Saturday 17 September 2011

Research1

"Il n'y a rien dans ce monde qui n'ait un moment decisif"
("There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment")
Cartier-Bresson, Images à la sauvette (1952)


“Photography is not like painting, there is a creative fraction of a second when you are taking a picture. Your eye must see a composition or an expression that life itself offers you, and you must know with intuition when to click the camera. That is the moment the photographer is creative. Oop! The Moment! Once you miss it, it is gone forever.”

Cartier Bresson, Washington Post (1957)

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Muhammad Ali-Cleveland Williams, Neil Leifer (1966) 
Inmate in cell, Neil Leifer (1982)
Ali taunting Frazier, John Shearer (1971)
Attica prison guard helmet, John Shearer (1971)

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©Neil Leifer
Neil: My best picture ever, in my opinion, is my Ali Cleveland Williams picture that I shot from overhead. I don’t usually hang my own photos, I collect other people’s pictures. But that picture’s been hanging in my living room as long as I can remember. I have a 40x40 print of it which is hung in a diamond shape with Williams at the top. That's the guy that’s on the canvas on his back. 
Chris/Larry: It’s remarkably abstract for a sports picture. Neil: I think it’s the only picture in my career that there’s nothing I would do different with it. You look at pictures and think that you can always improve them no matter how successful the shoot is. Part of what motivates you to go on to the next shoot is every once in a while you get a picture, whether it's the cover of the magazine or an inside spread, that's as good as you think you could have made it. And then a week later you see a couple of things that you could improve slightly. A month later you might see a few more things. It doesn’t diminish the quality of that picture. It simply means that there's always room for improvement. Chris/Larry: You’re learning for the future? Neil: Exactly. It’s sort of what motivates you to go on. If I were to do the Cleveland Williams Ali picture again, I would do it exactly the same. And more important is that no one will ever do it better because it can’t be done like that anymore. Today the ring is different and the fighters dress in multi colored outfits like wrestlers. Back then the champ wore white and the challenger wore black.  Today, when you look down at the ring from above, you see the Budweiser Beer logo in the center and around it is the network logo that’s televising the fight. Whether it’s Showtime or HBO, they have their logo two or three times on the canvas. The logo of promoter of the fight, Don King Presents, is also visible. That's why that picture couldn't be taken today. So not only did the picture work out better than any I’ve ever taken, but it’s one that’ll never be taken again. Chris/Larry: Where are you in this picture?  Neil: I’m at 11:00 o’clock, as I remember it. I’m in a blue shirt leaning on the canvas with a camera in each hand. Chris/Larry: You were always really creative working with remote set-ups. How did your editors react to those unique views? Did they encourage you to keep pushing limits and putting cameras in unique places? Neil: Yes. They were very excited when it worked. Over the years, some of my best photos were ones taken by remote. I really followed in the footsteps of John Zimmerman, who did remote shots better than anyone else. Hy Peskin did a lot of it also so I wasn’t the first person by any stretch. Photographers have been mounting cameras over boxing rings for years. That picture of Ali Williams was simply done differently and that was something I figured out and capitalized on it. I got more fun out of watching the next fight at the Houston Astrodome when there were eight people fighting to get the center spot on the overhead grid that I had used. Most of the time, the ring lights at a fight were about 20 feet up and supported by poles in each corner of the ring so there was no way to shoot down and get the whole ring in unless you used a fisheye which distorted the view. You don’t get anybody’s face, just the top of the heads. Something different than what I wanted. Or you didn’t get the full ring in and certainly not enough of the fans. So most remote pictures of boxing are done with the camera in the corner of the ring looking out so that hopefully you get one guy on the canvas and see just a little bit of the face of the person who scored the knockdown. This was going to be the first fight in the Houston Astrodome. In order to get the sight lines clean from the upper decks the lights were going to be 80 feet over the ring. When I realized that, I realized that for the first time you could put a lens up there, get in the entire ring and get in some of the seats. But the widest Hasselblad lens at that time was the 50mm. Today I would have put a 40 or a 30 on it and gotten even more in the picture. The fact was that for the first time you could put a camera up there and get that kind of an effect and that I figured out. It immediately struck me that it would make a good picture. I never anticipating that nice knock out. But you know, if I hadn’t have gotten it at that fight I might have gotten it at the next fight at the Astrodome.

