Just recently I read the book The Interrogator by Haus Scharff andrealized that he was the one who interrogated me. He moved to theUnited States after the war and lived in California. The third andlast time I was taken in for interrogation Bruce was in the chamber whenI was brought in. We just glanced at each other and tried to show nosign of recognition. He didn't say anything and shortly another dooropened and in came "Here I sit, portly, dumb and happy" Barlow who hadbeen shot down a week previously. We still tried to show no sign ofrecognition and finally the interrogator said: go ahead and say helloto each other for we know already you were flying together. We shookhands and chuckled at each other. After eleven days of solitaryconfinement we would have liked to talk, but didn't. After thoseeleven days we were desperate to talk to someone besides theinterrogator! He asked no more questions and we were taken back to ourrooms. Barlow was not in the same prison camp that I was and I believethat was the last time I saw him. I learned later that after hereturned to the States he stayed in the service and rose to the rankof Major before I lost track of him.

After eleven days, according to the straws on my shelf, we were alltaken to a large chamber. There were about fifty of us and it was a sightyou should have seen. We all had beards an inch or longer and thetalking and hollering was deafening. Even the situation in which wefound ourselves did not dampen the laughter and Joy of being withfriends again. Bruce was the only man I knew but these bomber crewswere immediately as close as long lost buddies. We all had a showerand then a shave. They gave us a little pair of scissors like you havein kindergartwelve and I cut Bruce's whiskers and he cut mine. We had tocut them off enough so the razor could do the rest. We only had onerazor blade which everyone used (and it was dull) but we managed toget fairly clean without too much bleeding.