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Chapter 10: The "Riot" of '46
- University of Texas Press
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10 THE ‘‘RIOT’’ OF ’46 Not long after the shooting started, Cretzer unlocked the door leading into the dining room. From there he shot a few rifle rounds at a guard named Levinson, who occupied the gun tower overlooking the yard. Levinson dropped to the floor inside the tower and did not attempt to return fire. Later we learned that he never moved a muscle for almost five hours until other guards took his position in order to shoot into the cell house. Before they climbed Levinson’s tower, the guards thought he might have somehow been captured because he never answered the phone, despite their frantic calls. They were surprised and relieved to find him cowering on the tower floor. Levinson himself admitted later that he had been scared to death, and said he wasn’t paid enough money to serve as a target for armed prisoners. The sound of gunfire continued sporadically until early evening. When the shooting tapered off, I could hear the hushed voice of a guard who had managed to enter the cell house undetected. He was saying something to another guard crouched down beside him, and I watched the hunched figures inch their way toward my cell. When they got nearer, I noticed that there were more than two. The first pair wore a type of uniform not familiar to me. As it turned out, they were some of the many guards who had been sent over from San Quentin as reinforcements to help regain control of the prison. The two guards from Quentin cautiously inched their way toward me. As they neared my cell, I saw that they were both carrying submachine guns. They seemed to pay no attention to me lying on top of my bunk with my head next to the bars. Since my cell door was still unlocked, I had to press the door closed with my thumb so that it appeared to be securely locked. If the guards found my door unlocked, they would know that I had been involved in the breakout. The Quentin guards passed in front of my cell just inches from my face, followed by three guards from Alcatraz. As the Alcatraz guards neared my cell, I could see the fear etched on their faces. Their eyes apprehensively scanned the upper tiers in case a prisoner was lying in ambush. I heard a familiar voice whisper hoarsely, ‘‘Close in, close in.’’ It was Deputy Warden Miller—Meathead—giving orders to the guards as he brought up the rear. He kept pushing the guard in front of him forward. None of the guards seemed to pay him any mind, and they continued to inch along in a stooped crouch. They ignored him again when he ordered a couple to run across the corridor and station themselves under the second-tier walkway of A block. He wanted them to provide gun coverage for the rest of the assault team as they approached the far end of B block. Instead, they clung to the edge of B block rather than expose themselves to gunfire. Miller wisely didn’t press the issue. When his head was less than a foot away from mine, Meathead suddenly saw me. He whirled around to face me, then shoved a shotgun into my cell, smashing my face with the cold barrel. He must have thought I would pull my head back or cower. He didn’t know that I couldn’t budge for fear of letting the door come open. I just took the brunt of the shotgun barrel on my left cheek below the eye and kept my thumb pressed tightly against the door. He snarled at me, ‘‘You bastard, I’ll kill you for this! You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you!’’ Had he discovered my door unlocked, I have no doubt that he would have shot me dead right there and then. He pulled the shotgun out of my cell, muttering, ‘‘I’ll take care of you later.’’ I saw the guards reach the far end of B block and then turn the corner in the direction of C block. The question going through my mind was why Miller thought that I was involved. I wracked my brain to retrace my steps, and I remained sure that no guard had seen me out of my cell. Later I learned that Burch had regained consciousness in the gun gallery just as Carnes went searching for Coy...