When Clinton Truman Duffy became warden in 1940, no one expected San Quentin to change. Because of the public’s revulsion at the prison’s sadism and corruption, San Quentin seemed to need a lion tamer or bomb disposal expert. Instead, it got a meek, mild-mannered little man who wore gold-rimmed glasses and a rosebud in his lapel.
Appointed temporarily for 30 days while the governor searched for a more impressive crusader, the new acting warden turned out to be a piece of the sun, radiating an energy and force unlike anything ever seen in the history of American penology.
During the 11 years that followed, Duffy, growing in an idealism obsessed with exposing rot and corruption, never abandoned his belief that San Quentin could rehabilitate as well as punish.
“Never confuse fairness with softness,” he told his officers, “as we assign men in trades or to school.” He then established broad programs of academic and vocational training.
He was the first warden in the nation to allow convicts to listen to radios in their cells. He organized extensive recreational programs for both athletes and non-athletes, believing strongly that physical fitness led to psychological health and well-being. He inaugurated a prison newspaper to which he contributed a regular column, “Facts Not Rumors,” He established the first chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous and allowed prisoners to pursue handicrafts such as belts and wallets.
He wrote the first “scientific” classification system and advanced changes in parole policies. During World War II, he supervised an unequaled prison contribution to the military efforts. Bands, music, religious clubs and activities, as well as a radio station with inmate DJs and commentators became an integral part of prison life.
As warden, Duffy watched 150 die in the gas chamber, never hesitating to explain his opposition to the death penalty. He maintained that only the poor were executed and that the death sentence did not deter crime.
“We want an eye for an eye and that’s wrong,” he once said. “It is wrong for these people to kill and it’s wrong for the state to kill.” Even after he retired, he continued fighting for the men on death row.
Clinton’s wife, Gladys, was known as “Mother Duffy” to thousands of inmates who had nothing but the highest respect and admiration for her. In her memoirs, Warden’s Wife which was published in 1959, she describes how “the men” got to know her. After the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, the prisoners nearly panicked in the unexplained blackout that evening. Gladys took the microphone of the “Gray Network,” the San Quentin radio system, and explained that all the lights in the greater Bay Area had been turned off to thwart a possible Japanese aerial attack. The inmates also came to know her through her visits to the movies, unprecedented for a warden’s wife, and to the chapel.
In early January 1952, Duffy turned San Quentin over to his first assistant, Harley Oliver Teets, and became a member of the state’s parole fixing adult authority. As he walked the upper yard for the last time as warden, a rheumy lifer clutched his hand and said, “I speak for my fellow prisoners. God bless you, Mr. Duffy. You’ll never know what you did for us.”
After Gladys’ death in 1969, Clinton Duffy lived another 13 years working tirelessly to improve his staff, the guard line, and the Department of Corrections. He had served more than 32 years.
In 1972, he was honored by President Richard M. Nixon for his public service and humanitarianism. The commendation read in part, “In recognition of exceptional service to others in the finest American tradition.”
Before his death on Oct. 13, 1982, at the age of 84, Duffy had authored four books on prison life and problems. The best known were The San Quentin Story, 88 Men and Two Women, and Sex and Crime.
No one who knew him, worked with him or served a sentence under his watchful eye as warden disputed the unofficial title the media gave him, “Father of Modern Penology.” But he was much more than this. If it’s true that a great man rises out of the need of his time, then Clinton Duffy appeared on the scene when the need to fight corruption and brutality was most pressing. This powerful but kindly man addressed himself only to the deplorable conditions he found at San Quentin, the safety of his staff and the rehabilitation of his prisoners.
This simple three part series hardly honors a warden who should be measured not by his extraordinary accomplishments, but by his vision of the future for the incarcerated. That vision included an unfailing respect for almost all human beings who have in them the capacity to do well, to be good, if only given a chance.
