Letters from Alcatraz
Page 28
When I had completed this inclination to Davenport, the guards brought our supper. After eating our supper we both went to sleep and sleep until about 7 o’clock when I was awakened by the other inmates making noise. I got up and made noise also by stomping on the bottom of the bunk. When the bottom of the bunk came loose from the angle iron frame I doubled it up. I then took the two small pieces of angle iron that I had taken from the light fixture and used them to knock the washbasin off the wall. I made noise by pounding on the wall with the pieces of angle iron until I tired. Davenport did not make noise saying that he was sick at the stomach.
We laid the small piece of blanket, the only piece of clothing in the besides our pants and shirts, on the floor and set talking about the other inmates who were making noise. We had been sitting on the floor and talking for about one half hour when several guards including, Lt. Rychner, Lt. Severson, Lt. Stucker, Officer Kirkpatrick, officer Runyon, came into the building dragging with them three high pressure fire hoses and turned them on the inmates. We listened as these guards went from cell to cell with the hoses. When they came to Davenport and myself, officer Rychner, acting captain of the guards and in charge of the “Strong arm squad” told the other guards that ours was the cell that they were looking for and told them to pour it on us. At that order the guards turned all three hoses on us. One or two of the guards then brought a long pole that was used for opening the windows and began jabbing us with it. We huddled in a far corner of the cell in a position so that the guards could only beat us one at a time. The guards continued to beat us in this manner for about one half hour before leaving our cell. In about one hour they returned to our cell again, ordered us to get on our feet, when we did they turned the hoses on us again. The force of the water, sand and gravel in the lines knocked us off our feet, while we were down the guards jabbed us with the long pole. This second beating lasted for close to one hour.
The guards left us, after opening all the windows, sprawled in about four inches of water. The beating left us both sick and vomiting. Davenport hurt his back from one of the falls and was unable to stand up on his feet. The following morning several guards came to our cell, asked if we were still alive and ordered us to stand up. Davenport complained of his back hurting and asked to see the Doctor. Then two of the guards came into the cell and stripped Davenport of all his cloths and one on each arm carried him to the dungeon. Later in the day the Doctor came to my cell and treated my ear which was injured by the water hoses. I told the Doctor that there was a sick man back in the dark hole; and if he would look at him and examine him he would see that Davenport was sick, but I do not know if he examined Davenport or not.
I did not see Davenport again until on or about May 6-7, 1953 when he was brought from the dungeon and again placed in a cell #33 with me, where he remained for one night and then taken back to the dungeon. A few weeks later I was taken from segregation and tried for my goodtime for destroying the light fixture, toilet bowl, bed bottom and wash basin. Associate Warden L. Delmare Jr. was head of the committee that tried me. I pleaded not guilty to the charges but was found guilty by the committee and forfeitured 245 days goodtime and fined thirty-nine dollars ($39.50) and fifty cents cost. I did not see Davenport again to speak to him until about June 20-21, 1953 when I learned that he had also been accused of tearing up the cell fixtures and tried for his goodtime. A month or so later he informed me that he had been found guilty, had forfeitured goodtime and fined thirty-nine Dollars ($39.50) fifty cents). With this information I immediately sought an interview with Warden E. B. Swope and explained the situation to him. I assured him that I tore up the cell, busted the toilet bowl, light fixtures, wash basin and tore the bottom out of the bunk, and that Davenport had absolutely nothing to do with it and was in no way responsible for my acts. The Warden E. B. Swope promised to check into the matter, but when I consulted him a second time a few months later he informed me that I had pleaded not guilty to the charges of tearing up the fixtures when I was tried for my goodtime, that the goodtime committee had acted and that their decision must stand.
The prison officials neglected their duty of determining who was responsible for the property being torn up. Warden E. B. Swope has refused to accept the facts when presented to him. This negligence of the officials is no doubt responsible for Frank Davenport being severely and cruelly beaten with the fire hoses and for the forfeiture of several hundred days of his goodtime. It is my hope that this negligence and gross injustice can, and will, be remedied.
James Boarman, 571-AZ
On a fog-shrouded morning in April 1943, James Arnold Boarman, a small time bank robber from Indianapolis, lost his life in an ill-fated break to escape the Rock. Only 24 years old, Boarman—along with fellow inmates Harold Brest, Floyd Hamilton (famed getaway driver for Bonnie and Clyde), and Fred Hunter—took two officers hostage while at work in the Alcatraz industries.
Floyd Hamilton
The inmates smuggled military uniforms from the prison laundry and had stuffed them into large canisters to be used as floats. The canisters offered perfect concealment and water protection for their clothing, and were a seemingly perfect floatation device with which to swim gracefully across the bay.
