All language subtitles for Birdman.of.Alcatraz.1962.720p.BluRay.H264.AAC-RARBG

...during which you'll see
all the man-made and natural beauties

of the most spectacular bay in the world.

You'll pass beneath
the famous Golden Gate Bridge,

considered by most authorities

to be one of the most striking structures
ever erected by man.

From the bay, you will thrill
to the magnificent San Francisco skyline.

Your cruise ship, the Harbor King,
will circle Alcatraz,

a maximum security prison containing
the most dangerous criminals in America.

It has been the home of
such notorious figures as Al Capone,

Baby Face Nelson and Machine Gun Kelly.

That's the island of Alcatraz.

There's a man leaving there today
after 17 years' imprisonment.

His name is Robert Stroud.

He's spent most of his life behind bars,
including 43 years in solitary confinement.

He has never used a telephone
or driven an automobile.

The last time he broke bread
with another human being was in 1916,

the year Kaiser Wilhelm ordered
the sinking of the Lusitania in World War I.

My name is Tom Gaddis.

I wrote a book about this man.

Our story properly begins
in the year 1912.

A cargo of rebellious prisoners
was being transferred

from the federal penitentiary
at McNeil Island, Washington,

to "The Big Top,"

the name given by convicts
to the prison at Leavenworth, Kansas.

Break another one!

Shut up!

You make one more move,
and I'll take you off at the neck.

Robert F. Stroud.

Breaking that train window
was a serious offense.

It was hot. I was thinking of my lungs.

Did you think about
the possible consequences?

You might have started a riot.

Even a convict's got a right to breathe.

Rights? I don't think
you know the meaning of the word.

In 1909, in Alaska,

you appointed yourself
judge, jury, and executioner,

and killed one Charles Donner

because he allegedly beat up a friend
named Katie Malone,

a prostitute.

Stroud, you were transferred here
to Leavenworth

because of an inferior record.

Now, I propose to give you a fresh start.

Such rights as you will enjoy
are listed here in my rules and regulations.

There are 86 of them.
I suggest you memorize them.

I know them. They're the same in all pens.

They tell you when to eat, when to sleep,
when to go to the privy.

Precisely.

And what you'll do for every minute,
24 hours a day.

You're going to be here
for nine long years, Stroud.

So, with or without your cooperation,
I intend to make a man of you

before you check out these gates.

You'll conform to our ideas
of how you should behave.

You'll learn the lesson now, or you'll learn it
five years from now, but you'll learn.

For breaking that train window,

all your privileges are suspended
for 30 days.

That's all, Mr. Ransom.

Let's go.

You're one of the new fish
from McNeil, huh?

Yeah.

I'm Tony Qualen. Who are you?

Stroud.

You're lucky to be in this cell block.

The boss here is a friend of mine.

Picture of your mother?

Put it back.

Put it back.

What'd I do?

Just don't touch it again.

You know the guy
you're bunking with? Anthony?

Understand that you and him
had a little misunderstanding.

Anthony is a friend of mine,

a very good friend.

He didn't mean nothing
picking up the picture.

Beat it.

What kind of nut are you anyway, friend?

Just because he picked up
a picture of Mama?

Break it up!

Stroud! Stroud!

You ever mention my mother again,
I'll kill you!

Stroud.

What's the matter, man?

What's eating you up inside, Bob?

You act as though
you hate everyone in the world.

You live in a pus hole, you act accordingly.

All right, Bob.

Maybe 30 days in the hole will
make you happy to see a human face again.

Don't count on it, Harvey.

I don't think 30 days in the hole
are gonna cool that jaybird off, Warden.

What do you suggest, Mr. Kramer?

He's as mean as a boar hog.

If it was me,

I'd keep him away from
the rest of the inmates, permanently.

- Isolation?
- Yes, sir.

No. I don't give up on a man that easily.

Stroud comes from good stock.

He'll shape up.

He's a dingbat, Warden. He's dangerous.

He's my responsibility, Mr. Kramer.

Now, you let me worry about his behavior.

Yes, sir.

All right, Stroud.

Dearest Mother, I am feeling fine.
Hope you are the same.

Everything is okay at this end.

Time sure does fly.

Yesterday was my fourth anniversary here.

But I got no cake. Ha-ha.

I guess everything would be all right
if I could just see you

and give you a great big hug.

I hope your cold is better.

Your loving son, Robbie.

Dearest Robbie,
I was here today to see you,

but they would not let me in,
it being Saturday,

with no visiting allowed.

But I saw Warden Shoemaker,

and he was kind enough
to arrange for a visit next Friday.

Until then, my darling,

this little gift of fruit
comes with all my love.

Mother.

Guard! Guard! Mr. Kramer!

What do you want, Stroud?

Did you know my mother was here today?

Yeah.

Why didn't you call me?

You know the rules.
No visitors on Saturday.

Is that all you got inside of you? Rules?

Stop bellyaching.
She said she'd be here next week.

You can see her then.

You ain't got much, Stroud,
but you keep subtracting from it.

Don't you know I gotta put you on report
for touching a guard?

Mr. Kramer,

you shoot me on report,
I won't get no visit from my mother.

You should have thought of that before.

She came 2,000 miles,
all the way from Alaska.

Do me this one favor.

I just follow the rules.

Now get back to your seat.

I tell you, I've got to see her.

And I told you to get back to your seat.

You ain't a man, Kramer. You're dog puke!

I just came from Kramer's widow.

I couldn't look her in the eye, Stroud.

I feel responsible for her husband's death.
He warned me about you.

He told me you were dangerous,
but I wouldn't listen.

And now he's cold in his grave.

Already, you've taken the lives
of two human beings

and you haven't even
felt a twinge of conscience.

What do you want me to do, cry?

Say I'm sorry?

I'm only sorry for Kramer's wife.

And the dead man?

He was fixing to brain me with his club.

I protected myself.

No remorse? No pity. Just an animal.

Ain't that what these cages are for?

Animals?

I have to make out a report
about this killing.

I hope that'll help to hang you.

Stroud had three trials.

The first one was declared a mistrial.

In the second,
he was sentenced to life imprisonment.

He appealed and was granted a third trial.

On June 28, 1918, he heard the final verdict.

