"Last 6 prisoners leave silent Pen," Vancouver Sun. February 15, 1980. Page 12.
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By DAVE STOCKAND
Maximum security holds sway as always, even with only a sixpack of prisoners left.
We are at the 8.C penitentiaryー where habits ingrained over more than a century die harder than hard men - so we drink instant coffee in the warden's office on this Thursday afternoon while he arranges the front-gate passes that will allow us up the hill and into the empty cellblocks where a not inconsiderable part of B.C. history has been written in blood, boredom and despair.
"We're a pretty dead jail," says warden Herb Reynett, understating the obvious. "It's like a quiet ghost town, really."
Up the hill from his comfortable warren of an office in the penitentiary's outer wall are the last six prisoners - and today they will be gone, to the mod rn but not necessarily more welcome maximum security of Kent institution near Agassiz.
Our tour, when it comes, is like entering an echo chamber without echoes, only the surprisingly loud jingle jangle of the keeper's keys penetrating the silence as we walk the cage-upon-cage tiers and upward to the rooftop super maximum security unit where the hard-est cases suicided, slashed up, hallucinated and plotted escapes and hostage-takings that would, in the 1970s, give the penitentiary the greatest notoriety of any Canadian prison.
The penitentiary is at once medieval and classic Canadian gothic, with even its own localized inquisitional echoes. Here in in the memory of staff still working the lash sang and the paddle fell with its cruel perforations on the bared flesh of inmates, either by court sentence on the outside or by internal disciplinary proceedings. The rule of silence was rigidly enforced.
A past like that is hard to live down But that is what our society of the time wanted, apparently, and the line security staff of old authoritarians of military moustache, bearing and back ground will point out as quick as a cat-o-nine-tails can wink that they at least kept a lid on the cauldron despite overcrowding that itself verged on the criminal.
Entering present reality, one of the reasons for staff bitterness over the long-promised closing is that, in truth, the old joint overlooking New Westminster's East Columbia Street and the Fraser River has never been in shipper shape.
The riot-ripped East Block which looked like howitzer shells had been fired through it after an inmate rampage in 1976 - has been rebuilt. The gymnasium, which resembled an indoor hobo jungle when it was used to house the inmates who had deliberately dispossessed themselves, is now a clean, well-lighted place.
The wall vault in the classification building where 15 hostages were held in 1975 in the siege that led to the death of prison social worker Mary Steinhauser, killed in shots fired by the prison tactical squad that stormed the stronghold, has been welded shut but the building itself is in fine shape.
With the Steinhauser death, the 1976 rampage, a 1978 escape attempt and hostage-taking in which Andy Bruce was a central figure, as he had been in the Steinhauser affair, the penitentiary was stamped, finally, with a public and political seal of disfavor that could no longer be ignored.
The penitentiary's 19th warden in a nearly 102-year history, Reynett, as the inmate population count headed for zero, looked back on the history he has shared for three years a history that goes back to the prison's opening on Sept. 28, 1878.
Our population has gone from a high of around 760 inmates, at any one given time, down to now, which is the low," be said, noting that even on its first day in business in 1878 frontier British Columbia managed to round up 11 felons to get the ball-and-chain roiling.
"The six inmates is the lowest it's ever been," he added. "I tell you, it's an eerie feeling."
Eerie it is, as we are to find on our own tour but the proof is in the walking through the empty general-population cellblocks, the empty hospital, the empty gymnasium, with only the ghosts of echoes of barred doors constantly clanging, muffled curses and cries in the night
"It's been said for years that it was going to close but there's no doubt about it this time," said Reynett, saying all that is left to be said.
Caption:
HERB REYNETT… B.C. Pen "pretty dead jail"
"Pen closure announced 26 times since 1948," Vancouver Sun. February 15, 1980. Page 12.
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By DOUG WARD
At long last the final prisoners have left that stark and moribund rock castle overlooking the Fraser River in New Westminster.
The doors of the B.C. penitentiary, closure of which has been announced 26 times since 1948, have held their last prisoner and can now sway silently in the fortress that for decades has been rubbed raw with violence and controversy.
