It was the most violent episode in an unusually violent time in our nation's history, the bloodiest one-day clash between Americans in this century.
But the most lasting legacy of the deadly riot at New York's Attica state prison may have been one of non-violence. Authorities confronted by hostage-taking prisoners say the events of that day - Sept. 13, 1971 - taught them to be patient and peaceful.No prison riot in the 20 years since has ended in as lethal a fashion as when state police and corrections officers stormed Attica after a four-day standoff, retaking the prison but killing 10 hostages and 29 inmates in the process.
When prisoners at Southport Correctional Facility, New York's toughest prison, took three guards hostage in May, authorities talked to them and waited. They met the prisoners' demand to be interviewed on television, and the inmates surrendered peacefully.
"I think it took something like Attica to show people in the corrections business that there's a better way to do it than guns," said state Corrections Commissioner Thomas A. Coughlin.
Authorities in Maryland remembered Attica when inmates at a prison in Baltimore held two guards hostage for 23 hours in July, said corrections spokesman Greg Shipley.
"It's something that I think has affected hostage situations all over, whether in prison or in the street," Shipley said. "Time is on our side and there was certainly no rush to end it through the use of force."
The Attica uprising began like most prison riots. Overcrowding, boredom and what prisoners felt was a lack of attention to their complaints fueled tension that exploded after a minor altercation between guards and two inmates.
A group of inmates overpowered guards and charged toward the prison's nerve center, a central junction known as "Times Square." A faulty gate gave way and the inmates were in control. They took 40 guards and civilian employees hostage and poured into a recreation yard.
Corrections officials negotiated with the inmates for the better part of three days. But talks broke down when a corrections officer, William Quinn, died of injuries he had suffered during the takeover, and then-Gov. Nelson Rockefeller refused to grant amnesty to the inmates.
Rockefeller, ignoring pleas from observers to come to the scene, ordered state police to retake the prison on the morning of Sept. 13.
The police, backed by a few corrections officers, opened fire on inmates armed only with homemade knives and clubs. Ten hostages and 29 inmates died from the gunfire. Three other inmates were later found to have been murdered by other prisoners.
Most of those involved in the riot believe now that Rockefeller, who died in 1979, moved too soon. They said he should have come to the prison to see the situation for himself.
"Had he made his presence known, I think he would have defused that radical element and there would have been no need for a massacre," said former inmate Herbert Blyden, one of the rebellion's leaders.
The inmates later sued Rockefeller and 11 other state officials for ordering the assault. But a federal judge in Buffalo two years ago ruled Rockefeller's estate was not liable because the governor was not involved in planning the details of the attack.
The judge refused to dismiss the suit against two lesser state officials and the estates of two others. That trial begins Sept. 30.
Attica, 35 miles east of Buffalo, is still a feared maximum-security prison.
"When I first came here, I was a little intimidated by the name alone," said inmate Mark Thompson, 34, of Buffalo, serving a life sentence for second-degree murder.
But the prison, whose best-known inmate is Mark David Chapman, who assassinated John Lennon, is not the hellhole it was in 1971.
It houses about 2,100 inmates, some 200 fewer than at the time of the riot. Their pay has been raised. They spend more time out of their cells. Visiting hours have been extended, and the inmates are even allowed to have black-and-white televisions in their cells.
The cell block that was most heavily damaged in the riot has been rebuilt as an honor block for well-behaved inmates. It is lined with potted plants, its cells are 50 percent larger than normal and inmates can cook in them.
"Pretty comfortable, for jail," said honor block inmate Kenneth Zerweck, 44, who is serving 25 years to life for second-degree murder.
Billy Booker, an inmate who was at Attica during the riot and was returned to the prison on a new conviction eight years ago, said all the changes have not been for the better.
"I would have to say there's more permissiveness now," he said. "But you don't know where you stand. Today, you don't know what you can or can't do. Rules are made on the spur of the moment."
Sgt. David Beitz, a corrections officer who has worked at Attica since a year before the riot, said the changes have made another riot less likely.
"It keeps them occupied," he said. "Back in '70, '71, people were locked in their cells after the supper meal and they stayed locked up until the next morning."
The uprising left deep wounds in the closely knit town of 2,630 people nestled in upstate New York's dairy country. Many people knew a guard or civilian who was killed or injured.
Robert Kirkpatrick, who took a job as a guard at Attica two years after the riot that killed Quinn, his next-door neighbor, said townspeople don't like to remember the event except on the anniversary. This year, guards will hold a memorial service at a monument outside the front gate.
"It was a real bad experience for those guys," said Kirkpatrick, now a supervisor at the prison. "You have to realize, they lived hell, not just for one day but for several weeks afterward."
Some inmates commemorate the event each year by fasting, and on major anniversaries there often is some sort of demonstration within the prison, corrections officers said.
But other inmates, fearful of antagonizing the guards on whose good will they depend for basic human needs, plan to lay low and ignore it.
"I'm going out for a visit with my wife," Zerweck said. "I stay out of it. I've got a nice comfortable setup."