Therefore, it is now by the court
considered, ordered and adjudged

that you be remanded to the custody
of the warden of Leavenworth Penitentiary

and kept in solitary confinement there
until the eighth day of November, 1918,

and then and there be hanged by the neck
until you are dead.

No!

This sentence is unspeakable!

You call this justice?

You don't even know
the meaning of the word, sir.

Forget it.

It's "Katie, bar the door" for me. I'm done.

Sit down, Robbie.

Sit down.

Look, Ma, you fought.

You spent all your money.

You got old following me from jail to jail.

It's time to douse the lights.

I told you before, Robbie.

I will not let them kill you.

I'm going to Washington, D.C. very soon.

I haven't begun to fight.

Time's up.

You just don't know how to quit,
do you, Ma?

Did you think Mother
was gonna let them hurt my Robbie?

Carrying a petition for clemency,

Elizabeth Stroud doggedly haunted
the offices of Washington officials

in an effort to gain an audience
with the President of the United States.

Finally, she managed to see
Senator Ham Lewis.

He reminded her of
the President's grave illness.

Grasping at straws,
she pleaded with the Senator

to make an appointment for her
with the President's wife.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

Tell me, Mrs. Stroud,

why do you think
the President should intervene?

Mrs. Wilson,

the President is known as a symbol of
compassion throughout the whole world.

I'm sure that deep in his heart,

he doesn't believe
in the brutality of an eye for an eye.

I've never seen your husband, but I've...
I've seen pictures of him.

He has the face of a man
who has known great suffering.

I think he'd understand what it means
to have the pack yapping at his heels.

Mrs. Wilson, they've turned
on your husband in his fight for peace,

and they've broken his heart.

Mrs. Stroud, please.

There's only one man left in the world
who can lend a helping hand to my son,

and that's the President.

Take the petition to him.

I assure you... I... I give you my solemn oath,

my son is a person of worth.

Save him.

Stroud. Listen.

Did you hear that, you cons?

President Wilson commuted Stroud to life!

I'll be damned. She pulled it off.

I've been expecting you, Harvey.

I have a telegram here from Washington.

You probably know about it.

I've heard.

I think you will live to regret
that this wire ever came.

How come?

Because you're going to spend
the rest of your life in deep lock.

Who says so?

The Attorney General.

Remember the judge's sentence?

"And kept in solitary confinement
until you are hanged by the neck."

Yeah, but that ain't what the judge meant.

That's what the Attorney General
says he meant.

Look around you, Stroud.

This is going to be your home
for as long as you live.

Ain't much more you can do to me, is there?

A few things. Consider this.

You will not be permitted to associate
with the other prisoners,

not even to exercise with them.

You'll eat all your meals alone
for the rest of your life.

Visiting and corresponding privileges
will be limited to your immediate family.

And there will be no work.

Nothing to do but count the hours
and the days and the years.

They're tearing down my gallows.

To my great regret.

Yeah.

Yeah, it must have galled you
to give that order, huh, Harv?

I think I've got you figured out, Shoemaker.

The first day I came here,

you as much as asked me
to get down on my knees and whimper.

I wouldn't do it then, and I won't do it now.

I won't lick your hand,
and that's what eats you, ain't it, keeper?

You keep this in mind,
a man ain't whipped until he quits,

and I'll never give you that pleasure.

Get out of here.

I'll never forget you as long as I live.

No matter what happens to me,
no matter where I am,

if I ever get a chance to punish you further,
I'll do it.

Drop in from time to time.
See how long I stick around.

I don't have to drop in on you.

I'll always know where you are.

Being in solitary
is like being on rails.

A man pushes your food through the door.

You eat alone.

Once a week, you get a shower.

You walk in the bullpen.

Once a month,
an inmate comes and cuts your hair.

You read.

You pace your cell.

Once a week, you get clean laundry.

You pace your cell.

The routine's always the same.

The only way you can break it
is to go on sick call.

You sit and listen to your heart beat.

You hear your life ticking away.

The thing that swells in your head
until you lose your mind,

is you know absolutely for sure
what's coming next.

Here's that Argosy magazine
you wanted, Shorty.

Thanks, Bull.

You want anything to read, Stroud?

If I want something from you, I'll ask for it.

Stroud, get in out of the rain, you nut!

You're all guts, you little runt.

Stroud, what you doing
up there on the ceiling?

Collecting beetles and cockroaches.

I see.

"Beetles and cockroaches"?

Poor old Stroud, he's gone bugs.

Getting pretty big now, huh?

About time for you to fly.

Okay, kid, hop to it.

Go ahead, fly.

Come on, Runty, fly.

What's the matter, a little chicken-hearted?

All right, come on, you little punk. Fly.

What are you going to do when
it comes time to go south for the winter?

Walk all the way to Mexico?

Hmm.

All right, kid, now give it a try.

Come on. Come on.

Come on, runt. Come on. Fly. Here.

Come on. Come here.

Come on. Come on.

What's the matter with you anyway, huh?

He'll never get off the ground.

That bird's yellow to the core.

You want to be a quitter? Hmm?

You fly, you little punk, or I'll throw you
out on your ear, you hear me?

Fly.

Fly.

Yellow, huh?

Cold?

About six months
after Stroud picked up the sparrow,

the biggest piece of news
a penitentiary can get

went through Leavenworth like a forest fire.

A new warden had been appointed.

West.

Rather.

Sekulovich.

Hollister.

Stroud.

Warden, can I have a minute of your time?

I mean you, Warden Younger.

I'd like you to watch something.

Here, Runty.

That's it.

Come on. Open it, open up. Open it.

Go ahead.

Open it.

Go ahead. That's it.

That's it.

I've never seen anything like that in my life.

Where'd you get that bird?

Found him in the exercise yard, sir.

Put your finger on his feet.

What kind of a bird is that?

- A sparrow.
- Yes, of course.

It must have taken great patience
to train him. I admire that.

Then, I can keep him, sir?

I don't see why not. Do you?

You're the warden now, Jess. It's up to you.

I think it will be permitted.

But don't take advantage, Stroud.

I wouldn't think of it, sir.

There is one thing.

Yes?

I need some birdseed.

- Birdseed?
- Yes.

I doubt if we've got any of that
in the warehouse.

