He shrugs, takes his glasses off, and cleans them on the tail of his shirt. “We’re all sorry about something,” he says.
“What are you sorry about?” I ask hopefully. I hate to be the only guy who messed up.
“Telling Scout about the secret passageway.”
“Yeah, why’d you do that anyway?”
Jimmy shrugs and rubs his glasses harder. “I thought you were going to tell Scout yourself; I wanted to beat you to the punch. And I was hoping Scout’s opinion of me would . . . you know.”
“Rise above the status of dead girl?” I ask.
He grins into his glasses.
“I’m not sure which is worse, dead girl or auntie,” Annie complains, shifting her baseball pants the way a guy would.
“Okey-dokey is what I said,” I tell her.
“This is supposed to make me feel better?” Annie snaps. “Not that I care. I’ve never been sweet on you, Moose. I’ve always thought you were a slug.”
“Well thank you,” I say, looking out across the bay where a flock of pelicans are flying in awkward formation.
“You’re welcome.” She smiles a little. “I have no idea why my mother would say that. It couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“No offense, Annie, but your mom has some nutty ideas. She and her needlepoint . . .” I tell her.
Annie snorts. “Moose, Moose, Moose, don’t get me started on that. My mom thinks you love needlepoint.”
“It’s hard to tell when he likes something and when he doesn’t,” Jimmy grumbles.
I wish Jimmy would let up.
Annie’s big lips pucker like she’s thinking about this. “But that’s what we like about him too, isn’t it?” Annie looks past me to Jimmy. “That he tries so hard with everyone.”
I’m glad Annie has said this. I am just being nice. What’s the matter with that? But then I remember walking onto the boat with Seven Fingers’s arm choking my throat, One Arm marching Natalie across, Buddy dragging Piper.
People say I was heroic by calling for help the way I did, but I know how close I came to staying silent.
I scared myself that night. I saw how much I want to get along. But sometimes you have to make trouble. Sometimes making trouble is the right thing to do.
Life is complicated. You’d think on a prison island—what with the bars and the rules and everything—it would all be so clear . . . but it’s not.
37.
THE YELLOW DRESS
Monday, September 23, 1935
Nat’s going back to the Esther P. Marinoff School today. She hasn’t pitched a fit about it either. Of course my mom has made sure her yellow dress is brand-new clean—the one with the buttons Sadie sews on every time she’s done something well. My mom is in the kitchen packing up the lemon cake to take along, just in case Trixle decides to sharpshoot into the bay like the last time. Even though Trixle admitted Natalie helped apprehend the cons, he still isn’t her biggest fan. I don’t think there’s anything Natalie could do to change his mind about that either. Trixle’s mind is made of stone. It doesn’t change; it just chips off here and there.
Nat is smiling to herself and running her hands along the buttons on her yellow dress.
“Good idea Sadie had there. Kind of like badges the generals wear,” I tell her, surveying the small collection of buttons on Nat’s dress. They look like they belong on the dress because Sadie has sewn them so artfully.
“New button.” Nat runs her fingers along the bottom button, which is small and ordinary—the kind sewn on a man’s shirt. But when it comes to buttons there’s no such thing as ordinary for Natalie. It’s like me and baseball games, I guess. No two are alike.
“I’ll bet Sadie will give you a new button if you cooperate today,” I tell Natalie.
Nat shakes her head emphatically as if she wants to jiggle the hair right out of her scalp. “New button.” She points again to the simple white button.
“Not that new. You haven’t seen Sadie in two weeks,” I tell her.
“No Sadie.”
“No Sadie. Mom put that on?”
“No Mom.”
“Dad?” My voice squeaks hopefully, though I can’t imagine Dad threading a needle, much less sewing a button on.
“No Dad.” Natalie keeps shaking her head. “Moose.”
“I didn’t sew it on, Natalie. Mom’s just kidding about me sewing.”
“No Moose,” Natalie agrees.
“Who did it then?” I ask.
“Good job,” Nat answers, handing me a scrap of paper—brown with lines folded in half in handwriting I’ve come to know so well.
