Alcatraz (69 page)

Because the prison career of Albert Bates was inextricably bound up with that of his rap partner, George Kelly, Bates’s experience on the island is noted in this chapter along with Kelly’s. During the 1930s, the press and J. Edgar Hoover always linked Bates with Kelly and Bailey, but his notoriety disappeared after he went to prison. His life on Alcatraz was exceptional only because along with Kelly he was allowed to correspond with his kidnap victim, Charles Urschel, and with Kirkpatrick, Urschel’s brother-in-law and intermediary for the family.

Albert Bates, who scored 112 on a Bureau IQ test, was considered by
his friends to be highly intelligent. A 1938 education progress report indicated that his scholastic work was “probably the best submitted at this institution thus far” and that he received high grades for the correspondence courses he took in English grammar and composition. Library records indicated that Bates read an average of three nonfiction books each week. A 1938 progress report characterized him as follows: “He admits his guilt, has sense of humor, and a marked feeling of loyalty to his partners in crime.”
³⁰
A psychiatric evaluation concluded that he was “not considered psychotic in any way. He is not resentful against his sentence, freely admits that he gambled everything on one chance to secure easy money and lost.” The normalcy of all indicators did not, however, keep the examining physician from labeling him as “a constitutional psychopath.”
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Like so many of his contemporaries at Alcatraz, Bates was philosophical about his situation, holding to the convict credo If You Can’t Do the Time, Don’t Do the Crime.

During his first years on the island, representatives from various law enforcement agencies requested permission to interview Bates in order to determine the extent to which he had been involved in various criminal activities across the country before his arrest in the Urschel case. These requests became an annoyance for Warden Johnston, as expressed in a letter to Director Bennett in June 1939: “Since Bates has been here he has been interviewed several times by FBI agents, all of whom reported to me that Bates is noncommunicative and they have not been able to secure his interest or cooperation in any of the cases concerning which they have interviewed him.”

For his part Bates, like other Alcatraz inmates, became anxious and uncomfortable when he was called out of work or his cell to be interviewed by FBI agents; he shared the convict view that “if they’re talking with you, maybe you’re talking to them.” His method of dealing with this matter was to request that Harvey Bailey, a man of absolutely unquestioned integrity, be present during any interview as a guarantor that Bates did not supply any information to federal agents.

During the summer of 1942 Bates, with Bureau director Bennett’s approval, joined George Kelly in corresponding with their victim, Charles Urschel. This correspondence was allowed with the hope that he might shed light on the location of his share of the ransom money, which was still missing. Bates’s motivation in writing to Urschel was most likely to help Ora Shannon, Kathryn Kelly’s mother, who was paying a high price in terms of prison years for her minor involvement in the kidnapping. Bates was, however, writing out of friendship with George, not for Kathryn.

In September 1946 Bates wrote to Warden Johnston asking that he be considered for transfer to another prison; his request emphasized the particular problems faced by a prisoner associated with one of J. Edgar Hoover’s biggest successes:

Over 12 years have elapsed since my arrival here. Needless to say, most of those years were exceedingly unpleasant, that is, compared with confinement in other institutions. I cannot believe that the purpose of Alcatraz was ever intended primarily to break men mentally, morally, and physically, consequently I have tried hard to weather the storm. . . . In the past year I developed a cardiac ailment which requires daily medication. I am getting up in years now and feel that my time on earth is a short duration. I would like to correspond with my relatives and perhaps even visit with them. I just cannot bring myself to write to them from Alcatraz. I know that my being here not only grieves them but shames them. . . . I just feel that after all these years and being one of the three remaining of the original transfer that I would ask you to consider my application for a change, that is, a transfer to some other institution.

Johnston and Bennett debated Bates’s request but before any transfer could be scheduled, his health began to rapidly deteriorate and it was decided that a transfer to Springfield Medical Center was more in order. On March 24, 1948, however, before the transfer could be effected, Bates was admitted to the hospital at Alcatraz with a diagnosis of “coronary occlusion.” The first attack was considered mild but, when it was followed by another two days later, his condition was determined to be grave. James Johnston’s successor, Edwin Swope, was advised by the chief medical officer that there was no hope for Bates’s recovery, due to the seriousness of his heart condition, and “it is only a matter of time until he dies.” The doctor asked the warden to notify Bates’s relatives, but Bates countermanded the request, making clear that he wanted no one to be contacted.