I took the liberty of ordering some.
It's at the post office.

I need your permission to have it released.

I like your nerve. You'll get your order.

Thank you.

Trained sparrows in solitary.

Pretty cute act you put on there.

Just amusing myself.

Still ignoring prison regulations, aren't you?

I hear you're going to Washington

to help plan the new
Federal Bureau of Prisons.

Yes, I am.

Every pen run by the book, huh?

If you mean uniformity, you're right.

Drop me a postcard, Harv.

I plan to keep in touch.

You did middling, Runty.

- Middling.
- Middling?

He just saved your carcass, that's all.

Got the heart of an eagle.

When Warden Younger
allowed Stroud to keep the sparrow,

he opened the barn door.

Other inmates had relatives
send them canaries,

and the solitary block rang with song.

Then, one prisoner became bored
with his two canaries

and gave them to Stroud.

That was a day
penal authorities will never forget.

What are you gawking at?

Looking at that bottle.

You thirsty?

Yeah.

I want the bottle.

What for?

I got a use for it.

What use?

I ain't gonna cut my throat,
if that's what's worrying you.

Hmm.

What about the refund?

So I'll owe you a penny. How about it?

Well, you're welcome.

Son of a...

Now what do you want?

That box you're sitting on.

That's tough.

Just an apple box. You could get another.

I could.

- Well?
- But I ain't.

- Why not?
- I ain't so inclined.

All right, I'll buy it off you.
What do you want?

One pack of cigarettes? Two? Name it.

Stroud, if you showed me a $100 bill,
you couldn't have this box.

What the hell is eating you?

Twelve years I've known you, Stroud.

Twelve years, sunup and sundown
I've had to look at that frozen mug of yours.

And in all that time,
never so much as a howdy-do out of you.

I try to treat you decent
'cause you got no bed of roses in there.

So I put my head on the block
and I dummy up about the birds.

Did you say, "Thanks, my boy"?

Did just once you say thanks?

Or maybe I just didn't hear you.
You're a soft speaker.

You want... You want a pop bottle.
You want a pop bottle.

Do I hear maybe...
Maybe the word "please" someplace?

Or could I be going deaf?

"Hand over the... Hand over the box,"
says you.

"Hand over the box," says you,

like you was the Czar of Russia
or somebody.

Well, you get this, bucko.

I may be just a uniform to you,
but you got no patent on feelings.

I'm a man, the same as you,
and I want to be treated like one.

So from here on out, you'd better come up
with a few manners with me,

or don't even expect the time of day
from yours truly.

Mr. Ransom.

You know what I think, Bull?

I don't give a damn what you think.

I think you're absolutely right.

I admire you for sounding off like that.

I had it coming.

You always treated me square,
been good to me.

So there's something I want to do.

I want to apologize to you.

I ain't apologized to anybody in 20 years.

Hey, Stroud?

Yeah?

My bird won't sing.

Is he sick?

I'll check him.

You sick, little baby canary Jack?

Say "Tweety-dee," sweetheart.

Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet.

I don't know.

You've been giving him
those special feedings

of grasshoppers and bugs like I told you?

I can't find any!

By the time I get to the bullpen,
you cleaned it out!

What do you want me to do?

You got a way with birds.
You take Jack for a while, huh?

What about birdseed?

All right, I'll split mine with you.

What do you say?

All right. Send him in.

Only for about a year or so,
and then I want him back.

Okay.

You be careful, take it easy,
and don't mash him.

You don't take care of him,
I'll bust you apart.

Don't worry, Feto.

Come on, Gomez, it's your exercise period.

How about it, Stroud? Is he sick?

I don't think so.

Then, why don't he sing?

It wouldn't be polite.

Don't be smart!

Feto, don't you know
a lady canary never sings?

Lady canary?

You mean Jack's a broad canary?

Yep. A hen.

Tough luck, Bob.

You're stuck with a bird that don't sing.

Use up a lot of birdseed, huh?

Working with a razor blade
and a jagged piece of glass,

Stroud cut 128 slats

in addition to roof boards, tier bars,

gate pieces and a handle.

Every joint was charred for hardness
and hand-fitted,

since he had no glue.

The bird cage took seven months
to complete.

Bob, that's a hell of a job you did there.

It's all right. Not bad.

The next one will be better.

Next one?
What do you want another one for?

Ain't you got eyes? Mr. and Mrs.

Bull, there's gonna be some
procreation around here.

Procre... What?

New life. Birth.

- In a prison?
- Yep.

Well, I guess they won't mind.

Canaries are always behind bars anyway.

It's springtime outside, slugger.

You best go find out who you are.

Come on.

What's wrong with you, you old buzzard?

Come on.

Don't be afraid.

Out there you can kick up the dust.

You can dance to fiddle music,
watch the alfalfa bloom.

If you like, you can see gold teeth,

taste sweet whiskey or red-eyed gravy.

The air breathes easy, nights move faster,

and you tell time by the clock.

You don't want to be a jailbird
all your life, do you?

You're a highballing sparrow.

So you fly high, old cock.

Go out there and bite the stars for me.

Find yourself a fat mama and make a family.

You hear?

Beat it.

Hey, Stroud?

Yeah, Feto?

My bird laid an egg, huh?

My bird laid an egg.

Why, you stinking crook!

I only loaned you my canary!

For a year.

I want half them eggs.

What for? You gonna make an omelet?

Any con steal canary eggs
from another con is a dirty fink!

And a rat!

How many, Stroud?

Two?

How many, Stroud?

Three.

Crook.

How many?

Four.

How many?

Hey, Stroud?

Anything happen yet?

It's been 20 days and 18 hours.

What's going on in there?

Bob, what's that noise in there?

Quiet, Feto.

Feto, you're a godfather.

Sealed off from the world,

denied the fundamental drive of man
to beget his own kind,

Stroud developed a world in microcosm
with his birds.

And because it was safe,
and he knew they would never turn on him,

he developed a deep but private love
for his canaries

as he watched the cycle
of love and mating

and issuing forth.

Then, one spring day,
an old friend came back.

Runty, what the hell
are you doing back here?

Too tough out there, huh?

Come back for a little prison security.

I guess you're a lifer, pal, just like me.

