Arquivo #11452: "PrisonEtiquette.pdf"

THE DANBURY STORY
HOWARD SCHOENFELD

The Warden adjusted h-is glasses .
· "Man," he said, "Th is is my fast appeal to you. Your group<
is conspiring l:o buck the authority of the bureau of prisons. If
you persist ill your foolhardy conspiracy not only your lives, but
the lives of the 600 other men in this institution will be adversely
affected. So will the lives of the thousands that will follow them.
If you won't think of yourselves, think of them. Do you want them
to be punished for your actions?"
The Warden paused. His future in tfie prison system was bound
up in his ability to meet such situations as this, and he was doing
his best to reason with us. He was a man of about fifty, with a
clean cul:, intelligent face.
His positioa was both delicate and difficult. If word of our
impending strike reached the public there would, undoubtedly, be
a terrific reaction to it, end he was cerl:iiin to be made lhe scapegoat.
On the other hand if word failed to reach the public he would
probably be accused of suppressing the news, and meanwhile his
authority within the prison seemed sure to be undermined.
The Warden was

a

man with a comparatively advanced outlook.

There were adequate recreational facilities in his prison, smoking

·12

was permitted in t:I1e mess hall, mo 1ies were shown once a w~e k,
inmates were allowed to put on shows, the yard period was Ieng,

the institution's soft ball team was given ample time to pradice .
an:l the prison generally was run along wh at: are considered liberal
lines.
The Warden was a good nab.ired man with a se.nse of humor
and a keen feeling of sympalhy for the undHdog. Ironically, he
requested the prison bureau to send us to his prison; and, to be
perfedly honest, the worst we suffered under his administration
was solitary ~ onfinement, whereas wardens at other prisons allowed
guards to beat and torture inmates of our type.
The Warden was a sports enlhusiast of the first order. No
broadcast of a figh ·t or an
inmates hearing it.

He

important game passed without the

had been known to rouse the whole prison

after lights out to show a new fight film, even going so far as to

fet the men in solitary out to see it. And no inmate was happier
than he over the fact that the prison soft ball team was undefeated
in a really excellent league, and was scheduled to play the other
undefeated team, a group of college men, in a

few

weeks, for the

championship of that area.
The prison team's high standing was due to the good pitching
of a convict in our group of strikers, and it was this, coupled with
the Warden's love of sports, that was pari:ially resp~nsible for the
extraordinary event which occured in the prison later.
The Warden was a liberal with a position of authority in an
evil system. On the whole he aHempted to use his authority to
alleviate the evil. The attempt was foredoomed and futile. Despite
everything he had done, his prison was still a hell on earth.
Negroes were segregated, teen aged convicts were thrown into
solitary, foul food was served frequently, the lunacy ward was used
to coerce the sane, reui:ng matter was censored unmercifully,
stool pigeons plied their rotten trade, men 'blew their tops', and
the constant surveillance and grinding m::>notony of confinement
took its inevitable toll.
Thtt reforms instituted by the Warden seemed to us to be of

13

a piddling natu:e wh~n pla:ed alongside the general horror cf
everyday prison life, through we weren'I: striking against the prison
system at that time. MaAy of us had clashed with the system and
would continue to do so, but on this occasion our strike was of
a more fundamental nature.

lnHcapably, the Warden was fo rced to oppose us, and uphold
his authority; and, with it, the authority of the evil system that:
gave him his power. For a kind man, which he seemed to me to
be, it was a tragic situation.
A good impulse prompted him to ask the prison bureau to
send us to his prison. His fate was to discover us unmanilgeable.
We were a proud, stiff-necked lot who openly boasted we were
the most radical men in the country. We lined up that way, radical
versus liberal, and began our s\:ruggle.
The Warden continued to speak.

