From the almost new Lewisburg Penitentiary, Warden Johnston chose only one man—my father.
E. F. Chandler was in many ways typical of Johnston's preference. He served a four-year tour on Alcatraz, and he stayed on with the federal prison service to become a lieutenant, a captain, and a prison inspector, indicating, it would appear, that Chandler was the kind of man the system desired.
Born in 1903, Chandler completed only a year of high school. A United States Army enlisted soldier at seventeen he attained the rank of corporal. Upon discharge, he enlisted in the United States Navy for a second tour of duty. Seamen of the time often acquired tattoos. Chandler was tattooed on both arms (both upper and forearm). There were no naked women. Chandler's "tats" were military in nature with crossed sabers (from his cavalry days) and fouled anchors for navy service. Chandler served aboard the battleship Utah and the cruiser Denver. Those ships among others made a South American cruise, and those many ports of call were also tattooed on Chandler's upper arm.
During those service years, Chandler boxed inter-service as an amateur and in club fights as a professional. At five feet ten inches, he weighed about 147 pounds. In the navy gymnasiums Chandler trained and sparred with his lifelong friend (later to be Heavyweight Champion of the World), Jack Sharkey.
Chandler was quick, with a snapping jab and a jolting right hand. He lacked a knockout punch but won lopsided decisions. Boxing provided a handsomely broken nose (just enough to look good) and a slightly flattened right ear.
Chandler returned to civilian life and married. To earn a living, he mixed mortar and carried a hod for a local mason. He also boxed in the old Boston Arena for extra money. The Chandlers at that time lived in their hometown of Whitman, Massachusetts, twenty miles south of Boston. Desperately short of money (we are talking the Great Depression here), Chandler hopped a local train on Saturday evenings and stood outside Boston Arena hoping to be chosen to fight. If knockouts were swift, promoters stepped outside and chose waiting fighters based on memory of how well they had pleased the crowd the last time out. After the fights, Chandler caught the late train home—again riding the rods, of course. That futureless grubbing ended with enlistment in the United States Coast Guard and service at various lifeboat stations on Cape Cod.
In 1933, Chandler again changed careers and joined the federal prison service as a junior guard. His first assignment was the new federal penitentiary at Lewisburg, Pennsylvania.
Custodial Officer training at Lewisburg intended that, unlike most prison guards, federal officers would be formally educated in the skills and duties required. In most prisons, typical guards of the day learned on the job, from others who had followed the same road. While experience may be a "best teacher" over a long career, the feds attempted a powerful program to speed, standardize, and broaden the learning process.
At Lewisburg there were classes on penology, criminology, and behavioral psychology. Some were taught by Bucknell College (now, University) professors, and students gained college credits. Chandler took those courses.
Physical aspects of the training were almost military. There was drill, boxing, judo, and weapons instruction and practice. Duties were learned through varied assignments with an experienced guard who taught the nuts and bolts—the tricks of the trade not communicable through classroom work. Completion of "Basic Training" gave Chandler his first duty assignment, the prison's back gate.
When selected for Alcatraz by Warden Johnston, E. F. Chandler was transferred to McNeil Island prison in Washington State for further training—with special emphasis on operating an island prison. The prison service paid for the transfer. Our family was given a second hand, 1929 Model A Ford by a beloved uncle. We loaded all that we owned and drove across the United States to our new home on the Pacific Coast.
E. F. Chandler
ERVILLE F. CHANDLER in an official photograph taken in 1941, a few months before he took leave from the prison service to rejoin the Coast Guard for the duration of World War Two. After the war Chandler returned to Lewisburg as a Lieutenant. He remained in the Coast Guard Reserve and retired from that service with the grade of full Commander.
Note the slightly cauliflowered ear from boxing.
Following McNeil Island training, Chandler went directly to Alcatraz. A tough, seasoned warrior at thirty-one years of age, he was street-smart, certain of his abilities, and just about fearless.
