пятница, 18 октября 2013 г.
Polaroid photo
Mary Ann Moorman Krahmer took the Polaroid photo just
after President John F. Kennedy was struck by the first bullet fired by Lee
Harvey Oswald in Dallas.
She tried to auction off the photo this summer
through Sotheby's in New York. But the Kennedy family intervened. The family
has a long-standing relationship with the auction house. Officials at Sotheby's
termed the photo "too sensitive to auction."Wes Cowan, owner of Cowan's Auctions, feels differently."How do you edit American history?" he asked rhetorically. "This
photograph has to be one of the most iconic photos of one of the most investigated
moments of the 20th century."Why sell the photo now?"I'm 81-plus," Moorman told The
Cincinnati Enquirer. A youthful chuckle bubbled through the phone as she spoke
from her home in Gainesville, Texas."I don't need the picture any longer," she added. "I have
the memories."Does she ever.Her recall is as clear as the skies over Dallas were that sunny Friday
afternoon 50 years ago.At 12:30 p.m. Nov. 22, 1963, in the heart of that Texas city, Lee Harvey
Oswald's three rifle shots cut down the 46-year-old president. For many,
Kennedy's assassination dashed America's innocence, plans for a new frontier
and hopes for a progressive society.That day, a 31-year-old
plumber's wife, Mary Ann Moorman, and her bowling team buddy Jean Hill drove
downtown to see the president and his fashion-plate wife, Jackie. Truth be
told, they wanted to see her more than him.They wondered: "What does she look like? How is she dressed?"Moorman will never forget the color of her suit."It was pink," she said with a Texas-style emphasis
on the color, "bright pink."Seconds after Mary Ann and Jean caught their first glimpse of the first
lady, her pink suit was splattered with her husband's blood.Before tragedy struck, the day dawned with clouds, misty rain and a
disappointed grade-school boy."My boy, Ricky, was 11," Moorman recalled. "He wanted to
come with us. But he had school that day. I didn't want him marked
absent."So she made a promise. "I told him I would take a picture, which I
did."But before she could bring her photo home to show her son, the snapshot
would appear on TV screens from coast to coast.The two housewives arrived in downtown Dallas two hours before the
president's motorcade started its slow crawl through the crowded streets. They
parked Moorman's Thunderbird behind the city's old red-stone courthouse, a
block from where they planned to wait for the president's motorcade, on a
grassy oval of Dealey Plaza. Those days, everyone knew the route of the
president's motorcade. It was in the newspapers.The morning mist forced both
women to wear raincoats. Jean's was red. Mary Ann's was blue. They kept them on
all day, even after the rain stopped and the sun appeared.The women and their raincoats are clearly visible in another famous
piece of amateur photography associated with the assassination, the 26.6-second
film by Abraham Zapruder. He stood across the street from Moorman on what has
become known as the grassy knoll, the site where conspiracy theorists swear a
second shooter took aim at the president.In Zapruder's footage, two women in raincoats, one on the left in red,
one on the right in blue, stand in the center of the frame. Holding a Polaroid
– an instant camera with self-developing film that printed photos in seconds –
is the woman in blue: Mary Ann Moorman.Before taking their places,
the women went to a downtown department store. Moorman's camera needed film. She
bought a pack with eight exposures. After walking back to Moorman's T-bird,
they tested the Polaroid.Jean took a picture of Mary Ann. Then Mary Ann returned the favor. The
camera worked. Off they went to Dealey Plaza. They passed crowds of bystanders.
People stood 12 deep on the sidewalk across from the Texas School Book
Depository. But the nearby plaza, close to the end of the motorcade's route, was
all but deserted.With nothing to do, "we just waited."Someone else was also waiting: Lee Harvey Oswald.Armed with an Italian-made Carcano rifle, he crouched in the sniper's
nest he had built out of cardboard boxes by a sixth-floor window at the southeast
corner of the Texas School Book Depository. From his viewpoint, he had a clear
shot at the president as his convertible limousine approached Dealey Plaza.An advance team of motorcycle policemen reached the plaza before the
motorcade. Moorman spotted Glen McBride, a Dallas cop she knew from high
school. She stepped into the street to take his picture. Then she returned to
the grass. A second motorcycle policeman approached. She knew him from
"directing traffic at my church on Sundays." So she took his picture,
too. Four photos down. Four to go.The motorcade appeared at the bend in the road. The bowling buddies saw
Jackie's bright pink suit.As the president's limo approached, Jean Hill called out: "Mr.
President! Look this way!"Moorman raised the camera to her face. She took her fifth and final
photo of the day. She would never take another picture with that Polaroid.As she carefully squeezed the shutter, she heard "a pow! A pause.
