Still Life  - Hern Burke

Sometimes life can send us on a path not easily understood. As a child I understood that my dad and his brothers, Hern and Johnny volunteered, joined up and went to fight overseas during World War II. War stories were not swapped in my family. Oh I knew that dad had a German Luger gun that he took from a dead German soldier. And I knew that he suffered frostbite somewhere in Europe; mom would have to cut his toenails with this huge tool that would saw through his thick nails, damaged during the cold winter nights. I knew that Uncle Johnny had shrapnel in his back and it hurt from time to time. But I never heard the stories, I didn’t get to hear the emotion in their voices as they recalled the joy of returning to America. Or how it came to pass for all three brothers from our tiny town to fight across the pond and come back in one piece. I didn’t get to hear the stories of how Granny and Papaw survived those years, worrying about the boys, watching for marching men to come to their door with tragic news. And frankly, I didn’t ask, didn’t spend any time or thought in listening to their memories. Thankfully I still have my Aunt Jean who has enlightened me with a fascinating tale. When my Uncle Hern came home from Germany in 1949, he had a new trade - photography. He brought back with him 3 things; a Leica camera, knowledge imparted to him by an unknown German man, and a photo album. The photo album has been resting in Uncle Hern’s nightstand since the 1950’s untouched and untalked about. On a cold winter night this week, Jean wanted to show me this treasure, and I rushed to her house.

When Hern returned to Prestonsburg from his second tour of Europe, he met Jean Herald and it was love at first sight. At some point Hern must have added Jean’s picture to the album because it’s the first picture in the front cover of an album he put together in Europe. The gently worn cover is written in Hern’s familiar hand, “Hern D. Burke, W.W.II, 1943 -1949 Europe” it has a rich scent to its pages. Jean explained that the she knew of the album, but that Hern didn’t want her to look at it because of the horrors of war. I gently turned the thick black pages and looked at the photos that my uncle took of people I don’t know and places I will never visit. I looked at photos of tanks and downed planes, unknown buildings and a Christmas celebration. She then showed me one photo of a striking looking man. As I looked at other shots, I could see the same gentleman in the frame. Jean explained to me that this man, a German, had befriended Hern. This man was a photographer, skilled in a trade that Hern had never been exposed to here in the hills of Kentucky. From this gentleman, Hern learned his life’s work. He gained shooting experience, and his growth could be seen in the photos in the album. Fuzzy shots in the beginning became clearer and sharper. I can imagine these two leaning over vats of developing chemicals, talking about life and death and war and photography. The studio photo of the German photographer is haunting and I long to know his name and his story. I crave knowledge of what his role was in the war, and how he came to become a friend of an American soldier whose way of life and experiences had to be vastly different. I can only spin a story in my head of how they met and how they might have grown to trust each other. I wonder if their conversations were centered solely on the art of the camera or if they discussed world politics. I wonder if they wrote letters after the war. I ponder on this photo and imagine his children and grandchildren and reflect what this photo might mean to them.

As Paul Harvey might say, I know the “rest of the story”. It’s the beginning of the story that fills my thoughts. I know that Hern came home and married Jean and had Della. Hern ran Korner Drug along with his two brothers who survived a war to end all wars. He found his niche in the business in the camera department and took all the school kids photos for years and years. Prestonsburg depended on Hern’s knowledge of cameras and equipment. They bought their cameras and flash bulbs and film from him so they could photograph their children and make their own histories. A skill learned in a foreign land, during hell, sustained his family and brought focus to his future. Another man who I will never even know his name taught my uncle a craft, a way of life, an art. And instilled me a tiny seed as I was a child growing up in the Korner. They were an ocean apart, worlds apart really. A German during World War II, and an American soldier, became friends during turmoil. My uncle Hern was a quiet gentle man. He was thoughtful and serious. He watched people deep with his eyes, seldom telling you his soul. He was a photographer.