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The Brilliant Photos of The First American Female War Photographer Killed in Action - The Washington Post
The Brilliant Photos of The First American Female War Photographer Killed in Action - The Washington Post
In Sight
But the figure in the middle — at a diminutive 5 feet tall — had an additional purpose. It
was the reason why she had stowed a Minox camera under her coat and wool shirt, stuck
to her flesh by four bandages. The woman was Dickey Chapelle, a female photojournalist
on assignment for Life magazine. Moments later the man in front of her muttered, “I’m
lost,” and an enemy flare blew out the Big Dipper above. A machine gun and three rifles
surrounded them, capturing her and one of her companions.
Chapelle wound up in the custody of the Hungarian secret police and was imprisoned
mostly in solitary for two months, according to Chappelle’s “What’s a Woman Doing
Here? A Reporter’s Report on Herself.” Though the incident jolted her, being on the front
lines was in her blood. That same year she returned to work, photographing Algerian
rebels and, the year after that, Fidel Castro.
At 23, Chapelle got her first taste of war, covering army combat training for Look
magazine in Panama. She spent much of her career photographing historic events from
the Battle of Iwo Jima to the Vietnam War.
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In between wars, Chapelle and her husband, Tony, criss-crossed the Middle East and Asia
as a newly formed relief agency, AVISO (American Voluntary Information Services
Overseas). They lived and worked out of a small, squarish truck for five years.
“You can do anything you want to do if you want to do it so badly you’ll give up everything
else to do it,” she said, according to her biography “Fire in the Wind.” In the end, she gave
every last thing she had — including her life.
On her final trip to Vietnam, Chapelle was with a patrol when a Marine triggered a
tripwire that sent shrapnel flying. A fragment sliced her carotid artery.
In a role reversal, the woman behind the camera became the photograph. Associated Press
photographer Henri Huet, who was also there, captured Chaplain John McNamara as he
signed the cross over her curled body. Her unmistakable pearl earring nestled in her
earlobe. Her bush hat was flung in the grass. Marines — some closer than others, perhaps
unsure of whether she would want privacy or comfort — witnessed her final moment. But
surely they knew one thing: that she died doing what she was born to do.
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