HomeMy Public PortalAboutIdaho State PrisonPAGE 12 THE IDAHO STATESMAN, Boise, Monday, March 1, 1976
L. A rope ladder got Lyda Southard over the wall of the women's ward, right
1876
In The
Statesman
By ARTHUR A. HART
Director,
Idaho Historical Society
Idaho had all but forgotten v
Lyda Southard, "the female
Bluebeard," when she made
her dramatic escape from t
the Women's Ward of the old t
Idaho Penitentiary on May 4,
1931. She had served nearly
10 years of a 10 -to -life sen-
tence for the second - degree
murder by poisoning of her
fourth husband at Twin
Falls in 1920.
Although never tried for
other crimes, Lyda was also
suspected of poisoning her
first three husbands and a
brother -in -law. Wide publica.
tion of the facts of these ear-
lier deaths, brought out in
her trial, probably had a lot
to do with the general public
satisfaction when she was
convicted and sent to Boise
to serve her sentence.
After 15 months of free-
dom, Lyda was arrested in
Topeka, Kan., when she
went to the post office to
claim a letter from a sixth
husband she had acquired
soon after her escape. The
whole story of this escape
was soon revealed:
In October, 1930, convict
David C. Minto had gone
over the wall of the Wom-
en's Ward with a ladder. He
carried hacksaw blades and
an offer to help Lyda escape.
e He also apparently con-
e vinced her that she had no
chance of a parole and that
n escape was the only way
out. In November he came
e again, this time with a rope
ladder and more details of
o the escape plan.
Looking ahead to his own
elease a few months away,
Minto promised Lyda that he
vould have a car ready on
Warm Springs Road when
she went over the wall, and
hat he would get her out of
the state.
Questioned about how a
male convict could get into
the Women's Ward, recap-
tured Lyda revealed, "The
trusties carried pass keys
and they were in our ward
several times and had ac-
cess to everyone. The offi-
cers did not know they had
the pass keys."
She also insisted, however,
that there was never any ro-
mance between herself and
Minton. By the time of the
escape, May 4, 1931, she had
sawed the bar on her cell
just about through and had
the ladder hidden where it
could be quickly pulled out.
A pipe for anchoring it on
the inside of the wall had
been driven into the ground
long before, but had not
been noticed by guards. It
was quite rusty when discov-
ered.
When she went over the
wall at about 9 p.m. it was
pitch dark. She walked to
Minton's waiting car. They
drove downtown to get gaso-
line and headed east on
Highway 30 to Mountain
Home. Somehow no road-
block stopped them, even
though the alarm was given
when they were still on
Warm Springs Avenue head-
ed into town.
Lyda Southard was not pa.
roled for another 10 years,
and not finally pardoned un-
til 1943. Reporters still de-
scribed her as "auburn -hair-
ed and comely" and noted
that she wore a "well- fitted
green dress," when she
passed out of the old stone
walls for the last time. She
granted no interviews.
LOGAN'S ART GALLERY
— Mr. W. H. Logan has re-
cently arrived from the East
and established an Art Gal-
lery on Idaho street, adjoin-
ing Dr. Arnold's Dental of-
fice and promises better
work than has ever been
seen in our Territory. We
have examined some of his
pictures and pronounce his
work handsomely executed.
He makes a specialty of en-
larging pictures, such as old
Ambrotypes, Pherrotypes
and Photographs. Besides
this he is doing his superior
work at remarkable low
prices.
MR. A. WOLTERS, super-
intendent of the assay office,
returned on Thursday last
from a professional tour to
South Mountain, Silver City
and Wagontown. His orders
are to make a trip to the dif-
ferent mining camps and es-
pecially to the newly discov-
ered mines, and report to
the superintendent of th
mint, the charac ter of th
lodes, the manner of work-
ing, amount of bullion take
out, etc. He says it was im
possible to ascertain th
amount of bullion produce d
in these camps. e has n
doubt but they have somi
good mines in Wagontown
but some of the reported dis
coveries are failures. It i
quite dull in Silver City am
only one mill is running. Th
ore produced from the mine
in that camp is very limite
this year. Prospects for
good year at Silver are unf:
vorable. In South Mountai
he was surprised to find
large a town. Business tool
very lively. They pay o
hands and expens,
promptly every month.
