A little girl jumps across a flooded field containing the sewage runoff from the Mais Gate Camp after heavy rains overnight Wednesday and Thursday in Port-au-Prince. Quake survivors were trying to stay dry and dig out of the mud in the tent camps of the Haitian capital on Thursday, a warning of fresh misery for the 1 million homeless living in the streets and in IDP camps one month after the devastating earthquake. David Gilkey/NPR
Parishioners from the Saint Louis King of France Catholic church in Port-au-Prince sing and cry as they dedicate a monument they built on the site of the mass graves from last years earthquake in Titanyen Haiti Saturday afternoon. Haitians are marking the one year anniversary of the earthquake that claimed the lives of over 250,000 people. David Gilkey/NPR
A man carrying a shotgun walks through a collapsed burning building while trying to keep looters at bay on the streets outside in the commercial district of downtown Port-au-Prince Monday January 18, 2010. Looters and scavengers ransacked destroyed buildings with little police presence. Tuesday's earthquake has left the capital in total destruction with thousands dead and hundreds of thousands homeless and living on the streets. The U.S. military and aid agency are arriving at Port-au Prince's main airport and are trying to fan out across the city with relief supplies but security is lacking in most areas. David Gilkey/NPR
After the quake of 2010, a man stands on a rooftop yelling out for any sign of his missing relatives in a Port au Prince neighborhood. David Gilkey/NPR
In November 2014, a worker stands by dividers to separate patients in an Ebola treatment facility under construction in the Port Loko district of Sierra Leone. David Gilkey/NPR
Lance Cpl. Jake Romo does physical therapy at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego, Calif. He lost both legs in an explosion in Sangin, Afghanistan, in February 2011, while serving with the 3/5 Marines. David Gilkey/NPR
Marine Lance Cpl. Anthony Espinoza wipes the sweat out of his eyes at the end of a daylong patrol out of the Sangin District in southern Afghanistan in May 2011. David Gilkey/NPR
Afghan commandos line up outside the walls of a mock compound before storming in to clear the area. "My mission is to advise and teach my non-commissioned officers and make sure they're getting enough equipment, they're getting enough training," Wafa says. David Gilkey/NPR
After the quake of 2010, a man stands on a rooftop yelling out for any sign of his missing relatives in a Port au Prince neighborhood. David Gilkey/NPR
A little girl jumps across a flooded field containing the sewage runoff from the Mais Gate Camp after heavy rains overnight Wednesday and Thursday in Port-au-Prince. Quake survivors were trying to stay dry and dig out of the mud in the tent camps of the Haitian capital on Thursday, a warning of fresh misery for the 1 million homeless living in the streets and in IDP camps one month after the devastating earthquake. David Gilkey/NPR
Parishioners from the Saint Louis King of France Catholic church in Port-au-Prince sing and cry as they dedicate a monument they built on the site of the mass graves from last years earthquake in Titanyen Haiti Saturday afternoon. Haitians are marking the one year anniversary of the earthquake that claimed the lives of over 250,000 people. David Gilkey/NPR
A man carrying a shotgun walks through a collapsed burning building while trying to keep looters at bay on the streets outside in the commercial district of downtown Port-au-Prince Monday January 18, 2010. Looters and scavengers ransacked destroyed buildings with little police presence. Tuesday's earthquake has left the capital in total destruction with thousands dead and hundreds of thousands homeless and living on the streets. The U.S. military and aid agency are arriving at Port-au Prince's main airport and are trying to fan out across the city with relief supplies but security is lacking in most areas. David Gilkey/NPR
After the quake of 2010, a man stands on a rooftop yelling out for any sign of his missing relatives in a Port au Prince neighborhood. David Gilkey/NPR
In November 2014, a worker stands by dividers to separate patients in an Ebola treatment facility under construction in the Port Loko district of Sierra Leone. David Gilkey/NPR
Lance Cpl. Jake Romo does physical therapy at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego, Calif. He lost both legs in an explosion in Sangin, Afghanistan, in February 2011, while serving with the 3/5 Marines. David Gilkey/NPR
Marine Lance Cpl. Anthony Espinoza wipes the sweat out of his eyes at the end of a daylong patrol out of the Sangin District in southern Afghanistan in May 2011. David Gilkey/NPR
Afghan commandos line up outside the walls of a mock compound before storming in to clear the area. "My mission is to advise and teach my non-commissioned officers and make sure they're getting enough equipment, they're getting enough training," Wafa says. David Gilkey/NPR
After the quake of 2010, a man stands on a rooftop yelling out for any sign of his missing relatives in a Port au Prince neighborhood. David Gilkey/NPR
I first met David Gilkey in 2006 when I was a junior photo editor at usatoday.com. He was visiting from the Detroit Free Press where he had just wrapped up an Emmy award-winning film called “Michigan’s Band of Brothers.” He was tall, imposing, grouchy and intimidating. I thought to myself: “That dude is scary!”
