Medford mail tribune., February 03, 1963, Image 44

Warden Heinze examines weapons used in riot.
Seven grating words broke the reverent si
lence in the chapel of California's Folsom
Prison near Sacramento :
"All right, you guys, get over there!"
We had just finished a hymn. There had been a moment
of silence as our song leader, Joe Krake, thumbed through
his book looking for the next hymn, "He Lives." Then those
terrifying words I Three men leaped from their seats and
ran down the aisle shouting, "Let's go!"
. I thought: could this really be happening? Was it pos
sible that. a service to God was being used for a prison
break and that we, who had come to comfort imprisoned
men, were to be hostages of a few desperate convicts?
As minister of education in the Assemblies of God at
Sacramento's Bethel Temple, I had gladly accepted an in
vitation to hold services at Folsom that eventful Sunday,
Nov. 26. With me were 16 members of Bethel's Extension
Department who viuit people in institutions.
We all stood on the platform in shocked surprise, watch
ing the three lawless prisoners advance. "Get over there,"
one shouted at us, indicating the left side of the stage. The
blue-denimed prisoners in the congregation seemed like
statues except one.
"Come on, you guys. Help me stop them!" he shouted.
Later I learned this was Conrad Becker, 41, serving a life
sentence for armed robberies. Despite his record, he was
known as a "religious" man, and evidently he was incensed
by the blasphemy he was witnessing.
"Don't let them do this!" Becker yelled. He lunged at
the men as they came up the platform steps. They grappled
and fell in a tangle of bodies. A knife flashed, and Becker
was stabbed in his side. The convicts started toward us
again but Becker was determined.
Painfully, he rose to his feet and attacked the rebels
again. They fough amid grunts and cries, a swirling mass
of deadly anger. The knife flashed again. Becker stumbled.
How vividly I can see him! He had lost his shoe in the
struggle and now, with life draining out of him, he groped
for it dazedly, then staggered toward the chapel door and
collapsed otttaidc.
"Over here," one of the mutineers said. "Move fast!"
He held a crude knife in his hand and was trying to isolate
a few of us from the rest of the Bethel group. Most of the
congregation was hurrying out the chapel's front door. I
had an idea: I would pretend I hadn't heard htm and try to
join the others escaping.
"No!" one of the mutineers yelled at me. "We want you,
too." He grabbed me and gave me a push toward the
chaplain's office. The convicts broke a window to unlock the
door and herded seven of us inside. I recognized my fellow
hostages as the Rev. Heath Lowry, part-time chaplain a';
Folsom; Naaman Hall. Sunday-school superintendent;
Howard Hooker, a teacher; and members Frank Dotson,
Herschel Dean, and Joe Krake.
"' Our eaptors were Farrell (Red) Fenton, Edward William
Maher, and Edward Vaughn, who were each serving life
family Wnkly, Ftbnury 1. 1H3
A MINISTER'S STORY:
I Was a
Prison Hostage
mm
11m '
II mm
mj t m if m i --w i
"III
Gfr Ue life W
(Y