A Biography of a Photographer

(A Brief Look at His Life, Work and Philosophy) – Bill Miller, 1982

General Eisenhower said, “Where is General Patton? It wouldn’t be right to have our pictures taken without General Patton.” Standing on the large steps leading into a beautiful Belgian chateau, he was surrounded by a dozen generals of the army and the air force, two- or three-star in rank. Truly an awesome group to behold. Grouped tightly together on a bright October day in 1944, these were the leaders of the U.S. forces in Europe. The young signal corps motion picture photographer, standing twenty-five feet away, had wondered why, just the day before, he had been called back from his assignment with an infantry division in Germany. He had been told to shave, doff his dirty clothes, shine his shoes, and generally make himself presentable for a secret assignment. Now he knew why two news service still cameramen had joined him, along with another signal corps movie cameraman. It was to picture this group which had gathered for some unknown purpose.

He quickly began his footage of the group as the high ranking military men chatted informally. As luck would have it, his colleague’s camera jammed and now he remained the sole motion picture man on the scene. Until today he had been assigned to photograph combat action. Combat action had been defined by the First Army photographic officer as footage of riflemen and 60mm mortar crews, not artillery and the fartherback 80mm crews. He had carried his heavy 35mm Bell and Howell camera through Normandy and into Germany. The camera had been his constant companion day and night until he felt it to be a part of him. Suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway of the chateau. It was King George of England! The monarch proceeded to award the “Knight Commander of the Bath” medal to General Omar Bradley, who had led the forces of the First Army in the invasion of Europe. The only motion pictures of D Day landings were made by one of the young photographer’s company mates. The young photographer ran out of film, quickly reloaded in seconds, and proceeded to make closeup photographs of the King and General Eisenhower as they reviewed an honor guard. Suddenly it was over and the photographer joined his comrade who expressed his admiration for the young cameraman’s calmness and apparent lack of tension in a situation which would have caused many tremors in earlier years.

Why shouldn’t he be at ease? Admittedly not a placid person, his perspective had changed as he had seen and faced death on a daily basis. A man must adapt a fatalistic attitude during war if he is to retain his sanity. Furthermore, the photographer had confidence in his ability to do the job correctly. Months ago he was being trained in the States by top news reel and Hollywood cameramen. He, along with his company mates, many of whom were Hollywood cameramen and news photographers, were given a simple and identical assignment. The next day as they viewed their efforts on a full-sized theater screen, soldier after soldier was severely criticized for poor choice of angle, composition, etc. The young photographer’s work finally came on the screen. There was dead silence. The instructors looked at one another silently. Then with his heart beating rapidly as he awaited the certain verbal onslaught, the young photographer heard his teachers, one by one, say, “I don’t see anything wrong with it.” The young soldier then knew for the first time that the Lord had given him the gift of an instinctive feel for composition.

His movies of that historic day in Belgium were to appear on the screens across America and the world, just as the efforts of the still photographers were to appear in Life and other publications. The young photographer was a part of history that day, just as he had been one day just prior to D Day. Again, he was the sole motion picture man accompanying General Eisenhower and Prime Minister Churchill from dawn to dusk as they inspected troops to ascertain their preparedness for the invasion of Europe. Now, he had the recording of much action in Normandy and Germany behind him. Little did he know he would touch history again and again. He was one of the first Americans to stand in the famous Cologne Cathedral, which had miraculously escaped. major injury, and which stood proudly, surrounded by masses of rubble. He was to be with the 83rd Infantry division as it cut through toward Bastogne in the miserable, cold, “Batt1e of the Bu1ge.” His movies of the horrors of the Nordhausen concentration camp were used in the famous Nuremberg trials. Hitler’s cohort, Reich Marshall Goering, became ill as he watched. At the end of the European war the photographer greeted the Russians across the E1be River and quickly learned that they were not allies, but future enemies. Yes, he was a part of history those army days, just as were the other members of that small company of signal corps photographers who covered the activities of the U.S. First Army from D Day to the link up with the Russians. After the war, Time magazine gave this small company credit for much of the coverage of the European war.

The young photographer was not always a soldier. Born in 1912, and named William Stonewall Miller by parents whose parents before them were physicians as was his father at the time, Billy was a shy, sensitive boy. He worshiped his mother. However, he was somewhat in awe of his large, dynamic, surgeon father who had captained his college football team. Billy was a good student and strove to achieve whatever he attempted. He played on a grade school football team in Kansas City which was the first such group other than one organized by a private school. His father was the coach, and Billy probably was most instrumental in organizing it. He grew up with two younger brothers who were close in age. He was expected to lead the way for them which was a difficult task as they were exceptional scholars and athletes. Bill was a leader in scouting and an honor student in high school, being a member of the National Honor Society. He also played football and basketball.

