Books by Eric Douglas

Thriller fiction and Non-fiction

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Capture life around you

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Street photography makes a comeback

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This barely qualifies as street photography and is not in the same category as Maier or others like her.

If you’ve never heard of Vivian Maier, and you are even remotely interested in photography, do yourself a favor and Google her. No, she isn’t some star photographer or celebrity who takes “selfies” and posts them all over the web. She actually died before she was ever discovered.

Maier was, by all accounts, a very solitary woman. She worked most of her adult life as a nanny in Chicago. In her off time, she walked the streets taking photographs of people and places. She didn’t do it for a publication or fame. She did it for the love of the art. In the process, she captured historic landmarks and events in time that were thought lost.

street photo 2Earlier this year, the Chicago Sun-Times fired its entire photographic staff with plans to teach their reporters the basics of iPhone photography. Many television stations air video footage from accidents taken by bystanders with their phones. The cameras in our smart phones are surprisingly good. And they are everywhere. Most people don’t even notice them anymore.

Adequate resolution does not make for a quality photograph, however. It is about framing, it is about composition and lighting. Photography is about capturing the moment. That takes practice, diligence and patience. One of my favorite quotes is from Henri Cartier-Bresson, a French photographer considered by many to be the father of photojournalism. “Your first 10,000 photographs are your worst.” (I’ve probably shot more than 50,000 photographs and some days I still wonder what I’m doing.)

In some ways, the internet and digital cameras have cheapened the way we look at photography. Images are so ubiquitous they are disregarded. Digital photography also makes it easy to delete images we don’t like, erasing a record of awkward moments. Maier was discovered when collector John Maloof bought a container of negatives at auction after she died. Now that Maloof has reconstructed approximately 90 percent of her work, Maier’s “work is part of a renaissance in interest in the art of street photography.”

Good images and good photography will always have a place. Whatever tool you use, be it a DSLR, a mirrorless digital or a camera phone, street photography is about capturing unposed moments in people’s lives. It isn’t about embarrassing or exploiting, but honoring those lives with photography.

Out in the world, where everyone you meet has character and a story to tell, more street photographers need to be out like Maier. Local celebrities and the politicians get photographed regularly, but the average person on the street is much more interesting. There are street scenes and faces in every little town begging to be photographed. Doing so, you capture a little bit of local history.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to charge my camera battery..

Patriot Day is an opportunity to honor those who serve

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The 9/11 Memorial at the Pentagon. Each lighted bench, designed to look like a plane tail, represents a person who died at the Pentagon.
The 9/11 Memorial at the Pentagon. Each lighted bench, designed to look like a plane tail, represents a person who died at the Pentagon.

Thousands of articles, columns, and blogs have been written about September 11, 2001 and how it affected everyone in the United States, regardless of religion, skin color or background. While I vividly remember where I was and what I was doing that day, and I would never suggest anything as trite as “moving on” or “seeking closure” I think it is time to honor the memory of those who died by remembering how they lived.

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Dr. Paul Ambrose is one of many who died on 9/11 as his plane crashed into the Pentagon. Here his name is engraved on the 9/11 Memorial at Ground Zero in New York City.

I didn’t know Dr. Paul Ambrose, but I took several classes from his father Dr. Ken Ambrose at Marshall University. Paul Ambrose was a promising young physician (who graduated from the Marshall University Medical School) and was on his way to a conference to give a presentation on preventing youth obesity. He died on Flight 77 as it crashed into the Pentagon. For every person who died that day, there is a story of people of someone who led a good life, whether living simply for their family or working toward a better future. To honor Paul Ambrose’s work, there is now the Paul Ambrose Trail for Health in Huntington.

Too often we get bogged down with crime and cruelty in the world and we forget those who serve us as a nation. I don’t know how many times recently I have said, with disgust in my voice, something to the effect of “people have lost their minds” when I have read a news story about another senseless killing or act of cruelty. On the whole, though, I think there are more good people out there than bad. The bad just get more attention.

There are good people who work to keep us safe, improve our lives and support others with little or no recognition for themselves. They just feel it is “what they are supposed to do” and they do it. They serve in the military, as first responders at home or at the local homeless shelter.

