by David Ward
Warden Gollaher anticipated this problem when he wrote another strong letter to the parole board. The issue for the wardens who argued for Bailey’s parole was their concern that a prisoner who had a decades-long record of good conduct and cooperation with staff should reasonably expect that these good efforts would earn a parole—otherwise why go along with the program? In Bailey’s case, however, along with those of other notorious offenders whose arrests helped build the reputation of the FBI and its director, the opposition of Hoover was a serious consideration for the board of parole. In this letter the warden directly confronted the matter of Hoover’s intervention in the parole process:
We have been advised that Mr. J. Edgar Hoover, Director of the FBI, is interested in sitting in on the review [of Bailey’s parole]. . . . Bailey, as you are well aware, will soon begin serving his thirtieth year on his LIFE sentence. In the past we have pointed out with regularity the fact that although Bailey is 75 years old, he is a very exuberant individual, is in good health, and enjoys a very good outlook on life. We cannot stress too strongly the fact that his healthy outlook, good physical condition and faithful disposition is certainly based partially on the hope that he has of leaving prison before he dies. . . . We note that during the late thirties, many books were written using Bailey and his modus operandi as a theme. We can recall one book entitled, “Farewell Mr. Gangster” which devoted an entire chapter to Bailey and which states, “If Bailey was not the best bank robber in the United States, he certainly perfected the method of casing a bank.” We realize that in his earlier life Bailey was no doubt a very, very serious threat to the community welfare. On the other hand, that information, along with other information that the Federal Bureau of Investigation has, is now thirty years old and we firmly believe that the material has little bearing on the current issue at hand. . . . If the law enforcement agency which seems to have an interest in this case is allowed to color the decision of the Board, we are sure that Bailey will be convinced that his efforts during the past 30 years have been to no avail. . . . Our Classification Committee . . . can see no reason whatsoever why he should be retained in custody any longer.18
Regardless of the fact that Kansas parole authorities had indicated in 1956 they would recommend a commutation of Bailey’s state sentence, Warden Gollaher was notified that Kansas was intending to exercise the detainer for his escape in 1933. This information prompted Gollaher to write to the director of Penal Institutions of Kansas, arguing that since Bailey should be released to the community, returning him to the penitentiary at Lansing would serve no useful purpose. But Kansas authorities insisted Bailey be returned to serve the time remaining on his detainer, stating they were unwilling to grant concurrent parole.19
Finally on November 15, 1962, Bailey was paroled from Seagoville to his state detainer and returned to the Kansas state prison from which he had escaped thirty years earlier. He served two and a half years before his sentence was commuted and he immediately became eligible for parole. He was released on March 31, 1965, at age seventy-six, under the joint supervision of federal and Missouri parole authorities (since he was to live and work in Joplin, Missouri). Bailey’s release by Kansas authorities was effected due in large part to the efforts of the new chairman of the Kansas Board of Probation and Parole, the former warden of Leavenworth, Chester Looney, who ten years earlier had supported Bailey’s transfer to the Kansas state prison so that he could finish his federal and state sentences at the same time, rather than consecutively.
Upon his release, Bailey was greeted by his son and granddaughter. He was employed at a construction company as a cabinetmaker using the skills he had developed at Alcatraz and Leavenworth. He got married, retired in 1973, worked with a writer to produce a book about his career as a bank robber and was terminated from parole in 1976. He died three years later at the age of ninety-one. Harvey Bailey expected to pay a very high price for being the nation’s best bank robber. But he paid an even higher price for a kidnapping in which he did not participate—despite the strong support for parole he received from several federal prison wardens—because the press and J. Edgar Hoover made him one of the nation’s most prominent “public enemies.”
The book about Bailey’s life devoted only six pages to his years at Alcatraz but did reveal his philosophy for doing time: “Once you learn to live with yourself, then you have learned to live with your fellow man. This is caused by meditation. The question you have to resolve; four walls and no place to go. A lot of men don’t ever learn what that is like; to have to sit down and meditate that this is me. I learned! . . . The main lesson is that crime don’t pay. You have to pay for it.”20
John Paul Chase
In prison, John Paul Chase, whose exploits with Baby Face Nelson (one of the country’s leading bad guys) were mentioned in chapter 1, was another “stand-up” convict, a “good con” who took his punishment without complaining. He was friendly and respectful to his work crew supervisors but communicated little with the custodial staff. A progress report written near the end of his stay at Alcatraz noted the following: “In the cell house his conduct is very quiet and orderly. It is reported that one wouldn’t know he was there. He spends his time reading or painting.”21
After his transfer to Leavenworth in September 1954, Chase began working on his release. In this effort he would be frustrated for many years, encountering the classic problem of a prisoner who committed a very serious offense but thereafter accumulated many years of good work and good conduct reports. While misconduct reports could result in the loss of privileges and provide a justification for parole denials, good conduct could not earn him a release. Chase had been convicted of killing an FBI agent, and during this era no federal offense was more serious—especially when it had occurred during a nationally publicized gun battle between J. Edgar Hoover’s G-men and “the gangster element.” Linked with Baby Face Nelson in every verbal and written report, Chase found himself in that category of convicts who could not earn a parole no matter how good their behavior. If the parole committees he petitioned over and over had been frank and truthful, they would have had to reply, “You are not getting out because you are John Paul Chase and J. Edgar Hoover won’t allow it.”
