Orange County Review inSIDEr, December 9, 2010 inSID

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II t was sometime in the late 1960s.Vietnam was hot. At the time, LonHolmberg was teaching English at a

prep school in Brooklyn, NY. Sometimesthe kids would fly the American flagupside down in protest, much to theheadmaster's consternation. But Lonsays despite his longer-than-averagehair at the time, "I was not protestingagainst the war. I really had very littleidea about the war because I had justcompleted my masters in English. I hadbeen in 17th century English poetry inthe New York Public Library."

Anyway, for a writing project, he hadhis students, many of whom wereJewish, watch a movie about the holo-caust, discuss it with their grandparents,and then write about it. "The kids cameback, and it was the most powerfulteaching experience that I ever had." Hiseyes well up; his voice husky. "I meanone guy's grandmother walked 1,000miles across Russia with her feetwrapped in cloths;no shoes, throughtremendous cold."

Later at a par-ent-faculty dinnersome of thesesame holocaustsurvivors came upto him to tell himhe was doing agood job teachingtheir grandkids.He noticed tattooed numbers on theirforearms.The headmaster launched intoa tirade. "He started talking about howour country is going to hell in a handbasket, and he said, 'there are evenmembers of our faculty that support thisoutrageous behavior.'" Lon pauses abeat. "I was the only possibility that hecould have been talking about."

Something inside the young Englishteacher snapped. He stood up, threwdown his napkin, spat out an epithet thatwe cannot repeat because we are fami-ly newspaper, and stomped out of theroom, never to come back. "You can onlyafford to do that a few times in your life,"he smiles from his comfy living roomhere in Central Virginia. "It felt great."

Two weeks later, he received his draftnotice.

It was the first step in Lon's journey toVietnam. He became an Army photog-rapher and volunteered to go toSoutheast Asia, which is ironic becausethe reason he was drafted in the firstplace is that he quit his job after being

falsely accused as a Vietnam war pro-tester.

His assignment: to be GeneralCreighton Abrams’ personal photogra-pher, chronicling meetings and photo-ops and the like, in and around the hugemilitary base at Saigon. But Lon says,"after doing the grip-and-grin thing, Iwanted to get out into the field." Armedwith cameras–both movie and still–hemust have cut an interesting figure with70 pounds of military equipment on hisback, machine gun bandoliers criss-crossed over his chest, and a sawed-offM-79 grenade launcher strapped to hisleg. "I was supposed to hook up withunits that were doing something inter-esting, going in contact or where some-thing was happening."

He remembers getting lost with a200-man outfit, spending the night in adefensive perimeter after pulling them-selves out of a muddy ravine. Becausehe wanted to pull his own weight, he vol-

unteered for a guard duty shift. "It was sodark that your eyes are constantly play-ing tricks with you…You hear a littlesomething. Is there somebody movingover there? It was maddening."

On another occasion he went outwith six guys on recon; their mission: toplant electronic sensing devices alongthe Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos. "Theseguys were really good in the jungle.Theywere experts. I was not so much, but Itried." When they reached their destina-tion, they discovered that the batterieswere missing in the listening devicesthey were to install. "What had hap-pened, someone, most likely back at thebase, took the batteries and put them inhis cassette recorder," he smirks in dis-gust.

All the while, Lon Holmberg was tak-ing mostly black and white photographsof a wide variety of subjects other thanthe war itself: street scenes in Saigon,life at a remote mountaintop firebase,Montagnard tribesmen, the daily press

conference at the Joint US Public Affairs Office, known asthe Five O'Clock Follies.

When it came time to go home, the Colonel in chargemade a typical military security knee-jerk decision tellingLon to destroy all his negatives, even though they hadnothing to do with sensitive mili-tary matters. Lon went back tothe barracks and begged andborrowed as many Playboy mag-azines as he could find. His neg-atives were stored in protectiveplastic sheets. So, he slipped thesheets between the pages of themagazines, bundled them upand sent them home. "I got two40-pound stacks, 80 pounds ofPlayboys air-shipped fromSaigon to Chicago," he chortles.And that's how, Lon Holmberggot between 6,000 and 8,000images out of Vietnam.

But Vietnam did not get out ofhim. "I had some scary experi-ences," he says, lips pursed. "Ihad slight post-traumatic stressdisorder for a period of time. I hada few flashbacks. It was not amajor thing, but it was awhile get-ting readjusted." Lon had a job ina photo studio waiting for himwhen he returned home toChicago. But he says, "It waskinda boring; photographs ofKellogg's Special K to makerecipes for muffins and stuff likethat." He missed the adrenalinerush. "Life was really dull. It wasjust gray. I almost went back inthe Army."

