2/20/2010 – Little Rock, Arkansas: I shot the first interview today, with Ken Belton, a retired veteran B-17 pilot. I spent a total of nearly five hours with Ken, and his son-in-law John Ahlen.
Ken flew five missions over Germany. On the return flight form a bombing run over Hamburg, Ken’s B-17 was hit with flack. He remembers the number four engine being hit and trying his best to feather the engine, but without success. He described the hydraulic fluid leaking and running everywhere, and then – as Ken put it… bang!
Ken still doesn’t know what exactly did happen. He surmises that the one bomb, that remained stuck during the bomb drop, was hit by a piece of flack and exploded. When he regained consciousness, he was falling through the air. Hs parachute pack was dragging above him, about five feet, by a chord he used to secure it to his seat. He managed to pull it down to him, attach one shoulder strap and, after much struggling, managed to get one of the D-rings attached, then pulled the cord.
He recalled, with vivid recollection, the parachute emerging from its pack and unfolding as it climbed into the air. As the canopy snapped open, according to Ken, it was one heck of a jerk, as it was only attached to the one shoulder. The other drawback, to having it attached this way, was that he was unable to control the direction of his descent or landing. Instead, Ken said, he just spiraled continuously until he hit the snow-covered ground – which resulted in he back being injured.
“After I hit the ground, I had no idea where I was”, said Ken. “I didn’t know if I was in Germany or not”. Almost immediately, Ken continued, I saw farmers running form their house and towards me. “All I could think of was I hope I’m not in Hamburg” [where he had just bombed].
As it turned out, Ken had landed in a remote town in Holland and two of the men, who were running towards him, were with the Dutch Underground and happened to be riding by on their bicycles when his plane was hit. The woman, who lived in the farm house, was screaming for the men to get him out of there because there was a Nazi patrol on its way.
The two men gather up Ken’s parachute, asked him if he knew how to ride a bicycle – to which he answered yes, and helped Ken to the road. Ken said that they helped him onto one of the bicycles and, once they let go of him, he just fell over. He was unable to do it. Without hesitation, according to Ken, the two men – one on his left, the other on his right, each put a hand on his bicycle and stabilized him to the end of their journey a couple of miles down the road.
Ken’s story, as well as subsequent stories, continued and I sat there – just barely to the left of my camera, listening intently… and in awe of the man sitting across from me.
At the moment I am unable to adequately express – or begin to describe my emotions. I am filled – even brimming over, yet my mind is overloaded from the intensity. I knew this project would be a great one. Today it confirmed it, a thousand times over.
I remember, at one point while Ken was describing, in detail, the places he was, in Holland – and of his experiences when he returned in later years. I became overwhelmed with the desire to visit these places – to photograph them [for inclusion in this documentary], but also to see them… to touch them with my own eyes, and to know them as more than just references in a series of stories.
I have spent my career, photographing people from all walks of life – from U.S. Presidents, to the indigenous living in remote regions of the world. Today I spent five hours with a person that was, for me, a hero; an ordinary man, of ordinary means, who did what he was asked, [or as Ken put it: “told”], to do. There was not a negative word about his role, or about what he was asked to do.
I sat there humbled….
Until next time…
