"We took our time getting between them. I guess everyone figured Capone deserved putting a few licks on Jimmie. Lucas went to the dungeon for seventeen days and Capone to the infirmary. Charlie Ping, a hospital attendant, wrapped up Capone's cut and sent him back to work.
"When Lucas came out of the dungeon, he found he was more of a joke than before. Other cons threatened to let Al get him if he bothered them."
James Lucas would prove to be dangerous, however, and may have been the killer of guard Royal Cline in 1938. Who actually wielded the claw hammer that killed Cline could never be absolutely determined. My father's guess was that it was Lucas— but that escape attempt was after we were gone from Alcatraz.
During the prisoner strike in 1936 convicts were confined to their cells and were allowed into the mess hall only if they had personally given up the strike. As the strike wore down, only a few convicts remained in their cells.
At noon, mess Lieutenant Madigan considered the strike officially over but noted Lucas refusing to step from his cell. He ordered Guard Chandler to go up and move him. When Chandler arrived at the cell, Lucas put up his hands (that meant a boxer's stance and indicated a readiness to fight). In modern times, a team of armored guards would descend on the resistor and smother his efforts. Chandler went in alone.
E. F. Chandler was the wrong guard to challenge. He pounded Lucas to the floor. Then he put him in a full nelson and beat Lucas's head against the concrete until the convict called his surrender. My father recalled that he had laced his fingers behind Lucas's neck and worked the hold so hard that he was unable to loosen his fingers, and another guard had to help pry them loose.
The story's sequel is that Lucas refused the next meal as well. Lieutenant Madigan gestured and Chandler went to Lucas's cell. Jimmie saw who was arriving and said, "All right, Mister Chandler," and stepped out—which ended at least his part in the strike.
My father often mentioned how guards despised fighting with the prisoners. Each guard had to replace his worn uniforms, and punching and wrestling prisoners almost always ruined some of their clothing.
It seems strange that with all the genuine bad men confined to Alcatraz, a mean nobody like Jimmy Lucas would end up being among the prison's most incorrigible.
In 1937 Al Capone began having "spells." At times he became vague and uncertain. Occasionally he was subject to pointless rages that were rarely directed at anyone or anything specific and were over almost as soon as they began. By 1938 it was commonly known that Capone was being destroyed by chronic and incurable syphilis. Capone refused treatment for his disease until February 1938 when his confusions finally convinced him that he was seriously ill. It was already too late.
Capone did the remainder of his sentence in the Alcatraz hospital and outwardly benefited from his medical treatment.
Because his confusion was disease inspired and beyond his control, both guards and convicts tolerated them—as they did others in similar circumstances.
Someone once claimed that Alcatraz had a greater percentage of convicts with social diseases than any jail in the system. If so, Al Capone was one of the statistics.
Capone was released from Alcatraz in January 1939. He was quietly transferred to Terminal Island, Los Angeles, to satisfy a misdemeanor sentence, then to Lewisburg. Even then, there was a fear of powerful enemies lying in wait for the old crime boss. Would Capone regain control of his underworld empire? Those around him knew better.
Al Capone was barely a shadow of his former self. His speech was clear and his reasoning was usually rational, but the drives were gone. The gang lord, the controller, was finished.
Al Capone was discharged into his brother Ralph's care. He was taken to Baltimore for further medical treatment before withdrawing to their Florida holdings.
Capone died there on January 25, 1947.
Chapter 4
When a convict arrived at Alcatraz he was cleaned up and locked up. At that time he had no privileges and few rights beyond food and shelter. His cell was empty of personal objects and would pretty well stay that way. There would be no posters and no pinups. No one had funny hats, fancy shoes, or jewelry of any kind. There were no watches or clocks. No convict (or guard for that matter) had long or specially cut hair. All convicts got the Alcatraz Cut. Short hair and clean-shaven was the standard.
