His car looked as if it had survived a war, for it was battered, scratched, dented, wheezing and ooozing fluids. Taped inside the front windshield was the single word, PRESS. When the misaligned trunk lid opened, it revealed cameras, lights, tripods, and other serious equipment. The NYT photographer was dispatched to photograph me, but spent more time taking pictures of our flowering garden.

As he worked taking pictures for an upcoming feature, he told my wife and I his amazing story from atop his little stool, making "Ahhrrrrrrrt" as he called it. He took dozens of pictures. Then he posed with me while my wife snapped our picture.

Since his escape from Cambodia, he had been very much involved in nonprofit work, helping children of Cambodia become clothed, fed, and educated.

His name was Dith Pran. We went out later that day and rented the film, The Killing Fields, which was based on his story.

Dith emailed me about a month or six weeks ago to ask how I was doing. He didn't mention his health's downturn.

Good Bye, Dith. You are finally free.

 The Killing Fields

non profit resource