Do Photos Tell More Truth Than Words? Boston Photographs

Introduction: Ephron's Argument for Printing Difficult Photos

In The Boston Photographs, writer Nora Ephron makes a case supporting the decision by newspaper editors to print a photo trilogy showing the tragic moments leading up to the death of a young mother. At the time the photos were printed in over four hundred newspapers across the nation, there was great controversy. Readers expressed their outrage in phone calls and letters to the editor, and some editors chose not to print the photos at all.

Ephron argued that since death is part of life, readers should not be sheltered from it. She asked why photos from fatal car accidents show the wrecked vehicles and not the victims. Mangled steel is worthless; a human life is priceless. Why not capture on film the loss of that which is truly precious?

The newsworthiness of a tragic fire is, in many cases, the photos themselves. Unfortunately, people die in fires in the United States all the time. Accounts of such fires are tragic, but as news stories they are usually only relevant to the families and friends of the victims and to the people who live in the community where the tragedy took place. Ephron does not argue that newspapers should print photographs of death. She argues that they should print great pictures that tell a story and evoke a strong emotional response from readers.

The so-named "Boston Photographs" were taken in 1975 by photojournalist Stanley Forman. "I made all kinds of pictures because I thought it would be a good rescue shot over the ladder," Forman said in explaining why he took the pictures. In the first frame, a fireman has his arm around a woman he is attempting to rescue from a burning apartment building. The woman clings to her child while the fireman reaches for the rescue ladder an arm's length away. It appears that everything will be all right, that the woman and her child will be saved. This picture, by itself, does not foreshadow the tragedy to come. It is a dramatic photograph, to be certain, but one that would assure the viewer that confidence in the bravery and skills of firefighters is not misplaced.

The Boston Photographs: Forman's Three-Frame Sequence

The second photograph shows the fire escape pulling away from the building. Whereas the first photo makes the reader want to cheer, the second reminds us that something can go terribly wrong. The rescue is not successful until everyone is safely on the ground. The photo also shows that the firefighter did everything he was supposed to do — his training prepared him for a moment such as this. More than anything else, this photo demonstrates that courage and skill are not always enough. No one could have anticipated that the fire escape would pull away from the building. It is a picture that simultaneously captures the good fortune of the woman in being reached by a rescuer and the horrific moment when her luck turned.

The third photograph is the most dramatic because it shows the woman and her child falling through the air. The child looks understandably frightened. Her arms and legs are splayed, and the speed of her descent is made visible by her shirt, which the rushing air has pushed up to expose her round, babyish stomach. Her eyes are open and her mouth is distorted by a grimace.

The mother's fall is even more dramatic because she plunges through the air headfirst. The viewer cannot see her face but can only imagine the horror reflected in her expression. It is impossible to know what the woman was thinking. Did she know she was moments from death? Did she think about her child? The woman is barefoot and wearing shorts — on a summer's day, it would be expected that someone be so dressed at home. Yet the woman seems particularly vulnerable attired this way. She seems so exposed, although, of course, long pants and shoes would not have made any difference to her survival.

The falling flowerpots add to the poignancy of the photos. The apartment building, obviously older, represents urban life as experienced by someone who is young and poor. The flowers represent an attempt to add a little beauty to the surroundings. The flowerpots give us a tiny glimpse into the character of the young woman, making her death feel more personal. To plant a flower is to feel hopeful about the future, and when we see the photograph we know that the woman's hope, unbeknownst to her, was misplaced. We feel a greater sense of loss.

But do we truly know her? Of course not. The shocking photo arouses emotion and, whether we realize it or not, causes us to ascribe thoughts and characteristics to the victim that we can never verify, even when reading the accompanying news story. Perhaps the young woman did not care at all about the plants. It is even possible that they were left there by a previous tenant. There is no way the viewer of the photograph can ever know any of this for certain.

Photographer Forman, who won a Pulitzer Prize for the photos, expected to record an event with a far different outcome. He was taking advantage of a relatively new technology — a motor-driven camera that allowed a photographer to take a series of pictures in rapid succession. He expected to capture, in still photographs, the sequence of events leading up to a dramatic rescue. Instead, he captured the moments before death. The third photograph was the last that he took of the rescue attempt. "I realized what was going on," he said afterward. "I completely turned around because I didn't want to see her hit."

Seven years before Stanley Forman won the Pulitzer for his photo, war photographer Eddie Adams earned the prize for his now-iconic photograph showing the execution of a man by a military officer on the streets of Saigon. As was the case with Forman, Adams never expected that the situation would take such a dramatic and horrific turn.

Eddie Adams and the Saigon Execution

As Adams recounted, he was in the Chinese section of Saigon on the second day of the Tet Offensive. He saw a man in a plaid shirt being led out of a building and into the street. He followed to see what would happen. He was not surprised or shocked when a man in uniform held a gun to the head of the man in the plaid shirt — Adams interpreted the gesture as a means of intimidation, a threat used during interrogation.

In retrospect, it seems an incredibly bold and even foolhardy act to stand with a camera so close to someone with a loaded gun. Adams was an experienced war photographer, however, and danger was part of the job. He did not anticipate what happened next. Adams snapped a photograph, moving his finger on the camera's shutter at the same instant that the officer pulled the trigger. The shocking photograph that resulted captured the precise moment the bullet entered the man's head.

The photograph is shocking for several reasons. Most obviously, the expression on the face of the man in the checked shirt reflects both pain and terror. The lines around the right side of his mouth suggest the rapid and violent movement of the head as an involuntary response to the bullet's impact. The man doing the shooting wears a matter-of-fact expression. He takes no pleasure in killing, but he does what he feels he must without flinching. Over the shooter's left shoulder, a helmeted soldier winces at the horrible spectacle before him.

The photo is shocking in its close-up portrayal of violence — violence made deeply personal because we see it from such an intimate perspective. As with Forman's photo, we do not see death in its aftermath but in the moments before it occurs.

Unlike Forman's photo, however, the story accompanying Adams's image has the power to change one's perception of the brutal act caught on film. The man in plaid was a Viet Cong officer and the prime suspect in the murder of an entire family — the family of an aide to Brigadier General Nguyen Ngoc Loan, South Vietnamese National Police Chief and the shooter in the photograph. Did it make a difference that the man being shot was aligned with the United States' enemy? Perhaps it did to some viewers. It may be easier to explain the violence if one can justify it as necessary to bring about justice.

Adams's photo, much to his dismay, became an iconic antiwar image. That was never his intent. Forty years later, the image endures. The story behind the photograph matters little to most viewers. The photo has come to symbolize the horror and brutality of a war to which many Americans were, and still remained, opposed.