Hey, Stroud,
how come the birds ain't singing?

Because they're sick, and so is mine.

Hey, Stroud, my bird's going to kick off?

"Dreaded among breeders
is a highly contagious disease,

"sometimes called septic fever.

"Its actual existence
can only be surmised and determined

"by an immediate post mortem
by a veterinary surgeon trained in..."

Hey, Stroud...

Pipe down, Gomez.

"Death may be rapid or delayed.

"Feces are abnormal
and always pale yellow in color.

"There's no practical remedy."

Stroud?

I found bacillus Pasteurella
in great quantity.

I'd make an educated guess
that there's a filterable virus.

Then it is septic fever?

Possibly.

Are there any chemicals,
medicines or anything?

I couldn't find any literature on the disease.

Apparently, there isn't any.

So, without any specific drug,
I'm afraid there isn't much I can do to help.

Thanks, Doc. I appreciate what you've done.

Sorry.

Any change?

Runty.

Shame.

He wasn't much of a bird.

I threw him out last spring, but I guess
it was too tough for him on the outside.

He had to come back
where he could freeload.

He was a born panhandler.

Tried to get rid of him as late as last Friday.

I warned him, but he wouldn't listen to me.
He was too smart.

He'd rather have the walls
than somebody to talk to.

He didn't amount to much.

Hey, Bob?

You know Ape?

The baby bird you slipped me.

In case you're interested,
he just knocked off.

Punk.

He dropped like he got shot in the head.

Reminded me of an old girlfriend of mine
named Peggy Beeman.

What a face. Like a pan full of worms.

But stacked, like to
make your tongue hang out.

Good-hearted broad, you know?

She used to put out to me
and every other guy in the neighborhood.

A bum, in other words.

She had a bird, too, a parrot.

And he, too, was ugly also.

One time I came up to her room,
and the door was open,

and she was trying to teach the parrot
to say something.

You'll get a boot out of this, Bob.

You know what she wanted him to say?

"I love you, Peggy."

Over and over, you know, she kept at him.

"I love you, Peggy."

Oh, them two uglies.

I figured she's some kind of nut,

so I faded and I never seen her no more
after that time.

Good old Peg.

So what happens?

So I wind up in the can,
and I'm talking to the birds just like she did.

You know, I got to admit it.

For the first time since I've been in stir,

them baby canaries,
they make me feel good.

You know, it ain't just right
to flush Apey down the toilet bowl.

Hey, Stroud, what am I
supposed to do with him, huh?

What am I gonna do?

Hey, Bob.

Stroud struck back
at the oldest enemy of all.

Washed the cages,
sterilized the cell from top to bottom,

read everything in
the prison library about birds.

He learned of chemicals called oxidizers,

which had been used as
a poultry germicide for years.

He wrote to his mother
asking for these drugs, plus equipment.

While waiting,
he tried fantastic concoctions on his birds.

Like a sulfur solution
made from the heads of matches.

The birds died with increasing swiftness.

The package of drugs and equipment
came from Mother.

With little or no knowledge of the amount
of chemicals a canary could tolerate,

Stroud proceeded to
administer the oxidizers

to his sick birds.

Clearly, this drug was
no cure for septic fever.

But Stroud persisted,
trying different combinations.

The birds still died.

However, Stroud made one discovery.

Before death,
their temperature dropped to normal.

He concluded the chemicals
were too harsh, too caustic.

He decided to buffer them
with effervescent sodas.

The birds died.

Hey, Stroud!

When are you going to find
the medicine for my birds?

They're dropping like flies.

You'll just have to wait.

Wait?

I'm gonna kill them all.

Finally,
there was only one more buffering agent left

in his tiny arsenal of drugs. Citrocarbonate.

He combined this with potassium chlorate.

He dosed his birds.

After that, all he could do was hope.

3:00, Bob.

Thanks, Johnson.

Hey, Bob?

What happened? Why is that bird singing?

You find the medicine?

Go to it, kid. Sing your heart out.

The years passed,

and news of Stroud's medicine
spread to the gentle world of bird owners.

People began to wonder
who this strange new bird doctor was.

Finally, someone got curious.

Uh, Bob, did you enter
some kind of a contest

in one of those canary magazines?

Yeah, I won the second prize,
a Roller canary.

Well, you better go pick it up.

It's in the deputy's office.

Good.

- What's up?
- Not a thing.

You must be Mr. Stroud.

Here you are, your second prize,

a Night Roller of St. Andreasberg stock.

I... I'm Mrs. Stella Johnson.
I offered the prize.

Who let you in?

The warden. It took three days.

Well, I suppose you wonder why I'm here.

Well, I... I...

I... I kept, uh, reading your articles
and letters to the journal.

Then, I tried your cure of oxidizing agents
on one of my birds with septic fever.

By golly, it worked.

So, I... I began to wonder
who this new bird doctor was.

And when you won the prize I put up,

my curiosity really got the best of me.

So I... I just had to find out
who Box 7, Leavenworth, Kansas was.

So I... I wrote to the, uh, postmaster
at Leavenworth and asked him.

He told me it was the federal penitentiary.

Why did you come to see me?

Well,

you see, I live in Shelbyville, Indiana,

and I was visiting a cousin in St. Louis,

and Leavenworth isn't far...

You were visiting in St. Louis,
and you carried him all the way with you?

Well, the way it was... I was going...

I thought...

Yes?

Mr. Stroud, I'm... I'm terribly sorry
for taking so much of your time.

Good luck with the Roller.

Mrs. Johnson.

Thank you for bringing him.

Actually, you know,

I... I did have an idea when I came here.

Idea?

Have you ever thought of
selling your bird remedies?

A lot of bird breeders know about them.

Go ahead.

Well,

I have a little money, not much,
but I believe it would be a good investment.

You make them, and I sell them.

I've even thought of a name,
"Stroud's Specifics."

I'll be darned.

You said your name was
Mrs. Stella Johnson.

I'm a widow woman.

I see.

My husband passed away eight years ago.

I'm sorry.

The truth is,
about all I've got in life is my birds.

What do you know about me, Mrs. Johnson?

That you killed two men.

Any questions?

No.

"Stroud's Specifics." Well...

You hear a roll of the drums just then?

