The Nation: RAY'S BREAKOUT

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"They wouldn't have me in a maximum-security prison if I wasn't interested in getting out."

—James Earl Ray,

in an interview, May 27

The plot was classic in its simplicity—and its initial success. It began while some 200 prisoners were idling away their recreation time after dinner in the yard of the Brushy Mountain state prison. The beige-painted stone fortress, 40 years old and showing its age, is half hidden in the rugged Cumberland Mountains, 40 miles north of Knoxville, Tenn. No one had ever escaped for long from Brushy Mountain, a "maximum-security" penitentiary filled with hard cases—convicted murderers and other violent criminals.

As the men played horseshoes or volleyball or strolled the grassy area, they were studied by guards armed with shotguns and rifles who observed the familiar scene from seven of the eight watchtowers. In addition, about ten guards were down among the men, circulating, waiting, watching for trouble. It was 7:30 p.m., pleasant and cool. A gentle breeze was blowing, and the soft Tennessee twilight was just drawing on. Darkness would not fall for two hours or so—plenty of time for anyone to get away, if he could make it over the 14-to 18-ft. stonewalls.

Then it began, but in a way that would not immediately arouse suspicion. Shouts erupted, bodies swirled together in the yard: two inmates were fighting. Instantly, the other convicts began to shove and jostle each other to get to the scene of the action. They seemed to be reacting simply like bored men who were eager to enjoy any diversion in their numbing routine. The guards moved quickly to break up the melee, forcing their way through the crowd to get to the fighters. As the guards gained control of the situation, one of the prisoners attracted further notice by claiming he had a broken ankle. During the confusion, a man began running toward a nearby wall. For a brief interlude—perhaps only a moment or two—the guards in Brushy Mountain focused their attention on the group near the southwest end of the prison.

That was time enough. While the diversions went on, seven prisoners were making a dash for another section of the wall at the northern corner of the yard (see diagram). As usual during routine operations, the tower nearest to it was unmanned. The men erected a makeshift ladder crudely fashioned out of iron water pipes stolen from the prison's plumbing. Frantically, the men scrambled up the ladder and wiggled under the 2,300-volt electrified barbed wire that ran 18 in. above the top. At about that moment, all of the phones inexplicably went dead in the prison and for six to seven miles around. One after another, the men began making the long drop to freedom.