Blink Into Focus

Through the fog

2008-12-15T16:07:00.003-05:00

No blog without a picture. That's been my self-imposed policy since I started this little log, and is the reason that I have been absent from it for so long. I just haven't made the pictures and it's driving me nuts!
Every year about this time, every photojournalist that I know go through their "year in pictures" as a way to either congratulate themselves for jobs well done, or to remind themselves that they need to work harder. I'm embarrassed that for the first time since I entered this profession, I fall firmly into that latter category. It's not that I haven't had the ideas. I've got notebooks and post-it's filled with the scribblings of story ideas that I should be working on. And it's not that I haven't been filling my time working. I've been building business contacts, making cold calls, developing web pages and taking online tutorials on web design, video production, and business practices. I've been going to networking meetings, handing out business cards and guest speaking to any group that will listen. I am ever hopeful that all those I've met, and all that I've learned in the past year will pay off in the long term. BUT, I haven't been making pictures and telling stories.
Every writer I've ever traveled with knows that if I haven't made a good story-telling picture for a few days, I'm not my usual happy-go-lucky self. I get down right bitter and angry. Now that months are going by between them, you can imagine what my poor loving wife is going through. And, if some of you are wondering why I fell off the map, it's because I can't face that most important of all questions that we PJs are constantly faced with: "What have you done lately?"
I've talked myself out of doing what I should be doing with a variety of excuses ranging from:
"I've got to concentrate on the commercial side of my business" to "I don't have an audience/outlet for it" to "I can't afford it and when I have enough money to finance the stories, I'll do them."
But the truth is, I can't afford NOT to do them because I am a photojournalist, a story teller. It's not just something I do for a living, it's something I HAVE to do.
For the past year, I feel like I've been feeling my way through a heavy fog, but it's time to push through it. I'm getting back to shooting and telling stories. They won't all be tear jerking or world changing, and I honestly don't know who will see them or if anyone will be willing to pay for them. But, I know they are out there waiting for me and I know I have a lot of catching up to do.
We're heading home to see the family on Dec. 26th and on Jan. 20th, I'm off to spend a few days with an indian tribe in the Panama rain forest. Thanks to my wife for her continued encouragement and seeing me through the fog. Happy holidays to all.
J

Busy Month

2008-08-22T14:55:00.003-04:00

It's been a busy but fulfilling month. Amazing how much faster the time goes by when you have projects you're working on. I did manage to make a trip to S.C. to work on some video for my mother's C21 McAlpine real estate firm. But it was all work and little play this trip with the exception of getting a chance to frolic in the pool with Muddy, my nieces, and nephews.
For the video series, I followed C21 agents around Conway getting shots of them doing what they do. They'll be a total of 5 videos on her web page in the coming month highlighting both the features of the area, and this top selling firm. Here's a preview:

C21 Conway Profile Video from JLeephoto on Vimeo.
The down side of the increased production schedule is that my time out fishing this summer has taken a major hit. Tami and I did make a short trip down the Hocking River in the canoe where I managed to get a lunker smallmouth right to the side before performing a "professional catch and release." (read: it got off) It was the size of a boulder, shining like a copper penny with the most menacing evil red eyes. So, naturally, I've got to find time this weekend to take another run at that monster! I'll let you know how it goes. In the mean time, hope you're all doing well. Drop me a line when you get a chance.

New River Gorge

2008-07-23T12:48:00.003-04:00

New River Gorge from JLeephoto on Vimeo.
It's been too long since updating and too much to tell in this short post before I head to S.C. for some projects I'm working on. Instead of photos, this time I'm including a video that should give you all an idea of how our summer is going. Hope you enjoy and hope to talk to you all again soon.

Wandering Around Heaven

2008-05-19T16:34:00.012-04:00

Standing in a smoke garden in Singapore’s airport in Feb., trying to suck down one last nicotine stick before my 19hr. flight home, I met Jim Booth, of PRISM International (Professional Records & Information Services Management). Jim said he needed a photographer in May and wondered if I’d be interested in going to Alaska.
I thought about it for about a nanosecond before jumping at the chance!
My conference coverage in Anchorage would take about 3 days, and I have a chance to do a little exploring before flying home.In the two days I had to wander, Alaska completely blew my mind and if the King Salmon run had started, I’m not sure I would have made it home before fall. This is an outdoor paradise.Waters teeming with fish, jagged snow capped mountains in every direction, glaciers, elk, bear, yeah haw!

Without consulting the first guide book, I jumped in my rental car and headed south out of Anchorage on what was labeled the “Seward Scenic Highway.”The label was a massive understatement. They should call it the “Absolutely Awe Inspiring, Eye Popping, Most Beautiful Stretch of Road You’ll Ever Travel and If You Don’t Try It You’re A Complete Moron Highway.” I’ve taken some great drives through the Rocky Mountains, the California Redwoods, western Ireland’s coast, and even across the red center of Australia, but I can’t remember ever getting more excited on 90 miles of tarmac. Ten minutes out of Anchorage and I was slamming on the breaks and pulling over to take in the view. Around every corner there was another, seemingly better than the last. A crystal lake here, bald eagles sitting on the banks of a marsh there, towering mountains spanned by glaciers, cascading waterfalls…This went on and on. I stopped and talked to native fishermen dip netting Hooligans to feed their family, watched climbers hanging from cliffs over head, and saw snowmobiles on distant ridgelines..All of it easily accessible by just pulling off the road and hitting the trail. To top it all off, all this went on during 18 hours of sunlight! Heaven.
Unfortunately, I was told when I called a local guide that none of the King Salmon for which the Mat-Su valley was famous, were being caught yet but that the first of the run should start any day. It seems the first to catch them would be local celebrities in the region. Never one to miss such an important opportunity, I hired Howard with IfishAlaska Charters to take me out on the Deshka River. Howard was right, the Kings weren’t in yet, but I had a great time with him swapping adventure stories while dragging our baits and wildlife watching, beaver, muskrat and moose. He made me promise to come back when the fish are in thick and it was the easiest promise I ever made.
I will be back! I’ve got to take a glacier/whale cruise, fly-in to a remote river camp in a seaplane, combat fish for Salmon, hike Denali National Park, and see Mt. McKinley. Alaska doesn’t just capture your imagination, it surpasses it.
You can see more pics from my wandering here: Alaska Photoshelter Gallery

