Arsenal of Democracy flyover

Four P-51 Mustang fighter aircraft fly over Washington, D.C., May 8, 2015, during the "Arsenal of Democracy" air show over Washington, D.C., May 8, 2015. 

It's kind of cool - and a bit sad - seeing old aircraft fly in formation. You don't expect to ever see something like the Arsenal of Democracy, but there they are. 

Today marked the 70th anniversary of the end of World War 2 in Europe. Seven decades later the aircraft that helped win that war, probably flown by the pilots' children and grandchildren, zoomed across the capital in a show of history, and probably even power. A collective, physical symbol of the last "good" war. These are the aircraft, piloted by men, who saved the world from fascism.

I went down to photograph it with other photographers near the Exposed DC tent at the Jefferson Memorial. Fifty aircraft flew in various formations. Just about every model of plane was there, and they represented every era of America's involvement. Everything from observation aircraft to SBD Dauntless' to P-51 Mustangs to the only still-flying B-29 Super Fortress flew.

We're slowly losing our World War 2 vets. Most are, at the youngest, in their early 90s now. With their passing in a few years we'll lose another connection to the history that made us as a nation. 

It struck me today that, with that generational passing, the commemorations of that war will become more and more low key. Who knows how long the planes we saw today will be flown. It's an expensive endeavor to maintain them. The veterans won't be able to tell us funny stories, to give the truly human side of war. But we'll still have the physical symbols of that power - the aircraft. 

And that's why it's cool and a bit said. The humans who fought and came back and built this nation will be gone. 

#Normandy

A German bunker on Utah Beach.

I shot a series of landscapes in Normandy with my iPhone and the Hipstamatic app. It's not photojournalism, at least not in the classic sense of the word. I don't know what to call these photos other landscape tychs. What I wanted to capture was the duality of what I saw 70 years after the invasion: the immense beauty of the region, peppered with physical and emotional reminders of the fighting. Abandoned bunkers. Battlefields that are now farm fields. Beaches with people playing on them rather than dying. 

It's important to remember that and to know what happened here and other places around the world. Without this knowledge we're doomed to repeat those events. I'd like to think these photos, or series of sequential photos, can help us see these places in a new way. Each photo has it's own story that equal a bigger story of the scene.

Stay tuned for updates, more tychs and a few singles.

                       

Normandy American Cemetery & Memorial

The Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial is probably one of the most solemn places I've ever been. More so, I think, than Ground Zero or the Pentagon 9/11 Memorial. Probably even more than Cemetery Ridge at Gettysburg.

The magnitude of what happened at Normandy is there in front you from the start. It's a little bewildering at first to see them all. Row upon row of white crosses and stars of David. Names and ages of boys who died that summer on them. 

Then it becomes apparent. What happened on those beaches and bocage country beyond them was an ugly brutal industrial street fight. The very definition of a "meat grinder" is how one book I read about that war put it. You marvel anyone lived to tell the tale, collect the dead, heal the wounded, and move on with their lives after the surrender documents were signed 11 months later.

The duality of Normandy, and war, is laid bare then. Amazing beauty and extreme ugliness. Normandy is a beautiful place. I'm definitely going back. Going there after my own time in uniform I can see why frail old men, the boys who jumped in or ran across the beaches, still will it to keep going back year after year. But you see there, in a place filled with 9,387 graves, the place represents the duality of human nature for what it is and will probably always be: hate and love. 

Despite all that the cemetery represents, it's still a solemn place. You still take the time to reflect, not because you have to. But because you want to. 

Learning from our past

I think one of the things that makes America (or 'Murica) such an unusual (and great country) is our ability to learn from the past (and maybe learn from the mistakes of others). That learning and thinking takes an innate societal ability to think on yer feet. Today was a sign that nimbleness is still with us. 

We learned from our past and presented the Medal of Honor to 24 former soldiers during a ceremony at the White House today, the biggest gathering of Medal recipients since World War 2. I won't get into the weeds on this one, other than say we learned something about ourselves and our country during the process to right those wrongs. 

"... in the thick of the fight, for your comrades, for your country, you refused to yield. And on behalf of a grateful nation, we all want to thank you for inspiring us, then and now, with your strength, with your will, and you heroic hearts," President Obama said to the three living recipients today.

Of the 24 only three  - Melvin Morris, Santiago J. Erevia and Jose Rodela - are still with us, and they're the ones I want to talk about. They're the living embodiment of the Medal. They served in Vietnam in various units - one from the the 101st Airborne and two from the 5th Special Forces. They're my Dad's age. Older. Wiser. A bit softer around the edges. Humble. 

Today's ceremony was unusual in that the men who ultimately received the Medal weren't white. Think about that. In the one organization that does it's bloody best to blend us all together, their heroics weren't recognized then. Their heroic actions were the same as their white brothers. Yet something in our system, our beliefs, held them back. Not to say they weren't recognized. Almost all have the Distinguished Service Cross, which isn't too shabby last I checked. The Medal, the blue fabric with the 13 white stars, though is the ultimate sign of recognition for going above and beyond. 

I've never met a recipient of the Medal (we used to call it the Blue Max). The closest I got was photographing Sal Giunta at the Army-Navy football game shortly after his ceremony. What struck me about Sal was his humility. You could see it in his body language. Well, you could also see he was excited too, probably because he was able to represent his Battle Company brothers more than anything. 

Like Sal, the three men had the same body language - humility. Now, almost 50 years on, you could see it and surprise, pride and even a touch of guilt in their faces they were up there but there brothers weren't. Sal, and the other recipients from Iraq and Afghanistan, had the same look.

Here we are though going back righting a wrong. The president's quote can apply to the other 21 soldiers, who are no longer here. That "thank you" is a collective one, from our society.