November 1, 2008

  • Haunted Prisons

    Alcatraz was not a recreational prison. It was a
    place of penitence, just as the Quakers who had devised the American
    prison system had planned for all prisons to be. There were no
    trustees here. It was a place where the inmates had but five
    rights... food, clothing, a private cell, a shower once a week and
    the right to see a doctor.

    Each of the cells in America’s "first
    escape-proof prison" measured 4 x 8 feet, had a single
    fold-up bunk, a toilet, a desk, a chair and a sink. An
    inmate’s day would begin at 6:30 in the morning, when he
    was awakened and then given 25 minutes to clean his cell
    and to stand and be counted. At 6:55, the individual
    tiers of cells would be opened and prisoners would march
    in a single file line to the mess hall. They were given
    20 minutes to eat and then were marched out to line up
    for work assignments. The routine never varied and was
    completely methodical.


    As the years have passed, ghost hunters, authors,
    crime buffs and curiosity-seekers have visited the island and many
    of them have left with feelings of strangeness. Perhaps those who
    experience the "ghostly side" of Alcatraz most often are the
    national park service employees who sometimes spend many hours here
    alone. For the most part, the rangers claim to not believe in the
    supernatural but occasionally, one of them will admit that weird
    things happen here that they cannot explain.

    According to one park ranger, he was in one of
    the cell houses one morning, near the shower room, and heard the
    distinctive sound of banjo music coming from the room. He could not
    explain it --- but many who know some of the hidden history of
    Alcatraz can. In his last days at the prison, Al Capone often hid in
    the shower room with his banjo. Rather than risk going out into the
    prison yard, where he feared for his life thanks to his
    deteriorating mental state, Capone received permission to stay
    inside and practice with his instrument.

    And perhaps he sits there still, this lonesome
    and broken spirit, still plucking at the strings of a spectral banjo
    that vanished decades ago. For on occasion, tour guides and rangers,
    who walk the corridors of the prison alone, still claim to hear and
    an occasional tune echoing through the abandoned building. Is it Al
    Capone?