1
SECTION D BOISE, IDAHO, THURSDAY, AUGUST 29, 1974
PAGE 1■
HISTORY PRESERVED — Two employes with tentiary for public tours by the middle of Septem-
the state Building Services Division put their ber. Ralph Pulver, left, 301 Bills, and Mike Rom
green thumbs to work readying the old State Peni- ick, 419 South Fourteenth, are two of about 10
workers preparing the grounds for public use.
Project opens in September
By ROD SANDEEN
Statesman Staff Writer
Recycling the old Idaho State Peni-
tentiary into a "new existence" will be-
gin about the middle of September
when the stark stone buildings open for
public tours.
The guided tours will be one step in
the renovation of the 105- year -old pris-
on and its 330 acres into a recreation
and commercial development, Arthur
A. Hart, director of the Idaho Histori-
cal Museum, said Wednesday. The ter-
ritorial prison, built by prisoners with
native sandstone from the Boise Front,
was closed last December when the
new penitentiary south of Gowen Field
opened.
Visitors to The Old Penitentiary, the
proposed name of the project, will be
given a "historical interpretation" of
the prison. Hart said a slide show and a
browse through a museum at the site
will precede the tours, to be conducted
frequently by guides who are being
trained.
"There's a tremendous amount of
work to be done," Hart said. "I doubt if
it will all be ready by the time we
open."
Electronic "tour guides" will assist
tourists at the prison. Hart said 'six
electronic boxes will respond at the
touch of a button, describing and inter-
preting a nearby attraction.
Hart said it will be his voice antici-
pating questions about the gallows,
death row, solitary confinement and
other curious features.
Gardeners, carpenters, painters and
plumbers are sprucing up the grounds.
Hart said the most of the plumbing had
been disconnected and routine mainte-
nance had been neglected.
"We want things to really look nice
when we let people in there," the di-
rector said.
The Historical Society is the adminis-
trator of a $49,000 federal planning
grant, which, with matching state
funds, will finance development of a
master plan for the sandstone com-
plex.
Hart envisions camping, picnicking,
hiking and swimming in natural hot
springs on the prison land.
Utilizing existing buildings within the
prison walls, Hart said the master plan
probably will call for entertainment,
services, shops and restaurants. He lik-
ened it to Larimer Square in Denver,
Colo., or Pioneer Square in Seattle.
"It's not going to be a Coney Island
type of development. It's going to be
one in good taste," he said.
Specialty shops, like Western cloth-
ing, gift shops, and perhaps a farmer's
market where local produce can be
sold, are possibilities, Hart said.
"We're not trying to keep it grim and
grisly, but a pleasant environment for
dining and shopping," Hart explained.
But he said the prison would keep its
character. "There'll be no big neon
signs or new construction that won't be
compatible."
Private investors will have a chance
to rent space as small as a single cell
or as big as an entire building, Hart
said. One building is large enough for a
small cinema.
"The state will always have own-
ership and control but private investors
will have a chance to make money,
too," he said.
Referring to similar undertakings in
other states, Hart said, "Wherever this
has happened, real estate values have
grown tremendously."
The grant for planning the project
comes from the National Vndowment
for the Arts and is "aimed specifically
at helping communities develop histori-
cal and cultural facilities of a unique
kind."
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XXXI
Idaho Yesterdays
By ARTHUR A. HART
Director, Idaho Historical
Museum
Compiling a history of the
old Idaho Penitentiary is the
first step in plans to inter-
pret the antique site to the
public.
Reporting with fairness
and objectivity the devel-
opment of the Idaho penal
system, since 1863 when the
Territory was separated
from Washington Territory,
requires the study of thou-
sands of pages of docu-
ments, wardens' reports, old
photographs, and artifacts.
Heavy reliance must be
placed on the biennial re-
ports required by law since
Idaho became a state in 1890.
Not only did the wardens
report on new construction
and physical changes taking
place, but on population, na-
ture of the crimes com-
mitted, food served, and
kinds of work performed by.
prisoners.
