Alcatraz_ A Definitive History of the Penitentiary Years - Michael Esslinger [201]
Bergen would later recount one of the most intriguing events that occurred during the escape attempt. Robert Stroud, known as the “Birdman of Alcatraz,” had remained in cell #41 on the topmost tier, until the bombardment grew so intense that he was forced out. Stroud soon noted that the majority of the bullets were actually striking closest in proximity to his cell. He finally fled down the tier, and took refuge in another cell. Bergen recalled that he could hear the sheer panic of the inmates confined in the cells along the flats, until finally Stroud emerged and walked to the end of the tier against the wall closest to his cell. Remarkably, he climbed over the railing and lowered himself onto the second tier rail, at great risk of being struck by gunfire or shrapnel. This was an amazing feat for a man of fifty-six years. He then balanced himself, crossed over the second rail, and dropped to the cellblock floor where he quickly closed each of the cell fronts. He then went to the cells beyond, and hoisted himself up, climbing tier by tier back to the top. Bergen and Mahan watched in complete amazement. Stroud, who had once been a savior of sick birds, had now attempted to help his fellow inmates when they were in danger’s way. Famed inmate Henri Young, later wrote a letter to a family about his time being held-up in his D-Block cell:
May 15, 1946
Dear Bob & Naomi,
This is the first time I have had an opportunity to write you since the awful escape attempt of May second. I am now cold. All of the windows were bombed and shot out, and all of the radiators were broken up by shells. Workmen are laboring to get the place warm again. And I am writing this on a Life news magazine held on my knee.
When that terrible started I was writing a letter to Aunt Amelia. A while later I tore it up because if I didn’t come through all the shooting I didn’t want anyone else to read it. At first the shooting was light. Another fellow and I sat on the floor until he caught a deflected shell in his shoulder. He wasn’t hurt badly. We however grabbed some mattresses and built a barricade at the front of the cell door. Then we stacked all my books up behind that. Things got hotter. The noise of the gun firing was terrific. We crawled under my steel bunk and stayed there nearly all of the time. Those anti-aircraft and anti-tank bombs the Navy and Marines threw into isolation lifted my cell up and crashed into my eardrums with an awful din. I’d lay there and wait to feel the pain from a fragment or a shell. But I never even got touched.
The real close calls scared me. One came at the very first and one at the last. But after I got used to the firing I slept awhile over different periods. I raised up to take a look around the cell block during some of the heaviest firing. The place was truly beautiful. There was a steady stream of brilliant white and red flares casting their lights over everything. Tracer bullets were lancing through the smoke. Actually the worst of the whole thing physically was that pungent smoke from smoldering mattresses. I could hardly breath and my eyes ran a steady stream.
When I wasn’t sleeping or talking I was praying for all if us fellows, the officers I knew were in danger of getting killed, and that the officials and guards would have the courage to come in and capture those who had caused such horror. It was a sheer miracle that so few innocent inmates were slightly wounded. Even the guards couldn’t hardly believe their own eyes when they saw us all walking.
There was a big colored fellow among us who was through the Italian Campaigns during the recent war. He laughed aloud and said that even Italy was never so bad as what we went through.
Yours, with love,
Henri Young 244-AZ
At about 1:10 p.m., Bergen was still in the gallery when