minute. Everybody's heart would be with the man making a getaway. Sometimes you could hear the barking get awful loud and hot and you knew they were up on a man. Like once a guy ran down in the swamp not far from where we were working. Thirty minutes later we heard he was dead. They killed him but they pretended he killed himself. They said he cut his own throat. A man didn't have to cut his own throat when a dozen dogs were there to do the job better.
The love of life was inside all of those men, the sane and the insane.
It was in me too.
Escape became my great study.
In my mind was growing a map of the countryside. I knew the farms and roads, the towns and trains all around here.
They didn't know what I was thinking. What I was planning. I just said, "Yes sub, Captain,""Whatever you say, Captain," "Coming right along now, Captain."
But I could see the future, and me and it ran north.
LATE in 1941 and through the spring of 1942 I was on the inside again. I didn't have to go out each day and get slopped up in the winter mud. I was in on all the soft rackets. I had a deal with a white commissary boy, Tommy O'Dwyer. He gave me meat and in return I let him use one of my radios during the day. I had two radios. A friend of the International Labor Defense, Hester Huntington, sent them to me. She was a very fine white woman living in New England. She sent all us Scottsboro boys things we needed. She would be in touch with Allan Knight Chalmers up in Boston and Anna Damon, the I.L.D. secretary, in New York. So between the three of them I was not forgotten.
But I had troubles inside.