Good job, it says.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Alcatraz Island . . . What Really Happened?
Al Capone Shines My Shoes is a novel, grounded in history, but heavily embroidered by my imagination. While the characters of this book and the actions they take are completely fictional, some of the scenes came from true stories.
It was true, for example, that the families of most Alcatraz guards lived on the island during the years Alcatraz was a working penitentiary. Jolene Babyak described her experience living on Alcatraz this way: “Alcatraz was like a small town with one bad neighborhood. Children played baseball, flew kites and played ‘guards and cons’ under the shadow of the cell house.”1
The year 1935 was in the midst of the Depression. Money was scarce. Convicts who had trade skills worked for free as plumbers and electricians, painters, movers, custodians, gardeners, and trash collectors in the “civilian”—as the families on the island were sometimes called—homes and apartments.
Jimmy and Moose’s dilemma about how to dispose of the bar spreader came from a true fact of island life. Since the convicts acted as trash men, island residents had to be careful about what they tossed out. As one island resident remembers: “No glass, razor blades or other sharp objects in our garbage as prisoners were detailed to pick it up.”2
The convicts did the laundry for everyone who lived on the island. Though note-passing through the laundry was a figment of my imagination, the laundry sometimes did provide a vehicle for convicts to let hated guards know how they felt. Rocky Chandler, who grew up on Alcatraz in the thirties, described the phenomenon this way: “Convicts had their own small ways of hassling. Because the wind was cold up on the tower catwalks, most guards wore long john underwear beneath their uniforms. Occasionally EF Chandler’s underwear would come from the laundry starched stiffer than a board.”3 There were other island families who refused this service, as the laundry often “came back mangled.”4
Convicts on special detail were accompanied by a guard, but human nature being what it is, rules were occasionally relaxed or even broken. Surprising alliances formed in the most unlikely of circumstances. George DeVincenzi, a guard from 1950 to 1957, told me one of the most feared convicts on Alcatraz, Jimmy Groves, came to his aid one night when he had night duty in the cell house. Night duty was long and tedious at best, terrifying at worst, and one boring evening George fell asleep at his desk. He was awakened by Jimmy throwing crumpled-up sheets of paper at him from his second-tier cell. Groves, who had a bird’s-eye view of the cell house corridor, saw George’s supervisor approaching and he didn’t want George to be written up for falling asleep on the job.5
There were plenty of stories of Alcatraz children breaking the rules as well. As one boy who grew up on Alcatraz put it: “[I could] probably write several pages of things Phil Bergen [captain of the guards] caught me doing.”6 Or as Chuck Stucker said: “Two-thirds of the island was restricted, what do you think a boy was going to do? Go to the places he’s not supposed to.”7
Still, there was a stiff penalty for misbehaving. As Bob Orr, who lived on the island from 1941 to 1956, said: “We couldn’t mess up, violate rules or we’d be asked to leave the island.”
Ed Faulk, a resident on the island in the thirties, told me about the day he came home from school to his father and three convicts sitting around his kitchen
table. Sharon Haller said the parents of her friends in San Francisco sometimes would refuse to let their kids visit her on Alcatraz because they thought “we ate dinner with the convicts.” But they did not. Ed Faulk’s story is the only evidence I have found of the convicts sitting down at the same table with the civilians.
But for the guards—the fathers of the children who lived on the island—there was a terrifying side to life on the island. As one former resident described it: “The danger was there. Everyone knew. All you have to do is take the bone out of a T-bone steak and you’ve got an excellent weapon.”8 During the escape attempt in 1946 known as the Battle of Alcatraz, two guards were killed—both family men.
