UDAY’S CAR—AND WHAT WAS ITS FASCINATION FOR ME?

We, John Connell, Randy Weiss, Dr. Badri and I, had just begun our day on the town in Baghdad. We’d crossed the Tigris on the much-photographed bridge with the arches across the road which holds a diamond-shaped picture of Saddam. It is amazing, but you can’t go anywhere for more than a minute without seeing a picture of Saddam. At least, you couldn’t (past tense) because most of the pictures have been destroyed, or at least defaced, now.

We were just across the river and made a right turn, which took us into a mostly residential neighborhood. Baghdad is like Los Angeles in that business and residential neighborhoods are mixed in with one another like ingredients in a salad or something.

Anyway, we were in what was once a fairly nice neighborhood except for the skeletons of wrecked vehicles we see every so few seconds along the sides of the streets and the black smoke stained office buildings strategically placed in middle class family neighborhoods.

And there it was. We passed it by at first—it was just another burned out hulk. But when we were well down the road, I asked our driver to stop, to please go back. "Uday’s car," he smiled. He already knew what I wanted to shoot. The way he said it, made it seem like it had become an icon—a definite, planned stop on the tour route.

"Uday" was the magic word that caused John and Randy to follow me over. Obviously, all three of us wanted our picture with the car. But why? What was it all about? A long hidden childhood memory came to me. I was maybe ten or eleven years old, visiting Cape Cod with my parents and my younger sister. There on the side of the main street in Provincetown was Hitler’s car. A long black Mercedes convertible with a black leather top. It scored 100% with me on the "Fascinating Evil Objects" list! I talked my father into spending $5.00 (which seemed to him to be an outrageous amount of money) to let me proceed inside the fenced off area so I could touch the car, and even sit in it—sit in the seat where Hitler once sat.

Uday’s car brought up the same exact emotions proving to me that I’m still a little boy at heart. But it also brought something else up—the question which comes to me at some point during every one of my adventures—what is the meaning of all this, for me. Why "me" again? Why was I standing in Baghdad Iraq asking someone to take my picture with Uday’s car? What is the real story?