Chris/Larry: You photographed inmates in prison for the story that was called Inmate Nation. You got some very dramatic shots, particularly the overhead shots of the cells and such. Was there any danger there?
 Neil: Quite honestly there was nothing to be afraid of there. Inmates are the most litigious group of people in America and you cannot run their pictures without releases. The lawyers at Time Magazine were absolutely insistent that anybody that was going to be in the prison essay had to sign a release and I had to spend a lot of time talking to them before shooting. They wanted to know what I was doing and why I want to take their pictures. Then hopefully I would take what looks like candid spontaneous pictures. But there was really nothing to be afraid of. You don’t want to spend time in a prison debating the legal system with inmates. I didn’t want to get into their cases, which many of them wanted to talk about and I would always explain to them that I was doing a photo essay about how they lived, not debating the merits of the prison system. 

Charles Manson in cell, Neil Leifer (1982)

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Serena Davies admires John Shearer's "Fight of the Century", Telegraph (2005)
Muhammad Ali, ever the joker, makes faces at Joe Frazier, who stares resolutely past him, as if contemplating higher things. With a single image, photographer John Shearer captures the spirit of an iconic sporting contest, tagged simply as "The Fight of the Century".This 1971 boxing match was a unique event: a clash between two unbeaten world heavyweight champions, since Ali had been stripped of his title for his refusal to join the army in 1967, and Frazier had won the crown in Ali's absence.
It was also politically charged: Ali, a Muslim and a draft dodger, was seen as an incendiary rebel. Frazier, blue-collar and God-fearing, was the conservative choice.
Shearer's photograph, taken before the fight, shows Ali as the outsider, clawing at the gates, and Frazier, his status sanctified by the New York State Athletic Commission, safe in the walls of his training HQ. All agree the match itself earned its title; Frazier would eventually win.
It's an exemplary LIFE image - resonant of its historical moment, and artistic too. Founded in 1936, LIFE was America's first magazine to use photo essays.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Jackson_(Black_Panther)