Singapore Explorer

2008-03-04T13:00:00.013-05:00

International photography sounds exotic and exciting to most folks, and it can be, but it can just as easily be just as tedious and boring. In February, I was hired by Defense News to cover the Singapore Air Show. I knew that meant incredibly long hours first on a plane and then behind the booth of a conference center editing video. I knew from experience, that I’d likely see little more than airports and modern hotels. In which case, apart from the minor differences, usually related to the bathroom facilities, I could be anywhere in the world. And another thing about professional photography in general: it’s so easy to fall into the trap of shooting only what you get paid for and in the style that your client approves. If you’re not careful, you can forget what you love so much about the work. With all this in mind, I went to Singapore determined to do this trip a little differently. I decided to stay a few extra days, as cheaply as possible, and explore this city, get a feel for the texture of the place, be open to chance encounters with the people and the culture. Photography for me, has always been about much more than making great images. My camera forces me to look at people, places, life, from a different perspective and I needed to get out of my self-imposed dungeon (read basement) and back to what I love. So, when the air show wrapped with plenty of good video for the defense news web page (HERE at Defense News), I took to the streets.
From my first trip to SE Asia in 2005 to cover the Tsunami, the region has, in some strange way, felt a little like my home in coastal S.C. I’m comfortable there. I’ve tried and I’m not sure I can quite put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the humidity, the close association with the water, peoples tendency to slow down a bit and talk to a stranger. The attitude, the salt in the air, or the slight sunburn…I don’t know. But, every time I sat down at a sidewalk café, ordered up a Tiger beer, and made small talk with a stranger sitting at the next table, I felt like I was sitting at Sam’s Corner in Garden City Beach, on a lazy summer afternoon having just stepped off a fishing boat, watching the tourist walk by.
I explored, like a new photography student, walking miles through China Town, and Little India, across the waterfront keys, through the myriad of shopping malls and down back alleys where the cooks and restaurant staff stepped out for a smoke. I met strangers, ex-pats who, too, have found a home in the region, a team of Hurricane Hunters from Keesler AFB, and had a long talk with a Singaporean painter about his life and his art. I watched him paint reflections on the water long into the evening.
The pictures…well, they probably look like travel pictures anyone would make. Good photography IS work and I was just enjoying the exploration. I’m thankful for the reminder of that simple joy and plan to do much more of it, now that I’m home. So, people of the Mid-Ohio valley, when you see a slightly overweight, balding guy with a camera wandering your city, take a moment to introduce yourself, tell him a little of your story, and point out something of your town that he might’ve missed otherwise. It will mean more than you can imagine.

More pics from Singapore HERE at my Photoshelter Gallery.

Snowbird Greetings!

2007-12-21T15:29:00.001-05:00

Holiday Greetings from the land of yankees! OK, not really, folks here in SE Ohio are not much different from my home of South Carolina, though I'd have a hard time convincing my hometown friends of that. To them, everyone North of Charlotte are "damn yankees." Just to illustrate, I was recently looking for a recycling center to get rid of all these moving boxes and the first three replies I got from the patrons of the local country stores were, "We just use a burn barrel 'round here." Ah, refreshing...feels like home already.
My last days at Army Times were both rewarding and stressful. I made a trip to Germany to tell the story of members of Charlie, 1-26 INF returning from a particularly devastating 15 months in Baghdad. I'd spent some time with the unit back in Feb. and it was good reunite with them. The unit lost more men in Iraq than any other Army unit since Vietnam, and I felt it was important to document their experience. Luckily, Army Times felt the same way and committed more resources to telling it than any other project I've worked on with them. I think Kelly Kennedy got their stories right in print and I shot video interviews and portraits that were put together in a final four part series on the web and in the paper by the combined efforts of an extremely talented staff at AT. Editing many hours of their interview footage took more of an emotional toll than I could have imagined. This Christmas, I would encourage you all to read and watch their stories here at Blood Brothers. It's important to remember what our soldiers are experiencing as we think about all of our own blessings.
Working on this project right up until the moment I took my leave from Army Times kept me from thinking about everything and everyone I was leaving behind. But, in my final days there, I experienced an outpouring of care and support that I didn't feel I deserved after just three brief years. At final happy hours and goodbye dinners, I got the chance to replay all the stories and adventures that I'd experienced with the staff. From the tsunami, to hurricanes, to the border to combat. From the mundane to the life and death experiences, I realized just what these people had meant to me, my growth and to my own story. I'll forever be appreciative to them for accepting, teaching, pushing and supporting me and most of all, truly caring for me. I both honored and humbled to count them as friends. The newspaper industry has their own equivalent of a "roast" and send off staffers with a newspaper cover in their honor. Here's mine that will always hold a place of honor above my desk.
Tami and I are now in Vincent, OH starting all over again. In the last few weeks I've been reminded of all the responsibilities of home ownership. (Tami constantly reminds me.) I've gotten my basement home office organized, taken on a myriad of handy man tasks that I just wasn't born to do, and shoveled snow for the first time! Since it's holiday time, Tami's spending most of her time at JCPenney's where she was honored with Manager of the Month in November but she still managed a moment to walk the kids in our first snow.
As always this time of year, I'm realizing just how important all my friends are and, once again, am resolving to reconnect with you all in the new year. Until then, Tami and I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a new year filled with great hope and cheer.
Note: All my contact info has changed. Please update your books and drop me a line so I don't get too lonely in my little basement.
James J. Lee
45 Simmons Cove
Vincent, OH 45784
H: 740-445-5004
C: 740-517-5225
jleephoto@gmail.com