Then two shots, 'pow! pow!' in rapid succession."Moorman's camera caught the first shot that struck the president."We were so close to the car, 10 to 12 feet away," she said,
"I heard Jackie yell: 'My God! He's been shot!' "Then the second bullet hit. At first Moorman thought she just saw
"his hair raising." Then she realized "that was not just his
hair. That was part of his head."Panic ensued. The sparse crowd scattered. The motorcade sped away. Moorman
stood her ground. A newspaper reporter approached. He wanted to see her photo. That
began a 50-year tug of war, with Moorman trying to hold onto her snapshot and
others trying to wrest it from her.The reporter escorted Moorman to the pressroom in the courthouse where
the photo was copied and shown on TV within two hours. Government officials
started questioning her. She kept asking for her photograph.Six hours after Kennedy's death, Moorman – photo in hand – was finally
allowed to leave the courthouse and return to her suburban Dallas home. Six
hours later, "we had a knock on the door." Government agents wanted
her photo.Weeks later, the photo
returned. This time, the image sported "a big thumbprint on it."In 1977, the House Select Committee on Assassinations subpoenaed the
photograph. Moorman had to hire an attorney to get it back.After that, she put "the photo away for 20 years. I never looked at
it. Never really thought about it. That was in my past."The years flew by. She married Gary Krahmer in 1980. (She had divorced
her first husband, Donald Moorman, in 1973.) Jean Hill died in 2000. Son Ricky
died in 2003."I put the photo in a safe deposit box," she said. She moved
to Gainesville and made new friends. "Never told anyone about the photo or
who I was or where I was on Nov. 22, 1963."Now, she has decided to part with her Polaroid.Moorman knows her photo is a relic from a simpler time. It comes from an
era when security cameras and cellphones did not capture every event from every
angle. A multitude of cameras recorded a modern tragedy, the Boston Marathon
bombing. On Dealey Plaza in 1963, the death of a president was clearly captured
only by Zapruder's movie camera and Moorman's Polaroid. That's it.Looking back, she knows the assassination took place "a long time
ago." But to her, "it's just as vivid as if it happened
yesterday."That happens when you go from the here and now and step into history.About the auctionFor more information about the auction of the Mary Ann Moorman Polaroid
photo of President John F. Kennedy's assassination, visit www.cowanauctions.com or call 513-871-1670. The photo goes on view noon to 5
p.m. Nov. 14 and 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. Nov. 15, at Cowan's Auctions, 6270 Este
Ave., Cincinnati, Ohio.
She tried to auction off the photo this summer
through Sotheby's in New York. But the Kennedy family intervened. The family
has a long-standing relationship with the auction house. Officials at Sotheby's
termed the photo "too sensitive to auction."Wes Cowan, owner of Cowan's Auctions, feels differently."How do you edit American history?" he asked rhetorically. "This
photograph has to be one of the most iconic photos of one of the most investigated
moments of the 20th century."Why sell the photo now?"I'm 81-plus," Moorman told The
Cincinnati Enquirer. A youthful chuckle bubbled through the phone as she spoke
from her home in Gainesville, Texas."I don't need the picture any longer," she added. "I have
the memories."Does she ever.Her recall is as clear as the skies over Dallas were that sunny Friday
afternoon 50 years ago.At 12:30 p.m. Nov. 22, 1963, in the heart of that Texas city, Lee Harvey
Oswald's three rifle shots cut down the 46-year-old president. For many,
Kennedy's assassination dashed America's innocence, plans for a new frontier
and hopes for a progressive society.That day, a 31-year-old
plumber's wife, Mary Ann Moorman, and her bowling team buddy Jean Hill drove
downtown to see the president and his fashion-plate wife, Jackie. Truth be
told, they wanted to see her more than him.They wondered: "What does she look like? How is she dressed?"Moorman will never forget the color of her suit."It was pink," she said with a Texas-style emphasis
on the color, "bright pink."Seconds after Mary Ann and Jean caught their first glimpse of the first
lady, her pink suit was splattered with her husband's blood.Before tragedy struck, the day dawned with clouds, misty rain and a
disappointed grade-school boy."My boy, Ricky, was 11," Moorman recalled. "He wanted to
come with us. But he had school that day. I didn't want him marked
absent."So she made a promise. "I told him I would take a picture, which I
did."But before she could bring her photo home to show her son, the snapshot
would appear on TV screens from coast to coast.The two housewives arrived in downtown Dallas two hours before the
president's motorcade started its slow crawl through the crowded streets. They
parked Moorman's Thunderbird behind the city's old red-stone courthouse, a
block from where they planned to wait for the president's motorcade, on a
grassy oval of Dealey Plaza. Those days, everyone knew the route of the
president's motorcade. It was in the newspapers.The morning mist forced both
women to wear raincoats. Jean's was red. Mary Ann's was blue. They kept them on
all day, even after the rain stopped and the sun appeared.The women and their raincoats are clearly visible in another famous
piece of amateur photography associated with the assassination, the 26.6-second
film by Abraham Zapruder. He stood across the street from Moorman on what has
become known as the grassy knoll, the site where conspiracy theorists swear a
second shooter took aim at the president.In Zapruder's footage, two women in raincoats, one on the left in red,
one on the right in blue, stand in the center of the frame. Holding a Polaroid
– an instant camera with self-developing film that printed photos in seconds –
is the woman in blue: Mary Ann Moorman.Before taking their places,
the women went to a downtown department store. Moorman's camera needed film. She
bought a pack with eight exposures. After walking back to Moorman's T-bird,
they tested the Polaroid.Jean took a picture of Mary Ann. Then Mary Ann returned the favor. The
camera worked. Off they went to Dealey Plaza. They passed crowds of bystanders.
