He Shoots His Enemies…A Soldier’s Story
That One Moment
I was in the middle of a Christmas Reveal & Ordering session for a young woman who had brought in her three boys for a Santa Experience with my sister studio, TS Gallant Photography, almost two weeks ago, when he walked in my door. I was busy with her and her new baby so my husband was kind enough to go down and open the door to the studio for him and brought him up where his daughter was waiting. He had her money so she needed to grab it from him. That is the moment my life changed, forever.
Life Changing
Yes, I know that sounds a little strong. You are probably thinking “Really? Your life changed forever”? I can say, in all honesty, that it truly did. I noted right away that he was a very quiet man. I knew he was Native American but didn’t know he was Crow until today. I guessed him to be in his 70’s and I found out later that it was true. Today when I met with him, he said he had just turned 21 years old a few weeks before being sent to Vietnam. That was over 54 years ago. Before I get too ahead of myself, I want to explain how we got to today. First of all, as a professional portrait photographer, I am always envisioning light and analyzing how I would photograph someone if I had the opportunity. I scour the faces of the anonymous people around me, looking for interesting faces that inspire me to want to photograph them. Sometimes, the impulse to photograph someone is just so strong that I can’t resist the urge to approach them to ask if I may please take their portrait. This isn’t about making money. In fact, I lose money in doing this but my art is in my soul and it needs to be freed, from time to time.
The Father and Grandfather
When I saw his face, I knew instantly that I had to photograph this man. Every line, every wrinkle told a story that I not only wanted to hear but I wanted to share it. I was drawn to the haunted look in his eyes, hidden behind the glassy surface where his smile couldn’t touch. It was actually his hat that really lit an inspirational fire in me, though. It was an unassuming hat, really; beaten, old, worn, dirty and misshapen but, somehow, it just fit him. He had a Vietnam Veteran patch on it with a lot of hat pins, including several rows of red stars. I just knew each had significance but didn’t realize how much until this very afternoon. This soft-spoken man had an easy smile and an obvious love for his daughter and grandchildren, both of which he has a great many of. He beamed with pride in answering, after giving a little chuckle when we asked him how many children and grandchildren he has. Later that night, I told my husband that I had to try to find a way to photograph the man with the sad eyes, etched face and well-worn hat who had shown up just long enough to say hello, greet his daughter, hand her some money and quietly walked back out my door.
The Pitch
As the days went by, I couldn’t stop thinking of the unassuming, quiet man who I briefly encountered in my studio. I had to reach out to my client for her photos so I decided that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain so I approached her to ask if she would pass along my offer to photograph her father. She was on board and very excited and promised to ask him right away. Hours stretched into days and just as I was beginning to resign myself to the idea that he had declined my offer, I got a phone call that made me leap up out of my chair (for real, I really did). On the other end of my phone I heard the deep, Native voice saying “This is Sealmer Red Star. My daughter said you want to take my picture?”. He seemed amused that I wanted to photograph him in his hat and agreed to do it 5 days from the call. I tell you, I was so excited at the prospect of photographing him that I laid in bed, wide awake, for hours, unable to sleep for thinking about it. I ran images, lighting scenarios, backgrounds and poses through my mind. His face was so filled with character; probably more character than any other face I had seen in front of my camera.
The Big Day
Today was the big day…the session appointment. I didn’t sleep much last night, due to the excitement and worrying if I would be able to adequately capture this man and tell his story. I wanted to honor him and make him feel proud and that, my friends, is a lot of pressure. I texted to ask if he had any last minute questions and let him know that he could wear whatever he wanted, whatever he felt said “him” and I would photograph him as he wanted to be photographed to tell his story and not just wearing the hat as I had requested. No response. I let him know that I was at the studio and ready to unlock the door for him when he arrived (security keeps the door locked at all times). No response to that one, either. I had set everything up and tested the lights and composition and was all ready to go. I was so nervous because it was tremendously important to me to honor this man and do a good job for him so to keep myself from pacing as I waited, I just sat and played Scrabble (big weakness of mine). The appointment time came and went and, admittedly, my heart started sinking. Five minutes passed, then 10, then 15. At 20 minutes past our scheduled time, I reached out once more to ask if he needed help finding the place, again. Still no response. I texted my family that I was heartbroken because the man I wanted to photograph so badly didn’t show up and was about halfway to the studio area to start packing up when my phone rang. It was him! He said he was just outside the door. I about skipped all the way to the door, let me just tell you!