"If you carry through with this strike, not only will your lives
be affected, but liberalism itself may be wiped out in the prison
bureau. All of you know how hard some of us in the bureau have
struggled to better the lot of the inmate. We've made progress
lately, and we expect to make more, but the forces against: us are
powerful, and the balance delicate. A strike al: this time may upset:
the balance and throw the prison bureau backwards to the conditions
of 20 years ago. None of you men want that."
"But we aren't striking against the prison bureau," someone

said.
"It doesn't make any difference why you're striking. The question
is can. any grou_p in a fede r,al 1,>rison call a strike at any time. The
iss.ue her.e is whether your gn:>up o.f twenty or thirty men has the
authority, in this prison or whether the people of the United States
through the Federal Bureau of Prisons and the Warden have it."
The Warden was good humored and even friendly despite tlie
forcefulness of his words.
"I want to be fair lo you men," he said. "In many ways the
circumstances beh ind this strike are unusual, and therefore I'~
willing to make concessions. For example I might allow your group

14

to cease work on the designated day and turn the chapel over
t:o you, provided you give your word nol to ask 1:he rest of the
inmate body to join you. You'll have to make it cl~ar, however,

t:hat you're not protesting against the prison bureau and that ~he
nature of the services are religious, rather than a strike. ·
The fairness of this proposal struck me at once and I was
genuinely sorry we couldn't agree with the Warden on it. Unfortunately, any arrangement other than a strike would have destroyed
the meaning and effect of our protest.
"Any inmate who wants lo join us has been invited to do so,"
a convict said.

The Warden shook his head.
"Impossible. Supposing everybody 101ns you. Who will man the
hospitals and take care of the sick? Who will tilke care of the
kitchen and other chores?"
"We'll leave skeleton crews on duty," another convict said.
"None of the other inmates are going to join us, anyway,''
someone else said.
Others chipped in with sim1lar comments.
The Warden raised his hand for silence.

"I've made my offer," he said. "It's up to you to decide
whether you'll take it or not. If not, you'll have to take the
consequences."

We decided to take the consequences.
The other inmates, though t~ey failed to join the strike, kept
us informed and-or misinformed via the grapevine of the Prison
Bureau's moves the following day.
The Bureau, thor'oughly aroused, acted swiftly.
Apparently fearing a general strike of riot proportions, carloads
of Department of Justice men, armed with machine guns and tear
gas, were unloaded at the prison gates, according to the grapevine.

Other Department of Justice men, it seemed, were released in t:he
prison disguised as inmates. Guards, on their own hook, and

15

prebably wil:hout official knowledge, went their rouiids leUing the
inmates know they'd be safe in starting fights with any in our
group of conscientious objectors, if they wanted to do so. Our
case as pacifisl:s would be less clear in the p•blic eye if we fought:
back, thereby making it pos.ible for the Bureau to get tougher
with us.
Early in the afternoon stool pigeons began circulating among
the men in an effort to bring inmate pressure to bear on us. The
prison would be punished as a whole if the strike took place, they
explained. Smoki11g, letter writing, and visiting privileges would be
withdrawn from all. Other punitive measures would be taken .

Tiie s ix or seven hundred bootleggers, counterfeiters, embez_
zlers, smugglers, pimps, white slavers, con men, dope peddlers,

robbers, murderers, and what have you, comprising the so-called
criminal population of the prison stood to lose considerably by our
strike; yet not one of them put ~he slightest pressure on us to
change our stand.
During t he fa w months we had been in prison the inmates
had grown to love and respect us-as we had them. They were
a patie nt, forebearing body,

daily putting

up

with

the most

d .s grading and despica ble treatment by the prison bureau. We
cas t our lot in with theirs from the beginning, and all of our
group of ministers, div in ity students, and socialists had been in
solitary or re strictions at one time or another for protesting against
the ev il condi tions under which they lived.
Furthermore, 1n our group of absolutists, were many spiritually
developed men of almost saint ly stature. Even the judges who
sentenced them recogn ized it. One judge, after hearing the Union
Theological Seminary students in our group, wept and apologized
as he passed sentence on them. Another judge, sentencing Arie
Brooks, after reviewing his life of service to others in a probationary
report, remarked that he felt like Pontius Pilate.
These men and the others seemed to me, a socialist, to be
the first truly relig ious men I had ever met, and I have known
n,bbis, ministers, pries~s, and church goers all my life. Under their