Changes

2007-09-22T18:40:00.000-04:00

Sometimes it baffles me how many changes can take place in such a short time. Just three years ago, I accepted my first news job at Army Times. Very green by photojournalism terms, I remember how entirely overwhelmed I was en route to the Tsunami for USA Today on my first international assignment. Since then I've made three trips to Iraq, designed my own web page, learned to shoot and edit video, and seen both my sisters begin their families. I've gotten re-married and started a new life in a new apartment with a new wife. I now have seven nieces and nephews with another on the way next month! Then last week, on vacation with the family at Garden City Beach, my wife Tami got the call telling her she'd finally reached her professional goal after so many years...a store of her own. Next week she'll become the Store Manager for J.C. Penney in Vienna, West Virginia. I wish I could somehow convey to all of you just how proud I am of her. I've never known a harder worker with more commitment to her people. Years of getting up at 4am, working through the holidays, and mentoring countless associates, is finally paying off. And now, in the face of all her accomplishments, her greatest concern is for ME and what I will do in West Virginia.
I admit, I'm once again overwhelmed, even a little scared about the road ahead. But, I'm excited as well about the new opportunities, the things I'll learn, and the stories I hope to tell. A mix of emotions that I've come to know well, to accept, and even embrace. My plan for now is to become a freelance photographer doing a mix of commercial and editorial work that I hope will finance a few of the hundred of ideas for stories that are ricocheting through my mind.
Tami leaves tomorrow for West Virginia and I will follow in a month or two, after I've completed some final stories for Army Times. Thanks to all of you for your support and encouragement. It will continue to be appreciated in the months to come.
Now for the latest story. Pvt. Channing Moss was impaled by a rocket propelled grenade (RPG) in Afghanistan, becoming a living bomb. If his fellow soldiers had followed protocol, they would have sandbagged him and considered him "expectant." Instead, they risked their lives and save his. Watch the video: Channing Moss' Story
Thanks for reading. JLee
Family Vacation Pictures

Life in Perspective

2007-02-20T07:22:00.000-05:00

Questions. There are days, many days, when I ask myself why I am doing this? Why I come to Iraq, subject myself to discomfort and danger? Why I put my wife and family through the worry and seperation? All for the sake of pictures when good ones seem few and far between-- often doubting that anyone actually sees them or cares.
Then I am humbled. Almost daily some soldier actually thanks me for what I am doing here. That soldier who has often spent YEARS here, to my two months at a time of site seeing. That soldier who is sucking dust, getting blown up by roadside bombs, walking long patrols under heavy physical and emotional loads, watching his friends fall, worrying about his family worrying about him at home. That soldier, or one of his family members struggling with the seperation and fear, stops me in the chow hall, or sends me an email thanking ME, and I’m always dumbfounded, at a near loss for words, and entirely humbled.
I’m often asked what soldiers think about this war. For most of the ones I’ve talked to, it’s quite simple. They believe in what they are doing. Their missions are to make Iraq more secure, to train Iraqi forces so they can take over, to bring much needed resources to the people, to capture, kill or convert the insurgents and keep the guys beside them alive. No politics, no B.S. They largely believe that what they are doing is slowly and gradually working and that given enough time and resources they will succeed. That are convinced they are helping each other and the Iraqi people.
These are often 19 through 25-year-old guys with a sense of duty and resolve that is hard for me to fathom. They are making life and death split second decisions under some of the worse conditions imaginable. Yet they approach the challenges with the wisdom of experience and professionalism far beyond their years. They do this day after day with little complaint.
I often feel like I’m living in a world spinning wildly out of control where we are losing sight of our ideals, self-absorbed, trying keep up with the rat-race that can be our lives. Too focused on what we want to get out of life instead of what we have to give. Too rushed to “get there” to enjoy much of it. I’m as guilty of all that as the next person. But then I come here, to Iraq, with all it’s miserable implicatations, and I get to walk among people I respect. They care about each other and jobs they are doing above all else. Their motives are good and life is, dare I say, simple. The basics kept in proper perspective. And here, of all places, I sometimes find the faith and hope that so often aludes me in “real life.” If I’m good enough and lucky enough, maybe I will manage to make the right pictures or find the right words to convey who these soldiers are. I think that’s why I’m here.

Heart of Darkness

2007-02-09T09:22:00.000-05:00

“Catastrophic! Catastrophic!” It was a radio call meant to get everyone’s attention, and it did. Michelle and I had just arrived at Combat Outpost (COP) Steel in the Ta’Meem district of Ramadi, and we were sitting in a dingy room in a house seized by U.S. forces, talking to three soldiers there who make up part of a Military Transition Team (MiTT), advising Iraqi Army soldiers working in the area. I was listening to the radio traffic out of one ear and the small talk out of the other. I was frustrated and I felt I was wasting time, wishing I could get out on some day patrols and find some good pictures, when I heard that a weapons cache had been discovered near our location. But I was stuck in that little room, thinking to myself that I should be out there, making pictures, when that haunting call came.
“Catastrophic” means that a military vehicle has been completely destroyed, usually by a roadside bomb. It often means that soldiers are dead. We all sat helpless and dejected, listening to the radio calls. We listened for hours. Units responding, trying to help, being routed around more roadside bombs, looking for the “triggerman”, but there was no help for the two soldiers that were killed by the bombs buried near that cache.
Since arriving in Ramadi, Michelle and I have done a lot of stories. We covered the Friday Night Smokers boxing tournaments that allow soldiers to blow off a little steam. We went on a river patrol with a Marine Dam Security Unit. We ate meals with Iraqi Police and the PiTT team soldiers working with them to secure their communities. We went on patrols around COP Falcon in south-central Ramadi, a place one commander called “The Heart of Darkness.” I got my chance to photograph soldiers on day patrols, finding weapons caches and returning sniper fire. I even tried in vain to shoot pictures in complete darkness as COP Falcon was attacked and U.S. gunners fired back from the roof as tracers zipped by overhead.
In between it all we stood around with little groups of soldiers, waiting and smoking and telling stories of home and of war. Listening to their plans and their dreams. We watched movies, made plans for achieving world peace, and laughed at jokes few other civilians would understand. Now we’re back in Baghdad, waiting for our next embed. I’m sitting here trying to catch up on a blog, wanting tell you what it is like out there, thinking I should tell you about these soldiers’ successes, their fighting spirit, their lives and their sacrifice. But what keeps coming through the static is that call of desperation, “Catastrophic! Catastrophic!”
Here are the links to three multi-media stories from Ramadi:
Police Transition Teams
DAM Security Unit 3
COP Falcon
Michelle's Stories can be found here: Army Times In Iraq

