I was on trial for two accounts; Crimes against Humanity, and I ashamed to say that I had also forged and lied on my entry papers. The Jury quickly came to a decision, but the judge let me off easy. Maybe he knew that knowing what I had taken part in was enough.
I had a fine, and lost my government job, but I had saved enough away in savings and another pension had been offered, and I had accepted. I was sent to York Regional Federal Prison for the Disabled and Handicapped. It was bland there, but I was the only one there for my kind of crimes. That wasn’t something to be proud of.
Five years can change a person. It changed me. I saw things… My cellmate had passed away from old age. His body stayed there, all night, covered in his own refuse and vomit. There was nothing I could do, and his body wasn’t removed until the next morning, once it had stunk up the entire cellblock.
That made me think about life in the Ghettos and Death camps. I wondered if that was how most died and were left to rot.
February 8, 1973, I was released from prison. I had managed to secure a handicap-friendly apartment in Muskoka, far away from Toronto. I had enough to live on in the bank for many years to come, and any unrest about my arrest that had reached up North had settled. I lived there, in peace once again. I saw many people come and go, always looking for faces I know I’ll never, ever forget. Innocent children.