Washington, D.C. in 1942 was not the easiest place in the world for a Negro to get along.

I bought my first camera in Seattle, Washington. Only paid about seven dollars and fifty cents for it.

But I was very disappointed that I didn't get a chance to go overseas with that group, might not have gotten back but I wanted very much to go because there's not much of a record of the exploits of the first Negro fighter group.

I think maybe the rural influence in my life helped me in a sense, of knowing how to get close to people and talk to them and get my work done.

The photographer begins to feel big and bloated and so big he can't walk through one of these doors because he gets a good byline; he gets notices all over the world and so forth; but they're really - the important people are the people he photographs.

The subject matter is so much more important than the photographer.