September 11, officially Patriot Day, is a day of mourning for our nation—as it should be. Today, take time to think about the people we as a nation lost that day and how we have changed since then. At the same time, rather than dwelling on the anger or hatred or grief of the day, remember those who served this nation and their local communities, and those who still serve simply because it is what they are supposed to do. If you get a chance, stop and say thank you..

Words of Wisdom

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The unheated cave home of a Russian Orthodox monk lit by a single candle in a small town outside of Moscow.

Earlier this summer, a friend from Russia asked me to review a book that had been translated from Russian into English. She wanted me to just read through it and tweak the translations to be more conversational. I’m barely literate in English, but my friends who are multilingual tell me that one of the greatest challenges in translating written works is maintaining the author’s voice in the new language while making things seem natural.

The book was about Mount Athos, a mountain on a peninsula in Greece that is dotted with Eastern Orthodox monasteries and has been for nearly 1000 years. Reading through Ways of the Holy Mountain I was intrigued by the history and events that shaped the dozens of monasteries and the approximately 1400 monks who live in them today. (It has moved to the top of my bucket list of places to visit.)

If you’ve never been in a holy place that is that old, you’re missing something. Even the harshest non-believer can’t help but feel the decades of human emotion that are imbued on a place like that. While nothing exists in the United States that is that old, you can feel the same power and depth in places like Arlington National Cemetery or the 9/11 memorials in New York or Washington DC. Regardless of your feelings of “religion” and Orthodox versus Catholicism versus Protestantism versus any of the other world religions, you can find respect for these men and the way they choose to live their lives.

All too often, people post “sayings” and thoughts for the day on social media, without really reading them or understanding them—as long as it comes with an interesting picture. I generally ignore all of them. Most of the time you have to question the people quoted and even the content of the quote. I have seen quite a false attributions or changed quotes because someone didn’t exactly like the way it read or tweak it so it better supports their own political leanings.

At the end of the manuscript I reviewed, there was a document that included quotes from many of the monks on the island. I was struck by how many of them were fantastic platitudes that many of us (and I am definitely including myself here) could stand to remember in our daily lives. There was no “twist” to anything, just their feelings. I have copied a few that I liked best. My favorite is the last one…

  • Abba Arsenius said about himself: “After a conversation I often regret, after silence – never”.
  • If you want to learn to speak well and infallibly, first you should learn to keep silence. (Schemamonk Zosimus)
  • If you want to gain peace now and in the future, always say to yourself: “Who am I?” and do not condemn anyone. (Abba Joseph)
  • A Christian is one who takes after Christ in words, deeds and thoughts as much as it is possible for a human being. (St. John of the Ladder)
  • Do not say: “I cannot.” This phrase is not Christian. The Christian word is: “I can do everything,” but not by myself – with the help of our God who strengthens us as Apostle Philip says. (St. Theophanes the Anchoret)
  • Do not like to listen to people about the demerits of others and you will have fewer demerits yourself. (St. Ambrosius of Optina)
  • Do not tell anyone about a good action you are going to do beforehand, just do it. (St. Antony the Great)

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LST 325: A walk through history

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The LST 325 with her massive doors open and ready to off-load tanks and men for battle.

The LST 325 is a living war memorial that spends most of the year in Evansville, Indiana but cruises inland waterways during the summer giving people a chance to explore and gain a tiny grasp on what World War II was all about, including the sacrifices that everyone made in the effort.

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A 40 mm Bofors gun on the upper deck.

There were 1051 LSTs built for the war effort. The ship itself is 230 feet long and 30 feet wide. It was designed to hold 20 Sherman tanks or 16 Marine LVTs weighing 30 tons each. It could then beach itself and offload that equipment in the middle of the war. Halfway jokingly referred to as a Large Slow Target, the military believed that if these ships completed their mission through one battle, they had met their goal. LST 325 served in North Africa, Sicily, Salerno, and finally landed troops on Normandy Beach on June 6, 1994—D Day. Her service didn’t end there, though. She served in Korea and Vietnam, before being given to the Greek Navy for their use from 1964 through 1999. In 2001, a group of volunteers banded together and fixed her up enough that she could sail and then brought her home to the United States. Since then, they have continued restoring LST 325 and making her a living memorial.

