1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

1959 Chicago Russia Custody Listed Francis Miller Photo Life Magazine Vintage

An original period photo, possibly a proof photo, measuring approximately 13 1/4 x 9 inches. By listed Life Photographer Francis Miller. Last found in Washington, DC, in all likelihood from Mr. Some bends, creases, here and there, some as seen in pictures. Pyotr Kozmin doesn’t remember much about Chicago. Just the smell of cut grass and spicy flowers, the taste of cornflakes and milk, and the feel of his arms around a tree in his foster parents’ front yard. He doesn’t remember the international custody dispute, or dressing in the gray wool suit before boarding a plane to join his parents in the Soviet Union. He doesn’t remember making headlines with his three older brothers more than 40 years before Elian Gonzalez was caught in a similar tug of war between Cuba and America. He’s having a reunion with the surviving members of the family who cared for him when he was an American. He wanted to find his roots and hug the tree that sometimes shows up in dreams. “He never expected that somebody worried about him and was thinking about him in America, ” said Sergey Korobkov, Kozmin’s friend and translator. He built his life, conscious that there was no way back to the United States, no way back to the people he knew. An Illinois judge took the Kozmin brothers from their biological parents, Russian emigres, after they ended up in a mental hospital. The older boys were sent to an orphanage. Peter, now Pyotr, was born in the mental hospital and immediately sent to live with his brother Paul at David and Gladys Moon’s house in Bensenville. They wanted their children. So did the Soviet government. After a two-year battle, a judge sent all four children back. For years, the Moons wondered about Peter and Paul, about what had become of them. Last year, the Moon family contacted the Kozmins after the Chicago Tribune tracked down the boys. Curt Shires, a grandson of the Moons, hugged Kozmin like a long-lost brother. While here, Kozmin will have a reunion with another foster child and with Moon family members. He’ll also show his art to Chicago galleries. But Friday was the tour of places Kozmin didn’t remember. In the morning, Shires, Kozmin and Korobkov planned to go to the site of the Moons’ home, once a forest of fruit trees, a boys’ paradise. They planned to visit the graves of the Moons. “I just don’t know what we’re going to find, ” said Shires, adding that the family home had been knocked down and that most all the trees were gone. They drove past a home where Peter’s brother Paul once had a birthday party. They drove past the Clark gas station, once the Road Pilot gas station, where Paul and the other older children bought milk, cereal and cigarettes for Gladys Moon. They turned left onto Brookwood Street, once Home Avenue, where Gladys and David Moon lived. It’s now the home of Pallet Services Inc. With semi-trucks and pallets stacked where the Moon house once sat. There was a lone tree, a thick maple that once marked the Moons’ property line. Kozmin walked up to it, laughed, looked around at the aluminum cans, tires and bits of pink insulation on the ground. “A terrible area, 42 years after, ” said Kozmin. Still, he put his arms around the tree, not the same as the one in his dreams. Kozmin carried two of his paintings to the tree looking for some inspiration. But he put them away. He tried to meditate. “This is no good energy, ” he said, pointing at the ground. He smoked the last of his Kent III Ultra Lights, then threw the crumpled package at all the other trash. They drove on, past Paul’s kindergarten, past his elementary school, past the home where Shires remembers seeing the Kozmin boys board the plane on TV, and all the way to Mt. Emblem Cemetery in Elmhurst. Kozmin carried a bouquet of pink and red carnations and zigzagged through the graves. “Moons, Moons, ” he yelled when he found the markers. He cleaned the dirt off Gladys Moon’s marker. Shires brushed off his grandfather’s grave. They put their flowers in vases and stood, hands clasped, heads down. “He sought many years to visit the graves of David and Gladys, ” Korobkov said. Now he feels easy. He released his desire. ” “My grandmother can stop crying for you, Shires told Kozmin. Gladys Moon sent letters to the Soviet Union, and the boys wrote back. But the letters were censored, and Moon stopped writing after being told that trading letters with the Kozmins might actually make life more difficult for the boys. She