A Museum Visit That <i> Will</i> Seem Like a Trip to Prison

Behind the towering gates of California’s most-feared prison, in the basement of an abandoned building, rest a century’s worth of artifacts from a largely unknown and at times mysterious world.

Ignored or misinterpreted by outsiders, this penitentiary harbors a history as rich and diverse as any city’s, said assistant warden Richard A. Nelson. So, after decades of collecting memorabilia from California prisons, he is set to help open a museum at the San Quentin State Prison that he says will present life behind bars “as honestly as possible.”

Old uniforms, photographs, antique handcuffs, a scale model of a gas chamber, and a 30-pound ball and chain will be among the relics shown to visitors when the San Quentin Museum opens here in September.

Nelson has spent three decades traveling to antique shops and rare-book dealers around the country, searching for old uniforms, homemade weapons and photographs of inmates. Already an avid collector of prison artifacts, the 33-year veteran warden turned professional in 1984 and began tracking down material from Colorado, Washington and Montana for the museum.

“We thought we ought to do something to preserve the history of convicted felons,” said Nelson, who is also president of the nonprofit San Quentin Museum Assn. and a Death Row supervisor at the penitentiary.

While the warden’s efforts are not limited to San Quentin, it is clear that the museum’s unofficial focus will be on this, California’s oldest prison. Built in 1852 on 20 acres of bayside property, San Quentin evolved from a prison ship docked near the cliffs to a teeming colony of captives. Prisoners helped fill in part of the bay and construct the massive Marin County landmark perched on the edge of the water.

The San Quentin museum will be funded by private donations. Volunteers such as Dick Glumac, a San Francisco architect, have supplied the renovation blueprints for an old post office that will house the new museum.

“Many of us don’t know much about life in prison,” Glumac said. “There’s a lot of humanity here that people don’t know of. Prisoners are all human beings, and sometimes we’re ignorant of that.”

Nancy Nichols, who directs the San Quentin Museum Assn., was recruited for the project by Nelson to help develop a nationally accredited museum. Now, as a coordinator, she is helping catalogue thousands of books, manuscripts, artifacts and photographs in the basement of an abandoned schoolhouse on the prison grounds.

One such picture tells the story of an almost unbelievable jail escape--back when prison breaks resembled “something out of a bad Clint Eastwood movie,” Nichols said. In January, 1936, four prisoners escaped from their cells, invaded Warden James Holohan’s home, kidnaped five members of the parole board and drove off with the warden’s car. The escapees fled to a barn in Corte Madera, trailed closely by sheriff’s deputies. During a bloody shoot-out, one inmate died. Two were later executed, and another served a life sentence.

The black-and-white photo, taken in the aftermath of the battle, shows the triumphant deputies with the apprehended criminals. “Today’s escapes aren’t nearly as exotic as they used to be,” Nichols said.

Other pictures show a part of prison life few have seen. One rare snapshot depicts inmates, clad in stripes, building a snowman. Stripes were phased out in 1913 and replaced with blue jeans. Officials have tried, in vain, to find an intact uniform. Snow, of course, is almost as rare as the striped suits.

The exhibits will also feature documents that have gathered dust in San Quentin’s archives for more than a century. Among them will be the personal diary of Dr. Leo Stanley, who officiated at more than 100 executions.

Museum officials are also working to bring patrons face to face with “interactive” models of every prison’s most feared devices: the instruments of execution. Plans are under way to reproduce a gas chamber and the gallows--complete with 13 steps leading up to three menacing, but non-functional, nooses.

Organizers expect strong reactions from museum-goers.

“One group might like the museum,” Nichols said. “Another might loathe it. But I think people need to know what their tax dollar is paying for, and this will help them see it.”

Diary of an Execution

Dr. Leo Stanley presided over more than 100 executions at the San Quentin State Prison from 1913 to 1950. These entries recount the Sept. 23, 1927, execution of one condemned man, Earl Jack Clark of Harbor City, who was convicted of stabbing a merchant sailor in 1925 and sentenced to death.

Stanley’s account of Clark’s hanging will be included in a book published by the San Quentin Museum Assn.

Here are some excerpts:

* July 28, 1927: Another condemned man in today. Eight here now. Wish they wouldn’t come in so fast. * Aug. 2, 1927: Hate to have to see those condemned men. But if they need medical attention, it must be given them. Nasal polyps. This chap . . . certainly has nerve. . . . Said that after September the 23rd the polyps wouldn’t bother him any. * Aug. 16, 1927: Condemned man in again for treatment. . . . More polyps to be removed. . . . In a few weeks he’ll be dead... Don’t know what his crime is. Killed somebody of course. * Sept. 23, 1927, 7:00 a.m.: Will make ward rounds early, for execution takes place at ten. * 9:00 a.m: The body will not be claimed. Has wife in the East. Guess she has been sufficiently disgraced. The medical school will be glad to get it. * 9:53 a.m.: The witnesses and the guards are waiting just outside the execution room. . . . And over there is the black coffin. Will soon be filled. * 9:59 1/2 a.m.: No noise. Someone breathing hard. Pale faces. * 10:01 a.m.: Tripping of trap. Black figure hurled into space. No rebound. . . . Hangman’s knot. Swollen veins, neck. . . . No movement of body. Stethoscope. Watch. Heartbeat 90. * 10:01 1/2 a.m.: 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . heart regular. Is everything getting black? No--am not fainting. Broken neck. Wish this was over. . . . 85 . . . 86 . . . 87 . . . 88. * 10:02 a.m. : . . . Maybe deserved it. . . . Heart rate twice normal--horse without driver 79 . . . 80 . . . 81 . . . 82. * 10:02 1/2 a.m.: Dull thud. Someone has fainted. My assistant will care for him. . . . My 53rd hanging--God, I wish there were no more of these. 40 . . . 41 . . . 42 . . . 43 . . . 44. Usually takes 11 minutes--only two gone. * 10:04 a.m.: . . . Hangman walking about. Good fellow. Who would want his job? 65 . . . 66 . . . 67 . . . 68. * 10:09 a.m: Heartbeats slowing down. 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5. . . . Oxygen supply shut off. 11 . . . 12 . . . 13. . . . Will not be long now. 18 . . . 19 . . . 20. * 10:11 1/2 a.m.: Surely must be dead. Don’t want to make any mistake. Will be five minutes, though, before crowd gets out and he is cut down. * 10:12 a.m.: No sound. * 10:12 1/2 a.m.: Dead.