Photojournalist - Dick Kraus - Behind the Viewfinder

September 27, 1998

GOING THE EXTRA MILE

by Dick Kraus
Newsday
Staff Photographer

A few days ago, a bunch of us dinosaurs were telling old war stories in the scan room to anyone who would listen, while we waited for our scans to download. Dick Yarwood reminded me of this one.

It happened in 1960 and I was working as a temporary summer vacation replacement. That was the hook you needed to get a permanent staff job and I desperately wanted that staff job. The Director of Photography wanted to hire me so he threw me every opportunity for me to prove my worth.

One of those opportunities came when the military announced a forthcoming war games exercise. This was to be the largest massed air drop by the US Airborne with the aid of the US Air Force since World War II. They would fly in airborne units from all over the world to participate, and on “D” Day, they would drop the troops and their armor and support units onto a huge open field at Fort Bragg, NC.

And so, early one morning, I found myself boarding an Air Force C-119, along with a Newsday reporter and some writers and photographers from some weeklies. Our papers normally wouldn’t send people on anything out of town, like this. But, the price was right. Except for a minuscule per diem charge for bard and lodging, it was free. Also joining us was Jerry Soloway, who was a photo stringer for UP (eventually to become UPI. nd Jerry would eventually become a staffer and has since retired)

We were flown to an Air Force Base in South Carolina where we were supposed to spend the night. Then we were to be flown to Fort Bragg, NC where we would get some preliminary shots of the airborne troops getting ready for the drop that would take place on the third day. But, once they had us, and the other media teams that were flying in from other parts of the country, they were loathe to let us go. Each branch of the military was fighting budget cut-backs and the Air Force was trying to wring every last bit of publicity from us that they could. So, we were treated to press conference after press conference; briefing and de-briefing after briefing and de-briefing, on ad nauseum. And, none of this was of any use to me or the Newsday reporter. They showed us how every bit of equipment worked, from their latest aircraft to their latest dish washer. They let us play with their Link Trainer; a device used to train pilots. They showed us slide and over head projector graphics and loaded us down with brochures and pamphlets.

I found out that there was one airborne unit bivouacked in the woods at the edge of the base. I pleaded with our hosts to be allowed to go out there and getting them preparing for the big jump. I was put off and stalled until the next day they got tired of hearing me whine and without the rest of the media knowing, they spirited me and my reporter out to the airborne camp. As our jeep approached, I heard machine gun fire in the woods. I was told that a machine gun crew was test firing their 30 caliber weapon. I was taken to them, but as I arrived, they began taking down their equipment. I prevailed upon them to fire one more time so that I could photograph them. They agreed to run one more clip of blank ammo through the weapon. But, they told me that the ammo belts they were using contained only about 6 shells and that went through the gun pretty fast. So, I told them to fire on the count of three and I would hit my shutter button at the same time. I had no motor drive back then so one shot was all that I would get. I positioned myself on my belly, in front of the gun barrel and just off to the left so that I wouldn’t get peppered with the debris that spews from the gun, even when blank ammo is used. I was only a few inches away from the business end of that gun, with a 24 mm lens, because I had visions of capturing the brilliant flame erupting from the gun barrel when they fired.

"One....Two....Three.” BAAALLLLOOOOEEEEY!!! God, I have never heard such a loud noise in my life. I must have flown 7 inches into the air from a belly flat prone position and by the time I had landed and pushed the shutter button, the soldiers were dismantling their machine gun and were heading back to their tents. Oh, well. I was able to get some other photos, so it wasn't a total waste of time.

When we got back to the base, the media people were being taken to the operations terminal building at the flight line for our flight up to Fort Bragg. But, because of all of the stalling tactics and briefings, when we got there, the plane that was supposed to ferry us north had been loaded with other supplies and had long since left. We were assured that they would have another plane for us. So we waited. And waited. And we waited. And the longer we waited, the more disgruntled we became. And tired. And angry. And that is a bad combination to have sitting around on your base. A bunch of disgruntled, tired and angry newsmen.

It all started when UP Photographer, Jerry Soloway, showed to a group of us news pukes sitting on couches in the terminal, a new gadget he was using. He had a miniature tape recorder attached to his belt. And attached to that was a microphone that he wore on his left wrist. As he exposed frame after frame with his camera, he would dictate the frame number and a brief caption into the mike so that he didn’t have to pause to write them down. As it was being passed around, one of the guys turned on the “record” button and started the routine.

“This is Chet Huntley, NBC TV News. I am reporting to you from such and such Air Force Base where there seems to be a massive foul up in transporting essential personnel up to Fort Bragg for the impending operation.” Now you have to understand that in 1960, Chet Huntley and David Brinkley were the two hottest items in tv news broadcasting.

“I am working my way over to Major General so and so, who is the commanding officer of this sprawling base. General, can you tell our NBC audience why there are so many Air Force people standing around with their hands in their pockets while there are important people that have to get to Fort Bragg.” And with that, our erstwhile impersonator thrust the tape recorder into the hands of another unsuspecting news puke who was expected to take up the part of the general.

“Uhhh, ahhhh, well, yes, it is true that I am a very important general here at this air base. But, because I am so important, I have delegated the responsibility to move the troops up to Fort Bragg to Pvt. Jones, over there.”

And the recorder landed in the hands of another of us.

“Ahhhh, well, yes. I am Pvt. Jones, but usually my job is to sweep the garbage off the runways. I’ve never had, you know, this kind of responsibility before.”

