nosy; Don’t Have a Loose Lip; Keep Off a Man’s Back; Don’t Put a Guy on the Spot. All
these directives existed to protect inmate interests, which according to Sykes and Messinger consisted mainly of “serving the least possible time and enjoying the greatest possible number of pleasures and privileges while in prison.”
The second set of maxims instructed convicts to “refrain from quarrels or arguments with fellow prisoners.” They included Don’t Lose Your Head, Play It Cool, and Do Your Own Time. Sykes and Messinger pointed out that these maxims emphasized the control of emotions (they used the term “curtailment of affect”). They also noted that these rules were subject to exceptions: if an inmate confronted a “legitimate provocation,” the need to maintain self-respect might demand a response.
In the third category were maxims prohibiting inmates from taking advantage of one another “by means of force, fraud or chicanery.” They included the following: Don’t Break Your Word; Don’t Steal from a Con; Don’t Sell Favors; Don’t Be a Racketeer; Don’t Welsh on Debts. According to Sykes and Messinger, these prohibitions were all related to an ideal: “inmates should share scarce goods in a balanced reciprocity of ‘gifts’ or ‘favors,’ rather than sell to the highest bidder or selfishly monopolize any amenities.”
The fourth cluster of maxims revolved around the theme of “the maintenance of self.” These maxims, best summarized by Don’t Weaken, indicated the high value placed on maintaining personal dignity and withstanding “frustration or threatening situations without complaining or resorting to subservience.” The maxims in this category—such as Be Tough: Be a Man—emphasized courage and tenacity as essential elements of self. These values tended to trump the value placed on avoidance of conflict. As Sykes and Messinger put it, “Although starting a fight runs counter to the inmate code, retreating from a fight started by someone else is equally reprehensible.”
Finally, the fifth category defined the inmates’ value system in opposition to that of the world of the authorities. For Sykes and Messinger the maxims in this cluster “forbid according prestige or respect to the custodians or the world for which they stand.” Best represented by the maxim Don’t Be a Sucker, they express contempt for “the values of hard work and submission to duly constituted authority” and express the general attitude that “guards are hacks or screws and are to be treated with constant suspicion and distrust.”
The events recounted in previous chapters provide examples of how strongly the convict code—particularly its prohibition against incriminating fellow convicts—affected the behavior of Alcatraz convicts. Inmates in various industries shops provided materials to the plotters preparing several escapes and had information about plans, including the takeover of the cell house in May 1946. When Hamilton, Cretzer, Barkdoll, and Kyle tried to escape from the model building in 1941, inmates who were witnesses never provided the information that would have implicated Hamilton in the plot, allowing him to avoid the punishments given the other plotters. Similarly, other prisoners in D block before the escapes of Barker, Stamphill, Young, McCain, and Martin were well aware that cell bars were being severed. It was especially obvious that something unusual was happening because the plotters emerged from their cells a number of times to work on cutting the bars covering the window. In none of these cases did any inmate try to gain a transfer or to increase his chances for a parole by giving information to the staff.
Like all value systems that spell out an ideal for conduct, the convict code was sometimes violated, even at Alcatraz. The degree to which inmates adhered to the code had implications for the complex of roles that comprised the structure of the inmate community. Those who strictly abided by all the code’s tenets were “good cons,” “right guys,” or, as Sykes and Messinger put it, the “heroes of the inmate world.” These men earned not only the respect of their fellow convicts but also in many cases the respect of the staff, since in being good cons inmates were expressing some of the same basic working-class values held by the staff. Alcatraz convicts who achieved this status in a population comprised almost entirely of high-status convicts from across the country, men like Harvey Bailey, Floyd Hamilton, Charlie Berta, and Arnold Kyle, were characterized by strong personalities and outstanding careers as bank robbers and as escape artists. Although they had an affinity for risk taking, they were smart in assessing the costs and benefits of various courses of action. As bank robbers they were accustomed to exercising caution and care in planning their activities. In their lives before Alcatraz, their intelligence, personal charisma, and fearlessness had led others to seek them out as partners in criminal enterprises.