16

~nfiuence many an inmate, who had never -known kindness bt even
dacent treutment before, discovered his own spiritual potential.
The guards and prison officials were also aware of the unusual
situation in the priso11, and more than one commented on it. There
was less swearing, fighting and sex talk; m£>r.a studying, discussion

and quiet re-appraisement. A general restoration of self respect
seemed to be taking place among lhe men.
Our strike was one in which they had no appirent stake; yet
they were as zealous of our welfare as if they had been blood
relatives.
Qy late afternoon the prison was in a state of nervous apprehension. When the supper whistle blew that evening the men
poured out of their cell blocks and surged across the prison yard
toward the mess hadl, carrying us along with them. Midway, they
came to a sudden halt.
The Warden was standing on a small box in the center of
the yard. Guards quickly

rounded th~ men up and herded them

into a bunched mass in f.ront of him. Other convicts continued to
pour out into the mob. I moved toward the reat and Ewo guards
detac~ed themselves and moved in behind me. Other guards stationed themselves wherever there were conscientious objectors. The
men stirred restlessly, anxious to get to their suppers. Night was
falling and a high wind was whipping through the yard.
The Warden began to speak.
As everyone knew, he said,

a

genetal strike was being called

the next morning by a small group of inmates~ The nat:ure of the
strike as he saw it did not concern the rest of the inmates and
he expressed the belief that they wouldn't join us. We were not
striking against the Prison Bureau or the administration of Ehe
prison, he pointed out, but against the government of the
The patriotism of the group calling the strike, though

U.S.

we were

not yet at war, was of a questionable nature. We had deliberately
disobeyed th11 law of the land and that was why we w'6re in prison.

We had been trouble makers from the beginning arid now we

were

wilfully calling a strike against: khe best inl:erests of 1:he nal:ion.

17

l:verybody was against war, including himself, and he had gonealong with us as long as he could, offering to allow 11s the use
of the chapel for prayer and meditation on the designated day,
but we had rejected the offer, preferring to flout the authority of
the prison bureau and the government.
The selfishness of our course was apparent. A strike in the
prison bureau at this time might prove disastrous. The Bureau was
more liberal than at any time in its history. He dwelt on the gains
that had been made recenlly aAd emphasized the benefits accruing
to the inmates. Our strike would be a blow to those gains, giving
the reactionary opposition an opportunity to criticize, and halt them, .
possib!y destroy them altc-gether. The inmates would see the wisdom
of steering clear ef our strike, and the selfishness of it:. He expresHd his confidence in the men, and knew he could count on
them for support. He paused for applause.
Silence met him.
Hastily, he continued his speech. He emphasized again the
gains that had been made in the bureau, the threat to them, the
selfishness of our group of men. We had so little consideration
for the inmates we were going to deprive them of their food, if
we had our way, by calling the kitchen help out on sl:rike. We were
going to deprive the hospital of help, leaving the sick and dying
to shift for themsolves. The Warden was interrupted by a clear,
but: respectful voice.
"That's not quite true, Warden."
The speaker was Arie Brooks, a minister of the Disciples of
Christ, known among the men for his meek character and spiritual
humility.
The Warden focussed his aHention on Arie.
"Seize that man," he said, pointing al: him.
Gu ards quickly surrounded Arie, locking their arms together
around him.
The inmates, knowing Arie's character, broke into spontaneous
laughter at the unnesessary precaul:ion. The laughter died instantly
when the Warden ordered Arie taken away and thrown into solitary.

18

A wave of angry muttering swept through 1:he crowd.
The Warden demanded silanca and went on with his speech.
The muttering concinued ominously. The Warden quickly ended on
a pa triotic note, got off his box, and staying close to his guards
disappeared into one of tha buildings. Guards shoved the men
across the yard towilrd the mess hall. The muttering continued.

After supper we circulated among the men as much as possible,
attempting l:o quiet them. By lights out, the prison was somewhat
c:almar. I was quartered in an insida steel wire enclosed space,
called a medium custody dormitory by the prison officials. The floors
were concrete and the small area was enclosed by concrete walls.
In it were eight or nine crowded rows of steel c:ots on which the
men slept. Between the steel wire and the back wall was a small walk

along which guards made their nightly rounds. In the dead of night
I was aroused by a guard car ryin g a flashlight. He shook me awake.
"Get your cloth e s and follow me."
I picked my way through the mass of sleeping men and followed
him into an adjoining room where I was allowed to dress. Speech
was forbidden. After a long wait a guard came down the cat walk
l.~ading two other conscientious objectors. We followed them silently
down the corridor through the maze of the prison. I had no idea
what was in store for us, but knowin g the prison bureau, I had
no doubt that it was going \:o be unpleasant. We emerged in front
of a large waiting room. Inside were t he other men of our group,
sitting silently. We went in and toGlk our places with them. I lit
a ciga reHe. A guard took it from me. The clock on the wall ticked.
A Lieutenant of guards enl:ered and checked our names against
the list he was carrying. He disappered down the corridor, suddenly;
and, as suddenly, reappeared. He read a name.
"David Dellinger."
Dave arose and followed him. David was a divinity stude nt
whose firs\: act in prison had been against the segregation of
Negroes. Walking into the mess hall he had deliberately stepped

