The Warden’s fourteen-room mansion, built during the military period in 1922. It was decorated with beautiful wooden furniture made from black oak by inmates at Fort Leavenworth. James V. Bennett wrote: “Warden Johnston’s home on the peak of the rock was like the pilothouse of a ship at anchor in the bay, beneath the cottony clouds. At night I would stand at the guest-room window and listen to the steel doors of the cellblocks clanging open and shut while the guards said to one another, as if they were at sea, ‘All’s well.’”
A view of the Warden’s Spanish-Mission-style mansion from the parade ground.
Island electrician Frank Brunner is pictured here walking from the Warden’s residence in an extremely rare San Francisco snowfall.
A photograph showing the prison bus and jeep bearing the Department of Justice seals. The bus was the primary mode of transportation between the cellhouse and the dock for staff and inmates.
The Chief Medical Officer’s residence, located next door to the Warden’s mansion.
The Warden also lived on the island with his family, occupying a majestic fourteen-room Spanish-Mission style mansion that was located only a few steps from the prison entrance. The mansion had been constructed by military prisoners in 1922 and it featured a spectacular panoramic view of San Francisco as well as its own lush garden. The furnishings were made from beautiful black walnut, which had been constructed by inmates at Leavenworth. The wardens all employed exemplary prisoners known as “passmen” to cook and clean at the residence, and every thirty minutes these inmates would emerge onto the front porch, where they would stand until they had been counted by an officer who could see them through a prison administration window. James V. Bennett, the Director of the Bureau of Prisons, would later write in his 1970 memoir:
Warden Johnston’s home on the peak of the rock was like the pilothouse of a ship at anchor in the bay, beneath the cottony clouds. At night I would stand at the guest-room window and listen to the steel doors of the cellblocks clanging open and shut while the guards said to one another, as if they were at sea, “All’s well.” I spent the evening in Warden Johnston’s living room before a cheerful fire in the grate. Whenever a gust of wind blew down the chimney, scattering ashes in the hearth, a white-jacketed houseman entered the room noiselessly, swept the ashes back into the fireplace, and withdrew. He must have been watching all the time.
But there were a few occasions when the cracking sound of gunfire broke the calming rustle of the ocean waves – a stark reminder that the surrounding barbwire and chain-linked fencing could not fully isolate residents from the dangers of living inside the gates of the nation’s most notorious prison. The sound of the wailing escape siren was a signal much feared by residents, because it could indicate that a loved one was in harm’s way. At these times, families were instructed to remain inside their homes until they were notified that the island was secured and safe.
Another favored pastime at Alcatraz was gardening. When the families of the first military inhabitants of Alcatraz put down roots, they planted Victorian-style gardens that would flourish in the seaside climate. Gardening became a popular activity for many of the residents, and some of the plant life introduced by the military families in the 1800’s still thrives even today. During the military years, the families held small parties in their lush, Victorian-style gardens. Gardening continued to be a popular pastime through the successive generations of Alcatraz residents. These ranged from Civil War soldier families to gangster era criminals assigned to the various work details, such as inmate Elliott Michener, who reportedly introduced many rare and unique botanical varieties to the Alcatraz landscape. Ultimately, Alcatraz would be home to nearly 145 non-native garden species and flowers such as red-hot pokers and snapdragons carpeted the once barren rock with splendid colors. There were also beautiful rose varieties, as well as poppies and blackberries. There was even a children’s rock garden which Phil Bergen established adjacent to the parade ground. Many of the trees planted during the military period still prosper today in the salt-misted air.
Island Transit
The Warden Johnston served as the island’s passenger launch from 1945 to 1961.
Transit by boat was the only means of access to Alcatraz and was always manned by uniformed officers.
The children of Alcatraz traveled to and from school everyday via the island launch.
A series of photographs showing island residents disembarking at the Van Ness Street Pier.
Candid views inside the prison launch in 1954.
The Warden Johnston was specifically designed and built for ferrying residents, personnel, and inmates to and from Alcatraz. The boat was constructed by prisoners at McNeil Island Penitentiary. The Warden is seen here in dry dock before its launch on June 1, 1945.
The Warden Johnston following her maiden launch on June 20, 1945, in the waters of Puget Sound.
For the correctional officers and their families, the only link to mainland society was by boat. Traveling to and from the island proved challenging and during periods of inclement weather, it was frightening to hear the foghorns of larger vessels closing in, and be unable to see them. Each day the families were ferried back and forth, and this routine became an integral part of their daily lives. The residents were at the mercy of the daily boat schedule, which could be problematic at times. If they missed the boat, they would have to wait another hour for the next scheduled run. In stormy weather it could also be challenging to navigate the gangplank onto a rocking deck. Kathryn O’Brien remembers:
I was afraid of the plank falling into the water when the weather was stormy, and I can remember the boat officer grabbing me by the arm and helping me into the boat. The guards always made us feel safe
In a poetic reminiscence of his travels aboard the Warden Johnston, former resident Robert Burrill wrote in a letter:
The countless adventures going to and from the island are what I remember the best. Waiting in the protective staging area near the water’s turbulent edge, we would first hear the bright sound of the Warden’s horn announcing the boat’s arrival. Excited, we would rise from our benches, gather up our travel bags, and button up our coats to begin the short walk to the loading dock. There ahead of us, in the choppy waters that lined the adjacent pier, we would first see the Warden Johnston, turning as she approached the dock. With the red and green running lights turned on, the Warden would slow its speed, which caused it to begin a rocking motion up and down, and then it would carefully choose its approach through tidal conditions that were challenging, and always changing. My eyes would go toward the pilot house, adorned with five wood-framed windows that looked like attentive eyes, wide open and focused on the dangerous task at hand. For an instant, the Warden’s character would be revealed as the boat came to life. It was a bright, handsome, white-faced, wooden boat; a spirit – proud and courageous for all to witness; a bounty, a soul. Then the guard standing above the bow bridges the notion, anticipating and holding the gaffing hook on a pole with which he slowly reaches for, then skillfully mates with the hanging docking line; the second guard at the controls spins the pilot wheel and reverses the throttle, kicking up white water and a stream of smoke from the stack while easing the port side slowly, carefully into contact with the rubber tire bumper, while the first guard walks back to tie off the stern. Then the railing hinge would be swung open, signaling the passengers on board to debark. The conversations were always friendly, because everybody knew each other. Finally it would be our turn to go down the swaying gangplank amid the cold air blowing up from the water's surface, and the odors of the sea splashing up and under the dock pilings that were textured with barnacles, black tar and the occasional starfish. Being helped on board by the strong, warm hands of a guard, following the passengers to the back of the boat, climbing down into the warm main cabin, and sitting on the beautiful wooden benches as the salt water splashed on the windows –these are the memories that stay in my mind. Traveling on board the Warden Johnston was like a tri
p to Disneyland. The moans and vibrations of the engine below our feet, the rocking motion of the boat as he – or "she" – is put into gear. First she floats away from the pier, often aided by the push of a guard's feet as he hops on board. Then backward away from the dock, a change in direction, and the visual difference of a changing horizon. First away from the adjacent pier, and then the flow of the water, the wake, and a quick view of Alcatraz in the distance, as the Johnston completes its turning maneuvers and departs into the San Francisco Bay. Here the wind picks up, and the Johnston begins to pitch in a swell. Salt water sprays the windows, periodically causing the windowpane to wash out of focus. Here the trip would feel like we were running in place, not really moving – and then suddenly the island, The Rock would slide into view, and the sensation of motion would return, gliding past the large, majestic green and black rocks, the eucalyptus and bay-leafed trees, and the large black and white warning sign: "Cable Crossing Do Not Moor." Then the stockade buildings would appear, large and strong with a wide staircase leading up diagonally, and then the main guard tower. A gentle reminder that Alcatraz was indeed a prison.
During the island’s initial years as a federal penitentiary, the primary vessel for mainland access was a boat named the McDowell, which was approximately fifty feet in length and had a seating capacity of thirty-eight. In May of 1941, planning was commenced to build a boat specifically for Alcatraz. The new vessel was constructed by prisoners at McNeil Island Penitentiary, overseen by professional boat builders Everet Soldin and Woody Woodruff. The boat was completed and launched into service in June of 1945. The Warden Johnston was a sixty-five-foot wooden-framed vessel with a seventeen-foot beam, and it weighed sixty tons. This boat served as the island’s passenger launch from 1945 to 1961. The Warden Johnston made approximately 140,000 trips during its service life. In March of 1961 the island newsletter, the Foghorn, featured a heartfelt parting letter written when the Warden Johnston was retired from service:
Farewell to an Old Friend
Early in the morning one summer's day in 1945, its sturdy and graceful lines glistening under its recent coating of paint, a newly commissioned launch floated from out the McNeil Island shipyards headed for Alcatraz where it was destined to spend most of its entire nautical career as a passenger boat between the Island and San Francisco. For 16 years it plied the waters of the Bay, as much a representative of the area as Coit Tower or the Ferry Building or Alcatraz, itself.
Constructed by prison inmate labor following plans drawn by Bureau draftsmen, the launch was named in honor of the late Warden James A. Johnston, the then beloved Chief Magistrate of Alcatraz.
The "Warden Johnston" was more than a vehicle of transportation, it was a way of life, the link to the outside world. It took the children to school, the sick to the hospital, housewives shopping, the light of foot dancing; it brought food, news, mail, visitors, doctors; in short, it became to the residents as indisputably a part of their lives as their toothbrushes. It was used as a freighter by Federal Prison Industries, as a rescue boat to sailors in distress, a gunboat in search of prisoners; it was a link in the transfer and discharge of inmates; it was one of the forces around which local activities revolved.
Now the "Warden Johnston" is gone, a victim of the auctioneer's gavel. Even to the end she transported herself with the same dignity that identified her throughout her reign. And as she rode away from the Alcatraz docks for the last time Thursday, February 16th, the residents began to know the feeling that would be England's if she were ever to lose the "Rock of Gibralter."