People stood 12 deep on the sidewalk across from the Texas School Book
Depository. But the nearby plaza, close to the end of the motorcade's route, was
all but deserted.With nothing to do, "we just waited."Someone else was also waiting: Lee Harvey Oswald.Armed with an Italian-made Carcano rifle, he crouched in the sniper's
nest he had built out of cardboard boxes by a sixth-floor window at the southeast
corner of the Texas School Book Depository. From his viewpoint, he had a clear
shot at the president as his convertible limousine approached Dealey Plaza.An advance team of motorcycle policemen reached the plaza before the
motorcade. Moorman spotted Glen McBride, a Dallas cop she knew from high
school. She stepped into the street to take his picture. Then she returned to
the grass. A second motorcycle policeman approached. She knew him from
"directing traffic at my church on Sundays." So she took his picture,
too. Four photos down. Four to go.The motorcade appeared at the bend in the road. The bowling buddies saw
Jackie's bright pink suit.As the president's limo approached, Jean Hill called out: "Mr.
President! Look this way!"Moorman raised the camera to her face. She took her fifth and final
photo of the day. She would never take another picture with that Polaroid.As she carefully squeezed the shutter, she heard "a pow! A pause.
Then two shots, 'pow! pow!' in rapid succession."Moorman's camera caught the first shot that struck the president."We were so close to the car, 10 to 12 feet away," she said,
"I heard Jackie yell: 'My God! He's been shot!' "Then the second bullet hit. At first Moorman thought she just saw
"his hair raising." Then she realized "that was not just his
hair. That was part of his head."Panic ensued. The sparse crowd scattered. The motorcade sped away. Moorman
stood her ground. A newspaper reporter approached. He wanted to see her photo. That
began a 50-year tug of war, with Moorman trying to hold onto her snapshot and
others trying to wrest it from her.The reporter escorted Moorman to the pressroom in the courthouse where
the photo was copied and shown on TV within two hours. Government officials
started questioning her. She kept asking for her photograph.Six hours after Kennedy's death, Moorman – photo in hand – was finally
allowed to leave the courthouse and return to her suburban Dallas home. Six
hours later, "we had a knock on the door." Government agents wanted
her photo.Weeks later, the photo
returned. This time, the image sported "a big thumbprint on it."In 1977, the House Select Committee on Assassinations subpoenaed the
photograph. Moorman had to hire an attorney to get it back.After that, she put "the photo away for 20 years. I never looked at
it. Never really thought about it. That was in my past."The years flew by. She married Gary Krahmer in 1980. (She had divorced
her first husband, Donald Moorman, in 1973.) Jean Hill died in 2000. Son Ricky
died in 2003."I put the photo in a safe deposit box," she said. She moved
to Gainesville and made new friends. "Never told anyone about the photo or
who I was or where I was on Nov. 22, 1963."Now, she has decided to part with her Polaroid.Moorman knows her photo is a relic from a simpler time. It comes from an
era when security cameras and cellphones did not capture every event from every
angle. A multitude of cameras recorded a modern tragedy, the Boston Marathon
bombing. On Dealey Plaza in 1963, the death of a president was clearly captured
only by Zapruder's movie camera and Moorman's Polaroid. That's it.Looking back, she knows the assassination took place "a long time
ago." But to her, "it's just as vivid as if it happened
yesterday."That happens when you go from the here and now and step into history.About the auctionFor more information about the auction of the Mary Ann Moorman Polaroid
photo of President John F. Kennedy's assassination, visit www.cowanauctions.com or call 513-871-1670. The photo goes on view noon to 5
p.m. Nov. 14 and 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. Nov. 15, at Cowan's Auctions, 6270 Este
Ave., Cincinnati, Ohio.
Ранее Крамер уже пыталась продать снимок через Sotheby’s. Однако семья Кеннеди убедила аукционный дом не выставлять его на торги, сославшись на щепетильность этого события.
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Удивительные вещи можно узнать если только присмотреться к уже известным фактам, много будет выглядеть по иному в наше современное время. многое найдет свое обьяснение.