Alcatraz: The Hardest Years 1934-1938

by E. F. Chandler

  The rule of SILENCE grated on bureaucratic nerves. Psychologists claimed it drove men mad. Released convicts wrote lengthy documentaries for newspapers stressing the Devil's Island concept of absolute SILENCE. Do-gooders whinnied in hand-wringing sympathy and, in 1940, the SILENCE rules were officially lifted.

  Ah . . . the world was a better place. Or was it? E. F. Chandler believed that there was an immediate increase (a significant increase) in punishment for insolence. Some convicts actually complained of noise preventing sleep. Plots and schemes? Who could record such statistics? But common sense insists that the brew thickened. In the opinion of a number of the first guards, Alcatraz was never as efficient or as secure as it had been.

  Current Alcatraz writings often claim that the SILENCE rule was never seriously enforced. In a pig's eye it wasn't! From 1934 until C. J. Shuttleworth's transfer in 1938, SILENCE ruled.

  The guard in the dock tower was the first armed officer an arriving prisoner saw. In later years the catwalk from the gallery to the tower was replaced by stairs within the tower construction. Some tower guards had trouble negotiating the catwalk that seemed a narrow and shaky passage. The searchlight on the catwalk was also removed. The tunnel in the photograph shows the old sally port (tunnel) from Fort Alcatraz days. During the Fort's active service, a cannon was mounted within that could rake the approach from the dock to the tunnel.

  Chapter 5

  Early Alcatraz guards insisted that there was no unnecessary brutality by them upon convicts. Today, some could question their conviction. Inmates were punched, battered, blackjacked, confined, partially starved, force fed, isolated, and intimidated.

  No brutality? Well, let's examine things from a guard's point of view.

  They were dealing with the worst of convicts. Some would kill and many already had. If a convict obeyed—and nothing impossible was ever demanded of them—none of the above difficulties occurred. The prisoner did his time, suffering boredom and thankless duties, but was never mistreated in a physical sense or selectively abused psychologically.

  Suppose, however, that a convict's attitude was obstinate or sullen. In response, something he valued might be removed. A change of work assignment, for example, was a significant threat—or reward. To an individual with so little, any loss destroys a large percentage of his pleasure.

  A new convict often began in the prison laundry. Few preferred the work. The mat shop was better. There they manufactured navy doormats from old tires. The carpenter shop was good and the blacksmith shop was better.

  The prison was full of special assignments. Joe Bowers threw trash down a chute into the bay. Frank Porter – number 305, had only one arm and was given the duty of collecting softballs hit over the yard wall. (Over the wall was not a home run. It was OUT.) Porter sat beside or within a small shed under the eye of a gun tower guard. It was superior duty for Porter because it was outside the yard wall along a road that afforded a limited association with the island's dependent personnel.

  Porter was known to give softballs to a boy. Right under the guard's nose? Yep! Risking the dungeon if detected? Yes! Adults never found out, but some of the kids knew. Porter was discharged in 1937.

  Loss of tobacco privilege was a powerful punishment. Today, most Americans do not smoke, but in the 1930s almost every male smoked cigarettes. Visitation rights were cherished by most, although ignored by a few. Associate Warden Shuttleworth knew his convicts; he listened to his guards, and he chose appropriate deterrents. Punishment fell about as it was deserved.

  We should recall that the 1930's were more physical years than those we now enjoy. College athletic programs featured boxing teams. Within the military services, non-commissioned officers "knocked the blocks off" recalcitrant enlisted men. Local law officers ran mean redneck jails. States had chain gangs, and "head knocking" by policemen's billy clubs along malefactors' skulls was common. Third degree type of interrogation was in place, and an uncooperative criminal in law enforcement hands could discover the effectiveness of a rubber hose or a sandbag slugged into a kidney.

  Alcatraz sanctioned none of the above.

  The Alcatraz system demanded adherence to its rules. Punishment was measured by deviation from those rules. Within the custodial force, guards might be easier or tougher, but there was no sadism. Alcatraz disciplinary punishment held few surprises. Convicts could usually predict what punishment a rule breaker would receive. Ask for it and you got it was the major rule.