He learned of an opportunityto become a TV cameraman forNBC in Beirut. Lon Holmbergwalks his fingers over an imagi-nary precipice, describing theplunge into the dangerous life ofa combat photographer. "I did geta taste of the adrenaline rush ofthat kind of photography, which isincredibly exciting and I got justto the edge of you want to do thatand not anything else." It's like adrug, he confirms, "because it isso exciting."

Wisely, however, he became ateacher's assistant while earninghis Ph.D. in English from the University of New Mexico.Next stop Gunnison, Colorado where he helped establishphotography as a part of the English department atWestern State College. From there, Lon Holmberg movedto Florida to teach professional photography at Daytona

Beach Community College. And then he went toAnnapolis to shoot a film about a Vietnam War of thehuman body, the battle against AIDS. "I still had some ofthat adrenaline thing. I thought here's a project about lifeand death that appealed to me. And I realized it was so

much more than that. And I lostall the excitement about lookingat death, and ended up looking atlife."

Funded from his own pocket,"Mending Hearts" aired on PBSin 1992. "I talked to junkies andmale prostitutes and people whohad hard hard lives; that had themost spiritual understanding andwere immediately aware that lifewas not about quantity but aboutquality...And they understood thatrelationships and love werewhat's important."

Relationships. Love. It was inAnnapolis that Lon and Sandysigned up for the same tai chiclass, although they made anunlikely couple. She came from astarched Naval background. Hewas long-haired, dressed inblack, riding a motorcycle. But,Sandy's friend had a dream, andin it she saw Lon, "and she saidto Sandy, 'You're going to meetthe man you're going to marry inthis tai chi class.'" One thing ledto another, and that's exactlywhat happened. "We graduallybecame friends and we becamecloser and closer," smiles Lon."And we realized that we wereperfect for each other, but wenever would have picked eachother if we hadn't had this angelcome and say 'that's your hus-band.'"

About 20 years ago, the two ofthem decided to go to an Indianpowwow in western Maryland.During the ceremony, all veter-ans, whether they were Indiansor not, were invited to dance. " Ijoined that. It was very moving.The pulse of the drum beat isvery powerful." Lon's voicebecomes husky again. "I felt asense of coming home that Inever had before. When I came

home in 1971, it was awkward. It was very uncomfortableand it was not supportive. And here to be among thesepeople who had been through tough experiences with themilitary, to honor people who made sacrifices for theircountry, just blew me away." It marked the beginning of a

rich and personal relationship with Native Americans, inparticular the Monacan people, that lasts to this day.

Lon and Sandy have lived in our area for the past 10years in a house that she designed herself. Floor to ceil-ing books gaze through passive solar windows to a mag-nificent view of the Blue Ridge.The strains of Vietnamesemusic whisper from a stereo. "We have just loved beinghere," says Lon contentedly. "It feels like home to me. I'velived in a lot of different places and this feels like comingback and sinking my roots down and being home."

This past October, however, Lon was not home. Hewas back in Vietnam teaching English at the University ofHue to advanced physics students "who needed to passan English exam to go to graduate school in the UnitedStates." UVa Physics Professor, P.Q. Hung, "just wantedme to help with their writing and as a retired English pro-fessor, that's something I know I can do."

Lon secured leave from his regular gig, teaching theGED exam at the Central Virginia Regional Jail, andcame back to his old stomping ground. The last time LonHolmberg was in Hue was in 1971. He remembers cross-ing the river on a railroad bridge in a commandeeredJeep. The city was in ruins. Now, 40 years later, he couldrecognize the Citadel, still pockmarked from the pitched1968 battle, but little else. The building where they heldthe Five O'clock Follies daily press conferences is now aLouis Vuitton store.

A secretary from the advanced physics program at theuniversity took him around. "The first day getting on theback of that motorbike, I was so terrified, I just looked atthe back of her helmet because people go both ways,"shudders Lon. "It was a tough trip, 12 hours a day." Theycrammed a whole semester into a month.

His students were college kids, mostly young ladies."They look like kids but they are experts in nuclear particlephysics and advanced theoretical physics…Initially it wasdifficult for them to understand me, and it was hard for meto understand them. But over the month, we made a lot ofprogress." With classes to teach morning and afternoon,followed by an evening conversation class at a local café,Lon did little else but eat, sleep, walk and teach.