Waiting

2007-01-16T14:32:00.000-05:00

It seems that when Michelle Tan and I began this trip 4 days ago what we were really committing ourselves to was waiting. Waiting… It’s a condition that soldiers and photojournalist know better than most “normal” people. I’m not talking about being kept waiting 15 minutes for a business meeting, a half hour for a friend that is late for dinner or even the frustration of waiting on a flight that is delayed for a few hours. We’re talking DAYS of waiting, waiting with seemably no end… We began this trip, a trip to “cover the war” in Iraq, on January 11th. We took a relatively easy 12 hour direct flight to Kuwait City. There was a little waiting at the check-in counter and security, then the flight to Kuwait, a little waiting for our visas and at customs, then for a ride to the hotel and then two days of self imposed waiting at the hotel for our bodies to adjust and to get to the Ali Al Saleem Air Terminal for our flight to Baghdad International. Then the waiting REALLY began in earnest. Things have changed for journalists and workers coming to Iraq from Kuwait. In the good ‘ol days, someone collected your passport and visa at your hotel to get your visa stamped back out and the next morning you took a bus to your flight and bada-bing, the next thing you knew you were stepping onto the tarmac and BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) But, things have changed dramatically in the last few months as they tend to do within the military system. Now you drop your passport at a desk where you’re told to check back for the proper stamps in 6-8 hrs. You’re assigned a tent with a bunk and you settle in to rest. Then once receiving your passport and travel voucher, you pack back up and go to a large waiting area called a PAX (Passenger Terminal) and you put your name on a space available waiting list for a flight. Michelle and our were numbers 186 and 187 on the list. The flights left every 1-3 hours and were posted on a board that meant little since flight times were constantly in flux and your name may or may not be called for any given flight at any time. There’s no way to tell according to Air Force personnel how long the wait may be so you’re advised to be there when every flight is called and be ready to answer to your name, grab your gear and hustle out to the plane. The “process” seemed as foreign to all as some ancient voodoo practice. In the mean time, you’re afraid to go very far for very long for fear you’ll miss that call and be stuck longer than necessary. So, you wait. Michelle and I settled or tried to settle on hard chairs lined up in the hanger between burley contracters and soldiers in every uniform. We tried to sleep and would nod for a few minutes before being jolted awake by someone bumping us or the scraping of chairs on concrete or the paranoia that we might miss some vital piece of information that would allow us to get out of pergatory. We waited like that for 20 hours before “Lee, James” was finally called. We hustled all our baggage onto pallets waiting to be loaded onto our plane and were escorted with about 300 other soldiers and contractors to tents 50 feet away where we were told we could wait for another hour before our plane would depart. There we waited another 4 hours talking to the contractors around us, pacing smoking, reading and watching movies on our laptops. When we finally boarded the huge C-17 the flight took about 50 minutes. We trudged through the mud and waited in the dark for an hour on our lugguage . Then we schlepped each of our 80+ pounds of gear through mudholes and across slick rock to a bus stop, waited 15 minutes to ride from that stop to another stop where we would get on a Rhino armored vehicle for the ride across town to the International Zone (IZ) AKA Green Zone. The wait was another 4 1/2 hours packed into a quonset hut with every chair taken but we were finally told to load up and we made the hour ride across town in the big convoy in silence. In the wee hours of the morning we finally arrived at the I.Z., made a call on a borrowed cell phone and were picked up 15 minutes later by two army Specialists from the Combined Press Information Center (CPIC). That’s where we are today, in relative comfort, having had a hot shower and 2 meals and 4 hours sleep. I’ve finally gotten my creditionals and been assigned a bunk bed in the press center. Here we settle in to wait for a helicopter flight to our first embed. So far I’ve completed two 400 page novels, the entire first season of “Lost”, 5 packs of cigerrettes and 2 cans of tobacco, and I’ve change into my second set of clothes with full hopes of getting to the war in a couple of days. And since I’ve done this before I know what that means, more waiting. Lots and lots of waiting. Waiting on helicopters, waiting on convoys, waiting on patrols to start or end. Waiting on my turn at the power outlet, internet connection or telephone. Waiting for the food, the shower, my clothes to dry. Waiting for bombs to go off or insurgents to take their shot, waiting on the light to get right just hoping to make a few good pictures, tell a few good stories and get home safe.
God Bless those who wait.

Shotgun Wedding - Sort Of..

2006-11-01T17:15:00.000-05:00

As some of you know, last week I finally got hitched to my new bride, who is now Tami Lee. Has a nice southern ring to it to match her accent. I never thought I could have as much fun at a wedding, especially my own. Up until now I've always mostly endured them for the opportunity to party with friends. But everything came off perfectly, thanks to all the help to make it that way, and we partied until the lights went out. Our friends came from all over the country, some of which I haven't seen in a decade and I don't think it's possible to express what that meant to us though I tried in a blundering speach at the reception. For those of you who didn't make it down to North Myrtle Beach for the weekend, I had 6 of the worlds best photographers who also happen to be six of my closest friends, in town covering it. So, we'll have heaps of good pics to come. Thanks guys. We made a little side trip on Sat. morning over the the family farm for a little shooting fun and blasted away any hangovers from the previous night before gorging on my favorite home cooked meal, Chicken Bog.
This week started again with a bang here at The International Sniper Competition at Ft. Benning, GA where I'm covering the event as well as the Combatitives Competition this coming weekend. I'm shooting both Video and Still pics and transmitting from the road. What that means is that with 2 big digital SLRs, a video camera with shotgun mic, headphones and a tripod, I'm trying to keep up with guys who are in top phisical condition as they run obstacle courses, climb ladders, jump in and out of helicopters and shoot targets. All that and my editors want me to try to hold the camera steady. Their advice, hold your breath! Just thinking about it makes me want a smoke. It's my first time editing video without being able to shout for help over my shoulder and have one of my fellow staffers come running. It's been a challenge consisting of many late hours in a claustophobic motel room, but you can see my first efforts on this new frontier of muli-media journalism here: SNIPERS click "See the Video." Baby steps right?
As aways, thanks for checking in. JLee

Mea Culpa!

