The guards lowered their bayonets to allow the crowd to get closer. The women and men hammered at our shoulders and bodies with their fists, and hit us with rocks. The children kicked our legs and flayed at us with their fists as high as they could reach. The men broke into our path and spat into our faces.

We marched on. Jim stumbled and I caught him. Then I stumbled and he caught me. We repeated to each other, " Stand tall, you're an American."

As we walked through that parade, as the rocks interrupted us, as the mob beat and spit on us, we quoted the twenty-third Psalm: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want...."

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