Letters From Alcatraz - Michael Esslinger [201]
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 he was hailed by Stroud. Bob Stroud yelled across the smoke-filled cellblock to Bergen, who was pitched low for cover. Stroud pleaded with him to stop the bombing before someone was needlessly killed. He swore to Bergen that there were no guns in D Block and insisted that the bombardment was senseless. As he made his plea, he offered to strip his clothes off and stand in the middle of the cellblock floor, where he could be used as a hostage for barter. Bergen had always seen Stroud as a “homicidal maniac,” but nevertheless, he believed that the prisoner was telling the truth. Bergen got this message to the Warden, and the shooting finally ceased. Bergen yelled to the inmates that the shooting would not resume, but warned them to stay in their cells and not to wander along tiers. Quillen would later recount during an interview, “Most respected Bergen; he treated inmates fair, but several of the men didn’t dare move from behind their barricades since they thought it was a trap. Bergen had yelled all night to surrender the rifle so a lot of the men didn