Chandler was the first guard to report to Alcatraz. At that early date only a few administrative officers were in place along with a number of army personnel (both guards and convicts) left to aid the transition.
Lieutenant Richard O. Culver was also an early arrival. The two men became immediate friends. Lieutenant Culver had once been a Marine. He came to Alcatraz from the federal prison farm system, and for some time wore his boots and britches uniform.
Culver was a tough and willing cookie, the kind of man Chandler would appreciate. In later years Warden Culver chose Chandler to be his captain at the Petersburg, Virginia facility. They remained friends, and forty years after their Alcatraz service, their sons, Richard O. Culver, Jr., and Norman Chandler (the author's younger brother) served together as United States Marine Corps commissioned officers.
R. O. Culver in 1934
It should be re-emphasized that E. F. Chandler was a dead shot. His ability with a 30/06 Springfield rifle had been proven on numerous Army and Coast Guard rifle teams. Yet, until long after his retirement, Chandler did not own guns, and he never hunted. Shooting was part of his work so he mastered it. Seasoned by years of military rifle competition, cable strong, with exceptional eyesight, Chandler was a marksman most guards could only wish to be.
E. F. Chandler was an expert shot with all weapons. Most guards were not, but they all practiced.
The Alcatraz "rifle range" was only an old quarry half filled with junk. Targets were set up and guards whanged away at them. Most shooting was done (offhand) from the road tower—the same tower Joe Bowers was shot from.
The guards fired Springfield bolt actions and Browning Automatic Rifles. Occasionally they moved closer for pistol practice. Of course the musketry echoed and reechoed through the prison. Some released convicts wrote that the shooting was intended to intimidate the inmates. That was not its purpose, but if the riflery had that effect, no one cared. Boats and ferries sailing on or crossing the bay often heard the firing—which was dutifully reported to the San Francisco press—and which routinely stirred rumors and speculations of terrible revolts, uprisings, and massacres on The Rock.
Buoys were placed a hundred yards off the island and unauthorized boats were not allowed inside them. Occasionally boats trespassed—on purpose in many cases—seeing how close they could get, or perhaps seeking better pictures. When that happened, warning shots were fired. Usually the bullets kicked up water in front of the trespassers and proved enough to turn them away.
One sailboat ignored my father's warning shot, its sailor pointing helplessly at his slack sails as the boat edged closer to the heavy weather dock. The seaman, however, had the wrong guard behind the gun. E. F. Chandler knew boats and sailing. All that the encroaching sailor had to do was haul in his main sail and bear away. A second shot went through the mainsail and the next smashed the halyard block at the jib head. The sailboat tightened up and left the area. That one, a number of children, including the author and his best friend Buster Michelson, saw from the edge of the parade ground.
We remember one poor soul who was becalmed and drifted with the current right into the main dock. He was met, frisked, questioned, and chewed out thoroughly. The McDowell launch towed him out of the island's lee.
My father fought with another guard over marksmanship. It was an Army versus Navy system argument. Neither Dad nor I could remember the disagreement's details, but we both recalled the fight. Dad did the punching, I got to watch.
I will not name the opponent in this case, and as is often the case, the two were better friends after the battle than before.
The argument occurred in the island's bowling alley (and gymnasium) in 1937. "Buster" Mickelson was setting pins, and he may also remember it.
It would be useful to digress a moment. E. F. Chandler had been a boxer, and he and Dick Culver still followed the fights and trained more than a little. Dad took me along on some of their boxing tours. Having walked the pugilistic walk, E. F. Chandler blended easily with the fighters and the many hangers-on, and I met great fighters (including the World Champion Tony Canzoneri. Wow! That I never forgot!), and the not-so-notables in the San Francisco gyms and saw them battle each other in the Civic Auditorium and Dreamland.
I recall an occasion en route to the fights when an impatient individual aggressively rammed his way between Chandler and Culver. Bad mistake! As one, they punched the guy out. Surely the inconsiderate dope was hit a dozen times before he knew what was happening. Body shots, jolting hooks, maybe an uppercut, down he went. I saw him sprawled half in the gutter. Chandler and Culver moved me along smartly but didn't bother to look back, and I did not even hear them discuss it. Of no importance apparently. Ah, the men of that time could be hard. Today? Everyone would probably sue everyone else.
