Buckner told Warden Johnston that if he could obtain demolition grenades, he could lower these explosives into confined areas with great accuracy, and without risking the lives of his officers. Johnston quickly made arrangements to have the ammunition boated over from a military arsenal in Benecia. When the supplies arrived, the rescue team started drilling holes through the ceilings directly above the corridors. The holes were drilled large enough to allow fist-sized grenades to pass through the openings. In a systematic process, Buckner rigged a wire around the casing cap to hold the grenade, and then delicately lowered it through the opening. The string was generally measured to a specific length, and thus the explosive device was lowered to a precise height. Once the string was spooled out and the grenade had reached the desired position, Buckner would sharply jerk a second string that was affixed to the discharge mechanism, and this would expel the pin. He was later described by one of the correctional officers as having the skill of a “masterful puppeteer.”
The cement scar patterns are still visible today where Buckner detonated the explosives.
Warden Johnston was also pleased to welcome two other visitors, General Joseph W. “Vinegar Joe ”Stilwell and General Frank Merrill, who had come over to the island on an Army vessel. Johnston and the two Generals evaluated the situation in meticulous detail, and reviewed every officer’s post assignment, as well as the strategy for regaining control of the cellhouse. The generals seemed impressed with the containment procedures already in place, and they reviewed some of the artillery configurations that they had recommended to help reestablish control. The light fragmentation explosives they had been using were replaced with anti-tank shells, which were dropped through the drilled ceiling portals.
The guards and Marines also fired rifle grenades from the lawn on the side of the building that faced the Golden Gate Bridge. Army-style cots were set up in the administration building so the officers could remain close by while they rested. Many of the officers had been up for over twenty-four hours, including Burch, who had been tied up for nine hours following the brutal attack, and had then stayed up all night on watch in the gallery with Bergen. Bergen and the others had also begun to tire after having been up all night, but before turning in, both men met with the Warden and described in detail all of the events that they had witnessed from their perspective in the gun gallery. At 7:00 a.m., the Alcatraz staff received the dreadful news that Bill Miller had gone into cardiac arrest, and that the surgeons had been unable to resuscitate him. One of the doctors explained to Johnston over the phone that Miller had fallen into a deep state of shock as a result of severe blood loss and had subsequently died. Cecil Corwin was still deemed to be in critical condition, but he was expected to survive his injuries. Weinhold and Simpson had done well in surgery, and had been moved into the intensive care ward where they were now listed in critical but stable condition. They had both been placed in oxygen tents, and allowed to rest. The other guards were also in a stable condition, and were expected to recover fully from their injuries.
After interviewing Burch and Bergen, the Warden walked the short distance to his house and retired for a short nap. Sleep would be difficult however, as more marines were landing on the island, and the artillery attack had intensified. Dr. Roucek pulled out a small flask and provided Burch and Bergen with a shot of whisky to help sooth their nerves. By 11:00 a.m. the situation was still considered to be out of control, and heavier artillery was brought to the island, including anti-tank mortars and bazookas. The firing grew more and more intensive, and a staccato rhythm of bombing began against the exterior walls of D Block, launched from the grassy slopes below the south wall. Small brush fires started below the cellhouse, and a heavy blanket of dense pungent smoke could be seen from all points of San Francisco. Large groups of journalists keenly watched the events from boats that were idling in the waters only a few hundred yards away. Jack Eoisie was one of the reporters who had been assigned to cover the escape attempt by the San Francisco Chronicle. He described the events in sharp detail on page four of the May 4 thedition:
Five stout men, protected by a ledge about 100 yards directly beneath and out from the “hot” cell block window are doing the job of keeping the convicts from reaching the window ledge—and a possible dash for freedom through the shattered bars. They are doing the job by firing, about every five minutes, four fragmentation grenades launched from either an Army rifle or carbine. During the hours we watched, no other weapon was used—no bazookas and nor mortars. Earlier in the day a few smoke grenades churned up outside the beleaguered cell. It is understood that of the five men who can be seen operating the grenade launcher with methodical precision, one is a Marine. He is Warrant Officer C.L. Beckner [sic], who commands the Marine detachment on the island.
They are preparing to fire now. The grenade is inserted carefully into the launcher device attached to the muzzle of the gun. There is a slight report as the grenade leaves the gun, but it is drowned out by the sharp concussion as the projectile strikes the wall. A flash of yellow flame lights up, and then curling black smoke. This one, then, missed the cell, but immediately another is fired, and all that can be heard is a smothered concussion. Black smoke drifts out the window. The one went in. Each grenade sprays the cell area with sharp metal for a radius of 50 feet, forcing the convicts inside to keep down on the floor or behind sheltering objects in corners. Two more grenades are fired and then, the stronghold relaxes. The men can be seen lighting cigarettes and stretching out on the beds of bright purple flowers.
Bergen returned to his post in the West Gallery after a short rest. As he drew near, the bombing increased, causing the men to take cover under the low sheath of thin metal plating across the front of the gallery. The grenades were deafening even to the officers, and the fury of the bombing was unrelenting. In a later memoir co-written by Bergen entitled Alcatraz ‘46, the officer recalled giving a wry look to Mahan and joking: “That’s one hell of a breakfast they’re serving.” Buckner continued his carefully calculated barrage of explosives, drilling along the corridor path and dropping the grenades into the cellblock. The men imprisoned in the isolation cells were trapped and unable to take cover behind any fixed objects, which would have offered some protection. As the shrapnel from the explosives grew more intense, the inmates began to scream and plead for someone to close the heavy steel cell doors.
Bergen would later recount one of the most intriguing events that occurred during the escape attempt. Robert Stroud, known as the “Birdman of Alcatraz,” had remained in cell #41 on the topmost tier, until the bombardment grew so intense that he was forced out. Stroud soon noted that the majority of the bullets were actually striking closest in proximity to his cell. He finally fled down the tier, and took refuge in another cell. Bergen recalled that he could hear the sheer panic of the inmates confined in the cells along the flats, until finally Stroud emerged and walked to the end of the tier against the wall closest to his cell. Remarkably, he climbed over the railing and lowered himself onto the second tier rail, at great risk of being struck by gunfire or shrapnel. This was an amazing feat for a man of fifty-six years. He then balanced himself, crossed over the second rail, and dropped to the cellblock floor where he quickly closed each of the cell fronts. He then went to the cells beyond, and hoisted himself up, climbing tier by tier back to the top. Bergen and Mahan watched in complete amazement. Stroud, who had once been a savior of sick birds, had now attempted to help his fellow inmates when they were in danger’s way. Famed inmate Henri Young, later wrote a letter to a family about his time being held-up in his D-Block celclass="underline"
May 15, 1946
Dear Bob & Naomi,