Bainbridge, Maryland, August 4, 1953 – As I lay in my bunk late evening of the second day and reviewed the past 24 hours of humiliation, harassment, physical and mental torture combined with loneliness and homesickness, came the realization that I was just another “skinhead” with four long years ahead. A feeling of deep melancholy enveloped my soul. Then came the mournful strains of “Taps.” It was enough to make a young man weep. And some did.