Tenant @the_tenant - Twitter Profile

The_Tenant retweeted

Massimo

@Rainmaker1973

about 19 hours ago

This is what real wealth looks like

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The_Tenant retweeted

Massimo

@Rainmaker1973

about 16 hours ago

Penguins go back after seeing the sea lion and waking him up from his little nap

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The_Tenant retweeted

JefersonNasa

@Jefersonnasa_

1 day ago

La expresión alegre del perro después de deslizarse por el tobogán es demasiado adorable jajaja

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The_Tenant retweeted

Clark Kent

@clark_kent10935

about 13 hours ago

Good morning from Virginia. 🇺🇸 Ninety-two years ago today, on a fog-shrouded morning in San Francisco Bay, the first federal prisoners stepped onto the cold concrete of Alcatraz Island and the legend of “The Rock” was born. The island had already lived several hard lives. For decades it stood as a military fort guarding the Golden Gate, its guns covering the approaches to the harbor. During the Civil War it held Confederate sympathizers and prisoners of war. Later it became the Pacific Branch of the U.S. Military Prison—a remote, windswept disciplinary barracks where the Army locked away its own troublemakers. By 1933 the War Department no longer needed it. The Justice Department did. Attorney General Homer Cummings and Bureau of Prisons Director Sanford Bates wanted a place for the men other federal prisons could not handle: the escape artists, the agitators, the “most desperate or irredeemable.” Alcatraz, isolated 1.5 miles offshore amid powerful tidal currents and water cold enough to kill a man in minutes, was perfect. On August 11, 1934, the first civilian inmates arrived—fourteen hardened men transferred from McNeil Island Penitentiary in Washington. They joined a handful of remaining military prisoners still finishing their sentences. More boatloads followed in the weeks ahead, including a shipment from Atlanta that carried the most famous name of them all: Al Capone. Bank robbers, counterfeiters, kidnappers, and killers soon filled the steel cells. The island’s population would never be large—usually around 260 men—but every one of them had earned his place there the hard way. Life on Alcatraz was deliberately sparse. Each man received four basic rights: food, clothing, shelter, and medical care. Everything else—work, visits, letters, even conversation—was a privilege that had to be earned through perfect behavior. Cells measured roughly eight by four feet. A narrow cot, a cold-water sink, and a toilet were the only furnishings. Early on, Warden James A. Johnston enforced a strict rule of silence; men marched single-file, ate without talking, and returned to their cells under constant count. Guards conducted as many as thirteen official counts every twenty-four hours. The routine was relentless, the isolation absolute. Yet the very severity that made Alcatraz famous also made it legendary. Over nearly three decades, 36 men tried to escape in fourteen separate attempts. Official records say none succeeded. The cold water, the currents, and the watchful guards saw to that. When the prison finally closed in March 1963, the island had already passed into American folklore—home of Capone, “Machine Gun” Kelly, the Birdman, and countless lesser-known men who learned that some walls are made of more than steel and concrete. Today the Rock is quiet, a National Park Service site where tourists walk the same corridors once paced by the nation’s most dangerous inmates. But on this morning in 1934, as the first federal prisoners felt the damp salt air and heard the heavy doors clang shut behind them, Alcatraz became something colder and more permanent: the end of the line. America 250 🇺🇸