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The Japanese did nothing to provide for us at 92nd Garage, not even to provide us water.  Every once-free soul of Corregidor, the defenders and  the defended, the brave and the shirkers,  the fit and the lame, concentrated on this quarter-mile of misery, almost fourteen thousand strong, and each of us getting weaker by the day. There was a single square pipe that barely emerged from the ground. Through it,  water seeped towards the surface and was dipped out by a round vienna sausage can and poured into canteens held by the shaking hands of men standing in an endless line waiting for water. It was the only water provided to us until we left on 23 May. When I went down to 92nd Garage in 1981,  I found the square pipe.  By 2001,  it had disappeared under an unsympathetic architectural monstrosity.  In no place on Corregidor was there ever a more concentrated curse of misery in the air, and it is my curse that any commercial operation at that accursed ramp should likewise fail.    Caption by Al McGrew