All cells on Alcatraz were one man only. A typical cell was five feet wide, nine feet deep, and almost eight feet high. A cell contained a steel-framed bunk hinged to the wall. There was a small chair, a very small table, a washbasin, and a toilet. (The toilet used saltwater pumped in from the bay. The same saltwater system fed the hose in the dungeon.) A shelf held a towel, a face cloth, a tin cup, a toothbrush, a shaving brush, and a razor handle. Expendables were shaving soap and toothpowder.
A prisoner could shave three evenings a week at five p.m. If a convict wished to shave, he placed a matchbox indicating his desire, on the crossbar of his cell door. A guard laid a razor blade on the matchbox. The guard returned for the blade, which was reused until deemed too dull.
Food on Alcatraz was probably the best in the prison system. Custodial rations can never pander to an individual's preferences, but Warden Johnston made certain the diet was one he could personally enjoy. His daily presence in the dining hall ensured food quality. No special meals were served on the very few recognized holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas. The New Year was not considered a holiday, neither was Easter.
The new prisoner left his cell only to eat and for a weekly shower. All privileges had to be earned. Work was a privilege. It came within a week or so if the prisoner was cooperative. Convicts worked six days a week. But wait, that regimen was not harsh. In the early 1930's the five-day work week had not been invented. Almost the whole world worked on Saturday.
Other privileges could follow. Some were tobacco, recreational yard, writing paper, reading material, and visitors. Each could be withdrawn. Each was considered a handy disciplinary tool.
A convict could not have visitors for his first ninety days on Alcatraz. If he settled in well, close relatives might then be allowed—at the rate of one a month.
As part of the effort to divorce the convict from the world, and the world from the convict, Alcatraz severely limited mail. A prisoner was allowed letters, but they had to be from an approved list of correspondents, and they were heavily censored. The letters were often retyped on brown paper, which prevented scented or specially treated paper from entering the prison. A series of dots represented censored words or passages. The recipient was left wondering what had been written.
Censoring mail was a full time task. Often the clerk simply paraphrased the writer's words, and the convict did not even have a familiar style to examine. That, of course, made secret codes impractical.
My father recalled a convict whose wife sent him horrible letters luridly detailing her disgraceful activities with the prisoner's brother and friends. The clerk censor took it all out, sparing the lifer unnecessary aggravation.
During the first years, the prison library contained about nine thousand volumes. Magazines were severely edited with passages sliced out or entire articles deleted. Even advertisements were removed in many cases. "If in doubt, take it out," appeared to be the policy. Prisoners complained that the censors deliberately removed the last installment of every decent magazine serial they read. While that was not the case, authors often end a tale with violent actions, which would have resulted in "no ending" stories for the Alcatraz readership.
Movies were shown to convicts on some holidays, no violence, of course. No passionate romancing either. Comedies with the Marx Brothers were acceptable. So was Shirley Temple.
A convict was allowed recreational time in the yard on Sunday. But, if he chose to attend church service, that hour was subtracted from his yard time. No prisoner was allowed to work the system to gain extra time outside his cell.
Convict status was measured in grades. Details varied over the years but the f
ollowing is typical. A FIRST GRADE prisoner enjoyed all privileges. A SECOND GRADE inmate might be so classified because of a small infraction or minor insolence. SECOND GRADE meant no entertainment or yard recreation. THIRD GRADE lost additional privileges such as reading material, mail, or visitation.
Falling below THIRD GRADE became serious. ISOLATION was the next step. ISOLATION moved the convict from his usual cell, leaving behind his extremely few, and therefore very important personal items. He received only two meals a day, no tobacco, and of course none of the privileges accorded other grades.
THE HOLE came next. This meant solitary confinement in D Block in a dark cell with solid walls and door. The convict might sit or stand because the cell was so cold that lying down swiftly drained away body heat. At night two blankets were furnished but taken away at first call. At one time, THE HOLE diet was four slices of bread and tap water per day – for three days. Then, ONE full meal at noon on the fourth day.
It is interesting to note that the Alcatraz Park Service guides used to offer visitors an opportunity to stand within a HOLE cell for one minute with the door closed. Some could not tolerate the darkness and confinement for even that short period. THE HOLE was no joke and was not intended to be. By the time a convict reached HOLE status, he was nearing the bottom of the Alcatraz punishment scale.