Drums?

There was even a trombone there.

Meaning what?

The formation of our new company.

You mean you made up your mind
just like that?

One thing I've learned is not to abuse time.

I suggest we split everything
right down the middle,

if that's all right with you.

I never thought a business
could be set up this fast.

Well, you can change your mind
if you want to.

Not me.

Yes, I guess so.

Beg pardon?

I was just saying goodbye
to Shelbyville, Indiana.

I'll be moving to Leavenworth.

I've got to be near my factory.

This is a big day for me, Mrs. Johnson.

I have a feeling you've brought me luck.

I hope so.

Time's up.

Before you go, would you...
Would you do me a favor?

Of course. What is it?

Would it be too personal

to let me look through your purse?

Go ahead.

Lipstick?

Cigarette case?

Powder compact.

Yes.

What were you looking for?

A hacksaw.

Write me when you get ready to move.

I'll have my mother find a place for you.

All right. Goodbye.

So long, partner.

Hey, Bob, get a load of this.

Do you hear that, Bob? What's that word?

Congress.

That year, the prison grapevine
hammered out the news

that a Federal Bureau of Prisons
had been created by an act of Congress.

Director A.J. Macleod.

The new warden who came to Leavenworth
was named Albert Comstock.

One of the first prisoners he asked to see
was Robert Stroud.

Sit down, please.

Thank you.

You've heard about the formation
of the new bureau of prisons, of course.

I have several directives from Washington
that will affect you personally.

I wanted to read them to you myself.

Go ahead, Warden.

The first one states that no pets of any kind
will be allowed in federal penitentiaries.

The second directive forbids any inmate

to engage in any kind
of commercial enterprise.

Do you know what that means?

That means my birds.

I'm sorry, Stroud.
I know how important they are to you.

Nobody looks at my record, huh?

Fifteen years without a mark against me.

And that don't mean Billy-be-damned.

You're exaggerating your own importance.

These directives weren't made just for you.

It applies to the entire system.

Prisoners now have dogs, cats, parrots,
canary birds, even monkeys.

It's bad sanitation.

Feeding becomes a big problem.

It creates feuds among inmates.

Other prisoners complain of lice and fleas.

The situation simply has to be cleaned up.

You have 60 days to get rid of your aviary.

That's all, Stroud.

I never thought Uncle Sam
would go back on his word.

Meaning what?

There's been an understanding between
the government and me for 11 years,

that I could raise my birds.

That pledge has been broken.

As far as I'm concerned, all bets are off.

That sounds like a threat.

Why, Warden, you just got through
telling me that I ain't very important.

How could I threaten
a big, powerful Washington bureau?

I've been doing a lot of thinking, Mother.

I have a plan, and it... It might work.

What kind of a plan?

Do you remember
how you saved my neck in 1920?

- Yes, but I don't see...
- Publicity, that's what did it.

I don't think I follow you.

How many...
How many bird owners know I'm a convict?

Just a few.

Then, we'll tell them.

We'll tell them
how they're going to take my birds away.

We'll write to newspapers, radio stations,

commentators, columnists,
bird clubs, magazines.

We'll have people angry from coast to coast.

Excellent, Robbie. Excellent.

We'll drive them right down the pike.

It will be just like it was in the old days.

Just the two of us together,
fighting the world.

I've just been to see Bob,
and I smuggled out this.

It's instructions for the campaign.

Why should he give you this material?

The kind of thing he usually
entrusts to his mother.

Oh, I don't know.
I... I guess the time was short.

It doesn't really matter, does it?

There's a great deal of copying to be done.

You'll follow my directions.

Yes, ma'am.

Start with letters to the bird clubs,

and when you've finished,
I'll assign you more.

Yes, ma'am.

Here it is.

Right here on the second page
of the Kansas City Star.

- Here.
- Yes.

That's not enough.

I want the front page.

We're ready now
for the next step of our campaign.

You got another idea?

Yes, and it's dynamite.

I came across it in an old law book.

Stell, you can save my neck.

How? Bob, you know I'd do anything.

Now, listen.

How would you like to marry me?

Let me understand you now.

Are you trying to tell me
that you married a man

serving a life term in solitary
at Leavenworth Penitentiary?

Yes, sir. Yesterday.

And, uh, where did
the ceremony take place?

At the penitentiary.

By the prison chaplain, no doubt?

No, sir.

It was a civil ceremony.

Well, go ahead. I've listened this far.

Well, you see...

Yes?

You see, under the laws of the Treaty
of Paris and the Louisiana Purchase,

all a man and woman
had to do to be legally married

was to sign a declaration.

You see, Leavenworth
is still federal property,

and is, therefore,
immune to the laws of the State of Kansas.

It's all here, sir, if you want to read it.

Stroud got his front page, all right,

and with a bang
heard all the way to Washington.

Result? One of the strangest conferences
in prison history.

The warden's on his way right now.

Hello, Bob.

Hello, Harvey.

You've succeeded in creating
quite a little flurry with your birds.

Just an inmate protecting his rights.

Would you like to sit down?

Yes, thanks.

Bob,

I've been sent here as a delegate
of the bureau to make you an offer.

That's what I've been waiting for.

Now, the bureau is willing
to let you to keep your birds.

You can even sell them.

Now, this is their official proposal,

you can continue to raise and sell the birds,

but the profits will be turned over
to the prison welfare fund,

and you will receive a salary
in the form of a share of the profits.

$10 a month.

I consider that quite a generous offer
under the circumstances.

Frankly, it's more than
I would have offered, had I the authority.

Well, Stroud?

Let me see if I understand you.

What you're proposing
is that the United States government

go into the canary bird business.

That's against private enterprise.

You sound like a Bolshevik, Harvey.

You have no legal right
to raise canaries at all.

I know.

Rule 60 of
the Federal Bureau of Prisons Manual.

"An inmate cannot be permitted
to operate a business,

"no matter how legitimate, while in prison."

That right, Harvey?

You quoted it correctly.

That's what I thought.

That's why I'm confused.

The rule says I can't have a business.

You say I can,
provided I give you the profits.

That's circumventing regulations.

It's not like you.

Mr. Shoemaker came
all the way from Washington

to try to work out a plan
so you can keep your blasted birds.