The Man Who Fills A Room
When I opened the door, there he was, standing there, peering in with his kind and gentle face, wearing a flattering blue-gray sweater and perched atop his shoulder-length white hair with that hat that I loved so much. He didn’t really smile so much as seemed sheepish and seemed almost embarrassed that someone was making a fuss over him. We made small talk about the weather, traffic and parking as we made our way up to the studio. I asked if I could get him anything before we got started and pointed out the restroom but all he did was ask if I would be willing to please get him a drink of water. As I led him to the studio area on flat ground and no longer on the stairs, I saw that he was a lot taller than he seemed at the first meeting. He stands “just about 6 foot”, he said with a smile, when I asked how tall he was so I could double check the height of my lights as he drank his water.
The Session
Mr. Red Star was definitely an easy subject to work with. He took direction very well and smiled as I showed him the photos that I was taking of him. We had some chit-chat as I worked and he posed, and I found him to be very pleasant to converse with. The tone and intonation of his voice, as well as the deepness of it was very soothing to listen to. He told me that he only had a 5th grade formal education which actually took me by surprise. I definitely had no idea that was the case. He was very well spoken. Maybe that was his 70+ years, a lifetime of living and learning but he impressed me even more by that admission. He told me that as he began relaying to me how he ended up in Vietnam for 11 months, beginning with being drafted. After a few minutes, he got a distant look in his eye and suddenly stopped talking. It was an almost uneasy silence that loomed between us. He seemed very far away and I didn’t know why he had grown quiet, almost cutting off mid sentence. There was more than a little concern that I had said something wrong but the way he looked out the window caused me to ask him another question.
The Untold Story
It was at this point that I asked “Do you ever tell your story”? He looked right at me for a split second and his gaze went down to the ground. He gave an uneasy and embarrassed laugh and asked “Which one”? I said, in all seriousness, “All of them. Any of them”. He lifted his eyes and looked right at me as his face instantly changed, transforming from a school boy charm to bare naked grief and anguish. It was like a floodgate had been lifted. He just started talking, that wonderful voice burning my ears with horrific tales of survival, bravery and strength. His eyes welled up and it was no longer about photography at all. He needed to tell his story and he was allowing me the honor of hearing it. I felt as if I would be violating him at that moment, if I continues taking photos of his grief and taking advantage of his pain so I just shut off the camera and lights and sat next to him, human to human, listening. I didn’t want to speak for fear of breaking the spell, so I just let him talk as long as he wanted to talk. He told me many things, what he did, what others did, his job, what he wanted to do, and about his hat and all the decorations on it.
Honor with my silence
Most of what he told me I will never divulge to anyone. I feel it would be a betrayal, even though he didn’t ask me not to. I feel that he trusted me with a significant and heavy burden and it would be a dishonor to pass those stories on, as it’s not my story to tell. I will only tell of one part. He said his unit told him that he “needed an Indian name” and “He Shoots His Enemies” is the one this then-21-year-old boy who was thrust into manhood in the most awful way, wanted to have. He told me the name in his Crow language and it sounded so beautiful. I wish that I could spell it with his eloquent words but I could not find a translation and didn’t want to dishonor him by getting it wrong. This name is not the one that they gave him, the other men in his unit, but this is the name I will remember. I was truly touched today, by this gentle giant and I am so very happy that he agreed to allow me the honor and privilege of capturing his portraits. The bottom picture is a photo of a photo on his cell phone that he is holding of him saluting in front of his military pictures, awards and honors.
