The Moe Harper Photo 

                             PROLOGUE

Of all the photos I took in Nam, the photo I took of Moe Harper probably gave me most of the qualifications to exhibit “the famous thousand-yard-stare”.  A state of mind when the person goes back in time—usually a distressful time—and the person appears to stare into space. Lot’s of veterans have the ability. All they have to do is recall something—something that will trigger a memory. A memory of something that can be so vivid, like a movie that can be played back frame-by-frame. They start to stare and can watch the replay. The photo, I took of Moe Harper, is one of those memories—one of my triggers to that thousand-yard-stare. The photo of Moe turned out to be the most terrifying photo I ever took. After that experience, I missed taking quite a few pictures that I would have liked, but due to the circumstances I couldn’t or just deliberately didn’t. One terrifying photo was enough.

—Sgt. John W. Stone

The Story behind the Photo of Moses Harper

                                                                                       —Sgt John Stone

Damn it was hot. The temperature—about hundred and five degrees.  My jungle fatigues were soaked with sweat.  The protective mask container, on my left side, would absorb the sweat that my fatigues no longer could. I told the guys in a bragging sort of way,  “I might be small, but I sure sweat like the big guys.” That usually got a laugh—me weighing only about one hundred and thirty—naked pounds.

Since running around naked in Vietnam—weighing only one hundred and thirty pounds was against army regulations, Uncle Sam dressed me in jungle fatigues, jungle boots, a helmet, and a flack jacket. Attached to my belt was a scabbard and knife. Around my neck on a chain, were my dog tags and a P-38. Hanging down off my right shoulder was an M-16 and behind me was a LAW (light anti-tank weapon). Hanging around my neck, in front, was a bandolier of M-16 magazines. Attached to my pistol belt was a canteen of water, two loaded ammo pouches, a pressure pack bandage, and a few hand grenades. Strapped around my waist and leg was a pouch containing a protective mask. I had a sock tied to one of the straps to carry my c-rations and a piece of C-4 plastic explosive.  In my pockets I had a wallet, extra pair of dry socks, a can of foot powder, and a bottle of mosquito repellent. Occasionally and depending on the mission, I carried a claymore anti-personnel mine, a trip flare, smoke canister and machete. A fairly heavy load for a guy my size.  Evidently Uncle Sam figured I still wasn’t heavy enough, so he topped it off with a back rack of about 35 pounds of machine gun ammo. Just enough muscle left for the necessities—my camera, film, cigarettes and lighter, and a stinking green towel. No wonder I was sweating like the big guys, carrying all that crap.

For many days, Company A 2/12^th Infantry of the 25^th Division had been on the move through rice paddies, streams, wooded areas and open fields searching for our elusive enemy.

We hit some pretty dense jungle, which probably made it a little cooler being out of the sun, but the humidity was brutal—like being in a sauna. Thank God for the stinking green towel, that hung down around my neck. I grabbed the end of it, and wiped the sweat off my face and out of my burning eyes.

It seemed like it was going to be just another usual day in one of the jungles in the Central Highlands of South Vietnam. I don’t think I was in that jungle much more than one hundred meters and already started to smell that familiar pungent odor. Just a few minutes later, after passing through some trees and bushes, I felt that pain that I hated so much—as if I was a voodoo doll and someone was slowly pushing hat pins into the back of my neck—those damn red ants! I hated them. I reached up to the back of my neck and removed those little bastards by pinching them between my thumb and index finger and tossed them aside. I got rid of the rest of the stowaways by shaking the stinking green towel off and put it back around my neck.

We were walking through some of the densest jungle I’ve seen so far. Consider it impenetrable in places where the bamboo was growing. Just walking with all that weight was bad enough—the equipment I was carrying was getting hooked on most every vine I would pass.  I was so aggravated. The damn light anti-tank weapon that was slung around my shoulder would get caught on the vines and I would try to fight it. I’d try to just keep going and the vines would pull me back. The more I fought those vines, the more exhausted I got. Then I’d have to stop and move back to get it unhooked. I was blaming everything except my self—the weight, the LAW, the goddamn vines and the jungle. I felt everything was against me and I was irritated. I started to throw a tantrum like a little kid. Then—along came Jose Lopez.