On August 21, 1971, Jackson met with attorney Stephen Bingham on a civil lawsuit Jackson had filed against the California Department of Corrections. After the meeting, Jackson was escorted by officer Urbano Rubiaco back to his cell when Rubico noticed a metallic object in Jackson’s hair, later revealed to be a wig, and ordered him to remove it. Jackson then pulled a Spanish Astra 9mm pistol from beneath the wig and said “Gentlemen, the dragon has come”, a reference to Ho Chi Minh [13] Jackson then ordered Rubico to open all the cells and along with several other inmates they overpowered the remaining guards and took them, along with two inmates hostage. Six of the hostages were killed and found in Jackson’s cell, including guards Jere Graham, Frank DeLeon and Paul Krasnes, two white prisoners. Guards Kenneth McCray, Charles Breckenridge and Urbano Rubiaco had been shot and stabbed as well, but survived.[14] After finding the keys for the Adjustment Center’s exit, Jackson along with fellow inmate and close friend Johnny Spain escaped to the yard where Jackson was shot dead and Spain surrendered.[15] Jackson was killed just three days prior to the start of his murder trial for the 1970 slaying of guard John Mills.[16]Three inmates were acquitted and three were convicted for the murders: David Johnson, Johnny Spain and Hugo Pinell.[17]‎ They became known as the San Quentin Six. 
 Supporters of Jackson believe that his death was the result of an setup in which Jackson was provided with the gun by Rubico so prison officials would have an excuse to kill him. French intellectuals such as Michel Foucault and Jean Genet argued that Jackson's death was a "political assassination."[18] In his autobiography Revolutionary Suicide, Newton would later claim that Jackson was "attempting to save [fellow inmates] from being massacred by guards".[19] James Baldwin wrote: "No Black person will ever believe that George Jackson died the way they tell us he did."[20]
There is evidence however that Jackson and his supporters on the outside had planned the escape several weeks in advance. Three days before the escape attempt, Jackson rewrote his will leaving all royalties as well as control of his legal defense fund, which had become very well-funded, with the donations of wealthy leftists to the Black Panther Party.[21] Also, many Black Guerilla Family members became bitter and upset with Newton believing Newton used his contacts within Soledad to hamper Jackson’s release as he did not want a potential rival for power to be freed.[22][23]
Jackson's funeral was held at St. Augustine's Episcopal Church in Oakland on August 28, 1971.[19]
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attica_riots 
The riot   
At approximately 8:20 a.m. on Thursday, September 9, 1971, 5 Company lined up for roll-call. Hearing rumors that one of their companions was to remain in his cell and that he was to be tortured after being isolated for an incident involving an assault with a prison officer, a small group of 5 Company inmates protested that they too would be locked up and began walking back towards their cells. The remainder of 5 Company continued towards breakfast. As the protesting group walked past the isolated inmate, they were able to free him from his cell. They then rejoined the rest of 5 Company and proceeded on their way to breakfast. A short time later, when the command staff discovered what had occurred, they changed the usual scheduling of the prisoners. Instead of going to the yard after breakfast as they usually did, the prisoners realized they were being led back to their cells. Complaints led to anger when the correctional officer tried to calm the mob of prisoners. He was assaulted and the riot began.[1]Officer Quinn in the central control room of the tunnels tried to phone for help when he saw what was happening in the tunnel. However, he kept getting a busy signal and the mob of prisoners managed to get into the control room and beat him unconscious with the lead handle of the rotary phone.[2]The inmates quickly gained control of sections, D-yard, two tunnels and the central control room, Times Square. Inmates took 42 officers and civilians hostage and aired a list of grievances, demanding their needs be met before their surrender.[2] In a facility designed to hold 1,200 inmates and actually housing 2,225,[3] they felt that they had been illegally denied rights and conditions to which they were entitled, illustrated by such practices as being allowed only one shower per week and one roll of toilet paper per person per month.[4]
Negotiations
The prisoners continued to unsuccessfully negotiate with Correctional Services Commissioner Russell G. Oswald and then later with a team of observers that included Tom Wicker, an editor of the New York Times, James Ingram of the Michigan Chronicle, state senator John Dunne, state representative Arthur Eve, civil rights lawyer William Kunstler, Minister Louis Farrakhan, National Representative of the Nation of Islamand others.
The situation may have been further complicated by Governor Rockefeller's refusal to come to the scene of the riot and meet with the inmates,[2] although some later evaluations of the incident would postulate that his absence from the scene actually prevented the situation from deteriorating.[5] Negotiations broke down and Oswald told the inmates that he was unable to negotiate with them anymore and ordered that they must give themselves up. Oswald later called Governor Rockefeller and again begged him to come to the prison to calm the riot. After the governor's refusal, Oswald stated that he would order the State Police to retake the facility by force. Rockefeller agreed with Oswald's decision. This agreement would be later criticized by a commission created by Rockefeller to study the riot and the aftermath.[6]
 
 Retaking of the prison and retaliation
The mood among the inmates had turned ugly. It appeared as though Gov. Rockefeller remained opposed to the inmates' demands and they had become restless. Defensive trenches had been dug, metal gates had been electrified, crude battlements were fashioned out of metal tables and dirt, gasoline was put in position to be lit in the event of conflict and the "Times Square" prison command center was fortified. The inmates brought four corrections officers to the top of the command center and threatened to slit their throats. Reporters in helicopters circling the prison reported that the hostages in D yard were also being prepared for execution. Gov. Rockefeller had ordered that the prison be retaken that day if negotiations failed. Situation commander Oswald, seeing the danger to the hostages, ordered that the prison be retaken by force. Of the decision, he later said "On a much smaller scale, I think I have some feeling now of how Truman must have felt when he decided to drop the A-bomb.".[7]
At 9:46 AM on Monday, September 13, 1971, tear gas was dropped into the yard and New York State Police troopers opened fire non-stop for two minutes into the smoke. Among the weapons used by the troopers were shotguns, which led to the wounding and killing of hostages and inmates who were not resisting.[8] Former prison officers were allowed to participate, a decision later called "inexcusable" by the commission established by Rockefeller to study the riot and the aftermath.[6] By the time the facility was retaken, 10 hostages and 29 inmates had been killed.
The final death toll from the riot also included the officer fatally injured at the start of the riot and 4 inmates who were subject to vigilante killings. Nine hostages died from gunfire by state troopers and soldiers.[2][3] The New York State Special Commission on Attica wrote, "With the exception of Indian massacres in the late 19th century, the State Police assault which ended the four-day prison uprising was the bloodiest one-day encounter between Americans since the Civil War."[3]
 