I enter the above observations to demonstrate the willingness of the men of that time to do battle.
Back to the fight. In the Alcatraz gymnasium, with gloves on, neither guard would be in official trouble. Bowling stopped, and the crowd gathered.
The two guards stepped over to the gym area and put on the always-present boxing gloves. I had a good view. I was standing on a box, doing my required three rounds on the speed bag. In the heat of the moment, Dad forgot about me, or I would surely have been hustled upstairs.
There was no referee, bells, or rounds. They went at it. The other guard was a tough, rough, street fighter type. You would not have cared to fight him in a telephone booth, but, with the gloves on, he was overmatched.
The opponent swung from his heels. If he had landed cleanly . . . !
Dad gave him a fearful drubbing. At eleven years of age I gloried in it, but before it got too bloody, other guards called it over with, and neither fighter objected.
How fighting it out settled a marksmanship disagreement I am not certain. The combatants shook hands, some laughter began, backs were slapped, and the two went off together to clean up. It was a simpler time, I guess.
Today? We live in a softer era. As previously mentioned, someone would sue and everyone would lose.
It would not be accurate to visualize E. F. Chandler as a man who flew off the handle. When genuinely roused, Chandler became an "iceman." He acted without outward emotion. His features grew stiff and his eyes expressionless. His reasoning and judgment were quick, calculating, and usually highly effective.
There were tensions within, of course. Following dangerous or emotionally trying times, he was unusually cooperative and joked more than usual. At home, we could detect violence within the prison by Dad's relaxed manner. We knew by his ease that, whatever it had been, it was now settled. Later we might learn what had happened.
An example comes to mind. Minor in Alcatraz history, guards took such incidents in stride, and prison life went on. It is worth retelling because it is unreported and gives new information.
In 1937, the prison population attempted its annual strike. The convicts struck almost every year. They hoped for increased privileges or outside attention. During the hardest years they got none of the first and so little reporting it did not matter.
Near the end of the 1937 disturbance, a few self-appointed leaders remained recalcitrant. Gordon Alcorn, number 114, was one who refused to hand his blankets from his cell. Guard J.H. Simpson suggested Alcorn do as he was told. Without warning, Alcorn slugged Simpson over the eye opening a huge gash. Guard Chandler arrived on the scene.
"Alcorn swung like a rusty gate." Chandler straightened him up with two left jabs, reshaped his nose with a straight right, and flattened him with a left hook. (My father was a great believer in combination punching and finishing up with a left hand.) What chance did an ordinary man have against a professional fighter? None, as Alcorn discovered.
As he had with Lucas, Chandler placed Alcorn in a Full Nelson, leaned on it, and ground his face into the concrete floor. (Dad also believed in "concrete floor grinding and thumping" as a persuader). Help arrived, and Gordon went to less comfortable quarters in the dungeon.
The day Alcorn was returned to his cell, he refused to step out and tow the line. E. J. Miller said, "Go move him, Chandler."
Dad recalled the incident. "I didn't like it much. Gordon Alcorn wasn't anything, but tearing up a uniform cost money, and if the convict bled on it, you might have to buy a new one.
"I walked up to Alcorn's cell and saw him backed into a corner, fists up. When he saw me his eyes got wide. I gave him a thumb toward the catwalk and said, 'Out, Gordon!' Alcorn dropped his hands and answered, 'Yes, Mr. Chandler.'"
Alcatraz Letter (9/3/36)
As you will note----we have eight of this Karpavicz-Barker gang and we also have the Capone gang, Kelly-Bailey-Bates group, the Tri-State gang, the Kansas City Nash gang, the Irish O'Malley gang of Oklahoma, some who are referred to as the Purple Gang of Detroit, and quite a large group who seem to have much in common because of association in crimes and prison escapes in Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Kansas.