He said, “Stone…you’re wearing your self out…you can’t fight the jungle…you’ve got to take it easy… it’s tearing you up…you won’t win.”

I couldn’t argue with anything Jose said—he was absolutely right. I was dying of exhaustion from trying to fight the unbeatable. I listened to him and learned how to control my frustrations. I started moving the vines, the branches, anything that I might get hung up on—carefully moving them aside. It was somewhat easier after that—that part anyway.

Hours had passed moving though the jungle, and as usual had no enemy contact.  I was beat. My shoulders ached, my hips hurt and my back was killing me. The sweat was coming out of every pore in my body.  We finally  got the word—we were stopping for a break.  I found a low spot to settle near a small clearing.  As I sat down, I wondered if I ever would be able to get up again. 

I reached around and unsnapped the cover on my canteen pouch and removed my canteen. As I began to unscrew the top of the canteen, my mind started to drift—I imagined about entering the side door at my parents house and pictured myself walking into the kitchen…getting a tall clear glass out of the cupboard and then turn the water on at the sink…I would overfill the glass with running water from the faucet and watch the bubbles appear…When the water turned crystal clear and ice cold, I would bring the glass up to take a drink— and the taste of the warm water from the canteen, would bring me back to reality. God, I can’t believe how many times I imagined going into that kitchen to get a cold glass of water. I never realized how much those things at home back in Kenmore, New York, meant to me. Many times I wondered if I would ever see that place again. There would be no promise that it would happen again, until the moment that it was actually occurring.

I had eaten my C-ration lunch that I had fixed with turkey loaf mixed with cheese and spread on some crackers.  I was finishing up some pound cake for dessert. As I was putting my canteen back, I heard “ Saddle up… were moving out.”

I packed up my stuff and moved into positioned in line, in front of Moe Harper.

As we were moving, I was thinking what Lopez told me and it seemed to be working. I had also repositioned the LAW to a new way of carrying it and it seemed to help.

Yep! Just another usual day in the jungle—until I took a photo of Moses Harper.

Moses Harper, a member of the machine gun crew, was walking right behind me.  I thought I’d get a picture of him so I took my little camera out of my top pocket.  I turned around and stood off the left side of the path waiting for Moe to get a little closer. He took a few more steps toward me as I brought the camera’s viewfinder up to my right eye.  I had just enough time to focus my eye as Moe walked into the viewfinder.  Holding it steady with both hands, I closed my left eye. When he was in the square, I pushed the button.

Just as I snapped Moe’s photo, suddenly something in the far left side of the camera’s viewfinder caught my attention. For a fraction of a second, I thought I had seen someone—a figure—someone barely visible— lurking in the foliage. My heart started to pound.

Instantly I shifted both eyes, subtly peeking around the left edge of the camera that was still up near my face. I was looking towards the right flank, desperately trying to refocus, but I wasn't seeing anything. Maybe I was blinded by the fear of the unknown, or maybe blinded by the fear of what I thought I had seen through the lens—I thought I may have seen someone—someone looking at me—possibly just one of our flank men. If it was, my heart was pounding for nothing. If it wasn’t one of our guys, I could be in some deep shit! I was totally unprepared—I was standing there with my 16 hanging down at arms reach and all I had in my hands was my camera.

As Moe passed directly in front of me, he momentarily blocked my view that I desperately needed. It really probably didn’t make any difference—I just knew who ever I had seen, was watching me, and I didn’t want him to know that I knew it—I had one only option—I pretended I didn’t see anything—there was nothing else I could do and no time to do it.

The instant that Moe went by, I stepped slowly to the left to follow him. My eyes were still looking toward the flank and without any hesitation, my head continued to turn left as I moved in behind Moe. As I was putting my camera back in my pocket, I thought all hell was going to break loose at any second! Preparing for the worst, I reached down and discreetly put my 16 on full automatic. I was taking slow short steps as I continued looking out of the corner of my eyes—forcing them to the right until I was no longer physically able. My peripheral vision was useless. Whoever I had seen was no longer in sight. I had to turn my eyes to the front…

“Geeshus Kreist!”—As I turned my eyes to the front I could feel the blood rush in my head—maybe out of my head. In one fraction of a second, the skin on my head, face and arms tingled. I had a sensation of being cold, but I wasn’t. I could feel the hair settle back down against the goose bumps and my heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest. I began to sweat profusely. It was absolutely terrifying to look away.

