Betty Shipley was an elegant woman in her mid–forties who had been a senior administrator at a large Philadelphia hospital before she was arrested for refusing to dismiss a group of prominent surgeons who had publicly criticized the deterioration in medical care under the Unionist regime.
"Fortunately for us, the warehouses in the Service Yard contain enough food to keep us all fed for at least another sixty to ninety days at our current rate of consumption," Shipley reported. "Unless the commission objects, I’ve decided to leave the standard rations unchanged. Now that we're using an honest measure and the warders aren’t around to pilfer, portions will be noticeably larger."
"Excellent," Majors said. "Now, unless anyone has something else they'd like to report, I propose we adjourn until tomorrow at eight so that I can meet individually with as many of you as possible. George, why don't you come first?"
While Majors and Perkins returned to their offices in the women's camp, I accompanied Reineke, Knopfler, and Quayle on a brief tour of barricades and fortifications. At Pete Murphy's direction, work crews were busy recycling the bricks removed from breaches in the interior walls and using them to reinforce the barricades that faced all exterior gates. These gates remained in the hands of the guards and could open at a moment's notice to admit an assault force.
Other crews strung out coils of barbed wire to create entanglements blocking likely avenues of approach. Wherever the barricades or entanglements went up, women from the Technical Department dropped off boxes of ground glass that could be thrown into the eyes of attacking Tommy gunners.
We stopped by a metalworking shop to inspect the progress on converting iron fence posts and concrete reinforcing bars into pikes by grinding and sharpening their ends. Nearby, smiths were busy forging knives, sabers, and even halberds with axe–like cutting blades and dagger–like spikes. Although the weapons were primitive, the prisoners carried them with dignity. Some vandals went a step further and created elaborate leather sheaths and scabbards for their newly forged blades.
On our way we passed one of the Technical Department's special workshops, where freshly painted signs hung from the barbed wire proclaiming, 'Danger! High Tension. 100,000 Volts. Do Not Touch!' At the edge of the freshly strip of plowed dirt surrounding the workshop other signs read: 'Danger! Minefield!' Such was the reverence in which the prisoners held the Technical Department that they obeyed these signs without question.
Pairs of roving sentries passed us as we returned to the barracks. With the puritanical air of revolutionary springtime, the male and female guards treated each other with deference and respect. To the prisoners, the presence of women at the barricades was a sort of weapon in itself, since it demonstrated our unconditional will to resist.
"How long can all this last?" I asked Reineke, pointing at the proud young sentries. "What possible chance can pikes have against machine guns?"
"Probably more than you think," Reineke replied. "But what's important from now on is not how long we last, or even whether we survive, but how we handle ourselves in the time we have."
CHAPTER 30
"History will absolve me."
—Fidel Castro, Cuban dictator
MONDAY, MAY 27
DAY 9
On Monday at ten o'clock, Doug Chambers, Colonel Jim Tracy, and General Jake Boscov appeared at the gate of the women's camp and called across the no–man's–land to request permission to enter. All three were dressed in their black State Security uniforms. I stood on our side of the no–man's–land with Ralph Knopfler and Glenn Reineke, who invited me to attend in Jerry McIntyre’s place.
The prisoners manning the barricades cleared the visitors to enter and led them to the women's mess hall, where the commission was waiting for them.
Along the way, Boscov and Tracy inspected every feature of the compound, with the close attention that one might expect of professional military officers reconnoitering enemy territory. Boscov took the lead, being highest in rank, and all three men walked through the camp with the confident air of proprietors rather than visitors.
The commission members sat at two mess hall tables forming the opposite sides of a horseshoe, while the State Security men sat at a third table facing the horseshoe’s open side. No bodyguards were present.
Colonel Majors greeted the three visitors at the mess hall door and led them past a long row of simple wooden coffins lying in a row on the floor and draped in black canvas. The coffins contained the bodies of prisoners killed while attempting to capture the Service Yard. The moment the visitors entered the hall, the camp commissioners rose, removed their caps and saluted while the visitors filed past the line of coffins. More by custom than respect, Boscov, Tracy, and Chambers grudgingly doffed their hats and returned the salute. Tracy and Boscov clearly bridled at the thought that the commissioners might construe their salutes as recognizing the dead prisoners as fallen heroes. I found it encouraging that, before negotiations had even started, Majors had managed to seize the high moral ground and put the State Security men on the defensive.
When all had taken seats, Majors introduced everyone around the table.
"Before we go any further," he continued, "I'd like to assure you and Warden Rocco that our election was in no way intended to show disrespect for the government’s authority. We simply thought it would be useful to have…"
Boscov accepted the colonel’s assurances with a perfunctory nod.
"We fully understand the need for representatives," he said. "One can’t hold a conversation with a mob, after all."
"Yes," Majors answered curtly. "I now yield the floor to your side to tell us why you called for this session."
Boscov appeared to be taken off balance.
"Ah, well, we wanted to get a dialogue going right away. To let cooler heads prevail, so to speak. After all, we don't want bloodshed any more than you do."
"A laudable goal, General," Majors agreed. "But on the substantive side, what new proposals do you bring?"