And sometimes the convicts did know more about the families who lived on the island than they had any right to know. Chuck Stucker told me about his return to the island after having been gone for eight years. As soon as he got off the boat, one of the convicts on dock duty tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Are you Ed Stucker’s son? Tell your father hello. I always liked that man.”9
Perhaps the most peculiar fact of life on the island involved the convicts who worked in the warden’s home. “The wardens all employed exemplary prisoners known as ‘passmen’ to cook and clean at the residence, and every thirty minutesa these inmates would emerge onto the front porch, where they would stand until they had been counted by an officer who could see them through a prison administration window.”10
And yes, some of the wardens had school-age children living on the Rock. James A. Johnston, the first warden on Alcatraz, had a daughter named Barbara who described what happened when her mother, Ida Mae Johnston, came upon two passmen fighting in her kitchen. Apparently Ida shook her finger at the men and said: “You boys. You stop that right now.” And they did.11
Generally the passmen were selected because they had relatively short sentences, thus they were not considered flight risks. But there is evidence that more than one passman took advantage of his situation. A houseboy and a cook were said to have a still in the warden’s basement from which they made a home-brewed wine out of fermented fruit.
Bill Dolby, who lived on Alcatraz as a boy and had the job of delivering newspapers on the island, remembered his interactions with the warden’s passman Chief Wareagle. “Carrying the newspapers gave me access topside and to the lighthouse. Chief Wareagle met me every morning to take the paper and slip me some freshly made cookies or candy. After a while I told [the chief] not to do that any more because I didn’t want to get Dad in trouble . . . which was difficult to do since he made really good pralines.”12
Clifford Fish, a guard on Alcatraz for twenty-four years, talked about a passman named Montgomery who, because of his unique ability to come and go from the cell house, was asked to participate in the 1946 escape attempt. Montgomery decided against involvement because he “had too good of a job [on Alcatraz].” But neither did he forewarn guards of the impending escape because if he had, he would have been killed by the other convicts.13
The prison was, after all, a maximum security operation that housed some of “the world’s most dangerous criminals.”14 You did not typically go directly to Alcatraz. “To qualify for a reservation at Alcatraz, the tough customers must have demonstrated their incorrigibility at the other prisons or . . . [be suspected] of running rackets or gangs from within prison walls.”15 In 1935, you were sent to Alcatraz if you were a troublemaker at another prison or an “accomplished escape artist.”16
The reason Al Capone was moved from the Cook County facility in Illinois to Atlanta and then to Alcatraz was because he worked the prison system to his own advantage. In Cook County he was able to bribe, or “tip,” as he preferred to call it, the guards and live the high life behind bars. “It was said he convinced many guards to work for him, and his cell boasted expensive furnishings including personal bedding . . . [the cell was] carpeted, and he had a radio around which many of the guards would sit with him conversing and listening to their favorite serials.”17 In fact, “a clue to his power [in prison] could be found in a recess carved in his tennis racket’s handle. He might have a couple of thousand dollars secreted there at any given time.”18
Warden Johnston described Capone this way: “He was suave and aggressive by turns, and it was apparent from the beginning that he was trying to show the other prisoners that he would find some way to get what he wanted inside, just as he had always got what he wanted when he was outside.”19
Capone’s challenge on Alcatraz was avoiding trouble from the other inmates. At one point Capone’s empire was worth $62 million20 (more than $950 million in today’s dollars), and some inmates wanted him to bankroll their escape. “Upon arriving at the Island Al was approached . . . to advance $5000 to be used as an escape plan to hire a gun-boat.”21 In 1936 a young punk named Jimmy Lucas stabbed Capone with a pair of barber scissors. Lucas’s motivation was simply to prove that he—not Capone—was the toughest guy on Alcatraz.
Capone, though a ruthless and vile human being, was not without his charming side. As Phyllis (Hess) Twinney, the daughter of the first doctor on Alcatraz, explained it to me: “Dad liked Al. But Dad was under no illusions about Al, who thought everyone was his servant.
“Even so, Al saved Dad’s life. Dad had to take visiting hours. The con ahead of Al came in and got really agitated. Every doctor had a little scalpel so he could lance something if needed. The guy went ballistic, grabbed up the scalpel, and came toward my father. Al heard the commotion. Al was very soft-footed for a big man, and he inched his way in, grabbed him from behind, and shook the scalpel out of his hand.”22
Although Warden Johnston tried to treat Capone as if he were no different from other convicts, in some small ways his infamy did penetrate the thick walls of Alcatraz. Many guards, as the story goes, gave Al their hats for him to dust off so they could brag, “Al Capone dusted off my hat.”23 But so far as I know, Al Capone didn’t shine guards’ shoes. However, he did work at the shoe shop in his previous prison in Atlanta, so it is likely he was an accomplished shoe shiner.