19

out of the white men's line and sat at a Negro table. The mes s
hall is the most heavily guarded spot in a prison and the simple
action took extreme courage. His punishm ent was swift and ruthless; yet afterwards, he had cons istently opposed the Bureau's
racist policy along with the rest of us. Out:side, he had don e
settlement work in slums, while still attending Theological Seminary.
Previously, he had held an English exchange scholarship whic h, i 1
t:he religious world, parallels the Rhodes Scholarship. He failed
t:o return.

We waited. The guards watched. The silence was heavy, broken
only by the ticking of the clock. The sound of footsteps, coming
from the distant end of the corridor, rea ched us. The Lieuten ant:
arrived at t:he door, entered, and looked at his list.
"Sturge Steinert," he said.
Steinert arose and followed him. We listened as the echo of
dual footsteps reced e d in the corridor and faded out. St•inert was
a socialist who had been a student at Temple University. The
American Legion had award ed him a schol arshi p for winning an
essay contest on Americanism. Tne scho larsh ip, I beli eve, was with -

drawn when he carried his ideals into practice. He also failed to
return.
The Lieutenant entered and read another name.
"Gordon Goley."
Goley was a religious man who had renounced all things
material, and devoted his full time to a study of the Bible. Independently,

through prayer and

meditation, he had attained a

spiritual stature as yet unachieved

by most west ern religionists.

His unaffected simplicity and truly holy character were a source of
jnspiring strength, and his mere presence in any group was a
powerful agent for good. In the ancient muning of the term, he
was, and is, probably the only living holy man in the United States.

He too, failed to return.
The Lieutenant called for us, one by one. The wait, for those
of us who were not at the top of 1:he lisl, seemed inl:erminable.
I became extremely nervous. I looked around the room at t:he men

20

waiting wilh me, for reassurance.
They were lae finest people I had ever known . Gathered 1o1p
from everywhere they seemed to me to embod y the conscience of
America. Each could have obtain ed his release from prison instantly
by registering in the draft, and nearly all, being ministers and
divinity students, would have been automatically exempted from
service. The rest, for one re11son or another, would also have been
free at that time. L:ach in his own way had led an exemplary life,
and I was proud to be associated with them.
Eventu illy, the Lieutenent entered and called my name. I
11 rose

and followed him. Walkrng down the corridor, I remembtH

being amused by the situation, and for the moment, enjoying tha
sensation of participating in a comic opera. The reality of the
waiHng Lord High Executioner destroyed the brief pleasanhy.
At the end of the corridor I was frisked before being led
through the steel barred door that opened into a section of the
prison that was devoted to administration offices. The Lieutenant
openod the door to the Warden's office, and motioned me to eni-er.
I had had the sensation of being in comic opera, but the
sensation now on entering the Warden 's office, was that of
stepping into an Arabian Night's adven~ure.
For months we had seen nothing in the way of furniture or
decoration except steel cots, metal chairs, and concrete walls. The
Warden's office, by contrast, seemed luxurious. Furnished wi th
thick rugs, modern furniture, invitingly deep chairs, and an abundance
of wall pictures, the comparative splendor of the room momentarily
dazzled me.
Incongruously, t:he Warden completed the picture. Apparently
having left a social funcl:ion to return l:o the prison, he was still
wearing full dress evening clothes, the coat of which he had
discarded i• favor of a smoking jacket. He was siHing at his desk,
a volume of poetry in one hand, while, with t:he other, he tuned •
stalion in on his desk radie. The luxury of his office coupled with
his, for a prison, bizarre dress had the effect of sharply emphasizing
1:he differences in our positions.