"None, for the moment," Boscov replied. "We came more to listen than propose."
Even Majors appeared puzzled by this remark.
"Excuse me, General," Ralph Knopfler broke in. "But isn't that exactly what you told us a week ago when you sat up on the speaker's platform? As far as I'm concerned, if you aren't going to bring any proposals to the table we might as well adjourn until you do."
"Isn't there anything you can offer to keep discussions moving?" Majors urged. "It would be a pity to disappoint Director Cronin by sending you away as soon as you arrive."
"Perhaps there is one area to discuss," Doug Chambers suggested. "You may be aware of the progress we've made lately in the area of case reviews. This week we’ve brought a senior Justice Department official with us to select some cases for expedited treatment before a special hearing panel. Would this be the kind of thing your men might be looking for?"
"It might be a good place to start," Majors replied. "You know as well as I do that most of us here had our confessions beaten out of us. In my own case, I've filed a sheaf of review petitions but they never seem to get to first base."
Chambers listened attentively to the colonel's complaints and made sympathetic noises. I sensed he had something up his sleeve.
"It sounds to me like yours is just the kind of case our colleague from Justice could help with. Perhaps we could talk later about arranging a private conference for you. Is anyone else here in a similar situation?"
Reineke objected.
"This is a blatant attempt to identify sympathizers among us and buy them off with special treatment. If there's to be any review of a commissioner's case, it should be conducted within ordinary channels. I hereby propose that all case reviews for commission members be suspended until we reach a final settlement."
"Seconded," Pete Murphy declared.
"I'll have to think about that, Major Reineke," the chief commissioner answered. "Let’s table it and move on. General, do you have anything else for us?"
"Well, as I said before," Boscov resumed, "we did want to take some time to hear any grievances or suggestions…"
But Chuck Quayle stepped in before Boscov could complete his sentence.
"Is this going to be a re–run of last Monday's pointless…?"
"Please don’t interrupt," Boscov demanded.
Quayle bristled and looked to Majors for guidance. Majors shrugged.
"I beg your pardon," Quayle offered, barely holding back his anger.
"You may repeat your question," Boscov replied, having reasserted control.
Quayle started over.
"As I was saying, is this going to be a repeat of last Monday's exercise? What about the commitments your side has already made to us?"
"Investigations are underway and Washington is reviewing your proposals," Chambers assured him. "These things take time."
I looked at the lineup of commissioners and saw folded arms, bored expressions, and eyes rolled upward.
A moment later a woman's voice spoke out. It was Libby Bertrand.
"I represent the women's camp and I'll tell you right now that we don't buy your stalling for one minute. For starters, the rules segregating female and male prisoners must end. We demand–"
Colonel Tracy cut her off.
"Just a moment," he snapped. "Prisoners do not demand. They request. This is still a labor camp, whether you like it or not."
"Why, you, miserable little black–shirted–" Bertrand fumed.
Again Colonel Majors played referee.
"No, Libby, the Colonel is right. We don’t govern here. Rephrase, please."
Bertrand regarded Majors and Tracy with cold fury but continued.
"We request that male and female prisoners no longer be segregated in separate divisions and that women be permitted to work alongside men in all job categories. Is that clear enough?"
"Clearly absurd," Tracy shot back. "Do you think we can rewrite departmental regulations just like that? Don't hold your breath."
General Boscov rapped his knuckles on the table. The hardened expressions on both sides held out little hope for reaching a consensus on anything.
"All right, all right," Majors ordered. "Enough of this bickering. Unless someone objects," he announced over the voices of several others in the room, "I propose that we suspend any further discussion of our dema…"–here Majors corrected himself–"requests until we've had time to boil them down to a single comprehensive list. For that, I expect we'll need to hold further meetings at the barracks level and perhaps a camp–wide town meeting. We’ll need time."
"Time for your defense teams to complete their fortifications?" Tracy asked sarcastically. "We weren't born yesterday."
"If you'd like us to speed things up, Colonel," Majors answered, "I’d be happy to move our town meeting up to tomorrow night for you. You may even attend if you’d like."
"Actually, we’d like that very much," Doug Chambers responded quickly.
That was something I had not expected at all.
"But tomorrow's not good for us," he added. "How about Wednesday?"
"Done," Majors agreed, apparently surprised at the Deputy Warden's willingness to appear before two thousand or more hostile prisoners.
"Wednesday at seven in the Division 3 mess. Now that we've settled that, I suggest we reconvene this meeting one week from today. We now stand adjourned. Major Reineke, would you mind escorting our guests to the gate?"
"But what about the inspection tour your man Perkins offered us?" Tracy broke in. "You're not going back on your own promises, now, are you?"
Again Reineke objected.
"Colonel Majors, it would be lunacy to let these men inspect our fortifications. Perkins has no authority to make an offer like that…"
But it was clear from the look on the colonel’s face that he sided with Perkins.
"Give them their damned tour," Majors growled.
"No," Reineke answered defiantly. "With all due respect, Colonel, I request a vote of the full commission."
The tension between Reineke and Majors became palpable.