Don't con an old con, Warden.

He came here because of public opinion,
and you know it.

Fifty thousand signatures on a petition.

Congressmen jumping
all over Macleod's back.

I think I got you over a barrel, Harvey.

Is that your last word?

I could use more room for my birds.

I'll report the minutes of our conference
to, uh, Mr. Macleod.

That's all, Comstock.

Have a nice trip back to Washington.

I'm not going back to Washington.

I'm heading a new penitentiary. Alcatraz.

That's a big job, Harvey.

I wish you luck.

Thank you.

Keep one thing in mind, Bob.

The public has a short memory.

Hello, Mother. Here, sit ye down.

You hear that?

You know what that is?

It's a jackhammer.

And do you know what it's doing?

No, I haven't been informed as yet.

They're tearing down the wall of my cell

and cutting through a doorway
into the next one.

I'm gonna have two cells for my birds.

How nice.

I can keep them, and I can sell them.

I get larger quarters
and even some laboratory equipment.

How about that?

Two women and a con,

and we whipped the bureau to a standstill.

That's very good news, indeed.

Of course, there was a time
when I would have been the first to know.

It's a real victory, Mother.

And I got you and Stell to thank.

Sit down, Robbie.

I want to talk to you about her.

About Stella?

Your association with her
will bring you nothing but trouble.

I don't know what you mean.

I've thought from the first
she was the wrong kind of a woman

for you to align yourself with.

She's worked her heart out for me.

She saved my bacon.

All right, she was of use temporarily,
but she's served her purpose.

And now, if you'll follow my advice,
you'll get rid of her.

I don't understand what you're...

What you're talking about, Mom.

She's my wife.

Your trouble began with
that other woman in Alaska.

She's the same kind of a woman.

She's a common adventuress.

Don't say things like that, Mother.

She's a good woman, and she's kind.

She'd do anything in the world for me.

It's disaster, Robbie.

She'll bring you nothing but heartache.

Besides, all she wanted was the publicity.

Mother, you... You can't be serious.

I can't believe this is happening.

Give her up, Robbie. Forget her.

You act as though
you wanted me here for all time

with you as my only outside connection.

Then...

Then, you choose her
instead of your own mother?

Don't say any more, Mother.

Please.

That's your decision?

To desert me?

Mrs. Stroud? Mrs. Stroud,
my name is Peterson.

I'm a reporter from the Kansas City Star.

My paper wants a follow-up story
on your son's marriage.

No comment.

Well, did this so-called marriage
come as a surprise to you, Mrs. Stroud?

I knew nothing of it.

Your son's parole hearing
will be coming up soon.

Who will lead the fight this time,
you or Stella Johnson?

There will be no fight.

Wait a minute, Mrs. Stroud.

What do you mean, "There will be no fight"?

Mrs. Stroud?

Just what does that mean?

My son is where he belongs.

I shall do nothing to obtain his release
from the penitentiary.

And this is for quotation?

I know he's safe where he is.

Mrs. Stroud, I want to be sure.

Are you saying you'd rather
have him in there than free?

You now oppose your own son's parole?

I'm doing it for his own good.

Well, Bob, you're the first con
in history that ever had two cells.

Gonna be great for the birds.

It's in all the papers.

I can't understand
how she could turn on you that way.

You know what a mother tiger does
when she's upset?

She eats her young.

Maybe I could talk to your old lady
and try and fix it up.

I guarantee she'll change her mind.

Bob!

Far as I'm concerned, she's dead.

I gotta go make my bed check.

Do you know what this is, friends?

This is 180 proof alcohol.

I'm gonna make me a Leavenworth cocktail.

You watch now.

You're gonna see me get drunk.

Fly, my avian friends.

I give you the illusion of freedom.

Enjoy it.

Go ahead, open it.

Go ahead.

Picked it up last night in a hock shop.

Thought you might get a kick out of it.

Why don't you
look at something?

See if it works.

Oh, Mr. Ransom,
you're sure you are a darling man.

Keep both eyes open.

After a while, you'll see only
through the eye of the eyepiece.

That's the ticket.

For Stroud, that microscope
was the lantern he had been waiting for

to light his way into the marvelous
and exacting truth of scientific research.

His object, the bird.

His tools, curiosity, dedication,

and the nerve of a riverboat gambler

as he ripped into studies
which read like the curriculum

of a medical university.

Cytology, morphology, biochemistry.

Now Stroud decided he was equipped

to launch a project
he had long dreamed about.

A definitive work on the diseases of birds.

He had found cures for diseases,

the names of which
he could hardly pronounce.

Like hemorrhagic septicemia,
bird diphtheria,

aspergillosis, avian cholera.

He even found a specific for fowl paralysis,

thereby saving poultry ranchers
the lives of thousands of chickens.

The title of his book was
Stroud's Digest of the Diseases of Birds.

Its contents established beyond doubt
that the aging prisoner

was the world's foremost authority
in his field.

The book took seven years to complete.

I want your scientific opinion
about this book of Stroud's.

Is it baloney or does it amount to anything?

Well, Doctor?

It's hardly what you'd call baloney.

It's a highly scientific study of pathology,

diseases, of birds.

You think Stroud's quite a man, don't you?

I think he's a genius.

Why? Just because
he's written a book about birds?

No, not because of that.

Because, with only a third-grade education,

he's become expert
in subjects like hematology, blood,

histology, tissue,

anatomy.

Studies tough enough
with an instructor in college,

but self-taught in a cell,

an accomplishment
that simply staggers the imagination.

He's smart. He has a high IQ.

He's more than that. He's dedicated.

He's spent over 3,000 hours
at that microscope of his.

Made hundreds of drawings,
over 5,000 tissue sections.

He has one of the finest collections
of slides on birds in existence.

He knows more about avian anatomy
and pathology than any man alive.

Okay, I'll recommend
his book go to the publishers.

Make the bird lovers happy.

If Stroud is paroled
and gets a proper laboratory,

there's no telling
what he might come up with.

He really should be working
on human diseases, not birds.

Paroled? Not much chance of that.

Oh, I thought his record was good.

Not in the eyes of the bureau.

His attitude is poor.

He thinks he's a world unto himself,

like we were
his own personal quartermaster corps.

