Twenty-Six Seconds

by Alexandra Zapruder

  In order to better understand the technical aspects of this process, I called Barabe, who is retired from the company but who recalled with a scientist’s precision every detail of McCrone’s dealings with LMH and the particulars of the work. He told me that after his first conversation with Jamie, he wrote a proposal and submitted it, but then he heard nothing. Some months passed before LMH contacted McCrone again, this time requesting a more detailed proposal as soon as possible. Barabe and Don Brooks, the head of the company at the time, stayed up late into the night to complete and submit it. Again, months went by and they heard nothing. Then Jamie called. LMH was prepared to hire McCrone to do the reproduction but there was a catch: They had to begin the work in five days. Barabe negotiated for a sixth day for the preparations and then began what he described to me as “the most frenetic experience” of his professional life.

  Well into the writing of this book, I had never thought very much about the process by which the original film was reproduced by McCrone. It was not until I spoke with Barabe that I had any idea just how intensely complex, involved, and ambitious it was and how much it demanded of him and the large team of experts who worked to complete it. In the most basic terms, the goal of the reproduction was to create an unquestionable, absolutely faithful record of every frame of the film. That doesn’t sound so hard, right? But each frame is about the size of a fingernail, and the original film is old and brittle, so it had to be handled with the utmost care.

  To ensure accuracy and safety, Barabe and his team had to make a series of critical decisions concerning, for example, the type of film, equipment, and light sources they would use, and the method itself. The color balance and exposure had to be perfectly calibrated in each frame and consistent across all of them. They had to carefully choose the proper f-stop for the camera to get the highest possible resolution without compromising the depth of field in each image. They had to test everything, ship all the materials to the National Archives in advance, and work with the staff of the Motion Picture, Sound, and Video Branch, in particular with Assistant Branch Chief Alan Lewis, to carry out the effort. It was daunting just hearing about it.

  Barabe explained to me that he and his team chose to use slide duplicating film rather than a digital format, in part because digital technology was still fairly new and McCrone did not have the appropriate instrumentation to reproduce the film that way, but more importantly because film, unlike digital images, cannot easily be altered or manipulated. Clearly, this met a primary objective of the project. They opted to make 4 x 5-inch color transparencies of each image because these are easily readable—unlike negatives, which, Barabe said, require some “mental gymnastics” to decipher—and they could be used to create prints or to assemble an exceptionally clear version of the moving footage.

  They made three copies of each transparency in order to have backups. Each image included a millimeter rule and a neutral-density color reference, so that if the original were to fade or shrink over time, this information about it would be preserved. Each transparency showed the tail half of the preceding frame and the lead half of the following frame, and it was assigned a number, to avoid any confusion about the sequence of the images.

  After his hectic six days designing and testing every element of the method they would use to reproduce the film, Barabe and his team arrived at the National Archives. They set up their equipment and got to work, using a method called photomacrography, by which they used a single objective lens microscope to magnify the images on the film and then shot each image in sequence. On the first morning, they photographed a test frame, rushing it to a nearby photo lab run by Alan King so he could ensure the correct exposure and color balance. Amazingly, after one small adjustment, the settings were perfect. By noon on the first day, Barabe told me, they were under way.

  As if this meticulous preparation were not astonishing enough, Barabe’s description of the work itself nearly knocked me off my seat. There were twelve to fifteen people in the room working on the project, each with a specific job to do. Barabe would shoot an individual frame, then an assistant ran it to the lab, where Alan King developed and checked it to make sure it was correct. If there were problems—as there occasionally were—Barabe would reshoot the image. He had two assistants whose tasks included loading the film into the 4 x 5-inch transparency holders, moving the film, and brushing off any dust. He gave specific instructions to one of them, photographer Dean Alexander, which he repeated to me with a laugh. “I told him his main job was to keep me from screwing up.” In the end, it was like a well-oiled machine. Nevertheless, it took a dozen or so people a full week of eleven-hour days—except for Sunday—to complete the work.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what this experience was like for the man peering through the magnifying lens and shooting the frames day after day. When I asked him, he said that he was doing his job, focusing on the technical aspects of the work and ensuring that everything was running smoothly. But then he paused, remembering one difficult moment. I could hear the thickening of his voice as he said, “I’m tearing up now just thinking about it.” It was when he was photographing frame 313, the infamous image of the fatal shot to the president’s head. “I was looking at Jackie,” he said, “and I lost it a bit there.” Through the microscope, Barabe had the clearest possible view of Jackie’s anguished face, her mouth open in an agonized scream. It was the very same sight that Abe had seen in real time and that had haunted his dreams for the rest of his life.