  The ultimate control on Alcatraz was, of course, to be killed. Not by execution, however. Alcatraz did not execute convicts. There were no gas chamber, gallows, or firing squad positions. When federal authorities needed such facilities, they used a state's execution chamber or equipment.

  My father shot Joe Bowers – number 210, on April 27, 1936. He killed him using a Springfield rifle, caliber 30/06, number 1344549. The rifle's zero was: no elevation at three hundred yards, one click right windage. Chandler was also carrying his model 1911 Colt semi-automatic pistol, caliber .45, serial number 174676. Within the road tower he had Browning Automatic Rifle, caliber 30/06, number 203296.

  Joe Bowers, with little preparation and without warning, crossed a deadline. Bowers elected to die. He had no chance of escape. If Bowers intended suicide, his way was undoubtedly quicker and more certain than most suicide attempts.

  Joe Bowers

  Bowers, knowingly or otherwise, chose the gun of the best shot on Alcatraz—as well as the rifles of two other guards who could have added their fire. His death was a sure thing.

  On the outside, Joe Bowers used many aliases. He had been known as Kichener, Miller, and Furland, among others. In October 1931, Bowers, a habitual criminal, robbed a post office and beat up the postmaster. He was caught and convicted in 1932. Doing twenty-five years, with probable deportation upon release, Bowers was already a veteran of McNeil Island prison and Leavenworth before assignment to Alcatraz.

  A mentally dull criminal, Joe "Dutch" Bowers was probably stir crazy. He is buried in Mount Olive cemetery, San Mateo County, California.

  As the first prisoner killed attempting to escape Alcatraz, Joe Bowers gained a perverse immortality. So, I suppose, did my father.

  As usual, the San Francisco newspapers engaged in a feeding frenzy, reporting and re-reporting anything known or speculated. At first it was written that guards "riddled" Joe Bowers. Bullet hits were of many numbers with varying severity. Death, whether by broken neck or by bullet, was hashed about. An article claimed that Bowers had previously attempted suicide by bashing his head into a wall. WRONG! Another stated that Bowers had "faked" a suicide attempt by scratching his neck with a broken eyeglass lens. RIGHT! One of the papers gave Erville Chandler the first name of Earl. Another called him Roy—his son's name.

  Springfield Rifle

  An article described Chandler as sneering and sulking, which was not his style. The fence Bowers climbed was diversely reported as seven feet up to fifteen feet high and the cliff shrank and grew between thirty-five feet and seventy feet. Bowers, it was reported, was serving five years, thirty-five years, up to forty years—take your pick. A machine gun was used in one report; shots varied up to half a dozen; a siren was said to wail . . . well, you get the idea.

  So it goes with journalism (in the past just as it is today), partly correct, but just as often, annoyingly inaccurate—until one doubts the truth of any of it. Irony lies in that all the press had to do was report the findings of the official hearings. Of course, that does not beat the other guy to the story, and it fails to sell extra papers.

  Our family remembers the shooting as follows.

  April 27th, 1936 was just another Alcatraz day. E. F. Chandler was stationed in the gun tower overlooking the prison incinerator and a barred chute where Joe Bowers flattened cans and broke bottles before pushing them through the bars and into the long drop to the bay. Between Bowers and the cliff edge was a twelve-foot high chain link fence with three strands of barbed wire at the top. Convicts did not
approach the fence without permission. Bowers had that permission.

  The day was chilly with a strong breeze. Chandler wore a heavy, buttoned up wool overcoat and gloves. His Springfield rifle was slung, muzzle up over his right shoulder.

  Alcatraz convicts were assembled at 11:30 a.m. in preparation for the noon meal. At the correct time the prisoners within Chandler's view began filing up the two cement stair flights leading into the walled prison yard. Two other armed guards also overlooked the area and kept watch on convict movement.

  Joe Bowers was still fiddling around the concrete trash chute, and Chandler ordered, "OK, Joe, let's go." Then he turned his attention to the rest of the prisoners.