2006-09-11T17:06:00.000-04:00

Forgive me friends, it's been too long since I've written. Frankly, after my time spent in Iraq, it's difficult to get enthusiastic about writing about life here...stateside. When friends ask, how I'm doing, I'm apt to reply, "OK," or "I'm coasting," or even "It's been boring." But I recognize that's an issue that many war corrospondents have, becoming disenchanted with daily life after the high drama of frolicking in the midst of danger and catastrophe. What's ironic about that is that is the reason most of us got into this field is precisely because we are fascinated with life in ALL it's complexity. If I loose that, I loose too much of myself and I relinquish the gifts' God's given me. With that said, I'm reflecting, for your benefit, my friends, and for my own, at what I've experienced in the few months since my return. On a professional level, I've been struggling to learn how to add some tools to my arsenal, telling stories with multi-media- using writing, sound and still images. I had the opportunity to watch the last F-14 Tomcats catapult off the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt and futhermore, I got a landing and catapult shot out of the deal myself!
I've spent time with wounded soldiers and lab technicians at Walter Reed Medical Hospital as they were fitted with new prosthetic legs, and arms. I followed along on part of the trip as some of those soldiers rode their bicycles across the country.Most recently, I went down to the U.S. / Mexico border to see how the National Guard and the Border Patrol attempt to stop illegals from crossing. And get this, for all of this, I’ve gotten paid! Paid to take pictures and tell stories…I’m already forgetting what I’ve complaining about!
On a personal level, the smartest and most beautiful little spitfire of a woman recently moved up here to Northern Territory to be with ME (hard to believe I know) and we’re planning our wedding next month! (Tami is now the Assistant Manager of JC Penneys at Fair Oaks Mall in Fairfax, VA).
My parents and sisters just finished building a great new beach house on the creek in Garden City, SC. They’ve been worrying about the details for months so that last weekend, when I visited for Labor Day, I didn’t have to worry about anything except getting to the fishing hole while the tide was right, and getting back in time to watch the sun set over the marsh. I got a chance to visit with my always happy nephew, Jackson, and the rambuctious triplets, Mac, Eliza and Emma, who are now communicating in complete sentences and managed to keep me in stitches at their antics all weekend. So, friends, ask me again and I’ll tell you "life is good." Very good. Mea Culpa for taking it for granted.

P.S: Highlighted words should route you to this new-fangled multi-media storytelling stuff I've been struggling with.

IEDs for Breakfast

2006-04-12T02:33:00.000-04:00

Last week I sat in a dungeon, smoked, and played guitar with soldiers from 1-32 CAV. At least that is what the soldiers in the town of Muqdidiyah call their under ground barracks on the old Iraqi Army base near the Iranian border. Removed from the sound of Bradley armored vehicles and the occasional incoming morter and rockets, I listened to Spc. Brian Ahern and Spc. Josh Somma sing a song they wrote called, I Eat IEDs for Breakfast. It was a good song and I thought about how heavily those nasty little devices IED’s or Improvised Explosive Devices weigh on every soldier’s mind. Any time I’ve been with a line unit here, it seems that evil acroynm crops up in almost every conversation. Soldiers talk about the ones they’ve found and the ones that have found them. They simply call this being “blown up.” On some of the bases I’ve heard the booms, seen the dust clouds rising in the distances and listened to the radio reports of the latest blast. Many of missions soldiers go on these days are about finding IEDs, or stopping them, or preventing them from being placed on the roads. In fact, one of the missions we went on in Muqdadiyah was called “concrete ops” filling one of the many holes in the road, created by an IED the night before, with concrete in hopes of keeping insurgents from placing another in the same location. Pictures of the damn things in their many forms were even posted on the Morale, Wellfare and Recreation (MWR) Center wall.
I’ve ridden the roads of Iraq in Humvees, Bradleys, and armored trucks with these men and admit that after each outing I’ve been physically and mentally depleted, having scanned every piece of roadside debris, telling myself I should just relax, whatever is going to happen is going to happen, nothing I can do about it, but still craining to see the little slice of road sometimes visible from the back seat and tensing every muscle whenever our vehicle passed over a pot hole.
Yet these men go out day and night, every day, if not unfazed, at least resolved to completing their missions with a dedication to each other that reaches far beyond the politics of war. Then, when the day’s mission is done, they return to their respective dungeons, smoke and write songs about IEDs.
Gina and I are currently in Taji, doing a story about a new method of distributing supplies around Iraq that requires less trucks and less soldiers to travel these roads. For the past few days we’ve been enjoying the comforts of hotel like rooms, ice-cream in the chow hall and we even went to Salsa night we’re we found more fun than we could have ever expected in a war zone. You can find Gina’s salsa night and other blogs here at Tales from the Sandbox.
Family and friends will be glad to know that we’re reaching the end of our time here and next weekend we will board a plane that will take high above those threats and deliver us home. Still, I won’t forget that there are still soldiers out there who’s homes for now are tents, and metal containers and dungeon like rooms. Soldiers who are filling and dodging potholes on the roads of Iraq.