Warden James A. Johnston
Chapter 7
Alcatraz was not an ideal maximum security prison. Although it appeared to have proven itself impregnable, only good fortune sustained its "escape proof" record.
In season, the almost daily fog could close so tightly around the island that objects twenty feet away were invisible. When the island was fogged in, convicts only yards away became unseen. Tower guards could see nothing and used their ears more than their eyes.
In December 1937, 29 year old Ralph Roe – number 260, bank robber given ninety-nine years, and 24 year old Theo (Ted) Cole – number 258, kidnapper, doing fifty years, chose such a day for their escape attempt.
Assigned to the mat shop, the convicts waited until guard Steere made his one o'clock count and continued his rounds. Unseen, Roe and Cole walked from the mat shop, across the open ground, and into the blacksmith shop. There was nothing unusual in such movement, and because of the fog, the gun tower guard on top of the model shop could not see them anyway.
To the rear of the blacksmith shop, in an open storage room, a common factory type window had already been weakened. The convicts knocked out a double pane with a Stillson wrench picked up in the blacksmith shop and crawled out the window.
Between them and the water lay two steep embankments with a chain link fence between the embankments. Roe and Cole scuttled down a bank and used the Stillson to hammer loose the padlock on a fence gate. Noise was little danger, guards were used to pounding from the nearby shops.
They slid down the last bank and entered the water. Watching convicts said they saw the escapees swim away. Some claim to have seen them reach Little Alcatraz—a small rock jutting from the bay just off the big island. In view of the dense fog, those accounts were more than likely hopeful thinking.
At the 2:00 o'clock head count, Roe and Cole were found to be missing. Alarm was sounded and escape procedures were initiated. The convicts had nearly an hour's start. They had probably been swimming for more than forty minutes.
Prisoners were returned to their cells. All guards reported for duty—with weapons.
The prison launch (the McDowell) was sent out to search the foggy waters. The Coast Guard was called to assist.
Within their cells, the prison population became rowdy and loud. Excitement swept the convicts, and they cheered the escapees on. Perhaps they hoped to distract guards and give their companions a bit more chance.
By 3:00 p.m., the fog had partially lifted and visibility was up to half a mile. The tide was in powerful ebb, drawing everything out the Golden Gate. The water was winter cold. No trace of either escapee was found.
The Bay search continued throughout the day and the entire night. All vessels encountered were thoroughly searched and made to account for their presence.
Convicts liked to believe that a clever escape had a launch waiting and that Roe and Cole were sitting in South America enjoying life.
Wishful thinking. Neither prisoner was a big shot with influence or hidden wealth, and no loyal cohorts awaited their release. It is far more likely that both convicts drowned. Their seventy years' silence almost proves it.
Around the prison it was whispered that Roe and Cole were part of a larger escape plan. The two decided not to wait, jumped the gun, and left the others double-crossed. That could be, but so many stories sink and surface that we will never know for sure.
At any rate, two convicts got free of the island. They could have had a boat waiting, or they could have been luckily picked up by a "Joe Public" sailing on the bay. Or . . . ? The point is: Alcatraz lost control of two men. The Rock was NOT escape proof.
Alcatraz had many features that were inherently undesirable in a maximum security prison. E. F. Chandler, despised the industries in particular. Examine the Charge Out Sheets on following pages and appreciate the scattering of dangerous and clever men in simple factory type buildings. Consider the tools and materials available to devious minds.
And the minds were devious. Al Capone's steel shanked shoes set off the metal detectors, but blades and drills dropped into a can of paint got through easily. Garbage collectors tore articles and pictures from magazines tossed out in dependents' garbage and snuck them in via their sock bottoms. The metal detectors did not register well on brass or copper. Stainless steel – as in spoons and table knives could get through. Body searches might get them, but with two hundred convicts filing through for a noon meal, any personal searches were perfunctory. Certainly they could not include body orifices.
Alcatraz: The Hardest Years 1934-1938 Page 5