Then it was onward to the University of Missouri where Bill again lettered in football, was an honor student and president of the largest and oldest fraternity on the campus. His courses were science oriented. It was more or less expected that he go into medicine, so after graduating from M.U., Harvard Medical School claimed him. At first he was happy and led his class in grades. Then in his second year, it became apparent that his middle name was a misnomer. He was no Stonewall. He realized he was not meant to be a doctor. Sickness depressed him. He departed, still in the top 10% of his class.

Unsure of himself and unhappy, he went home to loving parents who couldn’t understand the why of his departure. He sought the therapy of hard, sixty hour per week, physical labor, perhaps thinking the moving of tons of heavy sacks would cause his uncertainties to sweat away. These were the depression days of the thirties and he saw men standing in line hoping for his 30¢ per hour job. Bill learned to live and work with, and appreciate men of lesser means and education. He enjoyed the companionship of these men who were so remote from his Harvard and Missouri classmates. He reviled no man and this sensitivity was to serve him well during his photographic career. It was easy for him to find some good in everyone.

Those were aimless years until one day he purchased a two dollar developing and printing outfit complete with candle 1ighted safelight and paraffin covered trays. Undoubtedly, because of his science background, developing and printing appealed to him; but soon it became more than that – it was taking photographs. He and his friend, David Douglas Duncan (later to become one of the world’s greatest photographers), spent hours together in the darkroom as they attempted to hone their skills. One day in 1939, when he was visiting a favorite aunt in Pittsburg, Kansas, she suggested that he move there and start a studio and camera shop. She even suggested a location. He checked on the brand new 17′ x 65′ brick building adjacent to the local college, and found the rent to be only $17.50 per month!

It was certainly past time to drop the aimless life. Armed with $500 he had saved and the help of a partner (short lived), he started his new business. He did the wiring and plumbing and much of the carpentry. He made his first enlarger, even constructing the bellows. He had no photographic training, but he avidly read anything he could get his hands on pertaining to photography. He studied the lighting in the movie magazines which were usually spotlight photographs. He constructed two boom spotlights using used pipe and two $10 spotlights, which incidentally, had a fall off quality he could never duplicate with more expensive lights. Those spotlights served him well for 30 years. His first year in business he netted $30 per month! And 1ived on it! His spotlight pictures looked “different” than the beautiful skylight and large light source pictures of the day. The students at the adjacent college gave them quick acceptance. Gradually his business grew.

Now it is 1942 and the United States was at war and Bill is a private in the signal corps and beginning his career of army photography, finally receiving a commission in the field. Then it was 1945, and 1st Lieutenant Miller was back in the States and a new and a most important part of his life was to begin. He met a South Carolina girl on V.J. Day (the end of the Japanese War) and they were soon married. He was 33 and she was a lovely 22. Dotty was then and is now the most important thing in his 1ife. She was to give him the companionship and strength he was to receive and savor and enjoy through the years. The busy mother of their four children, she always seemed to have time to listen, encourage him and offer sage advice.

It is back to Pittsburg, Kansas, and after a year or two there was a new, larger downtown studio and camera shop. The years were filled with thousands of photographs, both portrait and commercial. His studio was a rather large operation with several receptionists, hundreds of wedding and thousands of student photographs. Along the way great photographers like Laurence Blaker, Paul Gittings, Wes Carolan, Don Peterson, Gerhard Bakker, Bill Stockwell (he attended Stockwell’s first class), Mills Steele, and many more were to stimulate and mold this man’s photographic life. He served as president of the Kansas Association where he was named “Photographer of the Year” several times. He was given the National Award and a life membership in the association. He received his Master of Photography, Cr. degree and taught a year of commercial photography at Winona. In his hometown of 20,000 he served on many civic committees and thirteen years on the zoning board. At this writing, he has served sixteen years as a director of what is now a successful (and solvent) ninety million dollar savings and loan association. Twice he served as president of the local country club.

