Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [75]
It was my 20th birthday, and my friends surprised me with a small dish of food prepared from small bits that they had stolen from local farmers, after a day’s labor in the hills. This is a birthday I shall never forget.
Here, the Chinese performed operations, removed bullets, amputated limbs and toes, without the use of anesthetic. During the winter of 1951-52, I remember one of our fellow prisoners—Red Campbell—feet was frozen so badly he could not walk. The Chinese amputated the toes on both of his feet with an old pair of scissors. After which, they gave him no medication for the pain, or infection. When they finished cutting off his toes, they turned him loose in the compound; he ran around—screaming in pain—on his bloody, swollen, and blackened feet. He went out of his mind, and was no longer able to recognize anyone in the compound. The Chinese moved him to another location, and we never saw him again.
Once again they started their brainwashing classes. A Chinese officer, who spoke English, would go to each hut with newspapers from Shanghai and Peking, which were printed in English. Articles in these newspapers were mainly about how the United States and the United Nations were to blame for what was happening in Korea. Even the interrogations started again; harassment, deception, and writing personal histories were some of the techniques they used. They would come and get us at odd hours of the day, wake us from our sleep at night, or take us during meal time for interviews.
For disobeying an order, one would have to write a self-criticizing confession. If you refused, you would be interrogated and, or, have to stand at attention for hours—at night. One guy from our group was put in a dug-out for a month—or longer—for back talking a Chinese officer.
Needless to say, we hated these damn lectures and discussions. They lasted from six-to-eight hours a day; even longer if they weren’t getting what they called the right answers. Nearly after a month of negative results, they gave up and started smaller study groups—consisting of volunteers. [Two men from Jack’s compound refused to return home after the war. Even though Jack mentions them, the author refuses to recognize them with the brave men and women mentioned in this book, and along with those who served.]
In early spring of 1951, several of us got together and formed what we called “True American” better known to the Chinese as “Reactionaries.” Even though we were still located in the seventh compound, we helped plan escapes.
We went on work details during the day and carried what food we could spare, into the hills and hide it. We helped gather whatever items we would need for anyone willing to escape, and provided a distraction for the guards. Unfortunately, there was no successful escape from Camp One. However, a Marine named Flores who had been captured at Chosin was gone the longest—that I knew of. He was recaptured by a Soviet anti-aircraft unit.
In April 1952, the Chinese informed us that we would be marching in a May Day Parade that would go through the center of ChangSong. We passed the word around, to those we could trust, not to march in the parade—everyone agreed.
We had been issued blue summer uniforms a week before the parade. The uniform consisted of a light-weight, shirt type jacket and baggy trousers. This was the first time we had been issued any clothing since our capture; they also gave us a hair-cut and shave.
Somehow we had managed to write the letters POW on the back of our new jackets, and hid them until the day of the parade. Our plan was for no one to move after we had been lined up, but before we could carry it out a progressive ran and told the Chinese our plans. We