Even a letter of support from one of the FBI agents who participated in the gun battle that resulted in the murder of agents Cowley and Hollis did not influence parole authorities. Thomas McDade wrote to Father Clark in 1952, giving his version of Chase’s participation in the “affray”:
For my own part as one of the participants in the battle which cost Cowley, Hollis and Gillis their lives, I feel, and I felt then, that Chase’s part was slight except for the moral support which he lent Gillis. Perhaps I should speak only for myself and not for other agents who, at the time of Chase’s apprehension, talked with him and formed an opinion about his character in general and the part which he played on that day. I can say, however, that I was not alone in the belief that he was a completely different type of individual than Lester Gillis and was perhaps led into the situation by that man. Considering Chase’s general character up till the time of that episode, and in view of the opinions which you yourself have expressed, as well as those of the warden and deputy warden at Alcatraz Prison, I would think that Chase would be a good subject for parole. . . . It is eighteen years since the event which put Chase in prison, and all things considered, I think that the risk of releasing him at this time is one which we can well run.22
As the years rolled by, Chase continued to take a variety of self-study courses, including human relations, Spanish, sociology, trigonometry, public relations, and the Dale Carnegie course. He also compiled a long list of assessments that his work in the shoe factory was outstanding.
In July 1961, in a petition for executive clemency, he asked for a commutation of his sentence to thirty years:
My conduct in prison has been an exemplary one. This prison can be likened to a community of like size population on the outside. In it there is committed every
crime that is committed on the outside. In prison there is an environment for every hate, for every respect accorded to man, for every frustration, and for every achievement; and they are comparable to those desires and aspirations of the people who live in the free world. . . .
And we have ourselves and our time to do what we will with them. We are free . . . to earn the contempt and hatred of our fellow man, or to earn their respect and their compliments.
Man makes his own environment from how he thinks, his every act being the blossom of his thoughts. My record will show that my behavior and my thinking for these past 26 years is comparable to that of the behavior and conduct of successful businessmen in like-size communities on the outside . . . in a truly rehabilitative sense the officials of this institution . . . have achieved their goal.23
Chase ended by listing persons who could describe his “character” and confirm his “rehabilitation.” This list included sixteen Alcatraz and Leavenworth wardens, captains, lieutenants, officers, and work crew supervisors. And Director James Bennett headed it. Despite all this, his appeal was denied. Five years later another classification committee concluded unanimously that “there is little further purpose in confining Chase at Leavenworth.”24
Finally, on October 31, 1966, after thirty-one years at Alcatraz and Leavenworth, John Chase was released on parole to San Francisco. He had $500 in savings and $7,000 in savings bonds that he had sent to his brother, a retired San Francisco police officer. Chase, then almost sixty-five years old, took up residence and went to work as a custodian at St. Joseph’s College, a Catholic seminary in the nearby town of Mountain View. Most of his free time was spent at his brother’s home.
During his first few years under parole supervision, Chase was kept under close watch by his parole officer, who noted,
I do not consider Mr. Chase a dangerous individual. He is perhaps not the most rational individual at all times but this is understandable in view of the facts and circumstances of the past 30 years. I do not think Mr. Chase could have survived from Leavenworth to a free society. . . . He went from Leavenworth into a seminary where he has a good deal of freedom but yet security, but it is still an institution and I think we can appreciate Mr. Chase’s negative yet realistic attitudes towards institutions. Mr. Chase has done well on parole; he keeps to himself. He basically has a good attitude toward authority. . . . I think Mr. Chase is now reaching the point where he might be able to move away from an institution into a freer society without damaging himself or the society. As pointed out earlier, subject wants Presidential Clemency. He is not ready for this but it gives him something to do, namely fighting the system.25
Within two years, Chase was promoted to foreman of the janitorial crew at the seminary. His work ethic, however, was not shared by some of the other ex-convict workers, who complained to supervisors that he was too demanding. When these negative comments were referred to the San Francisco parole office, Chase was summoned to a meeting to discuss them; he reacted angrily, contending that the parole office wanted to send him back to prison. A strongly supportive letter from his work supervisor to the parole office and a letter of apology from the U.S. probation office for implying that his parole status was in jeopardy calmed the situation. Chase’s statement to the probation office that he just wanted to be treated as “an ordinary Joe” elicited this response:
Due to your past Mr. Chase, it is unrealistic that you expect all to be forgiven and forgotten and to be looked on as just any other “joe” passing by on the street. You will live the rest of your life with others doubting that you have completely rehabilitated yourself and are totally without a propensity for violence.26
Probation office contacts with Chase, who was under lifetime parole supervision, were reduced from monthly to quarterly reports and he continued his quiet existence at St. Joseph’s until September 17, 1973, when he was admitted to the Stanford University hospital. During exploratory surgery, doctors found terminal cancer. Chase revived briefly but then lapsed into a coma and died on October 5.
