Birdman of Alcatraz Page #8

- It would be like old times.

- You'd wither away and die waiting.

- Forget it, Stell. It's the end of the line.

- Please, Bob.

Now, listen to me. Listen carefully.

You fought your heart out for me.

You fought your heart out for me,

but the sun's gone down.

And don't look for it to rise again.

I want you to pretend that I'm a dead man.

I want you to pretend...

that you're standin' on my grave.

Remember the story

I told you about Runty,

my sparrow, how I turned him loose?

Yes, but he came back.

Yes, he came back and he died.

Stell, you're not such an old girl.

You still got a dance or two left in ya.

Don't waste 'em waitin' for a lifer.

All right, Bob.

Whatever you say.

Now you... go on back

to Shelbyville, Indiana.

Open up a pet store.

All right, Bob.

Specialise in parakeets.

They're the coming thing, you know.

I could still sell Stroud's Specifics.

- There's still a market for 'em.

- And canaries.

- People always like canaries.

- That's the ticket.

And if a bird got sick,

I could look in your book.

Sure, Stell.

I can have a nice little business.

Stell, you'll be just fine.

I've got to go now.

Goodbye, Bob.

Goodbye, wife.

A prison is

a vast boiler of despair,

stoked by hatred and anger.

Alcatraz has the reputation of being

the harshest of all American prisons.

This means endless hours of idleness,

with little useful work and

limited prospects for rehabilitation.

Eventually, the pressure of life

without hope becomes unendurable.

On a lovely spring day in May 1946,

two convicts named Logue and Burns

started one of the most terrifying

riots in prison history.

With a contrivance made

in the machine shop and smuggled out,

Burns spread the bars in the gun gallery,

secured arms and ammunition,

and crossed over to "D" block,

which contained Robert Stroud's cell.

You.

Hapling.

Come here.

Come here, you fink.

Open it.

We're takin' over!

Call the coastguard and tell him to start

circling the island with patrol boats.

I wanna talk to the commanding officer

on Treasure Island, the chief of police,

and the FBI.

I'll have a statement

for the press by midnight.

Yes.

The frenzied plan of escape

was hopeless from the beginning.

It was predicated on getting

the key to the exercise yard,

which would at least allow

the prisoners to get out in the open.

When this failed,

they knew they were doomed.

After a brief outburst of destruction,

the prisoners settled

into a mood of quiet despair.

Shoemaker had no way of knowing that

the weapons possessed by the mutineers

totalled one rifle and one revolver,

with 71 rounds of ammunition.

He's hurt bad. He's hurt bad.

Go back! Go back!

The kid needs help.

You know somethin' about medicine.

Help?

Try and snap out of it.

Snap out of it, you punchy old bum!

Now hold on.

- Where's he hit?

- In the gut.

Let's go.

Turn on the PA system.

All for nothin'.

- How do you feel, kid?

- How do you think I feel? I'm dyin'.

Good femoral pulse.

There's not much bleeding.

I don't believe it hit a big artery.

It may have pierced the gut.

Colour's not bad.

Now listen to this. Men in "D" block,

this is Warden Shoemaker.

You haven't got a chance, you hear me?

You had better surrender your arms.

This'll all be over soon.

They'll get you to a hospital.

You got a good chance.

I'm doin' 25. I'll get grey-headed.

- What do I have to live for?

- You just lie quiet.

I'm fed up with this life.

You don't know what I'm goin' through,

old man. I'm sick of it.

I hope to God I do die.

Never had a real good day all my life.

Life.

Who needs it?

You're just a kid.

You got your whole future ahead of you.

Knock it off, will ya?

How dare you lie there

and talk about dyin' at your age.

Bull.

The kid wasn't hurt that bad.

How the hell do you know?

I tell you, he might have lived

if he'd put up a fight.

What's wrong with knocking yourself off

in a maggot pile like this?

- What?

- I said what's wrong with dyin'?

What's wrong with dying?

Cos life's too precious a gift, that's why.

Because the first duty of life is to live.

Prisoners of "D" block,

this is your last chance.

Show a white sheet at the window,

or we'll commence firing again.

Warden Shoemaker.

Warden Shoemaker.

Are you there?

Give me the bullhorn.

Can you hear me, Warden?

Harvey, this is Bob Stroud.

I can hear you, Stroud.

Then watch this.

There are now no more guns in "D" block.

You can call off your marines, Harvey.

This is isn't Iwo Jima.

What about Logue and Burns?

They're dead.

Of course, if you wanna kill us all,

you can drop a small atom bomb.

How do I know there are

no more guns up there?

Because I give you my word.

I think it'll be safe to enter "D" block now.

There'll be no more firing.

Sir, you gonna take

the word of one convict?

That one convict's been

a thorn in my side for 35 years.

But I'll give him one thing.

He's never lied to me.

Warden Shoemaker died in 1953.

My book was published two years later.

It is not known if its publication

and the ensuing protests

influenced the decision of authorities,

but in 1959 the old man was finally

allowed to leave the Rock.

It was not a release, however,

but a transfer to another prison.

Mr Stroud, how does it feel

to get off the Rock?

Well, If you San Franciscans

had any true civic pride,

you'd blow that place outta the water

instead of advertising it. What an eyesore.

Is it true you've never seen

a television set?

Yes, but from what I hear,

I haven't missed very much.

If you're paroled, do you think

you can adjust to the modern world?

Why? What's so special

about your modern world, son?

Boeing 707. Weighs 247,000lb.

Carries a payload of 22,000.

Each engine has a thrust of 13,000lb.

Cruises at 595 miles an hour.

Just because a man's in prison

doesn't mean he's a boob.

Will you work with birds

where you're going?

I'm afraid not.

In the eyes of the prison bureau,

avian research is, as you boys

might put it, for the birds.

All right.

Just one more question. Do you have

any particular project in mind?

Nothing specific.

I pass the time profitably.

I read a great deal, reflect.

I might even spend a pleasant hour

measuring the size of a cloud.

- Thanks, Mr Stroud.

- Good luck to you.

Can I have a minute, Mike?

You must be Tom Gaddis.

That's right, Mr Stroud.

I heard you were getting a transfer.

I thought I might get a chance to see you.

You know me well enough to call me Bob.

- How did you know it was me?

- An old con's instinct.

Bob, I was hoping when we met

it might be under different circumstances.

What circumstances?

A release, not a transfer. I'm sorry.

Don't be a square, Tom. I'm going

to Springfield, and do you know what?

I'm going to sleep in a room

without a lock on the door. Think of it.

To be able to walk in and out

of a room any time you want.

They got 400 acres up there.

I can walk a half a mile, maybe,

without once turning a corner. Imagine.

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