People say I was heroic by calling for help the way I did, but I know how close I came to staying silent.
I scared myself that night. I saw how much I want to get along. But sometimes you have to make trouble. Sometimes making trouble is the right thing to do.
Life is complicated. You’d think on a prison island-what with the bars and the rules and everything-it would all be so clear… but it’s not.
37. THE YELLOW DRESS
Monday, September 23, 1935
Nat’s going back to the Esther P. Marinoff School today. She hasn’t pitched a fit about it either. Of course my mom has made sure her yellow dress is brand-new clean-the one with the buttons Sadie sews on every time she’s done something well. My mom is in the kitchen packing up the lemon cake to take along, just in case Trixle decides to sharpshoot into the bay like the last time. Even though Trixle admitted Natalie helped apprehend the cons, he still isn’t her biggest fan. I don’t think there’s anything Natalie could do to change his mind about that either. Trixle’s mind is made of stone. It doesn’t change; it just chips off here and there.
Nat is smiling to herself and running her hands along the buttons on her yellow dress.
“Good idea Sadie had there. Kind of like badges the generals wear,” I tell her, surveying the small collection of buttons on Nat’s dress. They look like they belong on the dress because Sadie has sewn them so artfully.
“New button.” Nat runs her fingers along the bottom button, which is small and ordinary-the kind sewn on a man’s shirt. But when it comes to buttons there’s no such thing as ordinary for Natalie. It’s like me and baseball games, I guess. No two are alike.
“I’ll bet Sadie will give you a new button if you cooperate today,” I tell Natalie.
Nat shakes her head emphatically as if she wants to jiggle the hair right out of her scalp. “New button.” She points again to the simple white button.
“Not that new. You haven’t seen Sadie in two weeks,” I tell her.
“No Sadie.”
“No Sadie. Mom put that on?”
“No Mom.”
“Dad?” My voice squeaks hopefully, though I can’t imagine Dad threading a needle, much less sewing a button on.
“No Dad.” Natalie keeps shaking her head. “Moose.”
“I didn’t sew it on, Natalie. Mom’s just kidding about me sewing.”
“No Moose,” Natalie agrees.
“Who did it then?” I ask.
“Good job,” Nat answers, handing me a scrap of paper-brown with lines folded in half in handwriting I’ve come to know so well.
Good job, it says.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Al Capone Shines My Shoes is a novel, grounded in history, but heavily embroidered by my imagination. While the characters of this book and the actions they take are completely fictional, some of the scenes came from true stories.
It was true, for example, that the families of most Alcatraz guards lived on the island during the years Alcatraz was a working penitentiary. Jolene Babyak described her experience living on Alcatraz this way: “ Alcatraz was like a small town with one bad neighborhood. Children played baseball, flew kites and played ‘guards and cons’ under the shadow of the cell house.” [1]
The year 1935 was in the midst of the Depression. Money was scarce. Convicts who had trade skills worked for free as plumbers and electricians, painters, movers, custodians, gardeners, and trash collectors in the “civilian”-as the families on the island were sometimes called-homes and apartments.
Jimmy and Moose’s dilemma about how to dispose of the bar spreader came from a true fact of island life. Since the convicts acted as trash men, island residents had to be careful about what they tossed out. As one island resident remembers: “No glass, razor blades or other sharp objects in our garbage as prisoners were detailed to pick it up.” [2]
The convicts did the laundry for everyone who lived on the island. Though note-passing through the laundry was a figment of my imagination, the laundry sometimes did provide a vehicle for convicts to let hated guards know how they felt. Rocky Chandler, who grew up on Alcatraz in the thirties, described the phenomenon this way: “Convicts had their own small ways of hassling. Because the wind was cold up on the tower catwalks, most guards wore long john underwear beneath their uniforms. Occasionally EF Chandler ’s underwear would come from the laundry starched stiffer than a board.” [3] There were other island families who refused this service, as the laundry often “came back mangled.” [4]
Convicts on special detail were accompanied by a guard, but human nature being what it is, rules were occasionally relaxed or even broken. Surprising alliances formed in the most unlikely of circumstances. George DeVincenzi, a guard from 1950 to 1957, told me one of the most feared convicts on Alcatraz, Jimmy Groves, came to his aid one night when he had night duty in the cell house. Night duty was long and tedious at best, terrifying at worst, and one boring evening George fell asleep at his desk. He was awakened by Jimmy throwing crumpled-up sheets of paper at him from his second-tier cell. Groves, who had a bird’s-eye view of the cell house corridor, saw George’s supervisor approaching and he didn’t want George to be written up for falling asleep on the job. [5]
There were plenty of stories of Alcatraz children breaking the rules as well. As one boy who grew up on Alcatraz put it: “[I could] probably write several pages of things Phil Bergen [captain of the guards] caught me doing.” [6] Or as Chuck Stucker said: “Two-thirds of the island was restricted, what do you think a boy was going to do? Go to the places he’s not supposed to.” [7]
Still, there was a stiff penalty for misbehaving. As Bob Orr, who lived on the island from 1941 to 1956, said: “We couldn’t mess up, violate rules or we’d be asked to leave the island.”