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Sleeping quarters for soldiers being transported into battle, three high.
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The “Conn” from inside; guiding the ship across the ocean looking through portholes.

As I walked through the ship, I thought about the men and women I interviewed for the West Virginia Voices of War documentary project and the book Common Valor. Several of them landed on the beaches of North Africa, Italy and France along with Iwo Jima, the Philippines and many other small islands in the Pacific. There was nothing comfortable about these ships.

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View of the “Conn” from outside the porthole.

Interestingly (at least for me) is the fact that these ships were designed to beach and offload their equipment. To accommodate that, they were designed with flat bottom hulls and no keel. While that makes practical sense, it makes for a very wobbly ship when crossing the ocean. They were designed to hold up to a 30 degree roll (and could survive a 45 degree roll) and keep moving along with a maximum speed of about 10 knots. That would make for a very, very long trip to cross the ocean.

Because of the men and equipment these ships delivered to battlefields, LSTs are referred to as “The ship that won the war.” Obviously, a lot of things went into fighting World War II, but there is also no question that these ships, and the men on board them, did their fair share..

Leaving the “old home place”

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I’ve never been terribly sentimental about “things”. People, yes, but not stuff. With the exception of pictures and a few other mementos, things are just something to collect dust on a shelf and be moved from one place to the next.
It’s an odd feeling this week, though, now that mom has finally decided to sell the house I grew up in. She has lived in that house since 1966, but she decided that it was just too much for her, too big and needed too much maintenance. I don’t blame her and I think it was a smart decision.
Realistically, I haven’t lived in that house for more than 20 years. Still, that house is full of memories from a childhood and a family. There were difficult times: I remember listening to the radio over breakfast before school and hearing them talk about the company my dad worked for. We didn’t know if he was going to have to go on strike with the union. That was in the late 70s and I was all of 10- or 11-years-old. There were good times too. I remember model trains, model cars and model rockets and playing games by the Christmas tree.
That house was a place my friends knew they could come to and hang out. Saturday mornings, it wasn’t unusual for kids to drop in for breakfast or to wake up there. In later years, friends and girlfriends would simply drop in, walk through the front door and say hi. We threw parties there; cookouts and volleyball days in the yard. Mom knew that when the party was over, everyone would pitch in and pick up the trash. When I left for college, I brought friends home to stay there. When a friend’s family moved away from West Virginia but he was still at Marshall, he came home with me for weekends.
Home for me isn’t about a house or even a place. It is family and tradition and friends who are closer to you than family. It is about getting through the bad times, experiencing the good times and being there for all the times in between. I don’t know anything about the people that bought the house. I hope it is a relatively young family so they can begin their lives there. I hope the memories and the joy that grew up in that house over the last nearly 50 years help them get their lives off to a great start.

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The tiniest rose

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tiniest roseOn August 21, I took the picture of this tiny rose in my yard and posted it with the comment that the tiniest rose bush in my yard is the only one that blooms. There are four other rose bushes, two on each side that tower above it, but they aren’t blooming. Earlier this spring I transplanted all five plants to a spot in the yard where they could get more sun. The others are thriving, just not blooming.

Later that same day, we got word Bev’s Aunt Maxine passed away. I didn’t know Maxine well. We had only met a few times, but she always seemed like a genuinely sweet lady to me. Today, sitting at the funeral and looking at the beautiful roses around her coffin, the pink outfit she was wearing and her penchant for “bling” I thought about my little rose. I think Aunt Maxine would approve.

It isn’t always the strongest
Or the tallest or luckiest
Sometimes the tiniest rose
Is the one that blooms
It takes the right mix of sunshine
Water and soil, wind and rain
Sometimes the tiniest rose
Is the one that blooms
Hardship and loss are part of life
Without it, nothing would grow
Sometimes the tiniest rose
Is the one that blooms
Strength comes from within
And shows up in the smallest places
Sometimes the tiniest rose
Is the one that blooms
Take a moment and look around
Remember to smile
Sometimes the tiniest rose
Is the one that blooms

 

Rest in peace Maxine.

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