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Chapter 1 of Jerry's Riot: The True Story of the disturbance Montana Prison 1959

Chapter 1 of Jerry's Riot: The True 1959 history of Montana prison riot

A Whisper Spirit

On board the fall on the floor is thunder in the heart. And so, when a prison guard Clyde Sollars heard a hard blow, he stiffened in fear. For a few seconds listened, panting. Sollars looked at his watch, a anniversary gift from his wife. The hands showed almost four hours. He arrived in the duffel bag he had carried out in prison the main office across the street. Within the small mailroom was just a cubbyhole with shelves, wedged After a short hallway, which require the last letter of the day. This sound, strong and urgent, echoed in his head. The convict carpenters working with hammers and saws near the office of Deputy Director must have dropped a board. On used and suddenly felt cold, freezing like a flower. An emotion he could not understand, it worked faster.

An hour earlier, Sollars waited outside the stone walls of the prison, in the street, while his wife Helen's last letters censored. She was the godmother of the women behind of a new small unit near the main prison. He said that if working with mail superintendent for a few weeks, it would be better jail. Each morning, she and another midwife left eleven of the thirteen women held in their neighborhoods to their jobs in offices outside the prison. Clyde had the opportunity to watch her for hours work. He was one of the two transport officers and mail, alternating with another guard on road trips to go to the parole of offenders Deer Lodge. The mission most recently in North Dakota. Another guard asked, hoping to visit relatives in transit.

In this Thursday, April 16, 1959, Clyde Sollars could drive hundreds of miles to the east, free as a bird in the eastern plains of Montana life. Instead it has accumulated in a mail bag, looked his watch and decided that before the end of his shift, came once more in the Montana State Prison. "Go home, Mom," he told his wife. Era what he sometimes called Helen. They had two grown daughters and gone, and it felt good to talk to his wife that if children were still at home.

Arrived at the prison in 1957. Like many guards before him, who have found their way to Deer Lodge sawmill and mining and timber equipment arrived to prison in his heels land. After leaving the Army after World War II, he went to work in silos Charlo, Ronan, Polson Paul and Paradise all cities northwestern Montana. Sollars was a regular blue collar worker, as naked as the other guards that have arisen within and outside the imposing sandstone walls and granite. This was how the men in civilian clothes to a new value in a crisis.

He threw the duffel bag on his shoulder and walked forty meters on the main street and in the shadow of two cell houses powerful. The strengths were four floors. ike turrets of the castle-lined the pale sky of each eight angles. A cell house was built before the turn of the century, and the other during the presidency of Teddy Roosevelt. They have made a great show for travelers driving to the city on Highway 10, a two-lane ribbon of asphalt, and stopped and said Brownies to take their pictures. Prisons prohibits, by some accounts one of the worst in the country, makes for interesting vacation snapshots next to the most pastoral of Montana, in vapor form from the old geyser spraying faithful in Yellowstone National Park.

Like most prison guards, has seen little Romance Sollars on the architecture of the houses of cells robust. He thought that the ugly and miserable because I knew the misery they hide. He felt his eyes fixed on him with her eyes swollen with problems. The prison had eyes everywhere. Hundreds of prisoners under the supervision and remember everything you saw, as the guards if they knew what was good for them. Seven wall that had looked Torres inside, and everything inside looked back. Eyes looked everywhere. It is said that the prison's ears heard everything, even a ghost whisper.

Swept by the wind, the smell of spring snow on the mountain that stood as a backdrop behind the prison. The perfume nose dive, but felt fresh and clean. Sollars was only when the imminent entry of stone, what makes it exciting. Instinctively, he released his blue uniform jacket. He rejected the bill End on their way to stop the sun's rays, which was already disappearing behind the prison. Then he looked. On the outside wall of the tower, said tower 7 or main entrance, a guard was standing with a loop of clothesline. Unrolled and drop twenty feet or more to Sollars, who defeated him a brass key that filled his hand. In the front of the tower, standing almost on the main street where the cars paraded Sollars opened a door with black screen when entering the base of the tower two stories high. Here, innocence Deer Lodge city easily dissolved in a dark cave sandstone. A light bulb does not penetrate opaque yellow expressed in the corners. The room was cold and air currents. Sollars felt a change in him, as he always did when he entered. He closed the door behind the grill. This time the rope hanging from a round hole in the ceiling. The guard who had remained on the wall, a minute earlier was inside the tower, the eagle's nest where he could see the bowels of the prison through its large windows. Sollars seal of the key, pulled the rope, and keeping back. A few seconds later, the returned string. A new key the tube shaken tin. Sollars used to unlock a door of wood the size of his hand was completely on the opposite side of the tower. He opened the door, entered the prison yard, and locked again. The other guard, standing outside on the wall opposite the jail today, dropped the rope. Sollars has delivered the key.

