THE CHESSMAN CASE
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and I unhesitatingly declared war to find
it.
I wanted to get
even, to have one last defiant fling, and to go out in a blaze of iron–
ically stolen glory." There is no meaning, no purpose, no gain.
"Repeatedly we had had it impressed upon us that the road we fol–
lowed led not to riches but to prison or the grave. Soon we reached
the point where we were unable to justify the continuation of our
collective effort without frankly admitting that our goal was merely
to raise as much violent, dramatic, suicidal hell as possible...."
He was put in reform school, released in April, 1937. He
came home to his weak, lenient, kind parents. "The next day he
was home and his homecoming was a happy one.... Not a word
of censure did he hear. His parents' sole concern was for his
future and how it could be made a success. And they were im–
mensely pleased at how sturdy and healthy he appeared." Freedom
is brief. The need to get back in conflict with the law begins almost
at the prison gate, after the handshake with the paroling officer,
after the lecture. Paroled in April, in May he had stolen a car
and more armed robberies began. All of this culminated years
later in his arrest and identification as the "red light bandit," an
armed robber who flashed a red light into cars parked on "lover's
lanes," robbed the couple, and twice sexually assaulted the women.
"After nine years of criminal violence and penal servitude fol–
lowing his release from reform school, he had come to the con–
demned row at San Quentin prison, twice condemned to death."
San Quentin at last. Prison is a part of the cycle; escape and
capture, alternate back and forth, "naturally." Capture is rest
from the manic push. The glum, exhausted face of the young
outlaw is as revealing as his arrogant, excited mask during the
chase. There is no sensible plan, no criminal organization; it is
crime and punishment, escape and capture, parole and violation.
San Quentin, the ultimate, the final, appears early in this grim
dialogue. With Chessman, the exhilaration of violence gives way to
extraordinary exertion in handling the fact of imprisonment.
Cruelty and threats have no meaning to men who live by cruelty
and threats. They merely provide self-justification. The desire to
be strong, not to bend under punishment, keeps criminal defiance
alive. "I preferred to stand on my own feet, even if it was in
hell." Independence, fearlessness, distorted into horrors, have a
