Alcatraz_ A Definitive History of the Penitentiary Years - Michael Esslinger [3]
Lastly, I’m very lucky to have the opportunity to say publicly to the special people in my life how much they mean to me. Words can’t express my gratitude to my mother and father, who have always shown full support in all of my interests. This in itself could be the subject of another book. From my youngest years they encouraged my small adventures and allowed me to explore a variety of places on my own – something that is sadly no longer possible in today’s world. Whether it was by dropping me a off at a movie studio in Hollywood, or by letting me explore Alcatraz, they always encouraged me, and their love and trust have blessed me with a most gifted life. My beautiful wife Julie deserves the greatest thanks. I love you... To Forrest, Ross and Brandon, the little men who make my world, may you all do great things. Love also to my late dog and companion Luck (and Spark too). I deeply miss my writing partner...
And finally, to my late friend Michael Lundeen, my best friend – Godspeed...
Thank you all,
Michael Esslinger
Foreword
Darwin Evert Coon
I can still vividly remember that crisp September day in 1958. I stepped from the prison launch, the Warden Johnston, straining to get a good view of my new surroundings. The cold steel shackles chafed against my skin as I walked through the gates and into a world kept secret from the public. It was a somber feeling, trying to come to grips with the idea that I had been branded as one of the nation’s most incorrigible inmates in the federal prison system. I had been a bank robber, and I was now collecting the wages of my sin. After processing I was strip-searched, then permitted a brief shower and escorted to my new home – a diminutive five-by-nine-foot cell. As I lay back on my hard bunk, I realized that this was it... I had finally reached the end of line... Alcatraz.
I lived under the strict routine of America’s most infamous prison and faced head-on the relentless pressures of existence within my cramped and tiny cell. I became well versed in the cloak-and-dagger underground of Alcatraz, a silent code known only to the inmates. Not everyone was able to come to terms with the stressful and unrelenting regimen. Some responded by committing suicide, and others with explosive surges of deadly violence. Meanwhile, the painful landscape of freedom was spread before us, just out of reach across the bay. The sights and sounds were a continuous reminder of everything we had lost. On some occasions while we were locked in our cells, an eerie quiet would pass over the men. Distant feminine laughter would resonate from a passing tour boat through an open barred window. The voices would quickly fade into the backdrop of seagulls and slow time, and the men would be left with only their thoughts and their memories.
I personally knew many of the famous and not-so-famous inmates who served time on The Rock. I helped my friends John Anglin and Frankie Morris to acquire some of the essential tools that they used in their famed escape attempt (later portrayed in the motion picture Escape from Alcatraz starring Clint Eastwood) and I would dream like so many others of someday making my own escape.
A long time has passed since I last heard the frequent clashing of steel gates, and the prison guards calling out their counts. Even still, I remain a marked man. One cannot survive such a profound experience and expect to emerge unaffected. When Alcatraz finally closed in 1963, I was one of the last inmates to step off the island and it was then that I started my long journey back to freedom. In 1972, after serving nearly fifteen years in the federal prison system, I