Month: May 2008

CORNELL CAPA

When the great photographer Cornell Capa died at 90 last week, the obituaries said he covered conflicts from Latin America to the Middle East, including the 1967 Six Day War between Israel and her Arab neighbors.

What the obits didn’t describe was the pivotal moment when he decided, during the last days of the 1973 Yom Kippur war, to stop being a war photographer and realize a much bigger dream. It was a courageous decision — to break off covering a war — in order to take on the biggest challenge of his life and leave something monumental behind.

At age 55, Cornell had seen his share of war. And the Capa family, of course, had suffered a tremendous loss in 1954 when Cornell’s charismatic brother and photographic mentor, Robert, was killed on assignment in Indochina.

But when the fighting erupted in Israel in 1973, he shouldered his camera bags and began covering the war with me for The New York Times. I was the paper’s bureau chief in Israel at the time and felt lucky to have a veteran like Cornell by my side.

We traveled with the Israeli forces as they regained the initiative against Egypt in the Sinai and then headed up to the Golan Heights for the climactic battle against the Syrians. The Israelis had the Syrians on the run, but the fighting was intense.

At one point, we were pinned down in a ditch by the side of the road as Syrian artillery shelled an advancing Israeli armor unit. Suddenly, Israeli jets screamed low and fast over our heads and knocked out the Syrian guns. The Israeli tanks started forward again and Cornell and I picked our selves up and followed. The sign by the side of the road said: “Damascus, 55 kilometers.”

That night, after I had filed my copy to The Times and Cornell had transmitted his pictures from the Israeli northern command headquarters in Safed, we had a beer and turned in. We knew the war would not last much longer — a ceasefire was being negotiated — but there was more fighting to be covered tomorrow.

About 1 a.m., Cornell came to my room with a tormented look on his face. He said he had come to a tough, but inescapable decision. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “I am the last surviving male in my family. I can’t put them through anymore of this.”

Cornell went on to explain that he had arranged for a gifted Israeli photographer to take his place. The Times would have its pictures.

Cornell hadn’t lost his nerve. He had that to spare. He had found his mission. He said he was going home to New York to raise money to create a center for what he called “concerned photography” — his term for photojournalism that made a difference. He had a vision for something that would be a monument to his brother, and much more. He owed it to his family, he said, to fulfill that vision.

Good to his word, Cornell the next year established The International Center of Photography, which has grown into what The Times described in his obit as “one of the most influential photographic institutions for exhibition, collection and education in the world.”

The Yom Kippur War, incidentally, ended a couple of days after Cornell left, in a ceasefire that continues to this day. The armistice line between Syria and Israel is not far from that sign that read, “Damascus, 55 kilometers.” More news by category Topic -: Tramadol hydrochloride tablets Safety of phentermine Pyridium Generic viagra cialis Cialis generic india Information about street drugs or xanax bars Snorting phentermine Hydrocodone overdose Lithium Amiodarone Imiquimod Tramadol next day Pfizer viagra sperm Vidarabine Prevacid Viagra cialis levitra comparison Dutasteride Lisinopril Thiotepa Female spray viagra Black market phentermine Betamethasone Cialis forums What does xanax look like Loss phentermine story success weight Viagra alternative uk Mecamylamine Eulexin Viagra xenical Xanax in urine Macrodantin Epivir Ditropan Woman use viagra Cialis erectile dysfunction Xanax withdrawl message boards Atorvastatin Generic ambien Is phentermine addictive Next day delivery on phentermine Ethanol Natural phentermine Avandamet Xanax long term use Information medical phentermine Cialis experience Phentermine no perscription Compare ionamin phentermine Viagra cialis levivia dose comparison Noroxin Effects of viagra on women Viagra shelf life Hydroxyurea Dog xanax Viagra class action Hydrocodone cod only Nicoumalone Phentermine snorting Mirtazapine Quazepam Isradipine Xanax look alike Moxifloxacin Viagra experiences Piroxicam Nicorette Sotalol Cash on delivery shipping of phentermine How do i stop taking phentermine Niacinamide Phentermine weight loss Phentermine

Rooney, our elegant, black-and-white Borzoi, or Russian wolfhound, is dead. At age five. From bone cancer. A terrible conclusion, by any description.

Not big news, perhaps, but it is to me. He was the most free-spirited, acrobatic, energetic, sunny, enthusiastic, delightful, downright funny dog . Never met a person or fellow canine he did not like. (That generosity did not apply to cats, rabbits or squirrels.)

We named him after Andy Rooney, because of his prominent, white eyebrows, which stood out against his black face. I kept Andy posted with e-mails on his development, even asked his namesake’s advice when puppy Rooney chewed my loafers. Andy was no help. Said he raised English bulldogs. Didn’t know much about Borzois. So much for canine guidance from the curmudgeon of CBS.

Rooney was the best companion: always game for an adventure, a walk, a boat ride. He used to sit on the aft seat of the runabout, almost like a person would, with his feet on the cockpit sole, thrusting his long, bony nose into the wind. It was comical, except that Rooney had an innate grace that always made him look dignified.

Once, when Susy and I were walking Rooney and Red, our other Borzoi, in an open field near a marina on the Chesapeake Bay, a flock of swallows — hundreds of them — began swooping low and fast over the field. Their aerial chroreography was stunning to three of us. To Rooney, it was an invitation to dance. He began chasing the birds, leaping at times to see if he could fly. Around and again he raced, in great elliptical loops, exhuberant, uninhibited, full of joy. The swallows escaped unharmed, of course, but it was a spectacle.

Rooney survived surgery when a portion of his lung gave way. He recovered and resumed his acrobatic ways. When a squirrel ran up a tree, Rooney would levitate in joyous pursuit. The squirrel always got away, but for Rooney, the pleasure was in the chase.

Three months ago almost to the day, we took Rooney to the vet because of a limp in his left rear leg. Bone cancer was the diagnosis. It was a death warrant. JFK once famously observed that life is unfair. Indeed it is.