After the show in downtown Peking had its run, conditions at the prison began to improve. On December 4, 1954, I was taken to the room where I'd met my “defense counsel.”

Here I signed receipts for, and was given, clothing and toilet articles from packages which had been sent from home. The candy, canned food, and medical supplies were withheld.

Back in my cell I sat and stared at my gifts for quite a while. Inside I began to soften, but I fought it off and examined my prizes. I had jeans, shirts, socks, underwear, shoes, towels, soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and much more. I wasn't sure about putting on my new clothes. They were good, well-made clothes, but I wasn't going anywhere. I finally decided that they were sent for me to wear, so I put them on.

Three days later on December 7th, two attendants came to my cell with my crutches. They told me to step outside the cell. As I did, I turned to see them rolling my bedding and gathering my other belongings.

My entourage and I started along the cellblock toward the rotunda. Upon reaching it, the pantograph gates opened and we filed into the rotunda, turned left, and entered another cellblock. Up ahead I could see other prisoners carrying their bedding. They were turning either left or right, as they were directed into one of two cells at the end of the corridor. I was ushered into the one on the left.

It was like walking into heaven — almost. I was with Americans. Though I knew a few, there were some I didn't recognize. Captain Vaadi had reported to my office when he arrived at the squadron so I knew him. I barely recognized some of the others because, like Gene Vaadi, they didn't resemble the men I'd seen in flying gear, and I hadn't had as much face-to-face contact with them. The minimum contact we'd had at the “trial” didn't help much. Colonel Arnold was missing. He remained in solitary confinement.

We shook hands all around, but for awhile all I could do was sit and smile at my good fortune. These were the greatest looking guys I'd seen in a long time.

The cell, a comparatively large one, was alive with chatter, as the men tried to arrange the bunks. The only possible solution was to place all but one of the bunks side by side, ends toward the outside wall, making one large platform. The remaining bunk was placed along the corridor wall. This arrangement left a small passage between the last bunk and those which made the platform. The other men recognized the difficulty I'd have getting around and suggested I take the single. I accepted.

That night we lay awake, talking for quite awhile. I was reluctant to sleep, afraid that I'd awaken to find it had all been another dream. I finally dropped off and awoke to find that, happily, we were all still there.

These early discussions were really question and answer sessions for me, as I learned more about the other men while they were getting better acquainted with me.

One of the first questions they asked was where I'd been held. When I described that part of the prison, they said, “Oh, Lunatic Lane.” They'd all spent some time there, and after they'd been confined together, they had decided on the name. Reflecting on my experiences in that cellblock, I agreed that the name was well chosen.

For the first time since our capture, we were to be treated “something like” prisoners of war. We had the cellblock to ourselves, and in the daytime we could walk in the corridor to about ten feet from the rotunda-end, where guards were stationed. But we weren't allowed outside the cellblock at will, and we were locked in the cells at night.

The latrine was at the end near our cells, but at night it was in the cell in the form of a large “honey bucket.”

A stove stood in the corridor. The pipe entered the cell through the wall above the door and exited through the far wall into a courtyard. We tended the stove during the day, and the guards took that responsibility at night.

When compared with what I'd just left, life now seemed almost luxurious. In fact, one member felt things were so good that, if he were required to serve his entire sentence, he could do it “standing on his hands.”

Lightheartedly, we began discussing a most interesting topic. What would it be like if each was to be held for his full sentence? First, the “four-year” men would go. They would “will” most of their belongings to those remaining. The “five-year” people would go next, leaving their property, plus what they'd inherited from the “four-year” prisoners. This would continue until the man with the longest sentence would not have room for all his accumulated “wealth.”

The basic prison food began to improve slightly. Over all, however, the food improved considerably, because we were allowed to supplement the prison rations with our food from home. At first the food in our packages had been withheld on the lame excuse that someone might try to poison us! Naturally, we protested, ridiculing this absurd notion. They finally gave us our edibles.