After his death, the business manager at the seminary sent this commentary to Chase’s parole officer:
It was very sad to close the books on a man such as John Chase. His transformation from a celebrated underworld figure to that of a near-legend as a gentleman of our community was, well, an inspiration. In 4 years that I have known this man I have admired him, respected him, and am confident that he died as a man who has done his utmost to square his accounts in this life. Even with his death, I would request that this letter be included with his file to reflect the above sentiments of myself and many others. John was a good man.27
John Paul Chase, in prison and out, was a man who commanded respect, but he never achieved his last goal—a presidential commutation of his sentence. He died a parolee. But the supervisor in the San Francisco federal probation office closed the file on Chase with this note to the parole board: “Mr. Chase was always a gentleman and extremely cooperative. This is not a eulogy or an epitaph on the passing of a one time public enemy, but . . . I think one can conclude that John Paul Chase did become a legend in his own lifetime.”28
Harmon Waley
In 1956 Harmon Waley, who spent seven years at Alcatraz in the disciplinary segregation unit, was recommended for transfer to McNeil Island Penitentiary. It had been almost ten years since he made his last trip to the hole, and Alcatraz authorities concluded that Waley’s conduct had improved dramatically. The classification committee noted, “Although he is far from docile at the present time, he has become much more cooperative and he is an excellent worker.”29 The committee recommended the restoration of 300 days of lost good time and said that a transfer to McNeil Island would allow Waley to receive visits from his aged mother and benefit from “the increased privileges, especially in regard to music and library facilities.” Bureau headquarters expressed concern that Waley’s transfer could provoke “a public relations problem” but agreed to his transfer.30 On February 15, 1957, he finally left Alcatraz after twenty-two years and six months on the island.
Waley adjusted easily to life at McNeil; a year after his arrival he was placed in minimum custody. He worked in the motor pool as a driver of a heavy tractor-trailer truck used to haul construction equipment, and when needed, he drove the island bus. Despite his good behavior, prison authorities noted that Waley’s attitude was not always perfect. “At times [Waley] is rather surly,” prison authorities noted in a special progress report, “and he criticizes governmental agencies due to his feelings that he should have been released sooner.”31 In particular, Waley was upset that his co-defendant, who had received a longer sentence, had already been released. (Waley never agreed that his extraordinary record of misconduct had played a role in extending his prison sentence.) Waley’s time at McNeil was mostly trouble-free, except for a conflict with an officer who wanted to destroy a cat that hung around the motor pool. Waley hid the animal to keep it from being killed and as a result lost his job and his minimum-security housing assignment for six months.
At a parole hearing in March 1963, Waley’s role in preventing his accomplice, William Dainard, from killing the Weyerhaeuser boy was acknowledged, and his release was ordered for June 3, 1963. A Tacoma newspaper reported his release with a story headlined “Waley, Weyerhaeuser Kidnapper, Goes Free,” and noted that Waley, then age fifty-two, had spent twenty-eight years in prison for “the celebrated crime that rocked Tacoma and the nation in the ’30s.”32
What was not revealed in the news story was the importance of the communication that had been under way for three years between a friend of Waley, Waley himself, and his kidnap victim, George Weyerhaeuser, by that time a very prominent businessman. If Weyerhaeuser opposed his parole, Waley knew, it would definitely influence the parole board. But contact with the former victim revealed that he did not oppose Waley’s release. From McNeil Island Waley wrote to Weyerhaeuser:
I have been beginning to wonder if, or not, someone has been trying to curry favor w
ith the Weyerhaeuser fortune by knocking me to the Parole Board, for I have served practically a quarter of a century for attempting to separate your father from $200,000 dollars, where your life nor any other’s was placed in jeopardy. Yet, I have seen a number paroled in 17–18 years for first degree murder or raping some 9–10 year old girl or serving life sentences. . . . I am pretty sure that you and your kin do not think it justice either, because I know you are pretty much all “home folks.” So far as I am concerned we are friends as we always were, and I was and am glad to hear that you are interested and think of me kindly.33
Waley was paroled to Portland, Oregon. The choice of this location was based on concerns that Waley might do violence to the operator of a nursing home in Tacoma, Washington, in which his mother had died. During his interview for this project Waley explained that when he had viewed his mother’s body at her funeral, its condition led him to believe that she had been “starved to death” and he became so angry at the nursing home operator who remarked “Doesn’t she look good?” that the guards who escorted him to the funeral had to restrain him. “I was ready to punch him,” said Waley. “They figured that I was likely to kill him.”34 In Portland, Waley went to the offices of the Teamsters Union, signed up as a member, got a room at a nearby YMCA, and bought a wristwatch and an alarm clock. The Teamsters provided enough work that he could support himself for a year and a half, but in January 1964 he decided to return to the state of Washington without waiting for an official transfer of his parole supervision in order to explore the possibility of going to work for his former victim:
