The very next morning we disembarked bright and early from the leaba and wandered down to the waterfront
for the trip to Alcatraz, scheduled to leave shortly after 11 am. Once we checked in the tickets we went through to the quayside
where we joined an already sizeable and growing queue of trippers. Once again it was fine but cold (it never seems to get
very warm in SF) and a bit of a trial waiting for the entrance gate to the boat to open. We whiled away the time watching
the antics of a huge troop of seals basically throwing each other into the water from a floating wooden gangway, most probably
hoping they'd be spotted by some shark from Hollywood. After some time a fella came along the queue checking the tickets again.
Eventually the gate opened and we all shuffled forward feeling like we were going to do time. Would you believe there was
more checking of tickets at the gate this time by a rude black boy (not that being black was in any way relevant - he was
just not very mannerly no matter what colour). These ferry firs sure are an untrusting lot.
At long last we got onto the bleedin' boat and out of the bitin' wind. The trip across took only
15 or 20 minutes even though it was bumpy enough with the wind. We landed into a kind of small square where a "Ranger" gave
us all the low down on the joint - where to go to start the tour, how long it would take, where to have a pee, what time we
could get a boat back to civilisation, etc. At this stage we were sheltered from the wind by the high walls of the prison
and it was becoming a pleasant enough sort of day.
The "lecture" over, we set off up a long stepped climb to an entrance door near the top. After
the inevitable queue once again, we were each issued with portable "walkmans" and accompanying headphones and these effectively
operated as automatic guides. They gave directions as to where to start and the points of reference to follow inside the prison.
It was interesting because they also had "atmospheric" sound effects including recordings of real prisoners' and guards' voices
(a sort of blast from the past) to give you an idea of what it might have been like arriving as a new "guest". All in all
it must have been a pretty grim place (it closed in 1963) as can easily be seen today given that the "slammer" is now preserved
exactly as it was when operating.
We heard running commentaries all through, again using former guards' recorded voices, and of course
heard about some of the more famous/infamous inmates - Al Capone, Machine Gun Kelly, Pretty Boy Floyd and of course the Birdman
Stroud, who apparently was one of the most dangerous of the lot being a not very sociable kinda dude with many spells in the
isolation bin behind him. Having stood myself in the solitary cell, which would have been in permanent darkness whilst hosting
a prisoner, I can see how a body might be sort of resentful alright. He was also the longest serving inmate ever held there
- 30 years I think.
The Mess Hall seemingly was the main theatre of crime "on the inside", with numerous stabbings
involving kitchen utensils. Outside on the wings there wasn't much chance for such action as overhead balconies were constantly
patrolled by armed warders. The cells themselves were very small and not very private. Like I said a grim place where most
wouldn't want to dally or dwell for too long. Outside in the air there was an exercise yard surrounded by high walls except
for a small gap on the sea side. This may have been so the unfortunate convicts could see how near SF really was without their
having any realistic prospect of getting there for a long time. An unintended added cruelty perhaps?
It seems there was only one "successful" escape in the history of the place. This involved two
brothers and another con, who tunnelled out through the back walls of their cells into the air ducts, which took ages using
stolen knives and forks from the kitchen. It seems they managed to improvise some sort of floating raft using a piece of timber
so as to catch the tide and make landfall across the Bay and down the coast aways. From this point they were picked up by
accomplices and made good their escape. At least so the story goes from the inmates' point of view. The Governor on the other
hand, is on record as stating he believed they were either drowned or fell foul of the sharks which infest these waters. Either
way he maintained they didn't really get away and The Rock's proud history of being totally secure was upheld. Funny enough
a couple of months after the unscheduled departure, the self same Guv'nor had a postcard from somewhere in South America allegedly
from the three boyos saying how they missed him.
We did dally awhile ourselves sitting on steps in the Warden's former garden and looking across
at "freedom" and thinking about how glad we are to be free ourselves and how we could make sure things would remain so. There's
a nice view of the Bay from that place although I wondered what it must have been like for the wives and kids who lived there.
There were constant comings and goings with detainees all the time and the guards' kids went to school each day in the city.
I'd say they were rather unique married and childhood. experiences.
At our leisure we finished immersing ourselves in The Rock's ambience and headed back to the Jetty
for the return "voyage". Once back out from the shelter of the walls, the wind screamed hello again and we pitched and rolled
like Saturday night all the way back to shore. During the trip I experienced a small example of how easily amused our US friends
can be. This young wan asked if I (in the summer clothes again) wasn't cold - I said not at all as I was long since gone numb.
Herself and her beau didn't stop laughing at this until we were nearly beached again. Strange people