They also revealed person-
al and community attitudes
toward criminal punishment
and reform.
In 1893, for example, War-
den J. P. Campbell protested
the injustice of the popular
notion that "once a criminal,
always a criminal."
In speaking of his efforts
to instill in prisoners' minds
"a desire for a better and
honorable life," he pointed
out that "nearly every one,
upon being discharged, has
expressed a determination to
never again allow them-
selves to commit any of-
fense, and this determina-
tion is the result of the en-
nobling influences which
have been brought to bear
on them during their impris-
onment."
The warden recognized an-
other problem, however,
when he pointed out that
there was "a class of in-
corrigibles who can never be
either persuaded or forced to
be otherwise."
He therefore strongly rec-
ommended that Idaho follow
the successful practice used
elsewhere of grading and
segregating prisoners "so
that those who are disposed
to do right may be treated
accordingly."
Many of the wardens ex-
pressed the conviction in
their biennial reports that
keeping the prisoners ac-
tively employed at useful
work was essential: Warden
Campbell put it, "I find that
the constant employment of
the prisoners in some kind of
work keeps their minds free
from plotting and is the best
agent for preserving order;
this also keeps them in bet-
ter health."
One of Campbell's succes-
sors, John W. Snook, writing
in 1910, said "idleness is al-
ways demoralizing, but no-
where more so than in en-
forced and long confine-
ment."
He continued: "Failure to
furnish some useful and pro-
ductive form of industry
makes a permanent idler of
him who was once in-
dustrious."
In 1923, Warden Snook was
back on the job. His attitude
toward the employment of
prisoners had not changed,
and he was pleased to report
the construction of a new
shirt factory which began
employing 170 men on 'Octo-
her 1 of that year.
"Prisoners who have truly
reformed should be released
as soon as is consistent with
the law," he wrote. "Work is
a great factor in salvaging
men and maintaining disci-
pline."
Part of the museum now .
being established at the old
penitentiary Will illustrate
the many ways Idaho's pris-
oners have worked out their
redemption. A special exhib-
it will show artifacts used in
the stone quarries, shirt fac-
tory, shoe factory, cannery,
and license plate factory.
A consistent program of
useful work for prisoners,
for which the early wardens
fought, has become a key
part of every American pen-
al institution.
Unless unforseen problems
arise, the old stone peniten-
tiary will be open to the pub-
lic by mid - September.
By PAT WYNN
Statesman Staff Writer
The old two -story warden's residence
at the Idaho State Penitentiary hasn't
housed any family life for nearly 20
years.
But many times in the past the
house, built of stone from the Table
Rock quarries, brimmed with activity.
Earl Stanley Gardner came for dinner.
Children's laughter could be heard in
the yard. Guests played tennis on the
private court.
Warden Louis Clapp and his family
were the last residents (1944 -'54). The
present warden, Raymond May, and
his wife live in the "new" residence
built in 1954.
When appointed, Warden Clapp, at
35, was the youngest warden in Idaho
history. His wife, Robie, five years
younger, now says "We've 'done more
time' at the prison than most of the in-
mates," referring to her late husband's
25 years with the institution.
When the Clapps and their son Jerry
moved into the warden's residence,
Mrs. Clapp remembers, "it was late at
night and I walked into the front recep-
tion room, put the suitcases down and
looked around. Plaster was falling off
the ceiling, cobwebs were hanging in
the hallway. There were moth trails on
the rugs and little brown bugs in the
bedroom. Lou began to take things up-
stairs and I said `Don't touch those
bags. I'm going to the Idan -ha!"
Upstairs, in one of the four bed-
rooms, they found bedsprings tied to-
gether with barbed wire. ( "That works
real well," commented a legislator's
wife later on tour of the house.)
The legislature appropriated $500 for
repairs, which Mrs. Clapp used for
paint and paper.
Jerry Clapp, now a U.S. District
Court clerk, remembers how the
scream of the escape siren woke him
up in the night, and how he stood out-
side the wall watching his father talk
to the prisoners inside during the 1952
prison riot. He says many of the
trustees became his friends as he
worked with them.