In June as his disease progressed, Bates pleaded with Swope to do something about the pain he was experiencing. “I do not believe you want me to suffer this pain if you can possibly prevent it, which I know you have the power to do.” A memo from the warden, for the record, stated that it was extremely hazardous to give Bates any more than a limited amount of narcotics although it was noted at the same time that Bates “was not expected to live.”

Bates died on the morning of July 4, 1948. The record of his death stated, “Patient expired while sleeping. Man awoke about 3:30 and smoked cigarette according to attendants. Man in no particular pain.
Found dead in bed 4:29. Pronounced dead 5
A.M
. . . . met his demise . . . as a result of chronic cardiac decompensation.”

During Bates’s last days, George Kelly was allowed to visit him for extended periods—on one occasion, for an entire night. Kelly and Bates, friends when they arrived at Alcatraz, had had a falling out. Now his old rap partner was at the end of his life, and Kelly was allowed to sit by the bedside of his dying friend on the chance that Bates would finally reveal the location of the missing ransom money. A note in Bates’s file stated:

Bates, Reg. no. 137 died. There was apparently an effort on the part of Kelly, Reg. no. 117, to secure information from Bates as to where he had hidden the ransom that was paid in the kidnapping case, however, we feel that Bates talked to no one about the matter.
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A newspaper headline reporting his death at age fifty-seven provided Bates’s epitaph: “Urschel Kidnapper Takes Ransom Secret to Grave.”

Alvin Karpis began his life sentence at Leavenworth on July 29, 1936, but remained only long enough to tell the deputy warden that he would “just as soon, and maybe rather, be confined at Alcatraz.” With a special railroad car already scheduled to take eighteen prisoners to the island three days after Karpis’s arrival, Bureau headquarters authorized his transfer, providing a psychiatric examination did not identify “any significant pre-psychotic tendencies.”
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He arrived at Alcatraz on August 6.

During his first years, Karpis ended up in solitary on three occasions for fighting with other prisoners, including two other noted gangsters, Volney Davis and Albert Bates. Other rules violations included hiding a small knife in his mattress, telling an officer who told him to stop talking in the mess hall “Aw, fuck yourself,” and suspicion on two occasions of being “under the influence of some concoction of an inebrious nature.” In April 1942 he refused to work and was placed in solitary confinement with loss of all privileges. While in D block he was allowed to write his sister to explain why family members would not be hearing from him for some time:

On April 20, I was informed that the mat shop, where I was working would be closed due to lack of material, etc., and that would I have to go to the laundry to work which was agreeable, provided I wasn’t put in a certain Dept. as things were rather unsettled there. It was insisted upon that I work
in that Dept. “or else.” I chose the “or else” and when the “or else” was over with, on or about May the 7th, I was put in the cell without any privileges except to take a bath once a week, a shave three times a week, and a hair cut once a month and all other privileges taken until I knuckle under and do as I am told. Naturally my mail privileges were taken right along with my exercise, sunshine, fresh air, reading material, tobacco, personal property, etc., so I had no way of answering your letter. . . . I just have no way of knowing when I will be able to write again for I have no intention of going to work down there in view of the fact that I have already paid for my refusal with “or else” . . . so pay it no mind if you don’t hear from me for a few years.

In January 1943 Karpis—who had been a baker before his criminal activities became his occupation—was sent to work in the kitchen. This assignment allowed him to make homebrew, bake special items for himself and other friends on the kitchen crew, and generally enjoy a vastly superior diet compared to that on the main line. In March 1945 he was written up again for “staggering around the yard and cell house this
P.M
. apparently from drinking some homemade brew.”