He crossed the courtyard below the ten steps that led upwards to the door of the other person. Behind her was in administration, where guards had their prisoner numbers. The prisoners came to medicine or to get their teeth pulled in the dental office, or polish in black leather protective shoes. In Office of the photo you took pictures of the fish "," men who came through the main gate and wrote descriptions of their scars and tattoos on event of escape. The room is also here. Within the Administration was the business district of this city of criminals.

Houses cells, as older siblings, glued to the Administration white chalk on each side, that dwarfism. In the far south, left Sollars, was version 1896. This home cells had buckets for toilets. Despite all the technological inventions prior to construction, more like a Civil War-era fort with the galleys wooden doors of the cells had to be closed individually. It was made of dark brick, the color of dried blood. Round Towers of ceilings that reached a point where, first days on the flags flew high. To the north, where the cells of 1912 was essentially the same as a rectangular building, although its orange bricks it seems however, and square towers exploded. Even forty-seven years after its construction, the building of the guards called the house "new" cell because they had plumbing and lock cell doors. There is no doubt that the prison guards was Floyd Powell. The new prefect of the Wisconsin State Prison, a champion of reform, had proclaimed his arrival eight months before the change that shit considered a model institution that would be the envy of all U.S. prisons. Not everyone shared his enthusiasm. Some residents of Deer Lodge welcomed its presence with skepticism, others with disdain. The people were not accustomed to a determination of the guard outside it, and the prospect of improving the prison was a new idea. In Wisconsin, had a reputation as a bit reckless, because he was willing to go to jail cells for inmates to speak out knives or other weapons. From his childhood he lived a hard life and was determined to overcome it. As a child, and eldest son, took over the family farm where his father became disabled in a car accident. He also sought a workman to carry extra money. He was a driven, determined self-made.

The new prefect arrived in Deer Lodge to repair decades of degradation and mismanagement in the prison only vast Montana landscape. It was an outpost of all kinds, planted in a city of fewer than 4,000 residents in a large vacuum County – Powell County, coincidentally – When cattle outnumber Hereford. The prison remained in that place along the Clark Fork River in Montana was a territory, under lock exploring coves fed by snow and the road workers to steal their gold nuggets. It was a familiar face Deer Lodge Three generations of people working there. The old prison was a tolerated, if not tolerable, a ripple in the dark flow of a good life. In a wide valley that felt like holding hands lonely under the sky, the prison was the target in poor condition, a trace of humanity inevitable painful procedures. Montana loved his silent prison, a bit like ignoring a sleeping dog, for fear of its sting. With the arrival of Floyd Powell that was changing. There, among the folds of the forehead of the Mountains Rocky, that some of the most beautiful forests of Montana in his cloak, his reform program took shape.

As the summer progressed, Powell rammed forward with uncommon energy to try to change everything at once. He hired Ted Rothe, his friend and ally, the State of Wisconsin prison. To make sure prison, he hired more guards. To rioters began to classify inmates for crimes and behaviors. Even took the heads "with" that had overseen their peers in their industries and companies. Powell was a whirlwind. In his quest to make the prison in modern times, it alters the power balance within it.

Clyde Sollars felt a fear of prison. The prison was dead and ugly. Meet the men held the inside was like psychological torn veil. Behind her, were victims of the prisoners and their personal agony. The civilization built prisons to hide what you do not want to see. Sollars and all the other guards have found that in the middle of the damned, hell they found exposed and raw and full of pain. Guard has been faced with two evils and dangers actual appearances. They were in a vision Floyd Powell change in wind direction. It was like a storm building in the mountains. For many Montana, reform prison was worse than a futile gesture. It was a violation of faith.

In any case, the life of a goalkeeper has been a fertile ground for conversation. Outside, off the clock, the guards opened the sparkling Great Falls Select and smoked unfiltered Camels and ranted that he was, how it was too late and Powell policies and the articulation and the torment of his life. Heading downstairs to the door bars inside the administration, pushed a button Sollars sounding a buzzer. Agent James "Little" Jones, the keeper of the second quarter, appeared at the door. It was as short as his nickname implied, but muscular, nervous man, and his hair was thick and black. "Last trip for today?" "He asked Sollars. He opened the door to go Sollars then closed. Metal crashed against metal. He turned the key larger than the bolt closed with a processor. Jones made small talk before Sollars entered a small corridor to your right. There state sorting of mail at least ten minutes before the sound that frightened her.