Bad Drivers

2006-03-31T16:31:00.000-05:00

I’ve spent the last week in Bayji, Iraq with the 1-187 Infantry known as the “Rakkasans.” When we arrived last week, not only were we greeted with our own “Chu,” a one room aluminum apartment, but we were also given an old beater humvee to make our way around camp. I was just learning the intricacies of turning on the headlights and parking brake and Gina and I had plans to decorate it with an Army Times logo but before we could do so, the vehicle was “appropriated” in the middle of the night and we haven’t seen it sense. Oh well, easy come, easy go.
Bayji is a Sunni town with an oil refinery near the northern tip of the infamous, “Sunni Triangle.” I’ve been going on daily missions here which largely amounts to overseeing the Iraqi Army and Security Forces. It appears that, at least in this area, the U.S. is stepping back and letting the Iraqi’s deal with their own problems and I am told that most of those problems are a result of the corruption and organized crime in the form of extortion.
The greatest threat to our troops here, as in so many areas of Iraq, are the roads. Those nasty little Improvised Explosives Devices (IED’s) are prevailant here, as are mines and the occasional suicide bomber. Soldiers wear full protective gear which not only includes their helmets and body armor, but ballistic eyewear, fire retardent gloves, and even earplugs to preserve hearing in case of a loud boom. Things have been so bad here that the gunner that usually stands up with his head out of the hatch, stays crouched down until he needs to man the gun. As they drive, everyone in each vehicle constantly scans the road for any trash or pothole, or greesespot or anything outside of the norm that might be an IED. The problem is, trash, and potholes, and greesespots are EVERYWHERE and the soldiers try to remember whether that particular piece of trash was there yesterday. This makes any drive off the base a nerveracking endeavor.
Here in Iraqi, when coalition forces travel the roads, the locals know to stop and pull over to show they are not a threat. So, as you advance through a town it appears you are riding in a funeral procession or an ambulance as all approaching vehicles pull over to the shoulder while you pass.
At sunset yesterday, I was with A Company, in the lead vehicle on our way to visit an Iraqi Army checkpoint. We were cruising along with lights flashing and sireen wailing. Cars were pulling off the road in front of us until we hit a long straight stretch and I watched the small white dot of a sedan grow larger and larger in the wind shield. As the car got closer I noticed that I could only see one head in the car. A vehicle that fails to stop and only has one person inside is the common profile for suicide bomber. On my last trip here I got a chance to see them and their results numerous times but back then, I was riding in a large, heavily armored vehicle. This time, I was sitting on top of the fuel tank in a Humvee and time seemed to slow. I felt the gunner tense and then straighten in the hatch. I gripped a camera in one hand and the complicated door release in the other, my knuckles white. I think I stopped breathing as I watched the car get closer and closer without slowing. I voice in my head was commanding, HE’S TOO CLOSE, SHOOT! but it seemed like an enternity before our vehicle commander finally shouted the same order, “SHOOT, SHOOT, SHOOT” and the gunner up top began firing his M-4 on the approaching car. It always amazes me how much can go through your mind in those seconds. I saw the sparks of bullets richocheting off the ground in front of the looming vehicle. As it reached us I thought, TOO LATE! THIS IS IT, WE’RE DONE. The gunner continued shooting. Seven shots in all as it passed us and there was no explosion. We got out of the humvee and the soldiers cautiously approached the car now sitting beyond us with four flat tires. As I crouched near the back of our vehicle shooting pictures, I was alternately still expecting an explosion and dreading seeing the bloody remains of the driver when he emerged from his car with his hands up. He was untouched by the bullets which had cut a neat hole in his front bumper and pierced his tires. He explained through the interpreter that he was driving into the sun and therefore didn’t see our Humvees and that his music, still blaring an Arabic ballad, prevented him from hearing any sireen. Our platoon leader called for help to repair the vehicle and we waited for it to arrive in the form of Iraqi Police. Then we loaded back up and continued on the mission, Alpha Company’s evening just getting started on the roads of Bayji.

Note: I’ve finally updated my web page with pictures from the first half of my trip. More to follow.

A Desert Isle

2006-03-22T16:16:00.000-05:00

We’re wrapping up our week here at FOB Iscan and I’ve got packing to do. All Gina’s gear is neatly stacked on her cot while mine is scattered over two cots into the little wooden box they’ve provided us here as an office. This log is an effort to avoid the monumental task ahead of gathering it all up in the most economical way to manage it between here and two helicopter rides that will take us to Baghdad and on to the 101st area of operations (AO) up north.
It’s been a good week here with good people and despite the portapotties and pidgeon droppings, I’m beginning to see this portion of the trip as easing into the war zone. In addition to doing a dozen soldier stories on everything from the laundry service to the canine unit, I’ve managed to get in some patrols in town and even take a boat ride to blow up bridges. Well, foot bridges and palm trees but they were nice explosions. Just what I needed to shake the dust off, work up a sweat and start churning out “combat photography.” About the bridges:
There is an “island” here off the Euphrates. I have “island” in quotation marks because the only thing that makes it an “island” is a canal ditch that feeds off the river and runs around it. It seems a few months ago, it was determined that insurgents were using the island as a safe haven. The place was raided and heaps of weapons an explosives were found. So, the 1st Bat. 67th Armor decided to take it over and secure it. For a photojournalist, it sounded like a classic case of “should’ve been here yesterday.” However, there was work left to be done. At least one foot bridge and a palm tree spanned the little canal and the mission of the 50th Engineers we were with was to take their boats laden with explosives to the island and blow up these bridges in hopes of making them too difficult for the bad guys to cross. It was a nice ride on the boat and I got to watch the explosives experts at work. It took two blasts to take down the foot bridge of which I have no good pictures because, I’m a wuss, and damn it, I can’t help but jump when the explosives go off. That bridge out of the way, our team hiked to the palm crossing. As they were rigging this one I noticed a shephard approaching from the opposite side with his flock. The soldiers immediately waved him off, the word “BOOM” is evidently universal language for get the heck out of here. There were oohs and ahhs and woops of success at the flash of light and the pulp that rained among us. Mission accomplished, everyone said, but as we walked away, I looked back to notice the shephard surrounded by his sheep, on OUR side of the canal. Somehow, the wiley old guy and his entire flock had managed to cross in the time it had taken us to pack up our gear. I didn’t have the heart to point this out to our team. Besides, we were late for chow.
As the light fell too low on the river for me to make any more pictures, I sat back in the boat. The wind was still, the water had turned to glass, the motor drowned all other sound and silhottes of palm trees zipped by in the blue night. For for a few blissful moments I was transported to a jon boat in the SC lowcountry, on my way to a duck blind or a fishing spot, or to watch the fireworks on the 4th of July. Many of my favorite memories were rolled into one on this foreign stretch of water.

Of Fobbits and Soldiers...