  When Chandler looked back, Bowers had thrown a piece of trash matting over the wire fence and was climbing.

  Chandler unslung his rifle and called twice, "Get down, Joe!" The range was only seventy-five yards and a downward shot.

  Chandler shouldered his rifle and fired a low warning shot. Wearing gloves and the overcoat, aiming was uncomfortable but not difficult. Bowers ignored the shot, but every convict froze in place and the other two armed-guards watched.

  Chandler fired another warning as Bowers reached the fence top. The bullet may have splintered along the wire because pieces of it or the wire entered Bowers' thigh. The convict poised to jump. Below him the cliff bulged outward and fell sixty feet. At the bottom, surf and rocks mingled with deeper water.

  Chandler operated his bolt, chambered a third round, and let Bowers have it. He aimed for a high body hit. The bullet pierced the convict's lungs and collapsed him. His body fell outside the fence and tumbled down the cliff. Bowers struck rocks at the bottom, and his neck was broken.

  The coroner decided that the bullet killed Joe Bowers. The point is a bit moot, but he was probably wrong. Lung hits, we know from many battle casualties, incapacitate even faster than heart shots, but death is not instantaneous. Joe Bowers was probably conscious on his way down the cliff.

  E. F. Chandler was relieved from his post for the day and reassigned to the armory until completion of the inquest. The investigations cleared him of wrongdoing and his superiors stood by him one hundred percent.

  Joe Bowers had gone beyond "the deadline." Chandler would have been wrong NOT to have shot him.

  My father's only dissatisfaction with the incident was that he alone had fired. Two other guards had stood by while he did the job. Chandler believed Joe Bowers should have gone down amid a hail of bullets.

  When asked, one guard said he thought Bowers was getting back down. (When the man fell OUTSIDE the fence?) That guard resigned shortly thereafter. The other officer said that he just hadn't reacted and that Chandler was handling the situation. My father accepted that explanation as honest. He believed they both froze on it and were therefore unfit for their duty.

  An incident where the Alcatraz punishment system broke down has been widely reported and is often described.

  In September 1937 a convict strike was organized. About a third of the prison population participated. Confined to cells, the one hundred or fewer strikers bellowed and banged their tin cups.

  Despite the confinement of many and unrest among those convicts not striking, Warden Johnston continued a routine of walking among the inmates during the noon meal. His presence worried the unarmed guards in the dining hall, but the warden insisted.

  Johnston's appearance in the dining hall during the strike was not calming. He walked among the tables, and as was his habit, and he stood talking to a guard as the inmates filed out.

  Burton Phillips, lifer, bank robber, and kidnapper – number 259, leaped from the line and smashed Warden Johnston in the face. As the warden went down, Phillips, twenty-three years of age, stomped, kicked, punched, and tried to throttle the past middle-age Johnston.

  Two guards were on him almost instantly. There was a shattering of glass as the guard on the steel catwalk outside the dining hall smashed his automatic rifle through the glass. The guards hammered Phillips into submission and semi-consciousness with gas billies (stiff, tube-like blackjacks [clubs] that could also shoot tear or vomiting gas). Warden Johnston was rushed to the prison hospital, and Phillips was held until Doctor Hess could get around to examining his lumps.

  Beyond a concussion and broken-off teeth, Warden Johnston was not seriously injured.

  Despite lumps and bruises, Phillips was also in good shape. Warden Johnston went home to recuperate; Phillips went to the dungeon.

  What follows has never before been published.

  E. F. Chandler remembers:

  "I was on the catwalk outside the dining hall when Phillips jumped the warden. Road tower duty required moving over to the walkway to keep an eye on what went on in the hall. Usually I carried my Springfield rifle because it was lighter (10 lbs.), but because of the strike, I slung the Browning Automatic Rifle (17 lbs.), which had a twenty-round magazine and full automatic capability.

  BAR

  "I was watching closely because there was a lot of unrest, and just because a convict chose to eat instead of strike did not make him a right guy.

  "We did not like the warden walking around in there, but he felt his presence showed his confidence and control. Bullshit. It just made everyone more nervous.