The environmental conditions seemed ideal for the escape, with densely layered fog enveloping the island. It was later speculated that the inmates had cut through one of the steel-mesh window guards in the old mat shop during the previous weeks, and hid their work by using grease mixed with other agents to fill in the tiny sawed gaps. One by one, the men climbed through the window, negotiated the wire fencing, and then hurried down to the rocky shore. Boarman and Brest attempted to maneuver the float canisters through the window without success, so they were forced to leave them behind, along with the clothing they contained. Hunter injured himself when dropping from the fence, and he took refuge in a small island cave that was recessed under the industry buildings. Boarman, Brest, and Hamilton each started their swim to freedom, partially obscured by the breaking fog.
Meanwhile, one of the hostage officers had succeeded in loosening his gag and started yelling for help. But, because of the noise of the loud machinery, his cries went unheard. At about the same time, officer Frank L. Johnson—who was assigned to the tower atop Model Industries building—had already contacted armory Officer Cliff Fish to indicate that he was unable to make contact with the officers in the mat shop. Fish, who was just being relieved from duty, responded to the industries to investigate the problem, accompanied by officers Phil Bergen and Earl Long. Johnson stepped outside of the tower booth, and immediately spotted several figures in the water, swimming away from the island.
Lifting his rifle, Johnson strained to peer into the target site as several faint figures continued to advance away from the island in the foggy seascape. Watching the figures move in rhythm with the sea, he drew his grip tight, and squeezed the trigger until the pressure of the spring gave way to a ragging explosive shot. He repeated the process, sighting each moving figure, and then firing his Springfield .30-06. Each round released a caustic smell of burnt gunpowder, which mixed with the misty salt air. Brest and Boarman saw the geyser-like splash patterns in the water around them, accompanied by the distant sharp cracking sound of a high-powered rifle. After each round was fired, silence would drape the water until the next blast racked the air. As Brest and Boarman swam almost side by side a few hundred yards from shore, the sounds of Boarman’s thrashing suddenly stopped. As Brest reached out to examine the silent form of his fellow inmate, the water surrounding them started to turn an eerie red.
Boarman’s eyes were open, but glazed over by the seawater as Brest tried to maintain his grip on his accomplice’s limp body. Boarman was bleeding profusely from what appeared to be a bullet wound behind his left ear. The prison launch pulled alongside the two inmates, and an officer aimed his muzzle at Brest’s head. Brest struggled to hang on to Boarman’s belt, but as the officers attempted to latch it with a boat hook, the belt broke, and Bo
arman slowly disappeared into the green murky depths. Brest was pulled into the launch and wrapped in blankets, then returned to the island. He was immediately taken to the prison hospital and examined. He had sustained only a minor bullet wound to his elbow.
Hamilton was initially presumed drowned. However, after hiding out for two days in a small shoreline cave and suffering from the severe effects of exposure and hypothermia, he made his way back up to the industries area where he was discovered by a correctional officer. Hunter had hid in the same cave, but surrendered quickly after the escape.
Boarman’s death was the end of a long, rudderless course that had started early in his youth and finally landed him on Alcatraz. Born on November 3, 1919 in Whalen, Kentucky, he was the sixth in a family of eight children. His father, who had supported the family as a carpenter, died of an accidental drowning when James was only seven. His mother, a homemaker, relocated the family to Indiana where they would all share residence in a small apartment. Boarman attended Catholic School in Indianapolis, and dropped out to work as a gardener at age fourteen. His mother would later state that James always had brought his earnings home, and never complained about the family’s financial troubles. Despite their hardships and their dependence upon welfare support, reports state that his family was close, and that they all worked together to help and support each other.
Boarman’s bouts with crime first began when he was still very young. In May 1936 he stole his first automobile, and after being arrested and placed on probation, he stole two other cars and headed for California with two accomplices. His mother pled his case in court, stating that she had been hospitalized due to illness, and that he had lacked proper supervision when he needed it most. The court proved unsympathetic to her pleas, and on January 30, 1937, Boarman was sentenced to three years in the Federal Reformatory at El Reno, Oklahoma.
Boarman and four other inmates plotted an escape from El Reno, and later were recommended for transfer to a more secure prison facility at USP Lewisburg in September 1937. At Lewisburg he continued to assemble a record of conduct violations. In 1940, following another violent escape attempt, Boarman was recommended for transfer to Alcatraz.
Boarman’s mother never seemed to lose faith in her son, and she uprooted her life and moving to San Francisco to provide her son support and companionship. Until the end, Boarman remained a difficult and challenging inmate. There are only a few letters remaining in Boarman’s file, but they remain a tragic bookend to one of the hopeless dreams of escaping life at Alcatraz.
* * *
Nov. 29, 1940
Indianapolis, Ind.
Dear Sir;
My letter was returned to me stating that I am not listed as an approved correspondent of James Arnold Boarman. Arnold and I are about the same age and have always been pals. It would be awful if I could not write to him. He will be away from home a long time. Please, please, reconsider to let me write to my brother. When Arnold was in prison before I never received a letter back but once and that was because I failed to write my whole name which is Mary Louise Johnson. I omitted Mary and it was returned to me. Perhaps you returned my letter because I wrote a joke in it which I am very sorry for if it was.