2006-03-17T08:34:00.000-05:00

It’s amazing how fast things can change. Less than 48hrs. ago we were housed at the “Central Press Information Center” enjoying all the comforts of the “International Zone” (IZ) formerly the “Green Zone.” We had bunk beds in a “media lounge,” internet access, even a big flat screen TV. Best yet, we had clean flush toilets. One night last week, after a tough day at the hospital, we enjoyed dinner with the “Fobbits” (definition below) at the Blue Star Café. At this local hang-out in the IZ, we ate a mixed grill, drank cold Turborg beer and discussed how to right all the wrongs of the world.
Today, we’re living in the storage hanger of a maintance building on a dirty industrial complex 30 mi. south of Baghdad. Pidgeons fly over head, splattering the soldiers and marines on their cots below (the Marines don’t seem to mind). This is FOB Iscan where soldiers from the 1-67, 4th Infantry Division trudge through the wasteland of a huge power plant, the smokestacks belching black soot. No TV, no internet, and you carry your own TP to the port-a-pots. Somehow, though, I feel more at home than I did in the IZ. At least I’m finally with the soldiers doing work I can see and understand. Until now I felt vaguely guilty living the life of a “Fobbit.” A “Fobbit” is someone who never gets away from base and has little idea what’s happening “out there.” The guards, civilian contractors, state department employees and all the misc. people who keep a modern army operating, but never see the “outside of the wire.” They live a sheltered, relatively comfortable life in a war zone. I can’t blame them for trying to make their own lives as comfortable as possible here, and I have appreciated their hospitality. For me, though, that life is somehow hard to enjoy when I know what life is like for the average soldier in Iraq. So I’ve been getting soft and living in shame until now.
The soldiers here in Iskandiriyah are out in to these mixed Sunni/Shiite towns trying to tamp down violence, support the local police forces, and bring a level of civility to this tortured area. Much of the population here worked in Saddam’s military complex, either with The Medina Division Repulican Guard or in the munition factories. As a result, the local populace are now largely unemployed and desperate.
Yesterday we went with A Company to the nearby Sunni town of Jur as Sakhr where this unit is simultaniously building a little patrol base and employing some of the locals in a painting project to improve their own town. With the little U.S. sub-station in the middle of downtown, they hope to provide an additional level of security; with the white paint a job, a sense of self respect. Still, the soldiers must be on the lookout for roadside IED’s and the Shiite run police force generally refuse to enter the town. This is life in Iraq: the constant, one step forward, two back (or vice versa) struggle that continues. I’m looking forward to exploring it more in the days to come.

Fight for Life

2006-03-11T02:01:00.000-05:00

We’ve spent the last few days at the Ibn Sina hospital in Baghdad, home of the 10th Combat Support Hospital (CSH) where U.S. doctors and nurses fight for the lives the “fresh trauma” victims. These are soldiers and civilians, Iraqi and American, even insurgents. It doesn’t seem to matter to these docs as they are entirely focused on saving the life in front of them. I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to describe the miracle of what we’ve seen the last few days. The experience has been overwhelming in many ways: the severity of the wounds we’ve seen, the intensity of the ER and operating rooms, the delicate care in the intensive care unit. My first day here I watched a patient very nearly die from a gunshot wound to the chest and a surgeon place his finger on the pulmonary artery to keep the blood from draining a life. I saw the surgical team refuse to give up on that patient when many would have thought it hopeless. I very literally watched a life saved and realized the miracle that was being performed through the hands, hearts and minds of these care givers. These are not docs who dispassionatly run the patient through the system, patching them up and moving on. These docs and nurses follow their patients through their treatment, often checking up on them after they’ve left the trama center for further treatment. They take personal responsibilty for the lives that are saved and the deaths weigh heavily on them. Yet everyone we’ve talked to say this is the most rewarding experience lives, to be able to save life and limb and send a soldier or civilian home to his/her family.
As a photojournalist, this story seems like the opportunity on a life time on one hand, and the most daunting I’ve ever attempted on the other. Every day I’m put through the paces mentally and emotionally, trying to figure out how express the magnitude of what is happening here with my very limited tools: an eye and a camera. I have the feeling that I could spent a lifetime and never be equal to the task but I am so grateful for this opportunity and for the people I’m covering.
Last night I got the chance to talk via email to a fellow shooter, Toby Morris, who was shot in the leg by a sniper and treated at this very hospital last week. He seemed to be in remarkably good spirits though he may have a long road to recovery. Talking to him and seeing all these injuries is a brutal reminder of how dangerous it is “outside the wire.” It scares the crap out of me when I let myself think about it and there’s no way not to think about it here. Still, I feel stonger than ever about the importance of telling the stories of these soldiers.
Please keep Toby, the docs, the soldiers and all the victims of this war in your thoughts and prayers. Thanks for reading and for your support.
JLee