Al Capone never worked as a waiter on Alcatraz either, but the Officers’ Club sometimes employed convicts as waiters, and there is anecdotal evidence of convicts spitting or placing broken glass in a hated guard’s food.
Unless you were a friend of an Alcatraz civilian, or a family member of a convict, it was practically impossible to gain access to Alcatraz. VIPs and celebrities, however, were given tours on a regular basis and the administration might very well put on the dog for such visits.
There is one photo that documents a visit of J. Edgar Hoover to Alcatraz, but it’s likely he visited more than once, as creating a maximum security prison on Alcatraz was his brainchild. Eliot Ness was never, to my knowledge, on the island, so his inclusion in that scene was entirely fictional. Mae Capone was a frequent visitor to the island, and if the press got wind of a visit, reporters mobbed her at the Fort Mason dock where she boarded the ferry for Alcatraz.
The story of Willy One Arm picking the pocket of J. Edgar Hoover is fictional. It’s highly unlikely such a ploy would ever have been pulled on the head of the FBI, but the idea for that scene came from an incident relayed by Clifford Fish. According to Fish, Associate Warden Miller liked to pull that routine on visiting dignitaries. He used a convict by the name of Pivaroff, a pickpocket or “dip,” as it was sometimes called. Miller would give the nod to Pivaroff once he decided who would be the mark, and Pivaroff would pick his pocket. Then Miller would hand the visiting VIP his wallet and say, “You just had your pocket picked on Alcatraz.”24
And strangely enough, movies were shown to the convicts on Alcatraz twice a month. The favorite movie star of many of the Alcatraz inmates in the late thirties and early forties? Shirley Temple.
Although no escape exactly like the one depicted in Al Capone Shines My Shoes was ever tried, many of the details are based on other escape attempts. One convict escaped by impersonating an officer—though he only got as far as neighboring Angel
Island before he was caught. Another convict smuggled a bar spreader into the cell house inside his steel guitar. The flat soft prison bars in the Hole (like those in the hospital) were cut in that same escape attempt. An abrasive cleanser and dental floss could be used for this—and, yes, dental floss did exist in 1935.25
Some convicts also befriended mice. “Hungry for companionship, some inmates made pets out of mice they found in their cells. They made nests in their bathrobe pockets . . .”26 In another account, one inmate kept his mouse in his shirt pocket and surreptitiously fed him food crumbs when the officers weren’t looking.
After having connected directly to more than twenty people who lived on the Rock during the penitentiary years, the one sentiment that seemed to come through in each person’s story was what a close-knit group this was. As one man who lived on the island as a boy put it: “[Living on Alcatraz was like] having a lot of uncles everywhere to watch over us.”27 Or as Phyllis Twinney said when I asked her if she’d ever thought of running away from Alcatraz: “Why would anyone run away from Alcatraz? It was home.”
More About Natalie
Like Moose, Piper, Annie, Scout, and the other kids in this book, Natalie is a fictional character. I did borrow some of the behaviors and perhaps a little of the essence of my own sister, Gina Johnson, in building Natalie’s character. Gina was diagnosed with classic autism at the age of five.
If Natalie were a real person alive today, she would probably also be diagnosed somewhere on the autism spectrum. But since autism had not been identified in 1935, I could not use that word in this novel.
Though I do have a personal connection to autism, I did not set out to write a book containing a character with autism. When I got the idea to write about Alcatraz, I signed up to be a docent on the island. During the year I was an Alcatraz volunteer, I found myself thinking a lot about Gina. The island reminded me of her. Alcatraz is a lonely block of concrete plunked down in the middle of the spectacular San Francisco Bay, close enough to see the glittering city lights but set apart forever and always—a prison in paradise. Gina was beautiful and oddly perceptive but separated from the rest of us, locked in her own tormented world. When Gina was eight, she drew a picture of a stick figure in a prisonlike box and said, “This is Gina.”