  "When Phillips leaped at the warden, I smashed the flash hider of the BAR through the glass window. I got the sights on Phillips but two guards landed on him. I yelled at them to get away so I could shoot the bastard.

  The enclosed cat walk occupied by E. F. Chandler during Phillip's attack on Warden Johnston. The dining hall window through which he thrust his BAR can be seen. The catwalk has been demolished. Photo from Jim Koegler.

  "One guard got wild-eyed and stood between my gun and Phillips screaming, 'Don't shoot!' over and over.

  "Don't shoot, hell! They should have heaved Phillips aside, and I would have riddled him. End of story!

  "You've got to remember who and what we were dealing with. The lesson should have been: Touch the warden and you are dead. All Phillips got was the dungeon, plus whatever extra attention we guards could hand out. None of that impressed the cons much; it didn't even impress Phillips. He got about the same punishment convicts received for fighting among themselves.

  "So, we got little deterrence from the punishment.

  "Two other things happened during that incident. The first was amusing, the second—satisfying.

  "There were about one hundred convicts in the dining hall when I pushed that automatic rifle through the window. The room emptied, instantly! All I could see were the warden, Phillips, and two guards. The cons were gone.

  "There are big square posts in the dining hall and all of the one hundred inmates got lined up behind them or against the wall right under me. It was astonishing; I couldn't see a one. No one wanted to deal with the Browning. Hell, if I had squeezed the trigger, the bullets would still be ricocheting around in there.

  "The last thing sort of put a cap on the Phillips incident. I had just turned my weapons in to go off duty when they finished with Phillips. Shuttleworth told me to take him to the dungeon.

  "The steps to the dungeon are pretty steep, (Understatement! Visualize the steepness of a Mayan pyramid.) When we got to the steps, Phillips balked, refused to go. So, I heaved him down them. I remember his head bouncing a couple of times, but it didn't seem to affect him. I hung him on the bars, hosed him down a little, and went home."

  Brutal? Those were the hardest years.

  THE FIRST ALCATRAZ GUARDS

  1 - Dennison

  2 - Deisch

  3 - Boatman

  4 - Cline

  5 - Pepper

  6 - Roberts

  7 - Morrison

  8 - Mickelson

  9 - Faulk

  10 - Cochenour

  11 - Chandler

  12 - Kranz

  13 - Curry

  14 - Baker

  15 - Preshaw

  16 - Heath

  17 - Warren

 
18 - Rose

  19 - Ordway

  20 - Cotteral

  21 - McKean

  22 - Tucker

  23 - Dixon

  24 - Hurst

  25 - Simpson

  26 - Hansen

  27 - Mach

  28 - Clinton

  29 - Gosnel

  30 - Crabb

  31 - Wilkinson

  32 - Sanders

  33 - Rowan

  34 - Neeley

  35 - Crowell

  36 - McDermott

  Alcatraz guards were assigned their duties by use of their numbers. For example, 2 and 7, indicating Deisch and Morrison, would be on the dock. 11 could be in the Road Tower.

  Chapter 6

  I have never heard it mentioned in other publications, but in those earliest Alcatraz times there was an unwritten and rarely mentioned understanding among the guards that if anyone were taken hostage by convicts, the guard force wished him well, but they were coming in anyway. They were coming in right now, wide open, no holds barred. The hostage, it was fervently hoped, would be rescued, but there would be one certainty—the captors would pay a terrible price.

  At that time, it was clear to everyone that tolerating a hostage situation would encourage other attempts. During the hardest years, no convicts attempted hostage taking. After things eased in the prison, they did, and both guards and convicts died.

  It should be informative to examine the type of men the first Alcatraz warden chose as his guards—with E. F. Chandler as an example of the kind of man who would sign on for such a dangerous policy.

  Warden James A. Johnston's top priority was finding the right guards and officers for his new prison. He requested lists from all federal prisons of qualified and recommended officers, and he offered the opportunity for such men to volunteer. He visited prisons and interviewed those in whom he was interested.