The Fountains of Silence(71)

—J. EDGAR WILLIAMS, consular officer, U.S. Embassy in Madrid (1956–1958) Excerpt from “Ambassador Lodge Corrects the Record”

American Diplomacy (journal), February 1999

The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill





90



Daniel follows Ben to a security checkpoint where dozens of military officers stand guard. Their identification and press credentials are checked against a list. Before being allowed through the gate, their bags are thoroughly searched.

A wide cement drive flanked by sculpted gardens carves a straight path to an expansive, two-story blond palace. Dozens of balconied windows line the front of the fa?ade. Small dormers peek out from the gray slate roof, which is capped with over twenty chimneys. Daniel stops to take a photo.

“It used to be a hunting lodge,” says Ben. “Photo will be at the front entrance.”

Shep Van Dorn stands amidst the grouped media. He sees them and approaches. “You brought the kid. Aw, you’re such a softie, Stahl.” Van Dorn reaches for a handshake. “Good to see you, Dan. If Ben uses your photo, make sure he doesn’t run away without giving you photo credit. This is a real opportunity for someone your age.”

Daniel lets the camera hang from his neck momentarily while he puts his hands in his pockets. They’re clammy. He draws a breath. What would Capa do? He would try to get inside the photo. Get as close as possible. Daniel looks at the cluster of photographers and media. He notes the position of the sun. He wants to give Ben a good angle, something different from all the other photographers. But this is journalism, not an art project. Keep it simple. Make sure to get the shot. “Mr. Van Dorn, what’s our working distance?”

“Maybe ten to fifteen feet. You’ll only have time for a few frames before the general steps back inside.”

Daniel looks at the entrance. The red-and-gold flag of Spain hangs over the arched front gate. If he positions himself slightly to the left, he may catch a wider angle of the flag with Franco underneath. But would a profile make a good press shot?

The fortuity is not lost on Daniel. Van Dorn is right. To photograph a country’s leader in front of his palace is an incredible opportunity. He thinks of the photographs he’s seen of Hitler, Mussolini, and Stalin. He will have a photo of a dictator in his portfolio, a leader whose crushing wake he has personally seen evidenced in and around Madrid.

But only if he gets the shot.

A clanging sounds behind the gates.

“Showtime,” says Ben, exhaling a lungful of smoke.

Van Dorn trails the embassy photographer, giving back-seat instruction.

Three men step outside the entrance. Daniel’s chest constricts. He looks quickly to Ben for explanation. “Stay focused!” snaps Ben.

Just over five feet, General Franco is the shortest, dressed not in military uniform, but in a drab brown suit. Ambassador Lodge wears a navy suit and a warm expression. Daniel counts his shots as he presses the shutter. He tries to concentrate, noting the remaining frames on the roll. Over six feet tall, the man standing on the other side of Franco towers over him. The short leader and tall man suddenly turn to face each other. They shake hands. A small breeze billows the bicolor Nationalist flag, exposing the crest in the center.

Daniel presses the shutter. He pulls a breath. He presses the shutter again.

Franco and the ambassador disappear back through the door.

Daniel looks at his camera. His shot will definitely be different from the other photographers’ because the tall man shaking the general’s hand—

It’s his father.

“Surprise,” says Ben. “This is a story in itself. A young photographer captures his father sealing a deal with Franco. Great, right? The photo credit will be Matheson and the name in the caption will be Matheson. Great for your contest entry and your family scrapbook.” Ben reaches out and gives Daniel’s shoulder a swat.

Shep Van Dorn approaches with Daniel’s father in tow.

“Dan, I didn’t expect to see you here,” says his dad.

“It’s all Stahl’s doing,” says Van Dorn.

Ben lights a chaser cigarette, clearly proud of himself. “Thought it would be a special father-son opportunity to capture the signed oil deal. Your kid’s a serious talent, Martin.” Ben turns to Daniel. “You did get the shot, didn’t you?”

“I got several.”

Ben flaps his hand, indicating he wants Daniel’s camera. He hands it to Ben, expecting him to wind and remove the film.

“All right, gentlemen. Let’s get Preston Hollow at El Pardo.” Ben snaps a photo of Daniel and his father, with the palace behind.

“Father-and-son photo. Some journalist. You’re more sentimental than a girl, Stahl,” chides Van Dorn.

“And you’re more bitter than a jilted lover, Shep,” replies Ben with a stare. He winds and removes the film and hands the camera to Daniel. “Well, I suppose you and your pop may want to have a celebratory brunch or head back to the hotel. I myself am headed to sleep.”

But Daniel isn’t thinking about celebrating. He’s unnerved. He knew they were in Madrid for an oil deal. He knew that Spain would be different from Texas. But he didn’t anticipate feeling so conflicted. And right now, he can’t shake the unsettling feeling of seeing his father smiling and clasping the hand of Francisco Franco.