On July 31, 1955, two barbers were brought to our area. They set up shop in our dining room. Haircuts, in themselves were no longer unusual, but Sunday was not a haircut day, and we were not really in need of one by prison standards.

Immediately speculation erupted. A few of us again cautioned about over-optimism, but even we were battling to keep our feelings in check.

When the barbering was finished, we were told to follow the guards to another part of the prison. Here we waited a short time talking excitedly among ourselves, when suddenly Colonel Arnold was led in. We hardly had a chance to exchange greetings before we were ushered into another room where a lone military officer, the warden, and an interpreter sat at a table.

The officer, who had been one of the officials at our “trial,” read a statement of our “crimes” and our sentences. He followed this with a statement to the effect that our sentences had been shortened because of good behavior, and we were being released by the beneficent Peoples' Republic of China!

What we had been hoping and praying for had finally happened! Or had it? We weren't out of China yet!

We were told a special meal had been prepared. (This was why our supper had not arrived, which had been another reason for us to suspect something unusual was in the wind.)

The meal, like that at the propaganda parties, was quite different from our usual fare. However, once again we disappointed our hosts. We were much too excited to eat more than a few nibbles.

Finally we were escorted back to our cells and told to pack our belongings in a mesh bag we had been given. By this time we were all wearing clothes which we'd received from home, so we left the prison garb behind. Also among the odds and ends we discarded were folders, sent by our families, of new American cars. These we donated to the attendants who seemed a bit awed but very pleased. They had difficulty accepting the fact that we all intended to purchase the vehicles we'd chosen as soon as we got our pay. My Buick Century was to be green and white.

Having made shambles of our quarters by our hurried packing, we were soon ready to leave. We were taken to an administration building where the officials releaved us of some of the things we had just packed. The things we could not depart with included poems, stories, drawings and anything written which the censors had not had a chance to review. I was thankful that most of my poetry and stories had been composed in solitary confinement where I'd had to commit them to memory.

Conversly, the authorities returned some of the personal items they'd taken when we entered the prison. I was given my watch, but I never again saw my silver identification braclet which some friends back home had presented to me when I left the States. The officials also released from “protective custody” the many packages the American Red Cross had started to send to us months earlier.

Next we were loaded into a bus for a trip to the railroad station in Peking. One incident connected with that ride pops into my mind frequently. The driver, while trying to back the bus to the platform at the Peking station, managed to remove a small portion of the platform roof when he struck it with the back corner of the bus roof. I could never decide whether the accident was caused by his driving or by any, or all, of the various directions which he was receiving from several other soldiers on the outside, all of whom were shouting at the same time and gesturing in different directions.

I wonder if he held that job much longer.

Accompanied by civilian police wearing yellow uniforms, we rode the train for three days. They smiled at us but left us to ourselves, except in one instance. The train had stopped at a small town for a short period during which a few adults and several small children gathered. They were curious about the people with white faces who were leaning out the window and waving. We began throwing candy and food to the children. That's when the guards exerted their authority and stopped us.

At one point we had to be ferried across the very muddy Yangtse River. As we walked along the docks, we passed sweating dock workers carrying large heavy bales wrapped in burlap. Some were chanting as they struggled with their loads, but they gave us only passing glances. I thought of the days described in “Gone With The Wind.”

On the opposite shore we boarded another train.

The evening of the third day we arrived at Canton. We were taken from the train and housed in a hotel overnight. It was hot and not the best hotel I'd ever been in. Once again our blongings were taken and searched. Perhaps the police on the train had discovered that we had concealed some items from the prison officials. Perhaps it was just their suspicious nature. Whatever the reason, they were able to find some written materials hidden in letters. They confiscated the materials but returned the letters.

The following morning we were transpsorted by bus to Kowloon where we checked through customs. We were led from there to the gate on the Chinese side of the Lo Wu railroad bridge connecting Red China with Hong Kong. British and American officials were standing on the Hong Kong side. The gate was raised and a voice began calling names. As his name was sounded, each prisoner walked across the boundry.