And so it would go, spontaneously, from hand to hand, with each of us taking a part and putting in a dig at the Air Force. The tape lasted for about 20 minutes and when it was done, we tightened our little circle closer together to hear it played back. The result was so hilarious that we rolled on the floor in laughter. It was so spontaneous and so acerbic that it almost sounded plausible. In fact, the two Air Force Majors who came into the terminal lounge while we were listening to the play back, heard the names, Huntley and Brinkley, and they had no way of knowing whether this was legitimate or not. But, they did hear their beloved Air Force being raked over the coals. From the corner of my eye, I watched the smiles fade from these officers and one of them rose hastily and walked out of the lounge.

“Uh, oh,” I said to the group. “I think we may have just given the Air Force an opportunity to keep us here a lot longer than we intended. Can they throw civilians in the brig for insubordination?”

After a quick discussion, we decided to erase the tape in case it could be used as evidence against us. A few minutes later, a general approached us. We readied ourselves for the worst. Instead, he apologized for the delay and explained the tremendous logistics involved in this operation. But, he assured us that the first plane that became available would ferry us to Fort Bragg. Within minutes, we were boarding a plane, much to the chagrin of a very angry pilot, who had been ready to take off and was ordered back to the terminal to pick us up. He had already filed his flight plan and manifest and since he had also burned off some fuel taxiing out and back, he had to re-file his flight plans, add us to his itinerary and top off his fuel tanks. But, we had won our little battle and were finally on our way.

OK. We were in Fort Bragg, but because of the delay in getting up there, the Airborne folks had given our lodging to some other newsies and they had no more room at the inn. But, they had some soldiers open up an old World War I barracks that hadn't been used in years. They swept it out as best they could and scrounged up some bed linen for us. There were no towels for us to dry off after our much needed showers. They said we could dap the water off with toilet paper because they had plenty of that. But, Jerry Soloway said he'd walk off the job before he'd subject himself to that indignity. So they assigned us a Master Sergeant and a jeep and we went to an Army-Navy store off the base. The PIO Officer had given the Sgt. a twenty dollar bill, and even though the proprietor of the establishment had closed his store and gone home to eat, twenty dollars in an army town is not to be sneezed at. So he came back and sold us twenty dollars worth of towels and we had a nice shower that evening.

The next morning we were placed in trucks and driven out to the drop zone. It was a huge open field, many square miles in area. We were told that we could sit up in the bleachers that were erected for the media and the military brass from all over the free world who came to watch this war game.

There was a good bit of grumbling from the media folks because it was obvious that the action was going to be a long lens away. A very, very long lens.

“This sucks,” I told Jerry Soloway. “We aren't gonna get diddly-squat from here. Come with me.”

We crept out of the bleachers and walked toward the group of porta-toilets that had been set up. And we kept walking until we were in the cover of some woods that fringed the drop zone. We kept in the cover until we were out of sight of the bleachers and our military chaperones. And then we struck out over the open field for the center of the drop zone.

We were alone, except for a scattered few soldiers who were the Drop Masters who lit off the smoke flares as the planes approached so that the jumpers could gauge the wind direction. They would also assist any trooper who got into trouble when they landed. Soon we could hear the thrumming of many, many airplane engines. The sky filled with hundreds and hundreds of military transport planes. I have never seen so many planes in one sky in all my life. And this was just the first of many waves. The planes were probably a couple of thousand feet up and as we watched, we could see little black man/dots tumbling out of the planes. Thousands and thousands of little black man/dots. And soon, white, billowing parachutes blossomed from each man/dot and the thousands of them floated to earth while Jerry and I shot picture after picture of them as they floated down out of the blue sky. And then they were coming to earth all around us and we shot frame upon frame as the troopers struggled to get their chutes under control and wrapped up. And when the whistles from their squad leaders sounded, they formed into units and marched off, as if to war.

Photo by Dick Kraus

And Jerry and I were alone on the field except for the few scattered Jump Masters. Then we heard the next wave of planes approaching and we readied ourselves for another round of frantic picture taking. The skies blackened with more planes and again the dots emerged from the planes and hurtled earthward. But, wait a minute. Aren't these dots a lot larger than the last bunch of dots? When the white chutes opened and we saw that each dot was connected to two or more chutes, we realized that these weren't man/dots. These were truck/dots, jeep/dots, cannon/dots, ammo pallet/dots. Jerry and I aimed our lenses skyward to capture this amazing sight. A huge truck or tank dangling from several white, billowy parachutes. And, they were headed right to us. I would look up and see this huge piece of machinery coming right toward me. So, I would run twenty feet to my left. And when I looked up, the damn thing was still coming right at me. So, I would run 40 feet to my right, and lo and behold, the truck was still right over me. Jerry and I were running in circles as these huge missiles grew larger and larger. Finally Jerry shouted for me to follow him and he ran right over to one of the Jump Masters. The soldier looked up at a tank coming at him and he stepped two paces aside. We did the same. WHUMP! A tank landed right were we had been standing. The soldier looked up and moved 6 paces to the rear and we followed. PHWAP! There was a 4 by 4 truck. From then on, every time a load of equipment would rain out of the skies at us, Jerry and I would shoot off some frames and then run to stand with the nearest Jump Master.

Photo by Dick Kraus

It saved our skins and we did come back with some awfully good photographs. Later that night, after a grueling, but very satisfying day, we were being flown back to Mitchel Field in an Air Force C-119. The pilot invited me to sit up in the cockpit. Somewhere over the east coast of the US, we flew around a whole bunch of thunder storm cells. It was dark, and I marveled at how these towering clouds would light up from inside with vivid purples, reds and oranges. It was a sight that I will always remember and it was a fitting close to the day.

Dick Kraus