"I have come away with the strong
Now Deserted, the 1902 Stone Structure at the Idaho
State Penitentiary Stands at, Its Crossroads, Looking
Back at a Somewhat Riotous Past and Facing a Possibly
Glamorous Future as Part of a Proposed Idaho Museum -
Recreation Complex.
impression that an individual rehabili-
tates himself — not public funds, pro-
grams or money. He has to want to
change before he can be changed by
someone else," he said.
For his sister Marilyn, born while the
Clapps lived in the warden's house and
now an Internal Revenue Service tax
adjuster in Boise, life was not so free.
She was never left alone at the house,
guards accompanied her to school,
and, when she was older, her dates
sometimes had trouble getting through
the front gate.
She recalls using "prison jive" on
her teachers at St. Joseph's School —
"pad," "rapping and "doing your own
thing" were used by prison inmates
long before the hippie scene.
"Dad was referred to as the Long
Rifle by the prisoners," she says.
The exterior of the house is still in
remarkably good condition. The interi-
or mirrors years of neglect, misuse —
and occasional use as "minimum secu-
rity" housing.
However, the old house is now part
of the proposed Idaho Historical Mu-
seum- Recreation Complex, according
to Arthur Hart, Historical Museum di-
rector. There is much support for the
project, Hart said, and a feasibility
study, currently being conducted, will
be presented to the State Land Board
when it meets to decide the future of
the penitentiary property, which be-
comes surplus land in December.
Hart told members of the Greater
Boise Chamber of Commerce Tourism
and Convention Committee last week
that Boiseans shouldn't be ashamed of
the old prison grounds. "The function
of history is to tell it like it was." The
committee members voted to adopt a
resolution recommending the old pris-
on site be considered for a tourist -rec-
reation complex.
OLI
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Bloodhounds were used to hunt down escapees at the old penitentiary
:Idaho Yesterda y
Sentenc
By ARTHUR A. HART
Director,
Idaho Historical Museum
There have always been a
certain percentage of prison-
` ers in the Idaho State Peni-
s tentiary who have devoted
r all of their ingenuity and
energies to plans for escape.
Most of these have been
.;convicts serving long -term
or life sentences who felt
„' that they had little to lose,
Wand were therefore prepared
7 to take the considerable
risks involved.
s
Many Escapes I
Before the Territorial Pris-
on in Boise was occupied in
1872 (it was built in 1870),
the old wooden jail at Idaho
City was used. There were
many escapes from this
primitive structure, a por-
tion of which still survives
as a public display in that
town.
es Too
After the first 11 prisoners
were placed in the stone cell
house below Table Rock,
-there was an analysis of
their crimes and sentences
:an the Idaho Tri- Weekly
Statesman.
Judge Milton Kelly, new
-proprietor of the paper, ex-
pressed himself strongly on
the need for reform in the
territory's prison system,
chiefly on the grounds that
sentences were too long.
It is apparent that the
weighting of these sentences
Was rather different than it
would be a century later.
For example, two stage
coach robbers were given 15-
year sentences, the same as
was given to a man con-
victed of second - degree mur-
der.
Two Chinese prisoners,
convicted of separate
charges of manslaughter in
different counties, received
a four -year and six -year sen-
tence. Two grand larceny
convictions carried only one -
and -a -half and two -year sen-
tences.
Judge Kelly felt that every
one of these men would have
a better chance of rehabilita-
tion and be less of a burden
to society if they had been
given one, two, or three -year
sentences.
Whether they read the
judge's words or not, two of
these first prisoners escaped
a month after arrival. On
Gow, a Chinese serving our
years for manslaughter, and
Al Priest, stagecoach robber
serving 15 years, got away
as follows: Priest, who was
working picking up stones in
the small fenced -in yard out-
side the cell house, asked if
he could go get a drink.
Since he was wearing leg
shackles at the time, the
guard told him to go ahead.
The highwayman had appar-
ently secured a key to the
shackles, for the next thing
anyone knew he had
squeezed through a small
opening above the grate in a
window and was seen runing
up the hill back of the pris-
on.
In the confusion that fol-
lowed, the prisoners were
quickly herded into their
cells and locked up — all but
On Gow, who took advan-
tage of the diversion to skip
up the hills himself.