A Korean War supply vessel that had been converted into a high-bowed passenger cruiser replaced the Warden Johnston in 1961, and was christened the Warden Madigan. The name was changed to the Warden Blackwell following the new appointment. In maintaining the continuity of the island’s unique society, the warden would always remain as the central authority figure, setting the tone of life on Alcatraz not only for the prisoners and the guards, but for all of the inhabitants.
Strikes and Protests
The inmates at Alcatraz were not always amenable to the confinement rules enforced by their keepers. During the course of the island’s history as a federal penitentiary, there were twenty-four major inmate strikes in protest of the harsh rules. Former inmate Roy Gardner would comment in his 1939 memoir entitled Hellcatraz:
... discipline. Rigid, severe, unrelenting. Rules on Alcatraz, like the bars, are steel. Both are inflexible; neither bends.
In January of 1936, nearly one hundred and forty inmates went on strike to protest the rule of silence and the lack of privileges at Alcatraz. As inmates filed from the cellblock to their work assignments, many of them encouraged fellow convicts to help them protest by joining the strike. The tower guards came out onto the catwalks and raised their weapons toward the inmates, who walked defiantly and slowly to their assignments. The prisoners who refused to work were marched back into the cellhouse and locked down in their cells. Then one by one, the inmates were pulled from their cells and given hearings. A small percentage of them chose to return to work, but several were hostile toward the administration, and maintained their stance. The known ringleaders and vocal agitators where escorted to the dungeon cells in the basement.
The following day, kitchen workers joined the strike, forcing the prison staff to take over the kitchen. The inmates who continued their protest were fed only bread and water. Most of the prison population returned to work after only a few days on the reduced diet, but a handful continued to stand their ground. As the strike continued, a group of six inmates who had refused to take a full meal after nearly five days on bread and water were taken the hospital and force-fed with a tube. This was a traumatic experience, and all of the men eventually returned to work.
Over the years, there were a vast multitude of other strikes and protests, generally all taking aim at the prison regulations and strict confinement practices. When protests occurred inside the cellhouse, the inmates would throw toilet paper or anything else at hand into the cellblock corridors. The inmates would thud their steel-framed bunks onto the floor, drag their tin cups across the bars, and yell at the top of their lungs, thus creating a thunderous and resonating surge of sound. Former Correctional Officer Louis Nelson (nicknamed “Red” by fellow officers),who would later become the Warden of San Quentin, described the noise:
It didn’t happen too often, but when it did, it was fierce. It sounded similar to standing inside a stadium with the crowd yelling and stomping their feet. The first time I experienced it; I admit that it was a little intimidating. When new inmates would arrive, the rest of the population would let off a little steam and put a little fear into the new fish. It haunted the new inmates for at least a few days.
On average there would be six to ten small-scale riots in the Mess Hall per year, whenever the food quality waned. Phil Bergen recalled that on some occasions the stewards would fail to budget properly and toward the end of the month, they would be forced to serve the same type of meal for days on end. This would provoke the inmates into protests in which they would violently overturn the tables, and pitch food all over the floor. These outbreaks would often cause the officer on the Mess Hall catwalk to punch out windowpanes and take aim at the inmates. The prisoners would then file back to their cells without any further disturbance. In the prison’s entire history there were only eighteen major strikes, aside from those incidents that occurred in the Mess Hall.
Famous Inmates
The concept of using Alcatraz as a maximum-security penitentiary was developed in the 1930’s as a response to gangster violence.
When Alcatraz opened as a Federal penitentiary in 1934, the operating premise was to gather the nation’s worst offending criminals under one roof, in a strict minimum privilege / maximum security setting, under the securest possible circumstances. One important principle of this plan was to punish notorious convicts by never allowing them to see their names in print again, and thus deglamorize the gangster mystique. The
famous inmates who inhabited Alcatraz during its tenure as a Federal penitentiary included Al Capone, George “Machine Gun” Kelly, and Robert Stroud, the much-publicized “Birdman of Alcatraz,” who has been characterized in a number of classic books and films. These men and others like them contributed to the mythology of the famous prison, which eventually became an icon of the struggle between the forces of crime and the rule of law in the United States during one of the country’s most troubled eras.
Alphonse “Scarface” Capone
Alphonse “Scarface” Capone
Al Capone’s Alcatraz mug shot photographs. The shot on the bottom left was from Eastern State Penitentiary. The top photo was taken the day of this arrival.
Al “Scarface” Capone, the overlord of the underworld and considered as America’s Ace Enemy, is a name which remains indelibly linked with the lore of Alcatraz. This infamous gangster lived to become the best-known symbol of organized crime during the Prohibition Era. In a biography written by Warden James Johnston in 1949, he reminisced about the intensity of public interest surrounding Capone’s imprisonment, stating he was continually barraged with letters and questions about “Big Al.” Each day newspaper reporters and press agents flooded his office with phone calls, wanting to know every detail, from how Capone liked the weather to what job assignment he was currently working. Al Capone was considered the most powerful criminal figure of the era of gangsters and prohibition. But even with his wide-ranging influence and networks of hit men and corrupt politicians, he couldn’t budge the strict regimen of the Rock.
Alcatraz: A Definitive History of the Penitentiary Years Page 16