died in 1970.. The Kozmins moved from Moscow to the tiny town of Berdyansk, in Ukraine. Although the boys were sent home to their parents as celebrities, they spent most of their youth in state-run institutions. They wore gray uniforms and received strict Communist teachings. Pyotr Kozmin didn’t learn Russian until he was 6. At 12, he got his first job, making boxes for macaroni. He became an artist, painting dark and fanciful scenes of black cats, women. Kozmin said he is glad he grew up in the Soviet Union because it made him the artist he is. If he had stayed in America, who knows? He might have had a happy youth, become a fire chief, like Shires. His three older brothers all eke out livings in Berdyansk. They sell shish kebabs to tourists. They feel robbed of the lives that could have been in America, Kozmin said. The Kozmin parents have since died. On Friday, Kozmin left the cemetery, wanting a drink of vodka in memory of the Moons. He said his stiff neck felt better after seeing the graves. “Oh my God, ” he said, shrugging his shoulders, rubbing his neck, trying to figure out why the pain was gone. When Francis Miller was about twelve years old he got his first camera, a Brownie, and began developing his films in the family bathtub. He studied journalism at the University of Texas, was sports editor of the Daily Texan, a college newspaper, and managing editor of the Texas comic monthly, The Texas Ranger. He studied art in the Chicago Academy in the summers. In 1927 when he was twenty-one, he went to work for the Houston Press as a combination artist, reporter and photographer. He had only dabbled in photography, but as a reporter he soon learned that the camera can tell a story better than words, so he became a pioneer in candid news photography. As a reporter covering the southwest, Miller was a journalistic jack-of-all-trades, writing news stories, taking the pictures for them and often making the layouts. He also drew cartoons, wrote a biography of W. Miller was the first to cover a Caesarian birth fully with pictures for the press, which, when published, attracted much attention, and then was finally used in TIME, before the advent of LIFE Magazine. Nig’ (Francis’ nickname) Miller freelanced for LIFE before the war and became a LIFE staff photographer in 1947, and was based in Chicago. During the war he worked for Naval Intelligence and was a combat photographer. In 1945, the Navy ordered him from Iceland to Australia where he met and married an Australian girl. They had two children. Miller was an artist at concealed camera photography. He had hidden miniature cameras rigged behind his tie, in half-open brief cases and in hollowed-out books to make pictures in closed political sessions where the participants would just as soon have no photography. Miller transferred to Washington D. C in 1964 and worked out of LIFE’s Washington, D. And Atlanta news bureaus. Miller combined ingenuity and ability: in 1952 he photographed a Republican National Committee meeting in Chicago with two hidden cameras. Six years later, he used similar tactics to photograph a band of gamblers in Cuba. His warm heart for animals brought Miller, in 1964, to photograph the presidential beagles on the White House lawn. Miller brought with him for this assignment, not only his 30 years of experience, also a rubber bone, sack full of Dog Yummies, and a harmonica. Miller stretched himself out on the lawn of the White House and alternately barked like a dog, tossed the bone in the air, plied the beagles with Dog Yummies and huffed into the harmonica. This juggling act, which came easily to Miller, left his right hand and his right eye free to shoot the assignment. Miller retired from LIFE in 1968. He lived in Washington D. Until his death on November 5, 1973 at the age of 67. Sellers: Get your own map of past buyers. The item “1959 CHICAGO RUSSIA CUSTODY LISTED FRANCIS MILLER PHOTO LIFE MAGAZINE VINTAGE” is in sale since Thursday, May 26, 2016. This item is in the category “Collectibles\Photographic Images\Contemporary (1940-Now)\Other Contemporary Photographs”. The seller is “theprimitivefold” and is located in Villa Park, Illinois. This item can be shipped worldwide.
  • Original/Reprint: Original Print
  • Listed By: Dealer or Reseller
  • Signed?: Unsigned
  • Date of Creation: 1950-Now
  • Photo Type: Snapshot
  • Subject: Figures & Portraits
  • Color: Black & White
  • Framing: Unframed
  • Size Type/Largest Dimension: Large (Greater than 10″)
  • Region of Origin: US

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