Arnold broke my heart when he got into trouble again. I, so much wanted to see him go straight and be happy. We were in an orphanage together and I love my brother so please let me write to him.
I know how this would make my mother feel if she knew, as she always depended on me to write as much as I could to him.
Arnold was swell to me and always called me “Butch.” Maybe you have someone in your heart like that you love. Please let me know by return mail as I won’t tell my mother until I hear from you. Hoping that you will understand.
Yours Respectfully
Mrs. Mary Louise Johnson
* * *
2820 Campbell St.
Kansas City Mo.
Aug – 26 – 1941
Warden,
Dear Sir,
In regard to my son James A. Boarman, #571. Will you please let me know how he is getting along?
He writes me he is getting along fine. Will you please tell me what the visiting rules are?
Yours Very Truly
Mrs Ella Boarman
[Handwritten Note] Interviewed – he says his mother has raised large family (8) that he is black sheep caused her lots of trouble and she gives him lots of attention and is now talking about coming to San Francisco so as to be near him but he has attempted to advise he against moving – says he is well and getting along OK –
JAJ 9/3/41
* * *
1422 California
San Francisco, Calif.
February 9, 1942
Warden James A. Johnston
Alcatraz Island
San Francisco, Calif.
Dear Sir,
I have come to San Francisco to live so that I might visit my son, James Arnold Boarman #571, as often as possible. I have obtained employment and as yet I am not quite certain of my working hours. I was told that I could not visit on Sunday. Would you please inform me as to when I can visit him and how I should go about it.
I would also like to know if there is any way that I can receive mail from Alcatraz without anyone knowing about it. As I intend to make my home here, it would be somewhat embarrassing as you can see.
Thank you very much.
Yours very truly,
Ella Boarman
* * *
1671 Bush St.
San Francisco, Calif.
March 15, 1942
Mr. James A. Johnston
Dear Sir:
May I please visit my son James A. Boarman #571. March 26th
Thank you
Yours truly,
Ella Boarman
[Handwritten Note] Told that he would half to work and behave if he wanted his mother to visit him.
Stated he did not think he was going to work. And wished we would just tell his mother that he was all right. I told him we would half to tell his mother the truth.
This inmate is in solitary.
* * *
March 20, 1942
Mrs. Ella Boarman
1671 Bush Street
San Francisco, California
Dear Madam:
Responsive to your note of March 15, 1942, I am sorry to say that I cannot comply with your request for you to visit your son at this time because his failure and unwillingness to comply with necessary, reasonable regulations requires a temporary suspension of privileges.
When your son indicates willingness to comply with regulations and performs his allotted tasks, his privileges will be restored and at that time I shall be only too glad to issue the requested pass for you to visit your son.
Sincerely,
J. A. JOHNSTON
Warden
* * *
2027 N. Park Ave.
Indianapolis, Ind.
May 11, 1943
Warden James A. Johnston
Dear Sir:
Am enclosing papers which are to be filled out by the last Doctor who attended my son James Arnold. Also I must have a statement of some kind that will be proof of death.
I will pay any expenses entailed in securing desired statement. This is necessary in order to collect on insurance.
Also wish to say if my son’s body should be recovered. Please notify me at once.
Thanking you in advance.
Sincerely yours,
Ella Boarman
* * *
Alcatraz Mail Officer R.R. Baker.
Alcatraz, Cal.
April 14, 1943
Mrs. Ella Boarman
1707 Octavia St.
San Francisco, Cal.
Dear Madam:
I am sending your last letter to James, back to you. I am sorry that I cannot make delivery. I know that you will be deeply hurt over the tragedy but please try to remember that the boy went out a man. It takes nerve, spunk, backbone, to do what he did. The last tim
e I saw your boy he was swimming towards Sausalito on his way to freedom. Don’t think ill of the boy he wanted to go and all your prayers would not stop him.
Perhaps I am taking too much upon myself in writing this letter, but please believe me I have seen you so often and talked about the boy with you that I almost feel that a note from me might help you. After reading your mail and his mail for almost two years.
Yours truly,
R.R. Baker
Mail Officer
Harold Martin Brest, 487-AZ
Boarman’s accomplice in the 1943 escape was Harold Martin Brest, inmate number AZ-380. Brest was one of the few select inmates to be committed to Alcatraz twice during their lifetime. Brest was sentenced in January 1937 to serve a term of life and a concurrent 55-year sentence for kidnapping and bank robbery. He was sent to Alcatraz on March 13, 1937 for “adjustment purposes” as indicated in his inmate case file. Brest submitted a petition of habeas corpus (which was granted), and he was remanded to trial court. He was eventually retried, convicted, and returned to Alcatraz in September 1939. He remained at Alcatraz until his transfer to another federal prison in April 1950.