After the riot, nothing was done to prevent reprisals by troopers and prison officers. Inmates were made to strip and crawl through the mud and then some were made to run naked between lines of enraged officers, who beat the inmates. Several days after the riot's end, prison doctors reported evidence of more beatings. The Special Commission accused state officials of allowing rumors to spread and of unjustifiable delay in denying the false report that one hostage had been castrated and that others had their throats fatally slashed.[6]
Media reports claimed that inmate hostage-takers slit the throats of many of their hostages, reports that contradicted official medical evidence. Newspaper headlines made statements such as "I Saw Slit Throats," implying that prisoners had cut the hostages' throats when the armed raid occurred. These "reports" were later found to be entirely and deliberately fictitious.[6][9]

Russell Oswald, John Shearer (1971)


Russell Oswald was the New York Commissioner of Corrections. The Attica prison riot left a deep stain on the America conscious; see my August 6, 2009 post. We lived in a world of deep denial, we had fought a war very few supported and race relations in America, was nearing an all time low.  Oswald was one of the good guys who took a fall for the man above. Nelson Rockefeller was the governor of New York at the time of the Attica prison riot. Everyone wanted him to come to the prison, talk with the prisoners, make things right. He didn’t come.
 Oswald had been a reformer. He cared about the inmates. He wanted them to leave prison better people than when they came. He cared about family and had set up a program where wives could spend the weekend with their husbands twice a year.  He developed retraining programs that worked and hired a stream of consultants who delivered on his promise.
 1972 had been a turbulent year for me. I had covered a story on George Jackson, the Black Panthers leader who was killed in San Quentin in an alleged prison escape that never happened. Prison authorities said that he had a gun in his hair when he escaped but anyone who knew him recognized the fallacy of this statement: at a half inch it would be hard to hide a gun in his hair.
 I was traveling twenty-nine days a month and breaking up with my girlfriend as a result. I was very much alone and trying to find myself in all that I had covered. People seemed to be very happy with my pictures but I found it hard to be an observer, which by now was my life’s first rule. I had covered gangs and race riots of all kinds and just watched people at their worst. Hardest of all was that there was no one to talk to about what I was feeling. Making a great picture that was all that mattered.
 Attica prison was not far from Buffalo. I had just gotten home from the Jackson story and I had turned off my phone. My girlfriend and I were lying in bed when we heard a loud knock on the door. It was Bob Stokes, a writer from Life magazine. A riot seemed to be starting at the Attica prison. I packed quickly and we were off.
 There must have been 500 journalists when we got there on that rain-filled morning but I was lucky. The inmates wanted me inside as an observer, a merit badge for all the civil rights stories I had covered.  Early on in the struggle, a prison guard who had been taken hostage had been killed and the inmate leaders didn’t want anymore violence, just their rights. Getting inside was a lucky break for me. For Bob, his view from the outside would later cost him his job.
 I remember the sound of the doors closing behind me as I entered the prison. There was no way out. I walked one dark hall after the other. There was dark grit on the walls and the wet floors squeaked from all the rain that had fallen and the many broken windows. The prison had a hard smell, one of unwashed flesh from too few showers. It was a place of cold food and a concrete bed. It was a time before cell phones. I was on my own and I was ready to take whatever pictures I could. I spent time in cellblock D where the inmates were camped. Everyone was one edge. Voices came over loud speakers from outside the prison wall. ‘Put down your arms or we’re coming in,’ they said. Not a man flinched.
 I remember a big man as tall as a redwood tree who grabbed my arm between two large fingers and said, “Remember this day son, you’ve never done time till now and if we see a morning sun it will be a day you remember for the rest of your life.”
 The next day I worked my way to a part of the prison where all of the officials and other members of the press were encamped. It was about an hour before all hell would break loose. A last call had been put into the governor’s office and with no response, the decision to move on the inmates rested on Russell Oswald’s shoulders.
  A TV cameraman tested his lights and Oswald was standing alone in the corner of the room where we all waited. When I saw the light hit his face it was clear to me that here was a man under pressure and man who saw his life’s work turn to ashes, a man alone, hung out to dry. You could see it in his eyes, the lines of his face—a big man made small. It was the third day of a stalemate. He had little choice.  He ordered the guards to retake the prison. Oswald was a great man; his name now lives in infamy.
 In the split second in which the camera lights illuminated Oswald’s face, I was able to create a portrait that told his story.

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