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6 (Sc 1 Statesman, Satan, On. WexL, Spt. 18. X 353
The Oat is Story
Iecis Clse lira m MP pfiffices
Dira Series off Sftirairage Anresfts
(Baker County Rancher
Leads in Wheat Yield
PORTLAND m A Baker Coun
ty rancher claims Oregon's high
est wneat yield for 1953.
Roland George, of Baker, bar
vested 3,464 bushels of wheat from
a 40-acre field. This was an aver
age of 88.S bushels an acre, or
three times the state average of
zs Dusneis an acre.
(EDITOR'S NOTK: William S OaXU, the Associate Press corres
pondent who spent more toan twe years la a Communist prison 1
Czechoslovakia, nee written a series ef articles aooot his experiences.
In tne one below no tells of nis arrest an the start of his Ion qnes-
By WILLIAM N. OATIS
(Copyright 1S53 ay fa Associated pfess)
Monday, April 23, 1951, was a bad day for me.
In one month, the Czech staff of The Associated Press burea.
in Prague, Czechoslovakia, had been cut In half as three men had
been arrested, one by one.
I had to run the bureau with only two translators to help me
cover the news through the 18 hours every day that it was made
available by the official Czecho-
V. - 1 i
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OatU
Slovak News Agency, newspapers
and radio.
I had to look for new help,
keep books, write letters. I had to
get a tire fixed. And I had prom
ised to go see
Tyler Thomp-:
son, counselor
of the United
States Embassy,
to talk to him
about my per-1
lonal safety.
All morning 1 1
was involved f
with office de-
tail, and it was?.
2 pjn. before I
was ready to go"
to the embassy.
Just at that moment, a caller
walked in. It was Miroslav (Mike)
Hustak, a Czech who had lost
his job as an operations officer
for Pan American Airways when
the line had stopped flights to
Prague the previous falL
Xn Marks the Window
He had come to my office about
a month before, asking for work.
There was some question about
Hustak. I was not going to hire
him, though I needed another
translator badly and his English
was good. But he had kept com
ing to see me.
Though it was chilly that April
day, Hustak, a husky young man
with a low forehead and eyebrows
that joined above his nose, was
in shirt sleeves and hatless.
He told me he had a story for
- me, and she showed me a photo
graph. It was a picture of the front of
an old castle, fenced off by iron
bars and guarded by police dogs.
Hustak said this was Kolodej
Castle, northeast of Prague. On
one barred window was an "X"
in green ink.
Pasted on the back of the print
was a typewritten note in Czech,
which Hustak translated for me.
It stated that Dr. Vlado demen
tis, former Czechoslovak foreign
'minister, had been held until
recently in the "chamber marked.
The note said this information
came from "a militiaman named
Jan.-
Hustak, told me he had got the
picture from an acquaintance who
knew about th interrogation of
dementis, arrested the previous
January on spy charges. He said
the man wanted to sell mc the
story: I told him I did not buy
stories.
They Didn't Knock
He premised to try to pry it
out for nothing. Then he started
for the door.
"Hey," I called after him, "you
left your picture."
"Oh, you can keep it," he said
hastily, and dashed out
I laid the picture in a desk
drawer and put on my hat and
coat to go to the embassy.
Before I got to the door, it
opened suddenly and some men
in trench coats walked in. There
were six of them, as I remember.
They surrounded me.
A short, blond man in glasses,
with a freckled pokerf ace, flashed
a blue card from his pocket
He looked like the kind of
little boy hat breaks windows and
writes bad words on fences.
Spionai!
But the card told me that he
belonged to the Statni Bezpecnost
(State Security), the most widely
feared group in Czechoslovakia
the Communist secret police.
The little. man, apparently the
only one that spoke English, had
me throw everything from my
pockets onto a table.
" Another plainclothesman, who
seemed to be directing things,
picked up a little black note
book. "Pavel! Ha-ha!" he shouted,
reading from the notebook.
"Vesely! Ha-ha! Pokorny! Ha-ha!"
Those were the names of high
security officers reported ar
rested in a purge that had begun
in October with the imprison
ment of a Brno Communist leader
named Otto Sling.
A third man went to my desk.
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opened the drawer and took out
the photograph I had got from
Hustak. He examined it, pushed
it in front of my nose and cried.
"Spionaz!" (Shpee-ob-nahzh")
Be Back in an Hour
That was one Czech word I
understood. It meant "espionage.1
I headed for a teletype ma
chine. If I could punch a message
out on that, it would go right into
the AP's Frankfurt bureau But
a detective headed me off.
Finally ,the interpreter told me
f must come to the police station.
"We just want to talk to you,"
he said. "You will be back here
in an hour."
I did not believe it for one
minute. But there was nothing I
could do.
Three of the men escorted me
downstairs and to a car parked
in the street It was a big, black.
streamlined Tatraplan a Czech
car known as almost a trademark
of the secret police.
A bareheaded chauffeur was
at the wheeL One of the de
tectives got in beside him. The
other two sat in back, with me
between them.
The Boss' Again
I had been taking things as
they came, not thinking much
about them. And I idly watched
the street scenes as we rolled
down Wenceslas Square and then
by narrow back streets into the
gateway of a gingerbready old
building on Bartholomew Street
We left the car there, and. in
the midst of my three guards, I
walked down the street and
across to a modern building of
perhaps six stories. The place
had a suck white stone front
and looked like a hospital.
We entered and, passing uni
formed policemen, government
propaganda posters and huge
photograps of cabinet ministers,
went up one flight of stairs to a
comfortably furnished office
overlooking the street There we
sat down and waited.
It was almost dark enough to
turn the lights on in there when
other plainclothesmen began
drifting in. Last of all, with a
quick, swaggering stride, came a
lean, spectacled man in a tan
trench coat He was blond, with
a long, pale face and pale fanati
cal eyes, pouched like a lizard's.
He frowned at me and, talking
through an interpreter, said, "We
have met before, on a happier
occasion."
I remembered him. This man,
who called himself "the Boss,"
had talked to me the previous
November at a Prague permit of
fice about whether I should be
allowed to stay in Czechoslovakia.
OT Rnla Tfcm
He had let me stay and work,
even though I had been deprived
of official accreditation as a for
eign correspondent in Czecho
slovakia and did not get the ac
creditation back till three months
later.
"You promised me then," he
said, "that you would not do
unofficial reporting.' You broke
that promise."
I remembered making no overt
promise to confine my reporting
to official news sources. I told
him so. He cited instances of
"unofficial" newsgathering that
he could have got only from my
missing employes.
He said something about "nase
strana," two Czech words I knew
to mean "our party." The in
terpreter skipped that, but I got
the next sentence in plain, un-
grammatical English:
"If anyone opposes us, we
ruin them!"
Talk! Talk!
"You are here," the man went
on, "in two roles: As a witness
against your employes, and as a
defendant yourself.
"Do you know why your em
ployes are here? Murder-foul
murder! They protected an enemy
agent An accomplice of that
agent took a human life. He
killed one of our men in cold
blood, a man with a wife and
children."
I said I had nothing to do
with any murder.' I insisted I
had never even met the agent he
spoke of. He replied, "We will
prove to you that you did."
The Boss hunched forward,
shot a bony finger at m and
yelled, "Spy!"
(Tomorrow: Reds Set Trap.)
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