Chemicals, laboratory equipment, birdseed.

Now he's demanding
25 pounds of ice every day.

It's got to stop someplace.

I'd give him 500 pounds of ice a day
if he wanted it.

Oh, you would, huh?

I wonder if the bureau isn't afraid of Stroud.

Afraid to let the public know
what kind of a brain

they're keeping locked up here.

Doctor, we're keeping
a killer locked up here.

Don't forget it.

I heard from that professor,
the one at the University of Kansas.

He said if I were out, I might have
a good chance to get a research grant.

What's that?

Well, they pay you to do research.

Bob, that's wonderful.

Only one drawback, getting out.

How can the parole board
turn you down now?

Why, they talk about rehabilitation.

This book and the cures you discovered.

What do they want?

I wish you were on that board, Stell.

I'd be strolling down the avenue right now.

But let's not make any plans.

I've seen too many of them go up in smoke.

You still won't let yourself think
about getting out, will you?

Bob, what's wrong with having a little faith?

You're always bringing me new words.

"Love" and "faith."

You're a wonderful man.

You've done some great things.

I have faith that the parole board
will see how good you are.

Golly, you just can't go on thinking that
you're gonna be here the rest of your life.

All right, honey.

I'll bring faith into my cell tonight,
entertain it,

just for the soup course.

But don't you start buying me
any new neckties yet, okay?

You look pretty today.

Bob, come on, wake up.

Bob, wake up. Come on. Get up.

What's up, Bull?

Your transfer orders.

"Alcatraz."

Here. Better get dressed.

Dressed?

Now. They're on their way down.

All right, let's go.

Why this time of night?

Orders. Step on it.

What about my equipment, my birds?

Our instructions are you walk out of here
with just the clothes you have on.

I got a sick bird in there. Can I fix him?

Of course you can.

Listen to me, Bull.

I want you to talk to Stella.

I want you to tell her not to follow me.

Under no condition.

Understand?

You better grab that pension and beat it
before these walls get to you.

I'll try and write.

Don't waste your time grieving over me.
When it's cut, it's cut.

So long, friend.

Merry Christmas, boys.

I can use a rest.

Yes?

Prisoner Stroud
completed processing, sir.

Thank you.

Dog block.

Solitary again, hmm?

Not called solitary here. Segregation.

Interesting name.

- Silence rule?
- Strictly enforced.

Hello, Bob.

How are you, Harvey?

Pretty good for an old man.

You're looking well.

How was your trip out?
Not too unpleasant, I hope?

Well, I've always enjoyed traveling.

It's quite an establishment you've got here.

Yes, it has its good points.

It's modern, well-heated, clean.

First thing I noticed, almost antiseptic.

Yeah, you'll find no cockroaches here.

We have linoleum
on all the floors of the cells.

Coming over on the launch,
I saw some children playing.

They belong to the guards
and all the other personnel.

We all live on the Rock, too.

Interesting, isn't it?

Game of tag never grows old.

Doesn't seem so long ago I played it myself.

I got a good report on you
from Leavenworth, Bob.

And I'm satisfied
you'll make the adjustment here.

Now, your orders call for segregation,

but I think, if you toe the mark,
eventually we can improve on that.

Make things a little more pleasant for you.

My office is always open.

If you're not treated right, just let me know.

Do the children enjoy living here?

Well, I don't suppose any of us
truly enjoy living on this island.

It wasn't designed for pleasure.

Stroud?

Hey, Stroud.

Feto.

Feto Gomez.

You old buzzard. I heard you was coming.

Gee, it's good to see you.

- How do you feel?
- Still squeaking by.

Remember the birds, huh? Ape and Jackie?

Those were good times, you know?

They sure were.

You look good.

I still figure you stole
them baby canaries from me.

Well, you know me, Feto.
I'm just an old thief.

You seen the Shoemaker lately?

He met me at the barn door.

He ain't such a bad old guy.

We've been cutting it pretty good lately.

He made me a trustee.

Trustee?

Sure.

There's no use beating your head up
against the wall.

I should have wised up a long time ago.

I've been flying right lately,

because my parole
comes up again in November,

and I want to hit those bricks
before I kick the bucket. See?

Sure. Sure, I understand, Feto.

You still go for that mince pie?

I can do you a lot of good,

because I'm the head man
with the steam table here.

And old Feto Gomez

can sneak you two,

maybe even three pieces, ever so often.

Feto?

Yeah?

How much time you done?

- Time?
- Yeah. How much time, altogether?

I don't know.

Let me recollect.

I knocked off four at Atlanta.

I did three at Joliet.

Then I did that ten-spot with you
at Leavenworth.

And then I was on the street for four.

And then I been here for six.

How much is that?

Twenty-three.

Yeah.

Why do you want to know, Bob?

Nothing. I just wondered.

What's all that gabbing, Gomez?

Nothing, sir.

Prisoner just, uh,
just wanted some more meat.

No chance, Stroud. No extra portions.

Everybody gets treated the same here,
you understand?

Bob.

I'm going to wallop you today.

Congratulations on the publication
of your book on bird diseases.

Yeah, it's a honey. Should sell big.

That's all behind me now.

I've started writing a new book.

The history of federal prisons from 1790
up to the formation of the Bureau.

It's gonna be a story about caged men
rather than birds.

What prison does to them.

I got the idea from seeing an old friend.

It's an ambitious undertaking, Bob.

Oh, it will knock the public cold.

Graft, corruption,

stupidity, sadism.

All the elements of a bestseller, eh, Father?

It's a story that needs telling.

And how.

You...

You realize, of course,
it involves a certain element of risk?

I do, indeed.

But you know something?

When you've lived in these manure piles
for over 30 years, as I have,

you come to know everything's a risk.

Your serve.

- I wish you luck.
- It's worth the gamble.

I'm confiscating this manuscript, Bob.

Have you read it?

Enough to realize that it's a blast
at the entire penal system.

You're in serious trouble.

The Bureau has known for months
what you were writing.

You haven't told me what you think of it.

I resent this personally.

I stand high in my profession,

and I believe I've earned that esteem.

I am proud of the advances
that I have helped to inaugurate.

Now, you think back to the old times.