Since the United States
marshal, Jo Pinkham, was
in Boise at the time, the
search didn't get started un-
til he could get Rube Rob-
bins, his deptuy, and a party
together.
"It is very doubtful wheth-
er either will be caught with-
in the Territory," was The
Statesman's pessimistic pre-
diction.
Interestingly enough, Mar-
shal Pinkham offered a $100
reward for the capture of Al
Priest, but none at all for the
Chinese.
It was also discovered that
it wasn't On Gow at all, but
Ah Hood who had run away.
The ' Statesman said there
was strong doubt. that Ah
Hood had been guilty of the
crime of which he was con-
victed in the first place, and
that since he had already
served two - and -a -half of his
five -year sentence, he ought
to be left alone.
The judge also felt that the
escape proved his point
about long sentences. He jus-
tified Priest's escape on the
grounds that 15 years, or
even 10 were too long for a
man to look forward to, and
that he was bound to try to
escape under such condi-
tions. He felt that it might be
more merciful to just hang a
man rather than lock him up
for 15 years.
THE IDAHO STAl EbMA1V, isotse, ivtonuay, ,mugusL a, izpr%
PeM*tenu*ary
1 a ®
By BOB GRAMER
Statesman Staff Writer
For 105 years the old penitentiary
rested at Table Rock's and base. Al-
though the city suburbs closed in
around it over the years, what actually
happened behind its 17 -foot sandstone
walls remained mostly a mystery — ex-
cept to those who lived and worked
there.
Few outsiders ever saw the day -to-
day activities of the Idaho State Peni-
tentiary. Visitors seldom saw the walls
of iron -bars in maximum security, or
walked through a sterile, impregnable
place called "Siberia." Especially, they
didn't go down into a damp hole in the
ground, commonly called the "dun-
geon."
Now, prisoners, guards and adminis-
trators —all those knowing the secrets
of the old institution — have moved to a
new home, leaving the old site with its
legends, history and scars.
The state has taken over the prison
and plans to make an "historical
park," out of it — perhaps having a
place to eat, camping spaces and a
sporty ice skating rink. Some officials
are thinking of the old place as the
"Ghirardelli Square" of Idaho.
But whatever happens to the old in-
stitution short of tearing it down, it will
help tell the full story. Since March,
1872, when 11 prisoners were taken to
the old prison from Idaho City, to last
December when the final inmate was
moved to the new site, the durable but
grim institution has changed very
little.
Sandstone used to build most of the
prison's structures was quarried from
the sagebrush 4ills behind the in-
stitution. The rock was transported,
-cut into blocks. and set in mortar by in-
mates themselves. The native stone re-
sists the assaults of both weather and
men.
It has been a year since the prisoners
rioted and burned the prison causing
$100,00x• damage, but the sandstone
walls of the gq.ttea chapel, the prison's
sta -
standing first -year man in
the comoanv for July, ac
first building, and the dining hall still
stand.
The two burned buildings, as well as
the other structures, now are silent,
but they still echo 105 years of penal
history.
Many exciting legends exist about
those who lived at the old penitentiary.
Stories and books tell about Harry Or-
chard, who murdered Gov. Frank Steu-
nenberg, then spent the the rest of his
life a religious man behind the sand-
stone walls.
There are tales about Bob Meeks, a
member of the "Hole in the Wall"
gang, who rode with Butch Cassidy
and the Sundance Kid. Meeks kept
waiting for the two famous outlaws to
free him from the old prison. They nev.
er came.
Much of the history of the Idaho
State Penitentiary however, is neither
glamorous nor exciting, and was hidden
until the old site was vacated last year.
The story now slowly being pieced to-
gether, is a brutal account of how cruel
man can be to man. In a way, the pris-
on itself is a scar left behind to help
record that brutal history.
When the current captain of the
guard, Josef Munch, came to the old
penitentiary from Germany in 1964, the
guards were still teaching the "old
way" of dealing with inmates. The
"old way," Munch said, "was very
brutal," with a great deal of "violence
involved."
