LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

I traveled to rural Kansas recently to provide media training for a new client's key staffers.  As I loaded all my equipment into my suitcase, I remembered the first time I did a media training session about 15 years ago.  

We had a huge broadcast-quality Sony video camera that weighed at least 15 lbs; if I had tried to put it in my suitcase, there wouldn't have been enough room left to hold a toothbrush.  It came in its own heavy-duty carrying case. A second shoulder-strapped bag held spare batteries and sound equipment. A third tote, this one made of canvas, held the tripod, which was heavy enough that it took two hands to lift it.  

Video production is very different now.  My camera is so small that it fits comfortably in my hand.  I packed it, as well as the batteries and wireless mike equipment, in my carry-on. The tripod is light enough to carry under my arm and still handle my purse and briefcase.

Part of the training process is taping interviews, then playing them back so we can critique each performance.  No more messing with heavy TV monitors and long two-headed cables; now we just plug the camera into my Macbook Air and watch the interviews onscreen.  

In my journey from techno-dinosaur to social media whiz, video is the next milestone.  I have yet to dip my toe in YouTube waters, but I will--and soon, because in this high-tech world we live in, video is vital.  To paraphrase the Haines underwear commercial, "It ain't real until the video says it's real."

REMEMBERING NORMANDY

Today is the 65th anniversary of the Allied invasion of Normandy and the beginning of the end of World War II.  As I watch the commemorations on MSNBC, I recall my visit to Normandy in October, 1994, with my son Pat, who is, like me, a lover of history.  The beaches, the cliffs, the cemetery--as the cameras move from scene to scene, I remember the two of us there, moving from place to place in respectful silence, asking our questions in hushed voices to avoid disturbing the profound quiet of the spot.

The guide explains how the Allied armies set up to receive the liberating soldiers and their equipment as they landed.  Military engineers designed and built floating docks that would enable the troops to move vehicles and heavy equipment from the landing craft to the beach in the brutally stormy seas.  It was the latest technology in wartime logistical engineering.

Our tour group is full of D-Day veterans, many of whom are back in Normandy for the first time since June, 1944.  That was one of the things we had hoped for when we booked with a tour group instead of traveling on our own.  The vets, now mostly in their late sixties and early seventies, are a little reticent to share their stories at first, but after two or three days and evenings with us, they become more comfortable and begin to reminisce.  They don't go into detail, but give us a general sense of where they were, what they remember, how they felt.

We are deeply moved when we realize how vivid the memories are for these brave men. We watch the wives' eyes moisten as they listen. The women realize, as all women must when they marry veterans, how miraculous it is that the men they love are standing next to them instead of lying buried in the quiet peace of this memorial garden. They think of the husbands and fathers, brothers and sons who were lost in the name of freedom, and how their own lives were changed forever by those losses.

I look at my own son, who is 25 on this day in 1994, and feel profound gratitude that he has not been called to serve and die for his country. Pat's dad was a veteran of the Korean conflict, and active in the American Legion.  He gave our son a profound respect for those who serve, and a lifelong interest in America's proud military history.  

As I watch Pat interact with these D-Day veterans, standing among the thousands of white markers in the American cemetery at Omaha beach, I am deeply moved and filled with pride--pride in the selfless American boys who set the world free on that day, and pride in my son, whose heart and soul are so visibly touched by their sacrifice.