Word: warden
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...Vagabond wandered along his favorite path beside the Charles River last evening and reflected on the possibilities of a beautiful Harvard if grass and God were allowed half a chance. In the smoke of autumn some of the grossness of the Harvard architecture was lost and the fire warden's caboose atop Eliot almost disappeared in mist. A few blades of grass between the Houses would have reduced their architectural wranglings...
...huge, rawboned, grim man is Warden Richard Elias Davis of the Utah State Prison. With a firm hand he rules the convicts confined in that strong jail, made doubly strong by the high mountains back of Salt Lake City. Last week Warden Davis heard a bomb go off. Looking out from his office he saw the prison yard suddenly seething with a bloody, vicious riot. A dozen convicts had captured Deputy Warden Giles. Three hundred others were milling in the yard armed with clubs and rocks. Some had guns. Louis Deathridge, a Missouri desperado, ran to the wall with...
...office into the yelling mob strolled towering Warden Davis. Above the heads of the rioting convicts his face was grey and grim. They could see he was unarmed, but they also saw he was unafraid. As he shouldered his way forward the yard fell quiet. The convicts loosened their grip on the guards' throats. Quietly, clearly spoke Warden Davis: "You men get back to your cells...
...armed convicts looked at him in awe. He seemed big enough to subdue them all. They dropped their weapons, turned away, slowly moved back to their cells. One convict was dead, two guards, a deputy warden and two convicts injured. Two of the convicts, life termers, faced death if convicted of attacking a guard. The riot had lasted an hour and a half. Giant Warden Davis wiped his brow, strolled back to his office...
...Joliet, 111., Murderer Arthur Miller stole the warden's son's clothing, dieted from 180 to 130 pounds, fit himself into the grey linen suit, blue shirt, sport belt, black & white sport shoes, clapped the golf hat on his head, seized a golf stick, sauntered to freedom. After a holiday in Davenport, Iowa, clever Convict Miller borrowed an automobile, started for Chicago. At Dixon, 111., he came upon something he had never seen before or during his twelve years in prison?a red traffic light. He gave it one contemptuous kok and drove merrily on. That night in the Dixon...