It was 19 years ago, a bright cool morning but I couldn’t enjoy it because I had been locked in a pitch-black cell in the isolation block at a maximum security prison. With me were two young girls I didn’t know who I guessed to be about 13.
What I did know was that the prison had once been home to many of the world’s worst felons, and had been closed nearly six decades ago due to the high costs of upkeep. But there we were, me and my pimply-faced cellmates, inside Alcatraz, “the island of the pelicans,” which is now a tame national park, with tours running every 30 minutes from Pier 33 at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco.
KM and I arrived at “The Rock,” on the first day of our trip to one of the great cities of the world as the morning sun, still low in the eastern horizon, reflected past the Bay Bridge onto the silver water behind us. West was to our left, as was the towering orange span of the Golden Gate, and beyond the blue Pacific.
The ferry moved closer to the small island that still projected gloom, even on the sunniest of days. After docking we walked up a hill and came to a building that holds 378 cells, each one five feet by nine, and former homes to men known as “Doc,” “Creepy,” “Machine Gun,” “Scarface,” and “Birdman.” We walked through A-Block, part of the original military prison built by convicts, who later became its first residents.
From there it was north to B-Block, where an escape attempt by six inmates led to the “Battle of Alcatraz” in May of 1946. During that two-day bloody siege, three of the inmates and two guards died. Two of the surviving convicts were later executed in the gas chamber at San Quentin for the murder of one of the guards.
The last man received an additional 99-year sentence for his part in the failed attempt.
Then came D-Block, which holds the isolation cells. Our guide opened the door to one of them and asked if anyone wanted “the treatment.” I thought, why not, and walked ahead, moving to the back of the small room where I waited for him to shut the door. Before he could, in scurried two giggling girls.
The heavy door slammed shut and the light was gone. So was the giggling. I asked if they had a nail file but they didn’t get the joke and both answered no.
Then the door opened and we walked out. Free at last.
Speaking of jail time, someone sent me the following “employment wanted” ad - “Having successfully completed a ten-year sentence, incident-free, for importing 75 tons of marijuana into the United States, I am now seeking a legal and legitimate means to support myself and my family.
Business Experience – Owned and operated a successful fishing business, multi-vessel, one airplane, one island and processing facility. During this time I also co-owned and participated in the executive-level management of 120 people worldwide in a successful venture with revenues in excess of $100 million annually. I took responsibility for my own actions, and received a ten-year sentence in the U.S. while others walked free for their cooperation.
Attributes – I have extensive computer skills, am personable, outgoing, well educated, reliable, clean and sober…I am well-traveled and speak English, French and Spanish. References available from friends, family and the U.S. District Attorney.” You may have noticed that he didn’t list a former employer as a reference. Well, if you do the math, 75 tons is 150,000 pounds, and 150,000 pounds is 2.4 million ounces. At a hundred bucks an ounce, we’re talking $240 million, give or take. If I lost nearly a quarter billion at my job I’d probably be looking for work too. v