
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Cavendish, Vermont, 1981 - After eight years of exile from his beloved Russia, the reclusive Nobel-prize winning author and historian told me that the air was free in America when I asked him what he like about his adopted country.
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Harry Benson was born in Glasgow, Scotland. He started his career as a wedding photographer, but went on to become a renowned photo-journalist.
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Hollywood photography by Harry +
Photojournalism is the worst it’s ever been. Nobody is doing anything. Today all the photographers are making setup shots, where you go in to shoot someone with a couple of assistants and a few stylists. Everyone does it. I do it. It’s the ValueJet of photojournalism -stuck in the mud. In the end, those kinds of portraits mean nothing. They don’t convey any information. The idea in that kind of photography is to make a picture the subject will like. That’s not journalism. -Harry Benson, On the question: Is Photojournalism dead? (september/october 1996), “American Photo”
ON THE ROAD WITH HARRY BENSON
Photojournalism is the worst it’s ever been. Nobody is doing anything. Today all the photographers are making setup shots, where you go in to shoot someone with a couple of assistants and a few stylists. Everyone does it. I do it. It’s the ValueJet of photojournalism -stuck in the mud. In the end, those kinds of portraits mean nothing. They don’t convey any information. The idea in that kind of photography is to make a picture the subject will like. That’s not journalism. -Harry Benson, On the question: Is Photojournalism dead? (september/october 1996), “American Photo”
ON THE ROAD WITH HARRY BENSON
He was just steps from Bobby Kennedy the night the senator was shot, steps from Coretta Scott King at her husband’s funeral, steps from Richard Nixon the day the president resigned in disgrace. He was on hand for the Freedom March through Mississippi, the Watts riots, the I.R.A. hunger strikes, the fall of Czechoslovakia and Romania and the Berlin Wall. He was invited by Jackie Kennedy to shoot her daughter Caroline’s wedding (to Edwin Schlossberg), invited into Michael Jackson’s bedroom (to take baby pictures of Jackson’s son Prince), invited into Elizabeth Taylor’s hospital suite (to photograph the star, bald as a tulip bulb, after brain surgery).
Flip through the new book Harry Benson: Fifty Years in Pictures (Abrams) and one gets the eerie impression that for half a century he has been nothing less than photojournalism’s Zelig–the man who happens to materialize, with a camera, whenever history envelops the high and mighty. He covered every president since Eisenhower, the first US casualty in Bosnia, firefights in Kosovo, the pall of smoke above the Twin Towers’ wreckage on September 11, 2001. Before there was a 24-hour news cycle, before there was a CNN or a FOX, there was The Fox, a lone lensman from Scotland with a hungry eye trained upon the world’s public prey.
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“[I remember Harry] when the Beatles first came to this country [in 1964],” recalls photographer Bill Eppridge, in a passage from John Loengard’s What They Saw, an exhaustive oral history of the exploits of LIFE magazine’s staff photographers. “I [was in the press pool] at J.F.K. [airport, and] introduced myself to the photographer next to me. He was Eddie Adams from the Associated Press. I said, ‘If you had your choice, what position would you like to have?’ We both agreed we would want to be right behind the Beatles as they came out of the plane, looking down, across them, over this whole huge mob.
“The plane pulls up to the ramp,” Eppridge continues, “and the door opens. A Pan Am stewardess comes off, and out come the four Beatles. Then this character comes out right behind them, and he starts posing them. Eddie and I looked at each other and said, ‘Who is that?’ We had no idea. It was Harry Benson’s first trip to the United States. It’s been going on like that for years. Every time you’d know what the best spot is, who shows up in that spot? Harry Benson.” In fact, Harry’s images of Beatle George Harrison, who succumbed to cancer on November 30, appear in the tribute sections of the new issues of Rolling Stone, Time and Newsweek.
Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to travel the world with Harry Benson. On assignment for LIFE and VANITY FAIR, we have covered conflicts in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Poland and Oman, terrorism in Kuwait, Israel and the West Bank. We’ve wrangled exclusives with our share of notables (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Bill Clinton), scoundrels (CIA double-agent Aldrich Ames, terror-cleric Omar Abdul Rahman) and embattled patriots (TWA hostage Peter Hill, Iran-contra pin-up Oliver North). We’ve gone from the Beatles’ London archives to Michael Jackson’s Neverland, from drug dens in Brooklyn to the Milwaukee Brewers’ dressing room, from a shock trauma unit in Baltimore to the smoldering ruins of Ground Zero. Now, as his stunning new book gets rivulets of ink and accolade, it’s time to pull back the first-class curtain. Along with all those frequent-flier miles, I have managed to accumulate a primer of sorts–a collection of wise, brogue-borne pearls that might be called Harry Benson’s Rules of the Road.
RULE # 1: Never to get too comfortable on a story. No matter how bleak things seem, they can always get worse.
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