I took another step behind Moe and stopped. The guys about five meters behind me could be walking into a world of hurt—I had to do something. I had to tell someone what I thought I saw, and I was afraid to go back. I was afraid in more ways than one. I was afraid if who ever was out there, saw me come back, he would know something was up. He would know I saw him and he might just open up on us. My fear was out of control, but I just had to find out if it was one of our men out in the flank, or not. If it wasn’t, my fear of going back was justified.

Cautiously I turned around. As I started to walk back, my eyes were darting over every square inch of that flank area. By the time I took my second or third step, the next man in the file was almost upon me. Thank god I didn’t have to go back very far.

I moved to the left side of the trail, and stopped—my 16 appeared casual, but aimed and ready for the unexpected…or should I say expected.

As the next man approached me—totally unaware of what he just walked by—I asked, “Do we have any guys out in the flank?”

“Don’t know Stoney—what’s up?”

I couldn’t draw any attention to us or panic anyone unnecessarily—one was enough. I shook my head and shrugged my shoulder as gesturing nothing, and he walked around me.

It was only seconds, but it seemed to take forever for the next guy to get to me…

When he was near, I asked him the same question.

 He didn’t know if we had anyone in the flank either.

Shit! I had to tell someone what I saw and thought maybe a sergeant would know if we had someone out there, and I didn’t know which way to go…

I was about to tell the next guy what I saw and asked him, “Hey, how many more guys are behind you?”

I can’t believe how relieved I was when I heard his answer. Thank god we were at the end of the company. We were the last platoon and the last few guys in the file. Boy, was I glad to get the hell out of there.

With the rest of the guys past that area, I turned around and moved towards the front of the moving file looking for some rank. It took a few minutes and finally found a sergeant a few men up ahead of Moe.

"Hey Sarge, do we have any guys out there in the right flank?"

He didn't know either….

He was still walking …I was talking to the back of his head.

“I think I…saw something out there.”

He turned his head to the right and replied over his shoulder, “Yeh…what ya see?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever it was, it sure didn't look like one of our flank men.”…

“I thought I saw someone…I think I saw...a helmet but not sure what kind…maybe NVA.”

In a patronizing tone he said, “Yeh …Okay.”

"No bull! I really think I saw something. I was taking a picture of Moe and saw something in the lens. I think I saw… a regular out there.”

He turned around and I could see the left side of his mouth tighten up—like a half smile—it quickly turned to a doubtful smirk and he asked, “What was he doing?”

On the defensive I said, “How the hell do I know...it looked like someone was just standing there in the bushes.”

It didn’t take any Army Intelligence officer to tell me he didn't believe me—and to the best of my knowledge, that's as far as my surveillance report ever went.

I suppose I was pissed that the sergeant blew me off.  Even if I wasn’t sure what I saw, at least he could have asked someone else if we had any flank guys out. A yes or a no would have eliminated any of my uncertainty. I guess because of that uncertainty of what I saw, I wasn’t going to argue with him. After all, he had the rank, nothing happened and I had no proof. Oh, I suppose I could have asked an officer too, but after the sergeant made me feel like an asshole, with me not knowing what I saw—one asshole that day was enough.

I paused at the side of the trail while the company continued to move forward. I wiped the sweat off my face with the end of the stinking green towel and returned to my position in front of Moe. I reached down and flipped the switch on my M-16 back to safe. God I wished it was true.

I briefed some of the guys about what happened, including the fact that no one had a clue if any flank men were out or not. That uncertainty remained an issue.  

After this incident of taking Moe’s photo, I guess I could be re-classified as a different type of soldier. In Army terms, I was much more alert, more observant and ready. In civilian terms, that is the equivalent of—one jumpy bastard on the edge. I was constantly looking on both sides of the file now, searching the flanks for anything that looked suspicious. The whole damn jungle looked suspicious! Every step I took, I thought we’d either get ambushed or I would see something again. 