Ed Faulk, a resident on the island in the thirties, told me about the day he came home from school to his father and three convicts sitting around his kitchen table. Sharon Haller said the parents of her friends in San Francisco sometimes would refuse to let their kids visit her on Alcatraz because they thought “we ate dinner with the convicts.” But they did not. Ed Faulk’s story is the only evidence I have found of the convicts sitting down at the same table with the civilians.
But for the guards-the fathers of the children who lived on the island-there was a terrifying side to life on the island. As one former resident described it: “The danger was there. Everyone knew. All you have to do is take the bone out of a T-bone steak and you’ve got an excellent weapon.” [8] During the escape attempt in 1946 known as the Battle of Alcatraz, two guards were killed-both family men.
And sometimes the convicts did know more about the families who lived on the island than they had any right to know. Chuck Stucker told me about his return to the island after having been gone for eight years. As soon as he got off the boat, one of the convicts on dock duty tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Are you Ed Stucker’s son? Tell your father hello. I always liked that man.” [9]
Perhaps the most peculiar fact of life on the island involved the convicts who worked in the warden’s home. “The wardens all employed exemplary prisoners known as ‘passmen’ to cook and clean at the residence, and every thirty minutes [10] 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.” [11]
And yes, some of the wardens had school-age children living on the Rock. James A. Johnston, the first warden on Alcatraz, had a daughter named Barbara who described what happened when her mother, Ida Mae Johnston, came upon two passmen fighting in her kitchen. Apparently Ida shook her finger at the men and said: “You boys. You stop that right now.” And they did. [12]
Generally the passmen were selected because they had relatively short sentences, thus they were not considered flight risks. But there is evidence that more than one passman took advantage of his situation. A houseboy and a cook were said to have a still in the warden’s basement from which they made a home-brewed wine out of fermented fruit.
Bill Dolby, who lived on Alcatraz as a boy and had the job of delivering newspapers on the island, remembered his interactions with the warden’s passman Chief Wareagle. “Carrying the newspapers gave me access topside and to the lighthouse. Chief Wareagle met me every morning to take the paper and slip me some freshly made cookies or candy. After a while I told [the chief] not to do that any more because I didn’t want to get Dad in trouble… which was difficult to do since he made really good pralines.” [13]
Clifford Fish, a guard on Alcatraz for twenty-four years, talked about a passman named Montgomery who, because of his unique ability to come and go from the cell house, was asked to participate in the 1946 escape attempt. Montgomery decided against involvement because he “had too good of a job [on Alcatraz].” But neither did he forewarn guards of the impending escape because if he had, he would have been killed by the other convicts. [14]
The prison was, after all, a maximum security operation that housed some of “the world’s most dangerous criminals.” [15] You did not typically go directly to Alcatraz. “To qualify for a reservation at Alcatraz, the tough customers must have demonstrated their incorrigibility at the other prisons or… [be suspected] of running rackets or gangs from within prison walls.” [16] In 1935, you were sent to Alcatraz if you were a troublemaker at another prison or an “accomplished escape artist.” [17]
The reason Al Capone was moved from the Cook County facility in Illinois to Atlanta and then to Alcatraz was because he worked the prison system to his own advantage. In Cook County he was able to bribe, or “tip,” as he preferred to call it, the guards and live the high life behind bars. “It was said he convinced many guards to work for him, and his cell boasted expensive furnishings including personal bedding… [the cell was] carpeted, and he had a radio around which many of the