THE DUNGEON was the final Alcatraz disciplinary tool. When the island was upgraded from fortress to prison, brick storage rooms were retained beneath the prison. When Alcatraz became a federal penitentiary, soft iron cell doors were replaced by tool steel, saw-proof doors. A number of the old type doors were hung on the storage rooms creating THE DUNGEON.
THE DUNGEON used two or three cells, depending on date of use. There was a single light bulb outside the cells and a water hose to keep the place dunged out. A prisoner went in and the light went out. He was fed and watered. The diet varied but was basically bread and water with the fourth day noon meal thrown in.
The prisoner had a bucket in which to relieve himself, usually nothing else. THE DUNGEON was damp and bitterly cold. The chill soaked bone deep, despite shifting from standing to sitting, straddling the bucket, or even balancing on knees and elbows to lessen contact with the masonry floor.
At another place in this book, hanging a prisoner on the bars is mentioned. To E. F. Chandler, hanging a convict from the bars meant handcuffing him with his hands through the vertical bars. It did not mean that the prisoner's feet were off the floor. It did force the convict to either sit or stand, depending how high the cuffs were applied on the door. Of course he could not move around the cell.
THE DUNGEON was as mean as Alcatraz got. It was the final punishment available and was the last in a series of increasingly severe disciplinary actions.
No prisoner "just went" to THE DUNGEON. Obey the rules and he would never get there. The vast majority of convicts confined to Alcatraz never saw THE DUNGEON and knew it only from the reports of other inmates. But, those who were placed in THE DUNGEON often went there again and again.
Historians and manuscript reviewers do not agree on the frequency of dungeon use. Attached is a handwritten opinion of one reviewer of this book (a Park Service Ranger assigned to Alcatraz). I accept that the scribbler's resources were from a later date that did not reflect the confinement this book refers to and that I heard of regularly during my youth on the island. Today, only special tours of the island include the remains of the dungeon. The cell doors are long gone, and guides regularly claim that the rooms were never actually used, and that dungeon stories are just tales. If one examines the walls carefully, however, scratchings by confined inmates with dates and names are still detectable. No matter what you may read or hear elsewhere, believe this—the DUNGEON was used and used a lot during the Alcatraz hardest years.
It is doubtful that THE DUNGEON had much reformatory influence on many of its occupants; its value lay in separating troublemakers and guaranteeing to others, not yet committed to fighting the system, a miserable time if they transgressed.
THE DUNGEON did have a salutary effect on one prisoner, Charlie Berta, but that conversion demonstrated intelligence, not collapse.
When asked who was the toughest convict on Alcatraz, E. F. Chandler always named Charles Berta – number 132. Berta, mail robbery and assault, doing thirty years, was a San Francisco boy. Berta was transferred to Alcatraz with a record of being shot while attempting to escape from Leavenworth.
Wait a minute, what about Capone, Machine Gun, or one of the Barker gang? What about Robert Stroud, the infamous "Birdman?" Nope, Charlie Berta got the nod, and remember, E. F. Chandler had been a professional fighter. So, why Berta?
Berta was neither a big man nor a trained fighter. He was simply as hard as nails, as willing as a pit bull, and he never stepped back. If Berta had been a stupid man he would probably have beaten himself to death battling the prison's disciplines.
In his final years of life, ex-guard Chandler tried to find Charlie Berta's address. A mutual respect had developed during the Alcatraz years, and my father would have enjoyed rehashing those times with the toughest con he ever knew.
Retired Alcatraz guard, Ed Stucker, met and lunched regularly with Charlie Berta in later years, and Stucker's son (and child of Alcatraz), Chuck, who was often present, remembers Berta well from those days.
Berta went to THE DUNGEON shortly after arriving on The Rock. A fight broke out and Berta cleaned house on his opponents. All were ordered to THE DUNGEON. Berta remained defiant and stayed a long time. My father remembers it as the longest stay of any convict up to that tme.