"As long as I can remember that place was going to be phased out," recalled Doug Jack, Fraser Valley regional coroner, in an inter view Thursday. "It became a standing joke."
Jack grew up beside the penitentiary's wall on the prison grounds. His father was a guard there in the 20s and '30s. The Pen was run like a military camp back then, run by guards who had just returned from the First World War, he said.
"There was no nonsense in those days. Guards said "Jump' and the prisoners said 'how high?' The prison was another world when I was young compared to how it has been for the last 15 years."
Still, prisoners had a lot more freedom then, Jack remembers.
"It was the prisoners who tore down the old wood walls and replaced the, with concrete. They were also able to drive trucks, hauling goods from a wharf down along the river.
"We kids used to play back by the orchards behind the walls in Glen Valley. Often the prisoners would be out there cutting the grass or picking fruit from the trees.
It was there, under the apple orchard, that 41 convicts were buried over the years. The Iast one, Frank Wilson, a 72-year veteran of the prison, was lowered into his grave in 1967.
Jack has conducted inquests into deaths of Pen inmates since 1950-an average of about five a year, he said. "The deaths ranged from natural causes and suicides, which were the most common, to Mary Steinhauser who died in a fusillade of bullets.
It's the Steinhauser death that stands out the sharpest in Jack's memory of Pen inquests. "It took me 17 full days to complete it. At that time it was the longest inquest in B.C history."
Steinhauser, a prison classification officer, died after three prisoners, including Andy Bruce, held 15 hostages in a vault for 41 hours in June, 1976. The drama came to a climax when a prison armed squad blasted through the only door of the room, taking the prisoners and shooting Steinhauser in the process. Bruce, who participated in two other hostage taking incidents, was seriously wounded.
That hostage taking incident is the most infamous of the many bloody spasms that have wracked the institution's innards. A 1934 newspaper story on a convict "strike" at the Pen reads like something out of the 1970s.
Col. H.W. Cooper, warden at the time, is quoted: "Iron tables were smashed and the legs were rattled up and down and across the iron bars of the cells, creating terrific noise. The shouts of the locked-up convicts added to the din."
The din was heard a considerable distance away from the Pen, the paper reports. In 1954, 100 prisoners wrecked their cells and plumbing in solidarity with prisoners who rioted a week earlier at the penitentiary in Kingaton. Ont.
In 1963, the Pen was hit by its biggest riot ever. Three prisoners tried unsuccessfully to escape and publicize the dilemma of a prisoner who had been transferred to a mental unit and who, they said, was not mentally ill.
Simultaneously, 300 prisoners rioted in their dormitories. The disturbance was quell ed eight hours later with tear gas.
In August, 1970, prisoners became outraged by the death of fellow prisoner Walton Brass and revolted in the exercise yard. The prisoners said Brass was murdered. The uprising last for eight hours.
In August, 1972, deputy prison director Hugh Grest and classification officer Jean Young were held hostage for 10 hours by two prisoners.
In both February and March. 1973, single prisoners held instructors at knifepoint backing up requests for tranfers to other institutions.
In February, 1976, Andy Bruce, Dwight Lucas and Dwight Lowe held three guards at knifepoint for 14 hours, releasing them when than-director Dragan Cernetic publicly promised to improve conditions in the solitary confinement unit.
In April, 1976, Jean-Mare Gariepy, Serge Barrett, John Lucas and Leonard Paquette held three guards for 13 hours.
In September, 1976, nine prisoners held a food services worker and a guard hostage in the prison kitchen. Meanwhile, prisoners in the east wing destroyed that wing, causing #1.5 million in damage.
Finally, in January, 1978, a week-long hostage drama unfolded as five prisoners unsuccessfully tried to break out. The prisoners, including Bruce and Stephen Hall, held 10 people hostage.
Ironically, the last protest to be heard from some of the prison's inmates was against having to leave the place that so many before them had struggled to escape.
The prisoners were concerned about being transported long distances away from their families and from their best chances for pa role.