In fact, as late as five years ago, men
were being locked up in "Siberia"
(solitary confinement) — sometimes
for years — without being let out for
fresh air and exercise.
"Put a normal man into something
like that and when you open it up you
will have an animal," the captain said.
Siberia is one of the man -made scars
of the old penitentiary which helps re-
veal its history. It is one of those things
persons on the outside "would not have
anything to do with," Munch said.
But then in 1969, the public received
wind of Siberia. Then -Gov. Don Sam-
uelson ordered the section "closed and
destroyed," but it still stands today as
a monument to the "old way." Munch
said everything except explosives was
used to tear Siberia down, but nothing
could rip the old structure apart.
What is Siberia, Idaho - style, like?
It is a small building in the northeast
corner of the prison yard. It is painted
white, which probably is the way it got
its name, along with the sterile appear-
ance.
The building has 18 cells. Six — the
"best" of the bunch — are called the
.'hole."
The other 12 cells are about three
feet wide and eight feet long. In the
ceiling are two round holes, each two
inches in diameter, which gave the
men — sometimes for months at a time
— their only glimpse of sunlight and:
their only fresh air. In the floor is a
six -inch hole which was used as a toi-
let.
Legends and true stories are told
about men in Siberia committing sui-
cide or going crazy.
Di
A guard, who now watches over the
empty prison yard, said there are ru-
mors the barren stalls are haunted by
a "Chinaman" who committed suicide
there. The facts, however, need not be
Men in Siberia were fed a mono.
-tdnous liquid'substance which was the
tln'C Mnndav__Au¢ust 5, 1974
veS ecrei f SO Prison Lif.
7)
e
same day after day, Munch said. They
received two fluid meals a day — until
officials decided it wasn't nourishing
enough and served the men solid food
just before it was closed.
The only material comfort given the
men in Siberia was a blanket to sleep
with at night. A man once choked him-
self to death with his blanket, said Lt.
Dale Fahey, who retired as a guard in
1971.
Once a week the men were allowed
out of their cells to take a shower. The
shower room was located just in front
of the stalls, though, so the men got no
fresh air or sunlight.
Siberia, however, inhuman as it was,
still wasn't considered the worst of the
"in -house punishment" utilities used
by guards and administrators to keep
unruly prisoners under control.
Most Idaho citizens probably believe
the dungeon went out with the Dark
(Ages. Most did not know — and may
not believe — that men were placed in
a hole in the ground, three miles from
most Boiseans, as late as the 1940's.
Just after passing through the castle -
like main entrance of the old peniten-
tiary is cell block No. one. Towards the
far end of the sandstone building, on its
right side and in the middle' of a
parched flower garden, are two iron
doors.
Opening the heavy doors, a visitor
gazes into a dark pit 18 feet deep. State
officials this summer thought it was an
3.ccess or storage hole because it
didn't seem human enough to be the
dungeon rumored to exist.
But according to records and old
guards, the hole is the same dungeon
where men spent as long as a month
underground.
A decaying ladder leads to the bot-
tom of the pit. A person has to shinny
his way down for fear the rungs might
creak under his weight. The dungeon is'
10 feet wide at its longest point. The air
Is thick and dusty in the hole, making
It difficult to breathe even with the
Ironclad. doors above open to let in
`resh air.
The walls — cold, gray sandstone —
iave lost their luster because of age
ind cold. It is oppressively damp in the
;mall chamber —once used to house as -
nany as six men at a time - and the
loor is black mud. Your . feet sink in
ibout an inch.
Lt. Fahey says there is a legend Mrs.
?leanor Roosevelt toured, the peniten-
iary while her husband was president.
;aw the brutal dungeon being used
ind ordered it closed down. No other
eason can be found in prison records
,s to why the deep pit finally was
losed.
Few records exist describing what
appened, hour by hour, at the old
enitentiary. Most records are spread
mong a number of persons or simply
re missing. The records that do exist
�t the guards and administrators
nashamedly reveal through their own
ockets the roles they played in form -
ig the prison's history.
acquired by the Idaho" Historical So-
ciety), men still were in the dungeon
on Aug. 9, 1940, the day the book ceased
reporting in -house punishments.