Then it happened. On Friday, March 13, 1970, his beautiful studio burned to the ground. With it went several hundred thousand negatives, and most of his eighteen loan collection negatives. For forty-eight hours he was completely at loss. In 1964, he had started working in color and in 1968, he had built a fine 4000 square feet, somewhat automated color lab. Therefore, he decided to rebuild his studio, attaching it to his new lab. It was a struggle trying to operate a studio and lab. He was desperately in need of help. Then his only son who had never expressed any interest in photography, in order to help, joined him in 1971, and proceeded to lead the way in what is today the most highly computerized custom lab in America with over 100 people working in 25,000 clean square feet of space.

Those were busy, challenging and satisfying years with father and son working closely together. As the lab business grew, Bill dropped his studio duties and it wasn’t until 1978 that he started to exhibit again; his prints coming from negatives made on vacation trips. On those trips he was completely absorbed in photography. Released from the daily chores in the lab, he realized that he could spend practically every waking hour pointing his Hasselblad at God’s wonders. It was nothing to spend an hour at the ocean’s edge, attempting to convey the restlessness and power of the sea. He is still trying to make just one photograph in which one can “hear the water.”

In addition to the work of many photographers, through the years he had been stimulated by the works of Rembrandt and the photographs of Edward Weston, Cartier Bresson and others. He greatly appreciated Cartier Bresson’s work, but realized that his own genes directed him differently. Rembrandt’s 1ife and work were intensely interesting to him.

Gradually Bill realized he preferred the strength and interest of side and back lighting. In making commercial photographs of large machinery, he tried to avoid the often uninteresting and non directional available light and instead used tungsten lighting to give his subjects a feeling of isolation and separation from distracting backgrounds. He has never considered himself particularly creative. After all, he had come to observe that many so called creative people were in reality masters of imitation. Probably the nearest he had shown creativity in his photographs was his “different” approach in lighting large machinery. He was humble enough to realize others were perhaps doing the same thing. As he became more interested in scenic photography, he realized that the Edward Weston, Ansel Adams approach appealed to him more than Eliot Porter’s. In addition to a sense of composition, another of God’s gifts to him was an acute awareness of his environment. Instead of straining to find something abstract in nature, he gradually realized that certain things in nature instantly appealed to him. A simple scene might appeal to him emotionally and he tried to capture that feeling on film. He often saw things in photographs he had made that others failed to perceive and often he realized he had failed to capture that feeling. But he made no apologies for this direct approach. Good or bad, he “felt” his photographs and sometimes others joined him. One day when he was judging a college photographic contest, one of the other judges made a disparaging remark about a beautiful interpretation of a scene. He said, “It looks like a postcard!” Quite frankly, the other judge was not able to defend his own contrived acceptance of poor “abstract” photography. Bill answered the other judge by saying, “I have seen a lot of great postcards.” And so, over a 1ifetime of trial and error and inward searching, the photographer knew the direction he would take. In his remaining years, his approach would be to photograph people, places and things which stimulated him with a graphic directness and hope others might feel attracted to his work.

It is late March, 1982, and Bill is enjoying a spring-in-the-air feeling as he pursues his daily three mile jog. Dawn has not as yet arrived. The air is soft, warm, and moist. Robins are hopping and blackbirds are starting their raucous exits from their nightly roosts. “It is good to be alive,” takes on a greater depth of meaning when one is just four months away from his three score and ten. These early morning jaunts are often accomplished, oblivious to the exercise, as he slips into deep thought. Today was no exception. He thought of all the things he had to be thankful for: Photography had turned him from an aimless path to one of purpose. It had led him to his wonderful wife. In retrospect, the burning of his studio with its walls filled with trophies and stacked with his best negatives was to turn out to be a blessing. It brought his son into the business to help and lead. He was thankful that his son’s business and photographic talents exceeded his own and proud that his son had already received his Master of Photography degree. Photography had also brought his son-in-law, with his engineering background, and for whom he had fondness and respect, into the business. Now his youngest daughter had joined the studio staff and was beginning to win awards. He was thankful for Dotty; for still putting up with his eccentricities. Three of their four children lived in Pittsburg and grandchildren (they have seven) were within a stones throw. He was thankful for the hundreds of customers serviced by the lab and proud that many of them considered him a friend. He was appreciative of the old fashioned values instilled in him by his parents which made it easy for him to put himself in his customer’s shoes. He was thankful for the great people who worked with him in the lab and in the studio. Several of them had spent much of their lives with him. He was grateful for health and the chance to be busy every hour with his work and his hobbies. His days were full. God had been good to him. As he neared the end of his run, the sun was rising. A new day was starting for William Stonewall Miller.

Thank you to the brave men and women who have served and protected our freedom.