Leg irons, carrying the iron ball, stripes,
corporal punishment,

indefinite periods in the hole.

Well, I have been instrumental
in abolishing that kind of treatment.

Yes, that's true, Harvey.

Furthermore,
you completely ignore my fight

for a constructive work program.

Like making belt buckles?

Or running a drill press?

Oh, I see.

My entire career has been for nothing.
I'm all wrong, and you're all right.

I'm not talking about one tree, Harvey.

I'm talking about the whole forest.

I haven't spent most of my life
behind bars for nothing.

I've reached a few conclusions
about penology,

and a couple of them may be valid.

When you first came here,
I thought you were changed.

I was even planning to return you
to the general prison population.

And now this.

Well, you're not going to get away with it.

The Bureau has suggested
that all your privileges be suspended.

And you know what that means here.

You know better than to
try to frighten me, Harvey,

at this late date.

Damn your heart!

Do you think that
I want to go on punishing you?

We've grown old together in penitentiaries!

And in all that time, I've only asked
one thing from you. Cooperation.

The only thing I've ever gotten back
was defiance!

Not once have you ever shown
a sign of rehabilitation!

- Rehabilitation?
- Yes, rehabilitation.

I wonder if you know what the word means.

Do you?

Don't be insulting.

The unabridged
Webster's International Dictionary

says it comes from the Latin root habilis.

The definition is,

"To invest again with dignity."

You consider that part of your job, Harvey?

To give a man back the dignity he once had?

Your only interest is in how he behaves.

You told me that once a long time ago,
and I'll never forget it.

"You'll conform to our ideas
of how you should behave."

And you haven't retreated
from that stand one inch in 35 years.

You want your prisoners to
dance out the gates like puppets on a string.

With rubber-stamp values
impressed by you.

With your sense of conformity,
your sense of behavior,

even your sense of morality.

That's why you're a failure, Harvey.

You and the whole science of penology.

Because you rob prisoners
of the most important thing in their lives,

their individuality.

On the outside, they're lost automatons,

just going through the motions of living.

But underneath is a deep,
deep hatred for what you did to them.

First chance they get to attack society,
they do it.

The result?
More than half come back to prison.

Now, it's all here in my book.

And I suggest you read it,
and you read it thoroughly!

All right, you've spoken your piece.

I have no course left but to speak mine.

This San Francisco climate sure doesn't
help an old man's aches and pains.

Where does it hurt you, Harvey?

In my left shoulder and down my arm.

You should have a medical checkup.

Yeah.

Five-nine-four?

You got a visitor.

Hello, Bob.

Hello, Stell.

Well, here I am.

I know what you told Bull to tell me.

Then, why did you come?

What else have I got to do?

Bob...

Bob, I could get on your visiting list.

I could get a job in Oakland maybe,

and I could get a room at the waterfront,

and you could get some spyglasses
and see my room from your cell.

It's no use, Stell.

Please, Bob.

There's still hope. Bureau policy changes.

There's always the chance
the President will pardon you.

Why did you come 2,000 miles for nothing?

Just to see me once a month?

I came because I'm your wife. That's why.

Bob,

the only life I got is you.

Then you got a damned poor future, old girl.

I'm never gonna get out of here.

I could get a job in a factory or something.

I could write letters every day.
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 standing at my grave.

Remember that 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.

Stella,

you're not such an old girl.

You still got a dance or two left in you.

Don't waste them waiting 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.

Specialize in parakeets.

They're the coming thing, you know.

I could still
sell Stroud Specific?

There's still a market for them.

And canaries. People always like canaries.

That's the ticket.

And if a bird got sick,
I could look in one of your...

I could look in your book.

Sure, Stell.

Yeah.

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.

Hey.

Hapling.

Come here.

Come here, you fink.

Open it.

We're taking over!

In the hall, old man. Let's go.

Then call the Coast Guard and tell them
to start circling the island with patrol boats.

I want to talk to the commanding officer
on Treasure Island,

the Chief of Police in the city 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

and Warden Shoemaker
had no way of knowing

that the weapons possessed
by the mutineers

totaled one rifle and one revolver

with 71 rounds of ammunition.

- No!
- Logue!

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

Go back! Go back!

The kid needs help.
You know something about medicine.

Help?

Snap out of it.

Snap out of it, you punchy old bum!

Now, hold on.

Where's he hit?

In the gut.

Turn on the PA system.

All for nothing.

How do you feel, kid?

How do you think I feel? I'm dying.

Good femoral pulse.

Not much bleeding.

I don't believe it hit a big artery.

May have pierced the gut.

Color'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 will all be over soon.

They'll get you to a hospital.
You've got a good chance.

I'm doing 25. I'll get gray-headed.

What do I have to live for?

You just lie quiet.

I'm fed up of this life.

You don't know what I've gone 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?

Why, you're just a kid.

You've got your whole future ahead of you.

Knock it off, will you?

How dare you lie there
and talk about dying 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 put up a fight.

What's wrong with knocking yourself off
in a maggot pile like this?

What?

I said, what's wrong with dying?

What's wrong with dying?

Because 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 isn't Iwo Jima.

What about Logue and Burns?

They're dead.

Of course, if you want to 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's it feel to get off the Rock?

Well, if you San Franciscans
had any true civic pride,

you'd blow that place out of 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,

with its rockets and missiles
and outer space?

Why? What's so special
about your modern world, son?

Boeing 707. Weighs 247,000 pounds.

Carries a payload of 22,000.

Each engine has the thrust
of 13,000 pounds.

Cruises at 595 miles an hour.

Just because a man's in prison
doesn't mean he's a boob.

Will they allow you to 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 new 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.

- Go ahead.
- Thanks, Mr. Stroud.

- All right.
- 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?

Oh, 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 gonna 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 the corner. Imagine.

Don't be sorry, Tom.

It's gonna be a swell place to live
till I get my release.

I know. Live it one day at a time.

You said it, kid. Soar like a bird.

We gotta catch a train, Bob.

All right, Mike.

Goodbye, Tom.

Thanks for helping me.

Tom, you know what
they used to call Alcatraz in the old days?

What?

Bird Island.

Robert Stroud's petition for parole
has been denied annually for 24 years.

Age 72,
he is now in his 53rd year of imprisonment.