Now the Tombs, like the name says, are so horrible that they had to close it down. Today it doesn't exist and people go in the electric chair and all that.

Now, twenty years old, I come out and I go back to Greenwich Village. Now, of course, I'm a wealthy man.

I'm 43. I'm not ready to sit down in a chair with my name on it yet.

When I go through the airport and see white women walking through the airport barefooted, like athlete's feet don't exist, there's something wrong.

They, that unnamed they, they've knocked me down but I got up. I always get up -- and I swear when I went down quite often I took the fall; nothing moves a mountain but itself. They, I've long ago named them me.

My father took me back home, back to Greenwich Village, and he thought by taking me out of the orphanage he'd be out of the World War too. But no way - they got him anyway. He went in the Navy and then I lived on the streets.