I was afraid of the plank falling into the water when the weather was stormy, and I can remember the boat officer grabbing me by the arm and helping me into the boat. The guards always made us feel safe
In a poetic reminiscence of his travels aboard the Warden Johnston, former resident Robert Burrill wrote in a letter:
The countless adventures going to and from the island are what I remember the best. Waiting in the protective staging area near the water’s turbulent edge, we would first hear the bright sound of the Warden’s horn announcing the boat’s arrival. Excited, we would rise from our benches, gather up our travel bags, and button up our coats to begin the short walk to the loading dock. There ahead of us, in the choppy waters that lined the adjacent pier, we would first see the Warden Johnston, turning as she approached the dock. With the red and green running lights turned on, the Warden would slow its speed, which caused it to begin a rocking motion up and down, and then it would carefully choose its approach through tidal conditions that were challenging, and always changing. My eyes would go toward the pilot house, adorned with five wood-framed windows that looked like attentive eyes, wide open and focused on the dangerous task at hand. For an instant, the Warden’s character would be revealed as the boat came to life. It was a bright, handsome, white-faced, wooden boat; a spirit – proud and courageous for all to witness; a bounty, a soul. Then the guard standing above the bow bridges the notion, anticipating and holding the gaffing hook on a pole with which he slowly reaches for, then skillfully mates with the hanging docking line; the second guard at the controls spins the pilot wheel and reverses the throttle, kicking up white water and a stream of smoke from the stack while easing the port side slowly, carefully into contact with the rubber tire bumper, while the first guard walks back to tie off the stern. Then the railing hinge would be swung open, signaling the passengers on board to debark. The conversations were always friendly, because everybody knew each other. Finally it would be our turn to go down the swaying gangplank amid the cold air blowing up from the water's surface, and the odors of the sea splashing up and under the dock pilings that were textured with barnacles, black tar and the occasional starfish. Being helped on board by the strong, warm hands of a guard, following the passengers to the back of the boat, climbing down into the warm main cabin, and sitting on the beautiful wooden benches as the salt water splashed on the windows –these are the memories that stay in my mind. Traveling on board the Warden Johnston was like a trip to Disneyland. The moans and vibrations of the engine below our feet, the rocking motion of the boat as he – or "she" – is put into gear. First she floats away from the pier, often aided by the push of a guard's feet as he hops on board. Then backward away from the dock, a change in direction, and the visual difference of a changing horizon. First away from the adjacent pier, and then the flow of the water, the wake, and a quick view of Alcatraz in the distance, as the Johnston completes its turning maneuvers and departs into the San Francisco Bay. Here the wind picks up, and the Johnston begins to pitch in a swell. Salt water sprays the windows, periodically causing the windowpane to wash out of focus. Here the trip would feel like we were running in place, not really moving – and then suddenly the island, The Rock would slide into view, and the sensation of motion would return, gliding past the large, majestic green and black rocks, the eucalyptus and bay-leafed trees, and the large black and white warning sign: "Cable Crossing Do Not Moor." Then the stockade buildings would appear, large and strong with a wide staircase leading up diagonally, and then the main guard tower. A gentle reminder that Alcatraz was indeed a prison.
During the island’s initial years as a federal penitentiary, the primary vessel for mainland access was a boat named the McDowell, which was approximately fifty feet in length and had a seating capacity of thirty-eight. In May of 1941, planning was commenced to build a boat specifically for Alcatraz. The new vessel was constructed by prisoners at McNeil Island Penitentiary, overseen by professional boat builders Everet Soldin and Woody Woodruff. The boat was completed and launched into service in June of 1945. The Warden Johnstonwas a sixty-five-foot wooden-framed vessel with a seventeen-foot beam, and it weighed sixty tons. This boat served as the island’s passenger launch from 1945 to 1961. The Warden Johnstonmade approximately 140,000 trips during its service life. In March of 1961 the island newsletter, the Foghorn, featured a heartfelt parting letter written when the Warden Johnstonwas retired from service:
Farewell to an Old Friend
Early in the morning one summer's day in 1945, its sturdy and graceful lines glistening under its recent coating of paint, a newly commissioned launch floated from out the McNeil Island shipyards headed for Alcatraz where it was destined to spend most of its entire nautical career as a passenger boat between the Island and San Francisco. For 16 years it plied the waters of the Bay, as much a representative of the area as Coit Tower or the Ferry Building or Alcatraz, itself.
Constructed by prison inmate labor following plans drawn by Bureau draftsmen, the launch was named in honor of the late Warden James A. Johnston, the then beloved Chief Magistrate of Alcatraz.
The "Warden Johnston" was more than a vehicle of transportation, it was a way of life, the link to the outside world. It took the children to school, the sick to the hospital, housewives shopping, the light of foot dancing; it brought food, news, mail, visitors, doctors; in short, it became to the residents as indisputably a part of their lives as their toothbrushes. It was used as a freighter by Federal Prison Industries, as a rescue boat to sailors in distress, a gunboat in search of prisoners; it was a link in the transfer and discharge of inmates; it was one of the forces around which local activities revolved.
Now the "Warden Johnston" is gone, a victim of the auctioneer's gavel. Even to the end she transported herself with the same dignity that identified her throughout her reign. And as she rode away from the Alcatraz docks for the last time Thursday, February 16th, the residents began to know the feeling that would be England's if she were ever to lose the "Rock of Gibralter."
A Korean War supply vessel that had been converted into a high-bowed passenger cruiser replaced the Warden Johnstonin 1961, and was christened the Warden Madigan. The name was changed to the Warden Blackwellfollowing the new appointment. In maintaining the continuity of the island’s unique society, the warden would always remain as the central authority figure, setting the tone of life on Alcatraz not only for the prisoners and the guards, but for all of the inhabitants.
Strikes and Protests
The inmates at Alcatraz were not always amenable to the confinement rules enforced by their keepers. During the course of the island’s history as a federal penitentiary, there were twenty-four major inmate strikes in protest of the harsh rules. Former inmate Roy Gardner would comment in his 1939 memoir entitled Hellcatraz:
... discipline. Rigid, severe, unrelenting. Rules on Alcatraz, like the bars, are steel. Both are inflexible; neither bends.
In January of 1936, nearly one hundred and forty inmates went on strike to protest the rule of silence and the lack of privileges at Alcatraz. As inmates filed from the cellblock to their work assignments, many of them encouraged fellow convicts to help them protest by joining the strike. The tower guards came out onto the catwalks and raised their weapons toward the inmates, who walked defiantly and slowly to their assignments. The prisoners who refused to work were marched back into the cellhouse and locked down in their cells. Then one by one, the inmates were pulled from their cells and given hearings. A small percentage of them chose to return to work, but several were hostile toward the administration, and maintained their stance. The known ringleaders and vocal agitators where escorted to the dungeon cells in the basement.