  Upon completion of the duplication of the film but before the public hearing, Jamie wrote a letter to Jeremy Gunn, general counsel at the ARRB, on March 19, 1997. On behalf of LMH, he offered to donate a full set of the 4 x 5-inch color transparencies to the National Archives. The transparencies were also about to be digitized, which would allow the images to be assembled into motion picture format, effectively creating the most visually clear version of the film to date—one that would not suffer from damage, shrinkage, or other quality problems. Our family offered to donate the digital copies to NARA, as well, and gave the agency free rein to make archival or digital copies from either the donated transparencies or the original film. Jamie reiterated what our family had said many times, which was that we had no intention of removing the film from the National Archives, where it had been stored for nearly twenty years, and that if that should ever change, LMH would cooperate fully with the board to ensure that it had whatever information it needed from the original film. In previous letters, in addition to repeatedly offering the right of first refusal should LMH ever decide to sell the film, LMH offered to give the Archives six months’ notice before removing the film so that there would be ample time for the government to move to acquire it if it wanted to do so. Whatever the government ultimately decided to do, it could not be said that the information on the original film was being withheld in any way from the government, the National Archives, the ARRB, or the American public. Jamie concluded his letter by writing, “If you would please bring these points to the attention of the Board Members who will be deliberating at the Board’s next public meeting, it would be greatly appreciated. In this regard, we would also ask that you make this correspondence a part of the public record.”

  On April 2, 1997, the ARRB convened a “Hearing on the Status and Disposition of the ‘Zapruder Film’” and a public meeting in the Archivist’s Reception Room at the National Archives in Washington, DC. In attendance were the five members of the board, staff members David Marwell and Jeremy Gunn, and several witnesses who were experts in various aspects of the film’s history, significance as an assassination record, cultural importance, photographic value, and the like. No one representing the Zapruder family was present, and no one testified on our behalf. Perhaps we were not asked, or perhaps my father or Jamie declined. I had come across bits and pieces of the testimony during the early years of working on this book, but like many records from the history of the film, its significance was not clear until I was able to see the testimony i
n the full context of the long period between the 1992 passage of the JFK Act and the eventual 1997 resolution of the disposition of the film.

  I finally sat down to read the transcript of the hearing as I was nearing the completion of this book. I was staying in my parents’ house on the western shore of the Chesapeake, and it was early morning, when the mist collects in the small cove that sits at the end of the dock. I was drinking strong coffee, and the sun was just rising from behind the barren trees on the far side of the cove, casting a blinding light over the water. I knew from having read parts of the transcript before that many who testified had harshly criticized our family, and I knew from experience that it was emotionally trying to face their judgments and opinions. At the same time, I knew that this was one of many times when I had to curtail my natural defensiveness on behalf of my father and my family, to read the transcript for what it actually revealed about this moment in time and this turning point in the life of the film.

  I read the introduction by Judge Tunheim and then Jeremy Gunn’s more detailed explanation of the purpose and scope of the meeting. In his remarks, he explained that the core decision to be debated was whether the ARRB should effect an eminent domain “taking” of the original film or whether it should seek a negotiated settlement with LMH that would provide copies for researchers and satisfy other provisions of the JFK Act. Gunn went on to explain that if the government took the film, “one likely scenario is that LMH Company would then sue the Federal Government… and demand just compensation for having been deprived of its property.” Immediately, I feel myself tensing up. The Fifth Amendment of the Constitution clearly says that the government shall not take private property for public use without just compensation. No demands should be necessary.

  Then Gunn went on to lay out the alternative scenario. In the event of a negotiated settlement, he said, “LMH would agree to make the best available copy of the Zapruder film using the best available technology… The high-quality copy would include images that are between the sprocket holes on the original film. A digitized version of this film or of the original film could then be made. Second, LMH would agree to make this high-quality copy available to researchers for their individual use… Congress would be given an option to purchase the film.”

  I had to read this part of the transcript several times. Hadn’t LMH already made these offers repeatedly over the previous five years? Why didn’t Jeremy Gunn make it clear that the terms of this “negotiated settlement” were our family’s proposed no-cost solution to the problems posed by the JFK Act and that we would, in fact, keep the film exactly where it was, put protections in place for the government should we ever decide to sell it, and fulfill the terms of the JFK Act by making excellent record copies available to the government with a royalty-free license for noncommercial use? Not only that, but LMH had already made the very high quality copies that Gunn was describing and had, two weeks before, offered to give them to the government for the benefit of the American people. Jamie had specifically asked Gunn to present this information to the board and enter it into the public record. And yet, there is no mention of it. I couldn’t help but feel that Gunn’s introduction to the hearing subtly but clearly set up the terms of the discussion—it was the government, representing the public good, against LMH, representing the greed of the Zapruder family.

  The hearing began with a statement by and questioning of Robert Brauneis, a law expert who spoke at length about eminent domain and the legal issues around a taking of personal property under the Fifth Amendment. Then the board queried several experts about the wisdom of acquiring the original either to secure it as a benchmark against which all future versions of the film could be compared or, conversely, as a potential “wasting asset” that would eventually deteriorate to the point of having no use or value at all.