David Gilkey in Afghanistan in May 2016. (Photo credit: NPR)
The following year I found myself in place as the new Picture and Multimedia Editor at NPR. Videographer John Poole and I were the first visual professionals that NPR had ever hired. A few months into my tenure, NPR decided to add another videographer to the staff, so John and I started looking through resumes and portfolios. The one that immediately rose to the top was Gilkey’s. And I’ll admit, at first, I was completely skeptical of hiring him.
But, his visual storytelling was amazing. So I called all his references, and their accolades went something like this:
“Tender.”
“Kind.”
“Caring.”
“The sweetest person you’ll ever meet.”
“A loyal photographer and friend.”
“You will not regret hiring him.”
And thank God we did.
David Gilkey was not just a photographer — he was a humanitarian, and a deeply sensitive journalist who truly cared about his subjects and managed to find beauty and spirit in even the most deeply wounded people. Whether photographing a child traumatized by conflict in Gaza, a solider with amputated limbs trying to rebuild his life after war, or, simply, a beautiful landscape in Afghanistan, David seemed to have a magical way of capturing light — both physically, and spiritually, that made his photos sing.
Zabihullah Tamanna (left) and David Gilkey in Afghanistan on June 2. (Photo credit: Monika Evstatieva/NPR)
David himself was a wild and free spirit who never seemed comfortable inside — he would pace around, almost like a tiger in a cage, asking for an assignment, begging for something to do, offering to help in any way he could. He seemed to prefer being hot, sweaty, and uncomfortable while lugging around heavy gear in the field over the air-conditioned comforts of the newsroom. I remember him showing off a military-grade helmet and flak jacket he had commissioned from some outdoor supply company, and he was as giddy as a boy at Christmas. (And he had great taste in expensive leather boots…)
But despite his hunger to be out in the field, while he was in the office at NPR, he would help anyone who asked — from an intern needing basic camera tips, to a producer going overseas for the first time, to me, his editor, who wanted to publish his photos large and loud for the world to see. And he was funny. Man, was he funny. And when he would stroll back into the office after a month away, our whole team (Fun Floor Five!) would jump up to give him a huge welcome home.
Hearing the news of his death on Sunday, I fell to the ground and cried. A neighbor I’d never met brought me tissues, and water, and a hug. It was a small comfort, but it was something David himself would have done — for despite his seemingly rough exterior, he was, indeed, kind to the core.
I have been amazed at the outpouring of love, gratitude and appreciation for Gilkey that has been written about him in the past few days. He touched everyone who knew him. I’ve been thinking about why. For all David’s complaining and moaning about everything under the sun, he was brutally honest about his own pain and suffering, and he was a damn good listener too. Combine those two traits and you have someone who you feel close to, even after the briefest interaction. So yes, he touched hundreds, thousands, of the people who met him in person, and even more who saw his photos and were moved by them. He was special and unique. An artist. A renegade. A soldier. A fine and tender soul.