As we continued to move through the jungle, I started to question my own mental picture of what I saw out there or rather what I thought I saw. The whole freaking company had just gone by that area and I was the only one that saw anything. I still wasn't sure what I saw, but I knew I saw something. I remembered how helpless I felt after I snapped Moe’s picture—feeling so vulnerable standing there with just the camera. Nothing in training ever prepared me for a situation like that.

My mind was working overtime, imagining every possibility of what could have happened, if I had taken a different action. Even the possibility of what could have happened if, whomever I saw, had also taken a different action.  My mind was constantly improvising with what-if this and what-if that—and I kept coming back to the same answer. What ever I saw, I believe pretending not to notice was my only logical option.

Sometimes I really think I had no decision to make at all…as if it was made for me…like it was a preprogrammed human defense reaction deep inside my head telling me, don’t look now buddy, but you could be in big trouble. Like an inherited instinctive act of survival…don’t be making any sudden moves…just give the outward appearance of you’re no threat…pretend you didn’t see a thing…just turn your head and walk away... then you can reach down there and get your gun.

Turning away was the most frightening part of that whole deceptive act. It was absolutely terrifying, not knowing if it was going to work or not. I thought of the overwhelming possibility, it could be my last mistake—ending not only my life, but also jeopardize the life of everyone near me. This legitimate fear was fueled by the experience of a previous ambush that occurred on October 25, 1967.  This previous hostile action took the lives of five of our men and wounded perhaps twenty. If we had just passed by a similar ambush site, and it had turned hostile, we could have been easily cut off or cut down and my pretending not to notice, would have been the cause.

What if I was trigger-happy and started shooting blindly after I got my hand on my gun…and it turned out to be one of own flank men. I could have killed him. Geeshus! I would never have forgiven myself for doing something like that. Either would my fellow soldiers. Maybe they wouldn’t anyway, taking a chance doing what I did, but I just couldn't take the risk of shooting an unknown target.

I’m not sure when I started wondering if my camera had captured what I saw through the lens. I just figured Moe’s photo wouldn’t be worth a thousand words without having that proof—the proof of what I actually saw. 

It was quite some time before I got Moe’s photo developed…

We were back at base camp Rainier… I was sitting on the cot in my hooch, going through the pictures I just picked up from developing.

  I was yelling, “I’LL BE !I WAS RIGHT! I GOT HIM!”

One of the guys, a few cots away said, ”Hey, let’s keep it down over there.”

I yelled over excitedly, “Hey! Remember that time I thought I saw something…when I took that shot of Moe…did I ever tell you about that?”

“Not sure…”

With the photo in hand, I got up off my cot and as I walked over to him, I filled him in with a little history of it.

As I handed him the photo, I said. “Here…take a look. The photos’ kind of small…but you can see it…look on the left side of the photo…about three quarters of the way up from the bottom …about level with the top of Moe’s helmet.  You can see what I saw. You don’t have to look very hard…he’s there…and he sure isn’t wearing one of our helmets! You can see his head, a portion of his face, his nostrils, and his sweatband under the perfectly curved brim of his helmet.”

He looked at the photo for what seemed a long time. I was getting apprehensive that he wouldn’t believe me either. He brought the photo real close to his face. He finally looked up saying,” Geeshus! Stone—didn’t you know what you were looking at…couldn’t you tell?”

“Nope…the view was too quick to be one hundred percent positive. I only saw it for a fraction of a second…you know, the camera only has a lens opening of less than three-eights of an inch square.”

“Gee Stone…it looks like he was only about 35 feet away from ya.”

“Here, let me see.” He handed the photo back.

Examining the photo I said, “Yeh …maybe…maybe a little more…a little less… the area had so much foliage—so difficult to see out there. Boy!  I wish I could enlarge this so I could see it better…. Sure looks like an NVA to me.” 

I continued to look at the photo…”Why didn't he just shoot us? Maybe he was caught off guard too. Maybe his gun wasn’t ready either… Maybe he was standing there taking a leak… Maybe he just wanted to get into a group photo.”