The inmates who violated the rules of the convict code had decidedly different roles in the convict community. Those who provided information to the staff about other inmates—the informers or rats—earned the contempt of their fellow inmates (and to a certain extent that of the staff ). The ostracism, threats, and physical abuse directed at Rufe Persful was an example of the consequences of betraying fellow prisoners. There was also a small group of prisoners who fought with their fellow inmates or with staff for no obvious reason—thus violating the maxims Don’t Lose Your Head and Do Your Own Time. Some of these men were admired for their continual confrontations with the regime, but the actions of others were seen as serving no greater purpose for the population at large and only served to make the perpetrators’ lives more difficult. The most notorious of these “outlaws” will be described in the next chapter. Finally, there were the “crazies” or “bugs,” whose erratic actions demonstrated an inability to show toughness and courage and stand up to the challenge of doing big time.
It should be noted that during the gangster years there was also a small number of men who were regarded by the general inmate population as outsiders by virtue of the fact that they did not share the working-class backgrounds and values of their fellow convicts and were imprisoned on the island for different reasons. Included in this group were several spies and some military prisoners who could not be controlled in military prisons but had long sentences for sex offenses, primarily rape, and were sent to Alcatraz during and immediately following World War II. These men had not violated federal laws for financial reasons, and since the Alcatraz convicts endorsed the traditional value of patriotism, several of the Nazi “saboteurs” were threatened or attacked on the yard and sex offenders were always treated with contempt.
CONTROL AND RESISTANCE
As chapters 4 through 9 have made very clear, the Alcatraz convicts did not simply acquiesce to the rules and restrictions imposed on them by the prison regime. The work strikes, food strikes, organized protests, escape attempts, disturbances, and individual acts of defiance described in those chapters show that resistance in its varying forms was a defining feature of life on the Rock, and a major determinant of the prison’s historical development.
Acts of disobedience began almost as soon as the first shipments of convicts from Leavenworth and Atlanta arrived on the island and continued in one form or another throughout the prison’s thirty-year history. Many of these acts were purely individual—a particular inmate refusing to obey a certain rule, for example. And many were collective efforts in which groups of inmates acted together, planning, strategizing, and coordinating activities. Both individual and organized resistance constituted direct challenges to the authority of the staff and clearly communicated the determination of the inmates not to passively submit to the existence on the island the Bureau of Prisons planned for them.
Bureau officials and Warden Johnston, of course, should have expected that of all inmates in the federal prison system, those selected for placement at Alcatraz would be the least likely to accept the excruciating degree of control over their activities envisioned by the regime’s designers. Placing these troublemaking, defiant, escape-prone inmates in a prison with the most restrictive set of rules established in any American prison of its day was an explosive combination. Seen in this light, what is perhaps most surprising about Alcatraz’s history is not the fact of inmate resistance but the relative peacefulness that prevailed for long perio
ds of time in between episodes of confrontation. Understanding how inmate resistance could be a defining feature of life at Alcatraz without continuous and pervasive overt conflict between inmates and guards requires a closer examination of the phenomenon of resistance.
All prisons, regardless of their ultimate goals, engage in a fundamental activity: they endeavor to control inmate conduct. How a prison organizes the means for this control determines, more than any other factor, how it differs from other prisons. Alcatraz was distinctive in that it had the authority to employ an exceptionally wide variety of coercive sanctions for the direct control of behavior. But direct observation of actual prison life makes it clear that resistance to control is another fundamental dimension along which prisons vary. No prison has achieved complete conformity, and theoretically no prison ever could. Inmate conformity to rules is variable. No silent system was really silent; contraband flourishes in all lockups; prison rules are routinely violated; overt resistance, escape attempts, and various forms of individual and group rebellion are as much a feature of prisons as is control.
Neither full control nor effective resistance can be assumed. In many prisons of this era dominant groups of inmates exploited other inmates; in some prisons staff entered into cooperative arrangements with certain prisoners to obtain information or cooperation. Some guards were intimidated and even at Alcatraz several officers became involved with prisoners by smuggling contraband in and out of the prison for them.7 In some state prisons administrators gave up control inside prison walls to powerful convicts.8 There were no such leaders or bosses at Alcatraz—a fact that was demonstrated when Alvin Karpis stepped forward to represent the interests of his fellow food strikers; this effort at leadership was promptly rejected by the custodial staff who locked Karpis up in disciplinary segregation and by the other strikers who did not recognize any other prisoner as their boss.
