Like all others, this poem had to be built a few lines, or stanzas, a day. There was nothing on which to write. These, seemingly, feats of memorization, and others like it, are not normally accomplished by other than exceptional people. However, I found that, in an abnormal environment with no distractions, even we individuals who are not “brains” can tap depths of unused mental ability. Oh, how much of that we waste, in our every day lives!

Other mind-occupying activities included building a house and solving math problems. With practice, I was easily able to multiply, mentally, four digit numbers. I'd write the answer on the inside of my lapel with my “chalk,” then when I solved the same problem the next day, I could check my work.

Others could undoubtedly accomplish more, as was proven later, when I learned a couple of crew members had also constructed “imaginary” houses which far surpassed mine.

There was one small item that became important to me. When I entered prison and was relieved of various parts of my clothing, they missed an eye from one of the hook-and-eye sets on my coat. I found it and worked it loose. I got it straightened and filed it to a point by rubbing it on the concrete floor. All of this took some time, because like any other physical activity, it had to be done without a guard seeing me. It turned out to be a wonderful device with almost no utilitarian value. However, I did use it to clean my two remaining fingernails. But it was metal, it was durable, and, most of all, it was mine!

Another daytime amusement was studying the patterns left on the wall by the flaking whitewash. Two pictures I remember were Napoleon, the dog in the Sunday comics of my younger days, and a lady leading a goose on a string.

At night during late fall, I silently announced to my ghostly audience, the progress of a spider as his cold-stiffened legs carried him slowly across the ceiling.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, he is crossing the quarterfield stripe and is headed for midfield. No! He is turning to the right and may eventually go out of bounds. Now he's headed back downfield and will definitely cross the halway point, unless the temperature drops another two degrees.”

Spiders were OK, as long as they knew their place, which was anywhere above the three foot high emarkation line. Below that meant curtains!

After a while, I learned a certain amount of control over my dreams. Many times I would be pondering a problem as I was going to sleep. The problem would become a part of my dreams, and I'd awaken some hours later still working on the same problem. This was not especially unique but meant a restless night. The control came into play when I encountered a dream about being home. I'd awaken from one of these to find I was still in prison. This was a real kick in the head. My mind came to the rescue. Soon, when I started on one of these dreams a red warning flag would go up, and I'd switch dreams into something that would avoid the blast of coming back to the real world.

On April 18, 1954, a truly amazing event occurred.

It was Sunday, and I was sitting in my cell feeling sorry for myself. The public address system was on in the courtyard. When in use it blared forth announcements, calisthenics directions, or Chinese music. Sometimes on Sundays they apparently tapped into one of the Communist Bloc shortwave stations to pick up symphonic music. On this day light opera and waltzes were the fare. One number finished and another began. I suddenly realized I was hearing “The Star Spangled Banner!”

I immediately got up and, one foot on the floor and my knee on the bunk, stood at attention — to hell with the guards.

The entire anthem was played and at the conclusion an English speaking voice announced, “This is Radio Okinawa bringing you The Voice Of America program, relayed from The United States OF America.”

I was flabbergasted, as someone else must have been, because the system was immediately switched off. I've often wondered if the operator wound up in the cell next to me.