He laughed and asked for the photo back.

 As he turned the photo toward the sunlight he said, “You know…maybe he was a scout—I heard that some scouts never were issued a weapon. Can you imagine that— being out there in the jungle without a weapon?”

“ Yeah”, I said, “I found out what that was like the instant after I took the picture. All I had was my camera in my hand—my gun wasn’t ready, and I had no time to fumble for it… I guess you could say I didn’t have a weapon either.”

“You know it always bothered me that no one knew if we had flank men out or not. No body seemed to know what was going on.”

He looked up at me and said, “Someone knew.” 

“Who’s that?”

He replied, “The guy you saw!”

He handed Moe’s photo back and the conversation continued, covering possibly every thing that could have happened. 

                      Enlarged Area

In spite of all the “what-ifs” and all the possibilities of what could have happened, I took an awful chancy gamble with that option and thankfully it worked. If it hadn’t—the responsibility for any casualties on our side would have been a horrible burden to carry.

                  *****************

After this incident I always made it my business to know if we had flank elements out. I also took this experience as a lesson in safer photography.  I always checked the surroundings first—and with a little practice, I got pretty good at taking one-handed photos—sometimes without even looking through the viewfinder. I would just hold the camera up, point the lens in the direction of the subject and push the button. I did okay for the most part, but botched some too. Just glad the photo of Moses Harper turned out. Also after this confrontation, I deliberately decided to skip a few pictures that I would have liked, but due to the circumstances I couldn’t or just didn’t take the chance.  One terrifying photo was enough.

Moe Harper—As far as I know, Moe made it home from Nam safely. I don’t remember the last time I saw him.  I don’t believe I ever got the chance to show him the photo or tell him the whole story.  Wouldn’t that be something if I made contact with him someday and had the chance to talk about this? I could show him some other photos I took when his head was all bandaged up after he got his first purple heart. I wrote in my diary "he got his second heart at Song Be  near Phuoc Long, from an incoming mortar. After he was hit I asked him how he was—he said he’d be okay". I hope life was good to him.

Jose Lopez—I nicknamed him “Trini” like the singer—Trini Lopez, but usually called him Jose to his face—because of the great respect I had for him. He was a soft spoken type of guy but wasn’t afraid to say what on his mind. I appreciated his concern for me when I was having a rough time.  I listened to him and learned how to move through the jungle without getting so aggravated.

As for the VC—I will always wonder why he didn’t just shoot us. I wonder what was going through this person’s mind when I took that photo—what would his story be like? Did he know that I saw him? I wonder if he was as scared as I was.  I wonder if he or she ever made it back to civilian life.  Probably not, if the person continued to pop up in other photos.

Probably not the first time we were observed by the enemy while we moved through the jungle, but quite possibly the first time they were—without a shot being fired—from a gun anyway.

Always questioned if the company had circled back, would it have prevented something that was to happen later? I figure, by the time I finished talking to the Sergeant, we were so far from that area—I doubt if I’d be able to find the same spot anyway and most likely that guy was long gone.

My thoughts about this incident continue to this day—and once in a while you can see me staring off into space—about a thousand yards away.

*****

 Well there you have most of story behind the photo of Moe Harper. The date now is September 27, 2003.  I don’t really know if I’ll ever know the complete story. I’m not sure exactly when or where this photo of  Moe Harper was taken. Quite possibly sometime near December of 67. Maybe when I go through all the photos I may match up the group of photos using those little numbers they print on the reverse side to help reveal where we were and a more exact date it was taken.

It’s too bad I didn’t have a digital camera with an instant view and date stamp back then. I could have examined the photo right then. I could have shown them what was in the photo besides Moe. History may have changed—for the better? —Who knows?

Recently, someone asked me if I had the original negative of the scanned photo. I was told if I do, I might get a better photo and better enlargement from it. You can bet I’ll be checking my stuff to see if I do.

My Camera—actual size—less than 4 inches long

This photo is a recent image of John Stone and his lovely wife Brooke.

      It has been really great to be in contact with all my acquaintances, and  making new ones from Alpha Company. Just wonderful!"

Return to Home Page