"All right, have it your way, Major Reineke. All those in favor of giving General Boscov his inspection tour, raise your hands."
Six hands went up, representing Majors, Perkins, Quayle, Schuster, and the two women.
"All opposed?"
Four hands went up, representing Reineke, Murphy, Knopfler, and me.
"The ayes have it," Majors announced with a triumphant smile. Then he appointed the four of us who opposed the inspection to lead it.
We started immediately, maintaining a brisk pace and making few stops. For the most part, we stayed on the north–south road leading through the center of camp and kept away from fortifications and barricades.
We usually sensed when our visitors came across something they found useful. General Boscov was the first to notice from the sound of machines in one of the workshops and from the overhead lights in a food warehouse that the camp still had a source of electric power. I heard him ask Doug Chambers about it when he thought no one was paying attention. Chambers pledged to cut us off from the power grid at once.
But not all the visitors' observations left them the wiser. Several times Boscov and Tracy made snide comments about female prisoners serving as sentries with male partners. Both men failed to grasp how effective the mixed–gender teams had been at unifying the men's and women's camps around a common goal. Similarly, the State Security men seemed baffled whenever they saw thieves cooperating with politicals and not shirking their share of the work. The officers appeared incapable of acknowledging that their brainstorm of pitting thieves against politicals might have backfired.
On my way to the barracks I was surprised to find Pete Murphy racing to catch up with me. For weeks Murphy had seemed distant and ill at ease. Now he seemed intent on striking up a conversation.
"Glenn told me that you sometimes get dreams about the future," he volunteered after making small talk for a minute or two.
"I hate to disappoint you, Pete," I replied, "but I don't know any more about the future than anyone else around here."
"Oh, I'm not looking for predictions," he said apologetically. "It's just that I've been having dreams, too, and I don't know quite what to make of them."
"Is it the same dream again and again or is each one different?"
"They’re mostly different," Murphy explained. "But there's one dream in particular that I can't seem to shake."
"Want to tell me about it?"
We continued walking as he spoke.
"What was strange about it," Murphy began, "was that I heard a voice very clearly but I couldn't see who was talking. The voice told me that I could ask it any question in the entire world and it would give me the answer. No exceptions. Anything."
"What did you ask?"
"What do you think?" he said. "I said I wanted to know when I'd be done with the camps. Not just when my sentence was up, but when I'd actually be free."
"Did it give you an answer?"
Murphy slowed his pace and came close enough to speak softly into my ear.
"Yes. It said very clearly, 'The eighteenth of June.'"
"When did you have the dream?" I asked.
"On the thirtieth of March."
"Well, are you excited about getting out?" I asked, half in jest.
"I don't know," Murphy said without humor. "I still don't know if I can believe it or not. After all, it's just a dream. But at the same time, I'm kind of anxious about how I might take it if we get to June 18 and it looks like nothing is going to happen. My hopes are so set high, I don't know how I'd handle the letdown."
"Frankly, Pete, I think the real miracle would be that we’re not all mucking for gold in the Yukon by the middle of June. Would you do me a favor? Remind me the day before. Meanwhile, I'll keep my eyes open. Who knows, maybe it will be a lucky day for both of us."
CHAPTER 31
"You only have power over people so long as you don't take everythi
ng away from them. But when you've robbed a man of everything, he's no longer in your power–he's free again."
—Alexander Solzhenitsyn,The First Circle
WEDNESDAY, MAY 29
DAY 11
On Wednesday evening, I found myself waiting at the gate once again for visitors from the Department of State Security. Glenn Reineke, Pete Murphy, Colonel Majors, George Perkins, and I watched in silence as a pair of black government sedans pulled up outside the gate to Division 3. Across the no–man's–land we saw a pair of plainclothes bodyguards hop out of each car and look around before opening doors for their high–ranking passengers. Doug Chambers and General Jake Boscov emerged from the first car while Kenneth Cronin and an older man with tousled gray hair emerged from the second. Colonel Majors called across the buffer zone to invite them in.
Once they had entered the inner perimeter, General Boscov introduced the new man as Howard Barger of the Justice Department. The usual polite greetings were exchanged before we headed toward the Division 3 mess hall. When we arrived, some 2,000 prisoners were packed together on benches and against the walls waiting to hear what our captors were prepared to offer.
An awkward moment occurred before we entered, when Colonel Majors took Director Cronin aside and told the rest of us to precede them onto the speakers' platform. Reineke looked at Murphy and me with alarm. It wasn't lost on us that Majors's purpose in taking Cronin aside might be to float a settlement proposal or to urge special treatment for himself.
Boscov, Chambers, and Barger stood to the side of the dais while they waited for Cronin and Majors to catch up.
Colonel Majors mounted the dais, tapped the microphone twice to test it, and then spoke in a loud clear voice:
"Silence! All rise!"
He then invited the visitors to take their places on the platform while he sat off to the side where he could act as moderator. After introducing each guest he addressed the prisoners.
"A little more than a week ago, many of you met here with two of the officials who stand here before you tonight. I was in the camp jail at the time, but I've been told that the meeting was not very happy one. Since then, fortunately, our circumstances have improved."
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