Jones worked two doors down from the grill that day. On the west side of the building opposite where Sollars had entered, two doors from the grill space twelve feet away created a room where it is blocked almost all one days before the other door was open. These doors allow the court convicted. Generally, a guard turnkey second worked between the doors and have to work carefully to avoid being caught with two sets of keys. Today, Jones was working alone. In those days, when the afternoon shift was a small man, the door of the grill for the exterior has been left open. The convicts who had business to do is come on the steps of the court on the west side of the internal administration and went to the door second chamber of the grill. As a matter of policy, Jones ordered them to step back before opening the door. Standing now in its mailroom claustrophobia, Sollars thought back into the noise bothered him. As other guards, who was accustomed to listen beyond the doors and tap crude language to signals of real problems and bad omen. This noise had rebounded in the jungle of concrete pieces, like thunder. Had Council heard a floor that falls on the earth, blasting air now? Or if there heard anything else? His suspicions increased. For a moment, silence fell upon his ear, and in prison, a deafening silence. Here, a dictionary of sounds opened to mind Clyde Sollars', as was done with all the guards and ready for quick reference. In this prison of a thousand eyes, the danger came in the first round of the ear. Alarm sounds that fill the new prison. As the months go by the sounds become a routine model. The jail was their best routine numbness and a guard was to learn suddenly that they should listen close when changes in routine. From somewhere in the labyrinth of rooms has reached emergency shoes on the floor. It was not creaking of new shoes, but the warnings of a struggle. Sollars was curious and scared. She went into the lobby. Here in this dark room where the condemned had trompe trail in the linoleum, which is not carpenters, nor see anyone else. Where was Jones, the jailer on duty? Why were forbidden doors standing public hearing? The second, as Sollars including increased fear of a guard, a convict squat and sweat was brewing in the lobby of the office of Director Deputy Ted Rothe. His big fist knife purebred ugly red.

Sollars knew him. Do not know the man well, actually, no recalled a conversation with him, but in an instant confidence Sollars felt terrible man. Like a raging bull, Jerry Myles sniffed by a plane from nose to the left. Stream red purple and red face. His face attacker, marked in heavy eyelids and full pouting lips, has promised to problems. Its high forehead, where a single language and salt and pepper hair remained wavy, shiny with sweat. He threw his head back a bit, dared to challenge Sollars. Sollars heard this man has been dubbed "Shorty" and could see why. Myles is just a shade over five feet, and despite heavy arms and round in the chest as rain barrel, his feet were delicate as a woman. Her shoes was too small for a man who pushed his big body with such authority. He a bull in the small feet. Despite a common thief, Myles has a reputation among the guards as a wildcard, which means that young men stalked for sex. Also called "Little Hitler", in reference to cruel and authoritarian behavior in the cell of origin. He courted rules violations in an effort to draw attention to himself himself, and when he was caught, tried to repair so pitiful. In 125, his IQ was well above most of his fellow prisoners. Write poetry has experienced problems of strategic failure, and learned to play the violin. If it was not a psychopath, which could be a scholar. Little good came of his intelligence. Other times I regret his troubled life without love, he reserved most of his thoughts to the petty hatreds and illusions distorted. Sollars thought he saw a glimmer of compassion in the eyes of the raging bull in front of him. When Myles spoke his voice was gentler than Sollars had expected. "This is a riot, and if you want to live, City Cape, as I say, "Myles has advised.

At first Sollars did not understand that Myles has been even more dangerous as it looked. Jail was his home. Now forty-four years, spent most of the twenty-five years on the island of Alcatraz and five other state and federal prisons. The riots came to him second nature. He thought he knew better life in jail who had maintained. Myles has decided to impress his captors that, due to its long history birth, deserves special privileges. It became clear to everyone in Montana who wanted to run the prison. Myles came to Sollars. He drove the knife in front of his short body, as if trying to clear a path with her. Sollars no doubt that Myles would kill him. He raised his hands in surrender.

Sollars had been to war and saw some fighting in grain silos, but could do nothing against convicted armed. Myles Lee Smart came back, boy eyes of ice. Sollars knew that the young murderer. He was thin and his face was a child but everyone knew he was a psychopath and gave him the room. He was a smart way to challenge him impertinent. He walked around the prison with their pants down. Among Myles and Smart was Sgt Bill Cox. Wet shirt sleeves blood 'in the left arm from shoulder to wrist. He had a jaw of stone you look fierce, but now their strength is gone and the white face and dazed. Cox worked in the commandant's office between the lobby and the office of Ted Rothe. As Sollars tried to understand what he saw, a moment he wondered why the scene does not include the Assistant Rothe. Then he looked over about the boy. Smart pointed a lever action rifle Sollars. He seized the gun, not as a hunter with a thumb on one hand and the fingers of the other for a clear vision, but with fingers around it. The ominous opening to the nose look more realistic. Sollars smelled of gunpowder. He saw the other relaxation Smart to tender. Sollars felt a breach of the basic order of life. He blinked hard behind his glasses. Do not forget Lee Smart white face cold.

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About the Author

Kevin S. Giles is the author of “Jerry’s Riot: The True Story of Montana’s 1959 Prison Disturbance”

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