The Edge of Lost (33 page)

I was searching online one day when I happened across an intriguing documentary titled
Children of Alcatraz
. The compilation of interviews featured people who had grown up on Alcatraz Island as children of the prison staff, some even claiming to have secretly befriended notorious inmates despite rules to prevent any contact. By the end of the video, I knew I had a story to tell, one of a hardened prisoner whose acquaintance with the young daughter of a guard would ultimately change both of their lives.

When I began to research Alcatraz, I was particularly surprised to learn about an inmate named Elliot Michener. As an entrusted passman, he had been assigned to work in the warden’s mansion, where he later built and tended a greenhouse, and was even granted special permission to work outdoors seven days a week under limited supervision. The paradoxical setting fascinated me: one of a colorful, peaceful haven meant for nurturing and growth, set next to a bleak concrete prison where lives often withered. During a night tour on Alcatraz, surrounded by the steel bars and cold gray walls of a cell, I gained a sense of appreciation for the cherished respite found in that greenhouse.

It was on this trip that I became enthralled with numerous escape attempts outside of the widely known Great Escape of 1962. I was amazed to discover how many had occurred in broad daylight, some without even the cover of fog. Two cases that especially piqued my interest took place below the Model Industries Building, including that of Ralph Roe and Theodore Cole. Although their bodies were never found, and various reports of sightings filtered in for years afterward, the two were soon presumed to have drowned. Similarly, Floyd Hamilton, the driver for Bonnie and Clyde commonly dubbed “Pretty Boy” Floyd, was also pronounced drowned after an extensive search failed to find him hiding in a stack of discarded tires in one of the island caves. He surrendered two days later, propelled by an onslaught of hunger, frigid temperatures, and snapping crabs.

In another attempt, using inflated rubber gloves for floatation, John Paul Scott managed to swim across the bay, nearly reaching fog-enshrouded Fort Point before he clung to a rock for fear of being swept off to sea. Battered and in shock from the cold, he was treated in a mainland hospital before being returned to Alcatraz. Other true accounts that influenced my story were tales of inmate performances in plays and bands at various U.S. penitentiaries, as well as internal corruption that infested the ranks of guards, chaplains, and even wardens.

While I made great efforts to stay true to history, conflicting research materials occasionally forced me to choose the most likely among them. The notable liberties I consciously took for storytelling purposes involved the following: inmate number AZ-257 was actually assigned to Rudolph “Jack” Hensley; the “Rule of Silence” was relaxed late, not early, in 1937; in the early prison years, movie showings under Warden Johnston were limited to holidays and special occasions, later to become monthly events; and, to my knowledge, Ralph Roe’s landscape detail prior to working in the mat shop is fictional.

In addition, Burton “Whitey” Phillips’s assault on Warden Johnston in the mess hall occurred a few weeks earlier while prisoners were in line to exit; to subdue the attack, Whitey was tackled by officer Joseph Steere and knocked out with a billy club by Lieutenant Culver. As for duties at the warden’s residence: it was the wife of Warden Madigan (Johnston’s successor) who was said to have left the radio on and newspapers lying around, and the warden’s greenhouse was actually built and tended by Elliot Michener many years later. The lower, rose-terrace greenhouse, however, did stand during the story’s timeline and was cared for by inmates.

For information about Alcatraz, I relied heavily on the following books:
Alcatraz: The Definitive History of the Penitentiary Years
by Michael Esslinger;
Alcatraz: The Gangster Years
by David Ward with Gene Kassebaum;
Guarding the Rock
by Ernest Lageson Sr. and Ernest Lageson; and from inmates’ perspectives:
Alcatraz: The True End of the Line
by Darwin E. Coon and
On the Rock
by Alvin Karpis. The documentary I found most intriguing was National Geographic’s
Alcatraz Breakout: New Evidence,
featuring a U.S. marshal who uncovered evidence strongly suggesting that the inmates known for the Great Escape actually succeeded in crossing the bay, though we will likely never know for sure.

To learn more about vaudeville and burlesque, respectively, I highly recommend the documentaries
Pioneers of Primetime
and
Behind the Burly Q: The Story of Burlesque in America
. From creative ways strip acts evaded decency laws to chorus line girls blowing bubbles for bathtub routines, the tales included in these videos—as was the case for much of my research for this novel—often left me saying, “You just can’t make this stuff up.”

Please turn the page for a very special Q&A with Kristina McMorris.

My late maternal grandfather’s roots all trace back to Ireland. Since he and I were very close, I’ve always had a special fondness for all things Irish, most of all his limericks, which never failed to make me laugh. My visits there only solidified how much I enjoyed the music, the people, and of course the breathtaking landscape.