And then one day, he experienced that rare rewardingmoment when it comes together. "We finally were able tohave a conversation around a table, and this guy wastalking and he turned to me and said, 'Wow, I'm speakingEnglish!' And I thought, 'Aw that's cool.'"

Back home, Lon shuffles through a pile of tidy thankyou notes all penned in careful cursive handwriting onspecialty colored paper. "Hi Sir Lonand," reads one, thestudent mistakenly thinking that part of Lon's e-mailaddress spells his entire name. "My writing has beenimproved a lot because of your teaching. I can get moreconfident in learning English. An approximate month wasnot long time…"

No it wasn't, but Lon Holmberg did manage to find afree moment to take a photograph or two; that and callhome every Sunday, where Sandy was holding down thefort. "I was glad to see this fellow back," she says gratefuland relieved that Lon returned safely from his secondjourney to Vietnam.

PHOTO BY PHIL AUDIBERTLon Holmberg teaches inmates at the CentralVirginia Regional Jail. "I'm just working withthe students and encouraging them to seegetting the GED as a way of leveraging achange in your life. This is something youcan do so you don't end up in here again."

Taken by Katherine Lambert of Newsweekmagazine in 1990, this portrait of LonHolmberg was shot while he was producinga documentary film about AIDS.

CONTRIBUTED PHOTOLon Holmberg of Orange spent the month of Octoberteaching English to advanced physics students at theUniversity of Hue in Vietnam.

PHOTO BY PHIL AUDIBERTLon and Sandy Holmberg met in a tai chi class in Annapolisbut have made their home here for the past 10 years.

Lon’s journeyto Vietnam

PHOTO TAKEN THIS PAST OCTOBER BY LON HOLMBERGEmperor Tu Duc's (1847-83) tomb, built during his life-time as a retreat and as a mausoleum after his death.

Continued, back page ��

Orange County Review inSIDEr, December 9, 2010 Orange County Review inSIDEr, December 9, 2010

LLon Holmberg has always loved pho-tography. His dad gave him aBrownie when he was eight. A year

later, he had learned how to develop hisown film. "When I was 11 or 12, I got myfirst job in photography working in a dark-room for an older guy who was 16." Hewould chase ambulances and literallythrow film from a passing car for Lon todevelop. "It was all very very exciting."He winks.

He kept up with the photography whileattending the Gunnery School inWashington, CT. During the summers heworked for a Chicago advertising companyunder the watchful eye of "one of thoseold-time photography guys who mixed alltheir own chemicals." He kept at it whenhe was a frat boy at UVa, even illustrateda children's book. And later he became a

studio assistant.Back home, he caught the eye of Hugh

Edwards, who was curator of prints anddrawing at the Art Institute of Chicago."He was a major figure in photography inthe 1960s," explains Lon. "The Art Institutewas one of the first museums to collectphotographs." Wearing white gloves,Edwards would go through prints withLon. "He didn't talk much, but I could tellwhich ones were important by the amount

of time thathe'd make melook at them.Then he wouldsend me into

the gallery, if there was a show, and haveme pick one image and look at it for halfan hour, which is tough to do, to examineevery centimeter. And that was very, veryproductive, because doing that is incredi-ble discipline. But you really see into pic-tures that way and you see a lot of stuffthat you wouldn't see otherwise."

Lon Holmberg lists Henri Cartier-

Bresson, the ground-breaking French doc-umentary photographer, as a major influ-ence. He bought Bresson's book "TheDecisive Moment” in 1958 when he wasbarely in high school. Today, it is just onein a large collection of art photographybooks in the Holmberg library.

Over the past several years, Lon hastaught photography classes and chairedthe Orange Photo Club at The Arts CenterIn Orange. He is currently in the processof publishing a book of his photographstaken in Vietnam and smuggled out inPlayboy magazines in 1971. It is called “SoLong, Vietnam: A Photo-Memoir.”

Asked what makes a good photo-graph, Lon Holmberg thinks carefullybefore answering. "It's a sense of realitythat there is something that is real oralive in some way. It's not a mechanicalthing; it's not composition; it's 'do I feel asense of real experience here? Do wehave the people in a moment that isrevealing, that is not trivial?' And that'swhat I try to go for."

The photographer

PHOTOS BY LON HOLMBERGClockwise, from top left: Montagnard tribesmen somewhere near the Cambodian border. Harassment-and-interdiction fire, an attempt to catch North Vietnamese troopsbringing supplies down the nearby Ho Chi Minh Trail. Toronto, Canada. New York City, 1960. Loading a C-147 at Can Tho. Shenandoah National Park.