By my reckoning 140 years, give or take, of my family’s timeline was spent in prisons; the years accumulated by my parents, a brother and his wife, a niece and myself. And it seems the family occupation within the California Department of Corrections (CDC; now CDCR, the words “and Rehabilitation” were added decades later) all started pretty much through expediency.
Here’s a bit of the story: My father drove taxi and ambulance in Des Moines, Iowa, his hometown, where in 1941 or ’42 he met my mother, a girl from the small town of Mt. Ayr, Iowa, just north of the Missouri border. She was a waitress and he stopped at her diner for lunch, a relationship ensued but was interrupted when he went into the Army and she went into the Women’s Marine Corps. She was stationed in San Francisco, he at Treasure Island, and after mustering out they married and lived for two years in The City and then moved to Boulder Creek, where they co-owned a hardware store with my father’s mother and stepfather; and had a son, born in Dominican Hospital in Santa Cruz in April 1950.
When in two years the store had not prospered, my father took the Civil Service Exam, passed it, and was told he could work as a mail carrier for USPS in Santa Cruz in about 45 to 60 days, or there was a prison down south of Salinas that would likely hire him on the spot. So, he borrowed his stepfather’s car, drove to the prison, got hired and then looked in Gonzales and Soledad for housing. Finding none, he drove to Greenfield where a man named Arnold Pura had not only a house to rent, but also a car for sale and my dad was welcome to both; they’d work out what the rent and payment for the car were after my parents got settled. Good man was Mr. Pura.
That was September 1950. My mother went to work for CDC in the records department in 1951, I was born in King City in 1952 and a younger brother was born in Salinas in 1955. (I was the only one born here in South County and am the only one still hanging around the area; a little something of which I am rather proud.) They transferred to Chino Prison in January 1972; he retired in 1976 and she in 1982. Enough history. Let’s get to the title of this week’s column.
One of the first inmates I recall my father mentioning, he never spoke at length about any inmate encounters, was Caryl Chessman, the Red-Light Bandit, who he ran into while on transport duty to San Quentin. Chessman was sentenced to death in the gas chamber, although he had not taken a life, he was a thief and a rapist who used a red light attached to his car to stop unsuspecting motorists in the Los Angeles area. But he also later transported the notorious George Jackson, who along with three other inmates killed CO John Mills, to San Quentin’s maximum security. Jackson later led an escape attempt and was killed in the process. Once while with a church group at Santa Cruz Civic Auditorium, I spoke with the special speaker, one Eldridge Cleaver, who remembered my father as an “old time bull” but had no rancor toward him.
In my short time at Soledad CTF, from 1979 through 1984, I worked with some well-known bad men. On a transport to San Quentin, the officers there took me to the chapel where I saw the porter sweeping and mopping the floor; he was a small man with a scraggly hair and beard and looked harmless, but he was anything but. His name was Charlie Manson.
At the time I worked the prison, there was a shortage of officers, so officers were often taken out of their assigned positions and placed into positions of officers on vacation. I did two two-week stints in protective housing units, where the clerk was one Sirhan Bishara Sirhan. At the time both Sirhan and I both worked out on free weights and we discussed the proper way to do weighted deep knee bends. I recall he once told me he had not walked on grass for 14 years.
In that same housing unit, or cellblock, was a man from San Francisco who as a fireman ran for city supervisor, and in a field of five he won with twice the votes of his competitors. But things did not go well, and Dan White made the decision to kill the mayor and another supervisor. He was not a criminal, per se, but had murdered two men in cold blood for which he only served eight years. We spoke frequently, as I was the visiting room officer for that unit; I recall his wife, Mary, was a very sweet lady with two very nice children. White was discharged and returned to San Francisco where he, allegedly, committed suicide.
On three different occasions I escorted an inmate to the telephone booths used by protected inmates (these being child molesters, ex-law enforcement, etc., who would not do well in general population); this guy was just plain creepy. His name was Juan Corona and he had been convicted of murdering 25 migrant field workers and collecting their paychecks. At one time he was the most prolific serial killer in the United States, and all his victims were single white men; today he would no doubt be also charged with hate crimes given his choice of victims.
There were other inmates who were known for their crimes, one was one of the brothers who kidnapped a Chowchilla school bus and buried the driver and children inside an empty semi container. I could not stand this guy and told officers to keep the creep away from me. Such were those types one meets in prison.
Take care. Peace.