Early in his sentence Karpis repeatedly tried to persuade Bureau authorities to allow him the privilege of corresponding with his common-law wife, Delores Delaney, who was serving time at Milan, Michigan, for harboring Karpis and with whom Karpis had his only son. In August 1937 Delaney requested correspondence privileges with Karpis, stating, “Although our union was never legalized by civil or church service, I have always considered myself his wife. He is the only man with whom I have ever had marriage relations and he is the father of my child.” In September 1937 Karpis and Delaney were allowed to write due to the fact that Delaney had provided valuable information about the actions of the Karpis gang. Karpis’s mother and father took care of his child.

Reports that in May 1936 J. Edgar Hoover had got out from behind his desk in Washington, D.C., traveled to New Orleans, and personally arrested Karpis, then Public Enemy no. 1, enhanced Hoover’s reputation as a crime fighter (see
chapter 3
). As Richard Powers put it, Hoover had done “what the public expected of an action detective hero—to meet a criminal that popular culture had turned into a symbol of all crime in hand-to-hand, one-on-one combat.”
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The numerous versions of his capture had built up Karpis’s notoriety as a gangster, and the continued exploitation of Karpis as a trophy catch for the FBI was evident in the 1936 publication of a magazine article by Courtney Ryley Cooper on Karpis’s “Love Affair” with Dolores Delaney, who was serving time for “harboring”
him. Cooper based this article on letters exchanged by the two prisoners, which had been given to him by the FBI. (Sanford Bates expressed his displeasure about publication of the letters, which the superintendent of the Federal Correctional Institution at Milan, Michigan, where Delaney was confined, had handed over to the FBI.)

Karpis settled into an easy routine, but he was preoccupied with a pending detainer that involved the murder of Sheriff Kelly in West Plains, Missouri, on December 19, 1931. Karpis claimed that he was ill in bed at the Barkers’ home at the time; nevertheless, he said this event was a turning point in his life because it forced to him to become a fugitive.

Like other Alcatraz convicts during the gangster era, Karpis refused to discuss any criminal matters with federal law enforcement officers. Four postal inspectors called him out for an interview in August 1938 that lasted for five minutes. Meetings with FBI agents in July and in August 1946 lasted only ten and seven minutes respectively. These efforts may have been encouraged by the fact that in January 1937 Karpis had agreed to talk with three attorneys from Wisconsin and Minnesota in the presence of a court reporter and an Alcatraz guard. This interview concerned the robbery of the Kraft State Bank at Menominee, Wisconsin. Karpis was asked if he knew Lawrence DeVol and if DeVol had told him that he had robbed the bank; Karpis replied in the affirmative and identified three other participants, two of whom were shot and killed during the getaway; the third, Verne Miller, had later been killed. When asked why he gave up these names when he had previously denied any knowledge of the robbery, Karpis stated, “I would not make this statement at this time if DeVol were not dead. He is dead now and I can’t hurt him.” Karpis’s cooperation was acceptable to other convicts because it consisted of identifying only dead men and denying that other suspects confined at Alcatraz—Tom Holden and Frank Keating—were participants.

A December 1948 report noted that while Karpis was a “good and a rapid worker, he is considered an evil influence on the other inmates in the kitchen. He is an organizer and agitator, giving instructions to new inmates coming into the kitchen. He is frequently close to the line in getting reported for insolence.” Later that year, however, Karpis was given credit for foiling an attempt by disgruntled kitchen workers to sabotage a Christmas fruitcake.

In December 1950 the classification committee considered awarding him some meritorious good time but did not forward this proposal because good time could not shorten a life sentence. At the midpoint of his
prison career Karpis was described as “a leader among the inmates and has their respect.” Two years later, another report claimed that he was “unpopular among other inmates, but is treated with some measure of respect. The appellation ‘creepy’ is commonly used—but behind his back, for many of the younger prisoners still are prone to be awed by him, obviously impressed by his background.”

While other inmates interviewed by the author described Alvin Karpis as “a nice guy in his later years,” he had little communication with Kelly, the other famous gangster. Both spent their out-of-cell time with different small circles of friends. In an apparent clash of egos, Karpis disparaged the greeting he received from Kelly when he arrived on the Rock.