Forty Days at Kamas (32 page)

"I didn't either," Gallucci replied. "Nobody does until he tries."

Gallucci and I waited on the mess hall doorstep until it opened and we ate breakfast together. Afterward, I walked alone around the inner perimeter, observing the other prisoners and their adjustment to our new circumstances.

I soon discovered that freedom did not bring instant happiness to all the prisoners nor make them all better people. Some were unable to shake off the brutalizing influences of the warders even after the warders had been removed. These men became petty oppressors, instigating fights and bullying others and justifying their behavior by the punishments they themselves had endured.

Others became greedy, demanding more food, more space, more privileges than their rightful share, all to make up for past deprivations. One man was caught stealing cans of soup from a storeroom.

"Why are you denying me this?" he protested. "Hasn't enough been taken away from me? Arrested for no reason, my life ruined, and you would keep me from taking a few cans of soup?"

Still others became consumed with revenge. One prisoner rolled up his sleeve, thrust his right hand under a man's nose and swore to cut off the hand if he didn't drench it in blood the day the guards came back to attack us. Some prisoners, it seemed, might require a very long time to restore the habits of civilization.

I was on my way back to the barracks when I came across Ralph Knopfler, who urged me to come with him to the first meeting of the camp commission at eight o'clock. The commission, he said, would face a formidable array of tasks and would need people with managerial experience to help them. It seemed to be just what I needed to take my mind off my worries.

When we arrived at the mess hall, members of the commission were seated at two adjoining tables. Colonel Majors stood at the end of one of the tables, clipboard in hand, requesting a brief status report from each commissioner.

He called on several before turning to Pete Murphy.

"Major Murphy, how are your defenses coming along?" he asked.

"Fine, Sir. The improvements we proposed to the camp’s fortifications are already underway."

Perkins raised his hand to speak.

"If I may speak to that, Colonel," Perkins interrupted, "I object strongly to the building of new fortifications. The camp authorities are almost certain to see them as a deliberate provocation. I propose that we defer building any new barricades at least until after Monday's negotiating session."

"Negotiations?" Reineke broke in. "I'm not aware of any negotiations between us and the administration. Are you, Colonel?"

"I’m afraid George is right," Majors replied sheepishly. "The Deputy Warden called me first thing this morning and asked that we receive a delegation Monday at ten. I was going to raise it later, but now that it's been brought to the floor, do I hear any objections?"

"No objections to hosting the delegation," Murphy broke in. "But Perkins is out of his cotton–picking mind if he wants to delay our fortifications by even one day. We need time to train our troops and prepare our weapons. Fortifications are our best deterrent to an early attack."

"I agree," Reineke replied. "Perhaps George wouldn't mind sticking to negotiating strategy and leave military strategy to us."

"Now that we've heard from both sides, Colonel," Perkins replied coolly, "what's your decision?"

"I'm going to give Major Murphy the benefit of the doubt on this one. The fortifications continue. But before we go on, George, is there anything else you'd like to add about the agenda for Monday's session?"

"There's no agenda," Perkins replied. "The other side plans on sending Doug Chambers, Jake Boscov, and one other. We can bring whomever we like. Ten o'clock Monday in the women’s mess."

"Thank you, George," Majors continued. "I hope all of you will find time to attend. Major Murphy, do you have anything else to add on military matters?"

Murphy declined.

"Anything else on security?"

"No, Sir," Reineke answered.

"Technical is next. What do you have for us, Jerry?"

Jerry McIntyre was a brilliant and very good–natured man of about fifty who had been a prominent consulting engineer before his arrest. At Kamas he had made the Service Yard workshops a haven for the brightest technical minds in the camp.

"Our top priority right now is to figure out how to produce weaponry that the Military Department can use," McIntyre explained. "The problem is that our electrical current comes from outside. If the Warden cuts off our juice, most of the equipment in the workshops won’t function. I’ve put a task force to work on alternatives, but at this point, I can’t be terribly optimistic."

"Give it all you’ve got," Colonel Majors urged. "And keep me posted. Now, how about medical? Dr. Schuster?"

"We will continue to operate the dispensary as before," the surgeon began. "But the administration has stopped delivering to us any new medical supplies. I expect this to create shortages within a matter of days. We will adjust our triage rules accordingly."

"Betty, what do you have to say about the food supply?"

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."

C
HAPTER
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?"