Ultimate Road Trip

2006-03-07T14:36:00.000-05:00

The ultimate road trip started at Camp Navistar on the Kuwait border, an interesting place some have dubbed as the world’s largest truck stop. We struck out on a convoy called the “Arrow Express” making the run of about 400 miles to Balad, just north of Baghdad. This convoy consists of miles of “white” trucks, those driven by “TCN’s” or Third Country National contractors carrying the supplies and equipment needed to maintain the coalition Army. The amount of stuff we bring in is phenomenal and it all all comes into the country through Navistar. These “whites” are unarmed and vulerable, sometimes hijacked by desert pirates in the south or attacked by insurgents further north, so the Army provides armed escort trucks called “greens” to see to it they all reach their destinations safely. It's a dangerous and unheralded job. I'm glad Gina had the idea to do this convoy and hope her story gets these drivers, both "whites" and "greens" the attention they deserve. I had the priviledge of riding in the front of the convoy for the first and safest leg of the trip. Ironically, this is when I was most jumpy, tensing whenever we met a civilian or passed a mound of dirt on Hwy 1 (aka MSR Tampa.) My driver, Sgt. Robbie Green, a 1st Battalion 12th Field Artillery soldier from Springfield, VA, as the lead “green” truck, had the responsibilty of calling out everything that could be a potential hazard over the radio which would then be relayed back to each truck in the multi-mile long convoy. I first got the sense that we were really in Iraq when Sgt. Green radioed “oncoming traffic southbound in the northbound lane, advise all trucks to stay right” just as a civlian pick-up whizzed passed us. Noticing my dismay Sgt. Green said, “oh, that’s just normal here,” and I reminded myself that it was time to start expecting the unexpected and that I was once again going in the rabbit hole.
The trip to our first stop at Scania, another big truck stop near the ancient ruins of Ur took us a little over 7 hrs. where we crashed at a little paradise of a camp during the day wanting to make the final and more dangerous leg of the trip under the cover of darkness. One day turned into two as, par for the course here, after loading back up at 1a.m. and heading out the gate, the road was closed due to firefights and IEDs (improvised explosive devises) further along the route. So we turned around to do it again the following night. The good news is that Camp Scania is a little paradise. Largely removed from the fighting the town is relatively friendly, and the camp well equipped. Even camel rides are offered at a little bizaar there. Gina and I went on a brief patrol with 167th Infantry National Guard from AL, of the town of Shumali where I showed off my grace in front of the townspeople and soldiers by falling backwards dead into the center of a huge tractor tire as I back-peddled up the sidewalk photographing the patrol. I must have looked like a true redneck reclining in an intertube. A cold beer and a slow flowing river was all I needed but I was happy to provide all with a good laugh, far beyond embarrassment at this point.
The following evening we loaded back up and this time I drew the rear “gun-truck” which was an up-armored Humvee. I didn’t know which was better. When I was in the lead I was in a big armored tractor trailer safely enscounced but I would be the first to find any hazards. I thought it would be good to be in the rear but then I remembered how fragile Humvees seemed by comparision. Luckily, the route to Baghdad was fairly uneventful punctuated only by radio reports of other convoys that had hit IED’s, and the occasional tracer fire in the distance. My gun crew joked through it all, telling stories and cranking out tunes on the I-pod hanging from the review mirror. We made it to Balad by 3:30 a.m. (about 6 hours) and caught a couple hours sleep on a cot before jumping on a blackhawk helicopter for the short flight to Baghdad at day break.
Now, here we are at Baghdad’s “International Zone”, formerly “The Green Zone.” This is another surreal place where we have received our official Press ID’s that seem to put us only a notch above Most Wanted Terrorist in the eyes of all the security here. We’re living behind giant concrete walls. Of course, I’m anxious to explore this phenomenon of a modern International walled city inside a war zone where you can drink a cappacino while listening to bombs explode in town, but I’m not to go anywhere without an official escort and by the way, “no pictures please.” Oh, well, a comfortable bed awaits and is much appreciated. Goodnight to all.
JLee

The Oasis

2006-02-24T15:40:00.000-05:00

Planes, trains, buses and taxi's. They say being a journalist is 90% "getting there." I'd say more like 99%. Well, we're not quite "there" yet but trying to make the most of where we are which is the JW Marriot in Kuwait City, Kuwait. To a good 'ol country boy like me this joint is quite impressive. I always judge hotels by their bathrooms. If I had the time, I think I could happily get through an entire Mitchner novel in this one.
We're working on doing some stories here about soldiers who also haven't quite made it to the big event so we'll be in Kuwait for a few days before moving up North. I'm hoping that tonight's rest will do away with the jet lag that over 36 hours of traveling imparts. Word to the wise: no matter how great the deal, don't take the 12 hour British Airways layover in London if you come this way. Since our arrival we've been working with our Public Affairs Officers, Maj. Dave Tippett and Cpt. Paul Edwards to cut through the red tape and are assured that there are good things ahead.
This afternoon Gina and I paid a visit "Camp Gustavo," where AP photographer Gustavo Ferrari host a little shin-dig at his Oasis camp on Friday afternoons for Ex-Pats living here or passing through. The directions to the camp went something like this: Do a U turn at mile marker 30something, then take a right through the break in the berm. Drive down the dirt track until you feel broken asphalt, then turn left by the old tire. Go straight until you pass under the power lines, then slightly left towards the two little hills on the horizon....
There, he and fellow ex-pats regaled us with stories of middle-eastern adventure and mayhem and treated us to grilled chicken from his BBQ pit (which is often destroyed by Kuwaiti tanks during training excercises) until a red sun descended below the desert horizon. Thanks to Gustavo and the rest of our new friends. You just made "getting there" a little easier.

What Really Matters

2006-02-19T22:35:00.000-05:00

I just returned from a worldwind tour to N.C., S.C. and Ohio to see family and friends before departing for Iraq on Tuesday. I've been making my list of things to do before I leave, things to pack, etc. One of my lists is called "what really matters," and is my way of prioritizing what is absolutely necessary to get the job done, like, for instance, cameras. Mrs. Griggs, my fourth grade teacher once called me "The Absentminded Professor" for my ability to catelogue wholly worthless information while forgetting where I left my backpack. So, I make lists. The problem is, I'm also a procrastinator and this applies even to my list making. In the process of making my lists tonight I realized I hadn't dumped the images on my camera's memory card to my computer. On it, I found pictures of my sister, Stacy's, triplets during a tea party. Emma and Eliza are shown here... or is it Eliza and Emma? I'm reminded that THIS is what really matters. Guess who's going on the list (as soon as I find it.) I'll miss you guys.

BLINK INTO FOCUS - Intro

2006-01-06T17:59:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting in my favorite place in the world tonight thinking about leaving for my least favorite place next week. I'm surrounding by family watching the lights reflect off the water here in Murrells Inlet, SC but by late February, I'll be surrounded by guys with guns, miles of sand, and looking to where the next threat may come.
This will be my web log for my upcoming trip to Iraq where I'll accompany Gina Cavallaro, for Army Times in hopes of telling the stories of the US soldier and the Iraqi people. This will be my second trip to the "sandbox." On my first, I thought I might gain an understanding of the people and our role there but I have to admit, I failed in that endeavor. I didn't even come close. Now I realize that the best I can offer are little slices, bits and pieces, tenious impressions that will be shaped and changed with experience. My camera's shutter fires at up to 1/8000 of a sec. It's just a blink but it's my primary tool to tell these stories. Maybe I can bring life in Iraq into focus for you at home in some small way. But, if not, well, maybe this will at least be a bit of entertainment as I log my random thoughts. Thanks for checking in. You can view my web page at www.jamesjlee.com.