The book is not rumor but fact. It
was kept daily and approved with the
captain of the yard's signature.
According to the book, inmates R.
Curtis and E. Pruett were placed in the
dungeon on May 22, 1939, for trying to
escape. They remained in the hole for
a month, during the hot month of June,
and finally were released June 21, 1939.
Prison officials, however, didn't
think the two had paid enough for their
disobedience, and moved them imme-
diately from the dungeon to Siberia,
where they remained from June 21 to
Dec. 11, 1939.
Curtis and Pruett were released in
time for Christmas, but weren't
allowed to celebrate it like the other
men because prison officials still didn't
feel they,had paid for trying to escape.
Listing as their offense the same
"trying to escape," prison officials
moved the two men from Siberia to
their cells, where they were locked up
— without sunlight or fresh air — from
De 11 1939 J
c. , , to une 11, 1940.
In total; Curtis and Pruett — now
Shept 11ames on a prison record
_ weren't allowed exercise or
fresh air from May 22, 1939, to June 11,
1940 — all for trying to escape.
On its soiled and ripped pages, the
old book also reveals the brutality en-
dured by a faceless man named E.
Miles at the sandstone fortress about
four miles from the state capitol.
A Mr. Arnold reported Miles was
carrying a knife. Based on Arnold's
testimony, Miles was found guilty of
the offense and locked in his cell — in-
definitely.
Since the book picks up Mile's plight
on Jan. 1, 1938, the day the book began
recording daily privileges, Miles could
have been locked in his cell before
then. The book skips most of 1938 be-
cause pages are missing, but the day it
picks up again in 1939, Miles still is
locked in his cell for "carrying a
knife."
On Aug. 9, 1940, when the book
ceases keeping records, Miles still is
locked in his cell — without ever being
let out for nearly two years — because
Arnold witnessed him carrying a knife.
Miles' ultimate fate was not recorded
in the book.
Some of the prison guards — in-
cluding John Williams, an assistant
captain of the guard until 1971 — said
prisoners who preferred solitude ac-
tually liked .Siberia. If a man spent a
year in Siberia, however, as was cus-
tom until at least 1964, they would
come out in "bad shape" or on the
"meek" side, Fred Hamrick, a guard
at the prison until this year said.
A man would have to be very strong
to "cope with a place like Siberia or
the dungeon, said Dr. Thomas Kruzich,
a psychiatrist who spends time work-
ing at the prison. In most cases, how-
ever, the man probably would come
out "broken" because of sensory de-
privation, he said.
In the maximum security facility at'
the old prison, the last building con-
structed at the old site (1949), is Death
Row and the gallows chamber. Even
on a sunny and hot August afternoon,
very little light issues through to the
gallows room.
No other portion of the prison tells its
story as does the gallows chamber. The
chamber is as aseptic as a hospital and
as pious as a church. A group of vis-
itors remarked once they felt uncom-
fortable in the chamber, because it
was as if they were disturbing some-
thing solemn.
The main room of the gallows cham-
ber is large, considering few persons
ever were there except the executioner
and the executed.
There is a hook in the ceiling, next to
the room's only light, where the rope
was attached. Below the hook is a four -
foot iron trap -door where the con-
demned stood. The door was too wide
to be straddled, but the victim couldn't
even if he tried because of wieghts at-
tached to his feet.
There is a window on one side of the
gallows room where the avenged fami-
ly could watch the victim drop to his
death to pay for his crime.
In the bottom chamber is where the
officials retrieved the body and cleaned
up the mess. A 50 -pound weight opened
continued on Page 11B)
GRAFFITI — Leaving something behind for others.
Old Pen Keeps Letyend, Scars
fn-
(Continued from Page 10B)
the door before the man fell to the end
of the rope.
Nine men were hung at the old peni-
tentiary. The first was Ed Rice on Nov.
30, 1901.
In the beginning hangings were held
outside in the Northwest corner of the
yard and water was used to spring the
trap. In 1924, When Noah Arnold, a
black man, was to be hung for murder,
the water froze at midnight as he was
about to be executed. He and prison of-
ficials stood in the cold December air
until the water thawed.