When Berta was finally released, he asked to speak with Warden Johnston. My father was his guard and quotes Berta as follows:
Berta said, "Warden, I'm as tough as anybody you've got in here, and I just proved it. Your dungeon could never break me. But, I'm not a fool either. There is no way out of here, so I'll do my time and you won't have any more trouble with Charlie Berta."
Although scarred by a pair of .38 caliber bullet wounds in his shoulders, toughened by a lifetime of crime, and expecting to spend most of his life behind bars, Berta's word was good. When the first convict strike developed in 1935, Berta stood in the blacksmith shop entrance with a pipe in his hand. No convicts entered his area to riot or disrupt, nor was any convict's hand raised against him. The convict population respected Berta. Charlie Berta was true to his code, and he was not messed with.
One of my father's favorite stories told how Charlie Berta would pound out a special rhythm with his hammer warning of Lieutenant Culver's approach—giving time for both guards and convicts to get themselves looking good.
Respectful of intelligence and ingrained toughness, guard Chandler saw some of himself in Charles Berta. Each undoubtedly considered that, but for a matter of circumstances, " there go I."
Of course, THE DUNGEON was eliminated after a few years. Washington, as typified by Sanford Bates, Federal Director of Prisons, saw its closure as enlightened penology.
Many Alcatraz guards believed a useful tool had been taken away.
Convicts of a later era found THE HOLE bad enough, but if compared to being in THE DUNGEON, they were in Hollywood.
The great discipline and the great controller during the Alcatraz hardest years, however, was the rule of SILENCE. SILENCE was required in the cellblocks, the lavatories, and the dining hall. On the job, only necessary conversation was authorized. The result was an incredible quiet, almost as though the buildings were empty. An ear pressed to a concrete wall detected only an occasional clang of metal as tasks were accomplished.
Released convicts claimed the SILENCE was the prison's most unendurable quality. Alone in their cells, men lived within their minds, unable to share the smallest thought or opinion. SILENCE hung like a pall over the prison population. There was no laughter, no complaining, and of course, no singing.
Guards might add: limited plotting or planning.
Of course the convicts worked around the rules. The SILENC
E order was broken thousands of times each day. A prisoner swabbing galleries whispered messages. Men in line spoke softly without moving a lip. If no guards were close, workers spoke quietly, but they had to be careful. Some guards were more tolerant and did not press the order; others were unrelenting.
E. F. Chandler "kept it under control." If a superior was around, no one talked. One superior was Lieutenant Dick Culver. Off duty, Culver and Chandler were friends. On the job, it was strictly business. If Culver had found Chandler's men talking, it would have required reporting.
Such arrangements are interesting to reason through. The convicts learned that Chandler would tolerate quiet, peaceful discussion that did not challenge authority and that would not otherwise be detected.
Chandler allowed the talk because he believed it caused no harm, and it relieved tensions. Lieutenant Culver, of course, knew the talk went on. He had been a guard and knew the ropes. It was Chandler's task to run his crew; Culver only checked up. When he dropped around, Lieutenant Culver avoided just appearing. He knew of Berta's hammer rhythms—Chandler told him.
Associate Warden C. J. Shuttleworth understood that exceptions to the rule of SILENCE occurred. He, too, realized the value of a carefully controlled release valve. Unless his nose was rubbed in it, Shuttleworth let his people handle details. Good leadership works that way. Pick good men; then let them do their jobs.
The convicts challenged the SILENCE rule. Coughing was a common ploy as was throat clearing. Coughing might be a huge coordinated uproar or a rhythmic game with the coughs rippling through the blocks, cell to cell. Care had to be taken. A Lieutenant might say, "Coffee causes coughing, so there won't be any for breakfast."
Occasionally an individual might in effect say, "To hell with it," and yell through the SILENCE. In most cases the guards knew the voice. In others, they simply picked a likely culprit. A man punished because of another's transgression was an embittered man. In normal society he could complain or sue. In Alcatraz the guards were beyond reach, and his only recourse was to turn his ire on the legitimate offender. Convicts policed themselves in such matters.
Alcatraz: The Hardest Years 1934-1938 Page 3
