ABSTRACT

When the Rosenbergs were arrested and tried, I was just a kid—sixteen years old—on the fringes of the political Left in Cleveland. I was in the proper frame of mind to be convinced, knowing virtually nothing about the case, that the Rosenbergs were totally innocent. In 1953, when the Rosenbergs were executed, I was not only out of high school, I was out of the country— cocooned on an aircraft carrier. I had lost track of more than the fate of the Rosenbergs.