In the Dec. 19, 1924, Idaho Statesman
the black man was reported going to
his death denying the crime. When the
warden asked Arnold if he had any-
thing to say, Arnold nearly shouted, "I
want you all to know that I am not
guilty of the murder of William Crisp."
The Statesman reported that Arnold
was worried on the day of his death
that the gallows would not work prop-
erly and he would choke or be strangled
to death, as often happened in those
days. But the gallows worked. It took
"only" nine minutes to take the life out
of him.
A 36- year -old itinerant laborer, Ray-
mond Allen Snowden, was the last man
hung at the Idaho State Penitentiary.
He was hung on Oct. 18, 1957, for the
slaying of a woman in Garden City.
Asked by the warden if he had any-
thing to say, Snowden said, "I can't
put into words what I want to say."
The gallows at the old penitentiary
now stand unused, like every other gal-
lows or death chamber in the United
States since the Supreme Court ruling
of June, 1972.
There are certain things about the
history of the old penitentiary, though,
that legends and record books and
even the gallows can't say. What emo-
tions did prisoners feel? What did they
dream of, aspire to and hate?
No newspaper reporters went behind
the sandstone walls except for riots or
hangings, so the prison population
didn't have its spokesmen to watch -dog
their rights.
Naturally, prison administrators
didn't reveal to the public very much
of what was happening behind the 17-
foot high sandstone walls. So on the
cold, hard walls of the 105 - year -old in-
stitution evolved a new kind of
"journalistic realism," called peniten-
tiary graffiti. There, inmates expressed
the human urge to create, express and
leave something behind for others.
In Siberia, where the men were sup-
posed to be hard, cruel and unruly, one
inmate quoted a soliloquy from Shakes-
peare's Hamlet. Written on Death Row,
where men were supposed to be so un-
wanted by society that death was their
only alternative, one inmate scratched
the words "love, peace" into the walls
with a fork.
The old penitentiary has its share of
pornographic graffiti, but surprisingly
less than probably most gas stations. It
may be that inmates are afraid to
write of sex as they have no approved
outlet for sexual desires, said Dr. Kruz-
ich, so they write less pornographic
graffiti than they would otherwise.
Much of the graffiti at the old prison
is pessimistic and perhaps could be de-
scribed as philosophically cruel.
On the bottom of one bunk an imate
scratched into the dark blue paint his
philosophy towards life. "Barbarism is
the natural state of man kind, civil-
ization is unnatural. It is a whim of cir-
cumstance and barbarism must "ul-
timately triumph!"
Another inmate wrote in his cell tha
"The only true law is that which lead
to freedom there is no other." Anothe
declares "Viva la Revolution."
SIBERIA — White, cold and a "nice" place to
spend a year.
s '
Contrary to public opinion, many in-
mates were intelligent people with a
need to express themselves and to
communicate to their fellow prisoners
their thoughts, Dr. Kruzich said. This
helps explain why inmates might
scratch graffiti into the prison walls.
One learns quickly not to challenge
the ideas of a fellow prisoner, so many
of the intelligent prisoners who liked to
express their thoughts might write
them on the walls to communicate a
new thought to a fellow Inmate, Dr.
Kruzich said. That might be the reason
an inmate would write, "Life is what
you make it" or "a person that stands
as his own defence has engaged a
fool!"
Inmates themselves tell the most in-
teresting history of the old penitentiary
with their optimistic and sometimes
black graffiti. For the most part, 105
years of writings have been either de-
stroyed in riot fires or smudged out by
the paint brushes of the prison bureau-
crats.
But a great deal of the story of the
prison is written on the walls of Si-
beria, Death Row and maximum secu-
rity. On these walls, the scars talk for
themselves. It is here the inhabitants
tell the public outside, which for years
"didn't really care," that the men in-
side think mankind is "barbaric,"
"Jesus Saves," and that "power"
should go to the "people."
Visitors to the old prison — no matter
what the state decides to do with it —
probably will never forget the brutal
history of the Idaho State Penitentiary.
As one inhabitant of the sandstone
fortress wrote, "You are in a 'melody
lane' you better remember the nam
cuz you wont be the same after 'mel-
ody lane'."
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