Let’s start with what you’re bound to ask: why’d I take damn job if feared from inception whole scheme doomed? I had to because believed only I was tough and traditional enough to prevent do-gooders from ruining entire penal system. If they were going to transform Alcatraz into convict heaven, I was honor bound to limit rot.
It’s absurd, whole twenty-second century notion criminals only rehabilitated when mollycoddled. I wish pusillanimous reformers weren’t backed by eighty percent of country. How did we become soft? In old days we wouldn’t have spent several billion to make Alcatraz seven-star tropical hotel. I know, some critics claim that’s why I moved there. Poppycock. I moved in spite of luxury.
From start I silently condemned congressional mandate prisoners, hateful felons all, would have thousand square feet private living space containing jumbo television with access to every channel on planet and moon, supersonic stereo, omniscient computer, gourmet kitchen, and queen-size bed. It also burned me cons could bring spouses and significant others, of whatever sex, for trysts every night save Sunday. Cell doors locking only from inside also galled. And was it necessary to build extravagant athletic complex offering all principal indoor and outdoor sports?
As I’d predicted, circumspectly in diary, these outrages didn’t make bad men good. They made good men bad so could get on list for next Alcatraz-style prisons sprouting like weeds in spring garden. Soon quarter of population will be locked up. I’m thankful office now in cell.