 The plank wooden floor was strewn with straw. In the twilight from the high little window, the prisoner searched the four corners in vain for a chair to sit or a pallet to lie upon. It was a noisy, filthy room, the very worst gall in America. The son of Ben Franklin, governor of New Jersey, was now living in a place that made Alcatraz look like the Ritz Carlton. He would spend two years there.