21

The Warden invite d me to be sealed and, to my astonishment:
asked me had I read Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass", which
he had in his hand. His manner was friendly and disarming though
he continued to manipulate the dial of the radio nervously throughout
the intervi ew. He expressed his regret that: he hadn't had the
opportunity to discu:,;s my viewpoint: with me previously and hoped
wnen I was re leased we could meet: on more social terms over a
glass of beer. I returned the polite sentimc.rnt. He went on to show
his into.!rest in my reasons for joining in the present strike, and I
;;hewed him a copy of a note I had given earlier to the Captain
o r guards, stat ing my mo t ives. He read the short note, which, as
I ri:member it, went som~thing like this:
"As iin e xpre;;si o n of so lidarity with the student peace strike
outside, the ma jo rity of the people of 1:he United States, and
cou;1tl.,ss miliion:i lhroughout the world, I intend to refuse to work
on April 23, 1941. l am not si:r iking against the U .S. government
or t he Bur~au of Prisons, but against war, which I believe to be
t ,1<i

grc.ates: evil known to man."
·fhe

Wardsn brougnt the interview to

ii

'

close a few minutes

later and called the Lieutenant of guards who led me away, and
threw me into solitary confinement.
A friendly guard explained to me later that: a dicbphone was
concealli!d in the Warden's office, connected with his radio, and
t.,at transcripts cf his interviews with each of us were made and
sent to Washington . What the purpose was, I cannot: imagine.
Solitary confinement was referred to as 'constructive meditation'

by the prison authorities. It differed in no way, insofor as I know,
hom solit::1ry confinement anywhere. Men w,rnt in, endured the
t~rrifying ordeal, and came out waakaneJ, sometimes dulled and
a pathetic for mo nths or years afterward s, and som'!times broken
al i:oget:her. Durin g my s~ay in prison a t lea st one man attempted
~u ;c,de in solii:ary prefe rring de ath to t he barbuic torture.

My cell meillsured five of my pace~ long and two wide. The
walls and floor were bare concrete. The door was metal with a
small glass square bi..:ilt in it. Guc.rds spii.d in on me from time to

22

l:ime. Owing l:o our number, a new cell block, no\: ordinarily used
for solitary purposes had l:o be opened up, and the advanl:age was
\:hat light seeped in to us l:hrough glass apertures. Stricl: silence
was maintained, \:hough I soon discovered I could gel: a response
from George Houser, who wu in l:he next cell by pounding on
l:he wall.
The first day dragged uneventfully, t:he second monol:onously,
l:he third worse. I paced my cell for hours on end, l:hrowing myself
on my cot exhausted, and losing myself in daydreams. Insatiable
sexual desires overwhelmed me, and I losl: counl: of l:he days in
l:he interminable silence, which was broken only by \:he dull voice
of the guard during count. I began to look forward to mealtimes
when an inmate, prevented from talking to me by the presence of
a guud, deposited a tray inside the cell. One evening I found a
cigarette and match neatly taped on the underside of the tray.
Delighted, I smoked it l:o the end, burning my fingers, becoming
dizzy and nauseated on the smoke.
The days passed. I made up songs and listened to the words
in my head. I wrote mental essays, novels, plays and short stories.
I scratched my growing beard and braided my hair to while away
\:he time. I reviewed my life, picking out the incidents I liked bes\:
and dwelling on them endlessly. I t:houg~t: about god and prayed.
I pounded the wall and paced the cell. One day I began screaming
mad parodies of patriotic music al: \:he top of my lungs, and broughl:
a

guard scurrying down \:he corridor l:o my cell. I \:old him I'd been

bit by a patriot: and had caughl: patriotic fever. He grinned al: me
and told me to shut up. I fell on my cot and laughed at my own
joke.

More than anything I longed l:o hear a voice, not dully counl:ing
bu\: saying something with feeling in il:, a speech, a polite conversation, a political discussion, or even a poetry recil:al:ion.
I got my wish on \:he calmest and quietest day of all, a Sunday
when no\: a sound of any kind was audible in the cell block.
Unexpectedly, E:rnest: Kirkjian, an ascetic of Armenian descent:,
began to sing the Latin version of Ave Maria. The holy music

23

sounded incredibly beautiful after 1:he awful days of silence, and it:
seemed to me I was hearing, really hearing and feeling, !:he human
voice in il:s 1:rue splendor for t:he firsl: l:ime. The saintliness and
puril:y of angels seemed l:o me to be in Kirkjian 's song, and something profound and hitherto untouched inside me, went: out: and
mingled wit:h ii:.
The song ended, and down the corridor, Bill Lovell began to
inl:one t:he Lord's prayer. The other Chrisl:ians joined in and recited
it:, and Al Herling, Stan Rappaport and myself joined together and
recited an ancient: Hebrew prayer.
It was a good day.