  Moses Weitzman, who had produced the first 35mm version of the film for LIFE, reflected on what might be possible in the future. “Technology is advancing exponentially,” he pointed out. “In the future we will have better capability of duplicating and analyzing the images both photochemically and digitally… Because of… digital scanning, which would enable someone to accurately record but also unfortunately to manipulate the image, it would be important to keep the original as a benchmark of accuracy to guard against irresponsible manipulations of the image.”

  Richard Trask, whose book Pictures of the Pain was the first to collect and analyze all the photographic evidence of the assassination, spoke to the centrality of the Zapruder film in the canon of visual records from the assassination. He stressed the importance of the original not only as an artifact but also as the best possible copy of the visual images of the president’s murder that would ever exist, and he unequivocally pressed the ARRB to take possession of the original.

  Many others, among them three experts from the assassination researcher community—Jim Lesar, Josiah Thompson, and Debra Conway—also spoke of the film to great effect and advocated strongly for the government to take possession of it for permanent inclusion in the National Archives. Clearly, this is what the board needed and wanted to hear. To justify a taking and the possible complications that would come with it, they needed recognized experts to publicly state that such a step was essential for the common good.

  The board did not stop there, however. They also asked many of the experts how much the government should pay for the Zapruder film, and whether there was a ceiling, an amount of money that was simply too much to ask the taxpayers to bear. Predictably, this is where things got unpleasant. In fact, it’s difficult for me to understand why the board asked these questions, considering that just compensation is clearly measured by fair market value. No one there was an expert in establishing fair market value for films or photographs, original artifacts, or unique historical objects. But that did not stop the majority from having their say—not to answer the question posed by the board about the film’s value, but to express righteous indignation about the seemingly vast sums of money that the Zapruders had been raking in over the decades. The board made no attempt to redirect their questions, curtail baseless speculations, correct the record, or keep personal attacks on our family out of the discussion.

  Jim Lesar was first, saying, “More as a personal reaction than as a legal matter, I would think that the fair market value should be offset by the very large sums of monies that have been paid out in the past… I would hope that there would be some recognition that the copyright holder has already garnered an enormous windfall profit from this film.” Kermit Hall then asked Lesar to speculate on how much LMH might have earned on the film. “It probably would approach a million dollars is my guess,” Lesar answered. Josiah Thompson was up next. After describing his own history with the film, he was asked by Judge Tunheim if he felt there was a limit to how much taxpayers should pay for the film. Dispensing handily with the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution, Thompson declared: “I don’t think the taxpayers should pay a penny for the film.” Then, musing on licensing rights, he said, “I have no idea whether Jim Lesar’s estimate of under a million dollars is accurate. In my opinion, it could run as far as three to five million at this point.” Richard Trask, while agreeing that the film should be in the government’s hands, expressed hesitation at a taking by the government. He would have preferred—as did some on the ARRB—that LMH donate the film to the National Archives. Board Member Kermit Hall played devil’s advocate, asking why LMH shouldn’t be able to profit from the film. To which Trask responded, “Well, I think they have. I think it is quite evident that money has been made off of it from day one.”

  Finally, there was Debra Conway, president of JFK Lancer, a website that serves the assassination research community, who went further than any of her colleagues in arguing for the public’s right to own the original film and the legitimacy of the government’s seizing individual property without compensation. Once again, a member of the board, Anna Nelson, asked Ms. Conway whether she thought there should be a ceiling on
the amount that the taxpayers were asked to pay for the film. “It is priceless to me as a researcher,” she said. “However, as a citizen, I don’t feel that we should be held ransom by the Zapruder family… I agree with the speakers before me who said the family should donate the film. I think they have made enough money.” She went on, “Do research on what they have been paid. Once you make that public, maybe they should be shamed into donating it. Maybe you need to use the president and the public to help you with that.” Finally, she concluded with this: “I don’t think the American people or the citizens of the world should be held hostage by this family’s right to something that may already belong to us and should belong to us. Be bold.”

  I thought long and hard about these statements. Do they sting because they contain a grain of truth, or because there is some part of me that feels that our family was wrong to resist a government taking of the film, or because I wonder if we should have donated the film to the National Archives? Or do they sting because it is painful to read unchallenged misrepresentations about my family? Josiah Thompson’s estimate that LMH made $3–5 million on licensing the film is preposterous. Debra Conway twice stated that the Zapruders were holding the American people hostage for the use of the film, when in reality, since 1975, individuals could request a copy of the film for research or study purposes and get it at cost. The experts and the board also ignored the full licensing history of the film, in which many hundreds of researchers were given free access to the film over the decades. Most of all, the board knew and yet didn’t say that our family had already made many offers and gone to considerable expense to provide exactly the kind of access that they wanted going forward.