Still, when I set out to write a 1930s story about a guy from Brooklyn caught in a web of crime that leads to Alcatraz, I assumed he’d be Italian American. But while imagining his history, I pictured him on a ship and realized he was an immigrant from Ireland. You see, my grandfather was dark Irish with an olive complexion, brown eyes, and wavy black hair. Growing up, I often heard my mother say how her dad was easily mistaken for an Italian. Fortunately, that memory came back at just the right time.

 

For creating the Capellos, historical memoirs about Italian immigrant families in New York were tremendously helpful. But also, during my college years, I was fortunate enough to live in Florence, leaving me with a lifelong passion for Italy (and not just for their amazing food and wine!). So, Mr. and Mrs. Capello were largely shaped by people I met there. At a friend’s house in Genoa, I remember we’d barely finished eating and her mother was already gearing up to cook the next meal, always insisting that we weren’t eating enough.

I also drew on a lifetime of experiences with my father. Although he emigrated from Kyoto, many of his traits seem to parallel those of a typical Italian immigrant father, such as his passion for family, his determination (okay, stubbornness), his heavy accent even after four decades in the States, and his deep pride in being American. In fact, much like Shan’s reaction upon seeing the Statue of Liberty, my father still speaks about how, back in Japan, his chest would tighten every time he heard “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And like Mr. Capello, my father still has a penchant for practicing English words over and over (every so often, we make him say “aluminum” just for fun).

 

The first one that comes to mind is “Machine Gun” Kelly serving as an altar boy at Alcatraz. The irony still makes me smile—as do many tales from the burlesque circuits, and the creative use of teacups during Prohibition. On a more sobering note, I was astounded to learn about the “Rule of Silence,” which many claim was one of the greatest hardships at Alcatraz, along with the monotony. I also had no idea that Al Capone had literally gone insane during his time there, due to the onset of paresis from syphilis. And I was equally surprised by all of the ways inmates were able to create and hide weapons while imprisoned, and even skirt the metal detectors!

 

There were definitely some entertaining facts I wanted to include but held back for the sake of story. I recall two that involved Capone at Alcatraz: the first was a formal reprimand he received in the mess hall for not eating the outside edges of his cake, since wasting was forbidden; and how he would subscribe to magazines that were later passed around to his approved list of fellow inmates, sometimes scratching their names off in retaliation for one grudge or another—while in the past, he would have likely settled the score with a bullet.

Other tidbits that didn’t make the final cut included the fact that families could pay to watch baseball games in public stands at the Leavenworth penitentiary; that at one time, corruption at the Atlanta penitentiary enabled inmates to live in a luxurious hotel near the prison rather than in the cell house; and that notable escape attempts at Alcatraz had relied upon secret help from up to twenty prisoners. On a separate note, I was also amazed by the dark nature of such silent films as
Broken Blossoms,
in contrast to popular lighthearted features starring the likes of Charlie Chaplin.

 

Aside from interviewing people and hearing their stories firsthand, I love hands-on research the most. For previous novels, my favorite experiences were a ride on a restored B-17 and a pilgrimage at Manzanar War Relocation Camp. For
The Edge of Lost,
it was undoubtedly my night tour at Alcatraz. Later, while writing scenes set in the mess hall or cellblock or on the docks, I was able to close my eyes and recall the gas canisters on the walls and the thunderous sound of the prison doors slamming shut.

 

I’m typically such a plotter, since my novels are usually set during World War II and therefore are heavily dictated by a historical timeline. In this case, I had a strong sense of the plotline, but at least half the story unfolded in a different way than I’d first envisioned. This included the major twists toward the end of the book. Since I personally didn’t see them coming, hopefully most readers won’t either!

 

I admit, I spent an embarrassing number of hours just sitting in a chair, staring at a map of Alcatraz Island, feeling like an inmate trying to conjure a way to escape with only the tools and resources a prisoner could have possibly acquired at the time. On some days, it was enough to make me batty.

Also, as I mentioned, the 1940s was my usual comfort zone when it came to historical writing, so tackling the ’20s and ’30s was a bit daunting, especially when combined with multiple ethnicities and cultures spanning from vaudeville to Alcatraz. I care so much about accuracy that it was easy to obsess about the tiniest details—only to cut them later when storytelling took priority. I’d venture to guess every historical novelist knows exactly what I’m talking about. But then, I suppose that’s why writers tend to keep chocolate and wine on hand. In my case, a nice Italian red.

 

 

 

The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of Kristina McMorris’s
The Edge of Lost
.