Weeks passed.
Ou day a guard entered !:he cell block, walked down !:he
corridor and opened l:~a door l:o Benedid's cell. Benedicl:, like
mos!: of !:he pacifists in our group, was a fine athlete. Outside,
his physical prowess was a legend in amal:eur athletic circles, and,
in parl:icular, he excelled

ilS

a sofl: ball pit:cher. Big muscled, strong

and agile, his speed ball was so swift on :y one man in the prison
could cal:ch him. The prison l:eam, built around his pitchil'lg, was
tied for firs!: place in its league, and his ability to hold the opposition scoreless had placed ii: there. The inmates, probably for
the firs!: time in the history of prison ball, were solidly behind
their team, which originally entered the league expecting to serve
as a scrub practise team for the other amaleurs in that area.

The Warden, a sports lover, was delight:ed witb the unusual
sit.al:ion, and it did not surprise us to hear the guard offer Benedict
his freedom if he would pitch the championship play-off games,·
which were scheduled for !:hat day. Benedict: pointed oat: he was
in no condition l:o pitch after his long confinement:, and wasn't
sure he could make it. The guarq explained he would be given
time to limber up and menl:ioned how disappointed the inmal:es
would be if the championship was lost. Benedict thereupon said
he would do it. He added, however, only on condit:ion that: all the

24

men in solitary, including the inmates not in the pacifis!: group,
were released, The guard said he would speak to the Warden
about it, and we heard him trwdge down the corridor.

We waited in silence till he came back. The Warden could
not agree to Benedict's terms, but he offered a compromise. He
would release all the C4tnscientious objectors for the game, and
Benedict permanently. Benedict refused. The guard disappeared,
returning shortly thereaftar with another offer. The Warden would
release everybody for the game, and Benedict permanently. Benedict
refused. The Guard disappeared.
About a half hour later a Lieutenant of guuds entered and
told Benedict the men were warming up for the first game. The
inmates, he said, were aware of his refusal to pitch, and were
resentful towards him and the rest of us. I-le then said he thought
he could prevail on the Warden to release all the conscientious
objectors permanently, and the other men in solitary for the game,
if Benedict would do it. Benedict refused.
Fully an hour passed before the Captain of guards entered
end released us. The prison team had lost the first game of the
series, and the Warden, unable to endure further losses, had agreed
to Benedict's terms.
Grinning hugely, we left our cells, and laughing al: each
other's pasty complexions, bearded faces, and unkempt hair, hurried
out into the prison yard. A wave of applause went through the
inmate stands as Benedict
warming up.

rushed down the field and began

Benedict, in true Frank Merriwell fashion, summoned his strength
efter the long weeks of demoralized living, and, in a superhuman
and prodigious performance, pitched batter after batter out, enabling the prison team to rally and score, and win the series.
Word of the remarkable feat reached the neighboring cities
through the sports pages of their newspapers, and later, when
Benedict was released, over 20,000 people paid fancy admission
prices to see him in action al: 1 benefit game.
Morale broke down completely in l:~e prison after the games,

25

when we were rounded up, including Be n21dict:, and thrown back
into solitary. The guard on duty was so disguste d he did not evel'l
~other to lock our cells.

The next day at noon the Warden reversed his stand and
released us. The midday whislle had blown and the men were
already in the mess hall, eating. We s!:raggled across the empty
yard, b.. sking in the sun, enioying our freedom. A spontaneous
wave of applause broke out among the men as the first of our
group entered the hall. Surging across the hall the wave became
a crescendo. Six hundred pairs of hands joined in and the crescend:>
became

pandemonium. Guards ran up and down the aisles; they

were ignored. The pandemonium increased when Benedict entered

the hall, maintaining itself at an incredible pil:ch. A volcano o f
thunderous and deafening applau se burst out whe111 Arie Brooks
entered, but when the so-called criminals who had been in solitary
came in, the convicts literally went wild, beating their metal cups
on the tables, and stamping their feet.
We stood in the center of 1:he hall, astounded at the demonstration. It became clear to me that although they were applauding
Benedict:, Brooks, and all of us who had been in soli tary, they
were doing somel:hing more. A mass catharsis of human misery
was taking place before our eyes. Soma of the men were weeping,
others were laughing like madmen. It was like nothing ! had ever
seen before, and nothi ng I ever expect to see ag!iin.

26

b

..

-

•,:.,,.

-

(.

Men went in, endured the terrifying ordeal and came out weakened,
sometimes dulled and apathetic for months or years ..•