Every night, each man stretched out on his concrete floor, the prisoners relearned the dimensions of their outdoor cages six feet by six and a half. Each received blankets, general issue, two. The nights are cold on the sea plain, and thick mist rolls in over land as low as the water. None wore shoelaces and none had a belt, lest he pass the time by attempting to hang himself. Deprived of this recreation they existed from today's exercise liberty to tomorrow's, from this meal to the next: the heavy padlock opened, the door swung a little to admit the tin plate and receive the latrine can. Dust settled on the bread as they wolfed it, dust floated everywhere, the chow detail as it marched down the row kicked up dust.

The men in the cages were incorrigibles. The man in the tenth cage of the ten was different: older than they, and bearded: (Dr.) Pound, E. L.: no rank, no serial number. He was in a cage because he was very dangerous, as witness the heavy air-strip that was welded over his galvanized mesh, with so may welds the acetylene torches blazed blue a full 36 hours. Some of the inner mesh was then cut off, for no clear reason unless the 50-odd jagged spikes (what to do but count them?) were an invitation (as he thought) to slash his wrists. He was sometimes tempted. A tough customer, clearly: he alone was never led outside for exercise. By day he walked in the cage, two paces, two paces, or slouched, or sat. By night a special reflector poured light on his cage alone, so he kept his head under the blanket. There were always two guards, with strict orders not to speak to him. Everyone, including the incorrigible, had orders not to speak to him. .... Short of a turn in the death cells, there seemed to be no way to prevent the prisoner speaking to the guards. He sat stroking his amber beard and talking, talking, as the sentry paced and pivoted, paced and pivoted.

The prisoner's status was irregular in many ways. Being in his 60th year (hence "Uncle Ez") he was permitted four extra blankets. After a drenching rain they came round to see how he had survived, and opened his door wide enough to insert a military cot. This kept him off the concrete floor but took up space. More rain, and a pup tent was bundled into the cage. Being a longtime handyman he put it up himself, in various improvised geometries, and took it down every morning. Then there was the book. He should really not have had a book. Only military and religious reading matter were permitted.... He had brought the book there in his pocket.... Perhaps he told them it was the book of his religion. It contained no pinups or comics. Someone let him keep it, and moreover the Chinese Dictionary he used with it.

Book, cot, pup tent, despite these amenities in about three weeks he collapsed: claustrophobia, partial amnesia, bouts of hysteria and terror. The "top of his head" felt "empty," and "his eyebrows were constantly taut in a raised position, due to the heat and glare." They moved him to a tent in the Medical Compound.

--Kenner, Hugh, The Pound Era, University of California Presss, 1971, pgs. 460-462