On September 2, 1945, the Act of Surrender to the militarist Japan was signed aboard the American battleship Missouri.
Dear comrades! Today I would like to tell you about how we, photojournalists, had to work during the Great Patriotic War. Many of you, reading newspapers, listening to radio and news on television, probably did not think about how difficult it was sometimes for us, journalists, to deliver this news and pictures to newspapers and magazines. Especially during the Great Patriotic War.
I have worked in the Soviet press for almost 55 years. Over the years, I had to be a participant and eyewitness to many events that the whole world followed with excitement, and which have now become history. From the first to the last day, performing operational filming, I was on the fronts of the Great Patriotic War.
My story is about the last picture of the Second World War. I managed to do this in Japan aboard the American battleship Missouri, which was stationed in Tokyo Bay. This picture is the only one in the Soviet Union.
Unfortunately, none of the photojournalists managed to photograph this event. And I got it hard.
Our troops took Berlin. Fascist Germany capitulated. But the war was not over. True to the allied duty, our army attacked the troops of another aggressor - imperialist Japan. The enemy fiercely resisted. But it was pointless.
By that time, we were stronger than ever. Our army has gained experience. Our military factories, evacuated to the East, were operating at full capacity.
On the instructions of the editorial board of Pravda, in the very first days of the war, I went to the Eastern Front. There he captured many historical episodes. Filmed the breakthrough of the Hutou line in Manchuria, the defeat of the Kwantung Army and, finally, photographed the Soviet banner raised by our soldiers over the Electric Cliff in Port Arthur.
Already in September, Japan was supposed to sign the Act of Unconditional Surrender. And the editorial staff of Pravda sent me to Tokyo. The procedure for signing the Act of Surrender was to take place on board the American battleship Missouri, which was stationed in Tokyo Bay. On September 2, 1945, about 200 correspondents from different countries of the world arrived to capture this event.
All were shown the locations for filming. Soviet journalists were placed 70 meters from the table where the Act of surrender would be signed.
I was desperate. I didn't have a telephoto lens. This means that the shooting is doomed to failure. There was a problem before me: if I did not photograph the surrender, the editorial office would be forced to print photographs of British or American agencies. This could not be allowed. We need to look for a way out.
I suggested to Nikolai Petrov, the Izvestia correspondent, to go in search of the best point for shooting. To get to the best point, you need to go through three security chains. "How do you think to get through a regiment of American soldiers?" - “Come on, you'll see! I studied the psychology of these soldiers,”I said confidently. “No, this is inconvenient. You can't take a good picture from here anyway. " - "Let's go to! - I insisted. - I'll try to take it off. - “We will not be allowed to walk on a warship, and even an American one. No, I will not go, "Petrov decisively refused. “As you know,” I said and went.
Approaching close to the young guy from the first line guard, I resolutely handed him a can of black caviar, clutched in my hand.
He smiled, stepped aside, letting me in, and said: "Okay.""Jim!" - he quietly shouted to a friend from the second ring of the cordon, showing the bank, and nodded in my direction. "Okay," Jim stepped aside and, picking up the can, let me go ahead. "Theodore!" he shouted to the guard in the third chain.
The best location for the shooting was occupied by a correspondent and cameraman of one of the American agencies. A comfortable platform was made especially for them at the side. I immediately appreciated the place and went to the site. At first, my overseas colleagues greeted me with hostility. But soon we were already clapping each other on the shoulders like old friends. This was facilitated by the stock in my immense pockets of cans of black caviar and vodka.
Our lively conversation was interrupted by two American officers. “Sir, I ask you to retire to the seats assigned to Soviet journalists,” one of them politely suggested to me. "It's inconvenient to shoot there!" - "Please, sir!" the officer insisted. "I want to shoot here!" - I was stubborn. “Not here, sir. I beg!" - "Why can American correspondents take pictures from here and not us?" I asked. “This place has been purchased by American agencies, sir,” the officer replied. - They paid 10 thousand dollars for it. Please, sir!"
The officer was beginning to get angry. Here it is, the capitalist world with its laws, I thought. They are dominated by gold. And they do not care that I am a representative of the people and the country that played a decisive role in this victory. But what could I do? The officers felt like masters on their ship. And my resistance only made them angry.
“If you don’t get out of here immediately,” said the senior in rank, “you will be thrown overboard by the guards! Am I making my thoughts clear, sir?"
Things took such a turn that one could suddenly and unexpectedly bathe in Tokyo Bay. The main thing is that the moment will be missed - the necessary, unique, historical moment. What to do?
I didn't want to give up, to retreat in front of them. Did I really fly 12 thousand kilometers just to get me a bath by the American soldiers? No! We must look for a way out.
I looked around. At this time, representatives of the allied countries walked past me to the table where the Act of surrender would be signed. I saw that a delegation from the Soviet Union was boarding, headed by Lieutenant General Kuzma Nikolaevich Derevyanko, who knew me.
I break through the security line and run towards him. I settle in and, walking beside me, whisper: "I am not given a place to shoot, the shooting is doomed to failure!" Derevianko, without turning around, quietly says: "Follow me."
I walk the deck with a delegation from the Soviet Union. American officers walk behind, not losing sight of me. Head of the American delegation MacArthur comes out to meet Derevianko. Derevianko represents the Soviet delegation. "And this is Stalin's special photographer Viktor Temin!" - says Derevianko.
"Where do you want to get up for filming?" - he turns to me. "Here!" - I say confidently and point to the site where the American colleagues are located. "I hope you don't mind?" - addresses Derevianko to MacArthur. “Okay,” he replies, and with a sign of his hand, as it were, cuts off from me those two officers following me on my heels, but keeping their distance.
I look at them ironically and triumphantly. MacArthur's gesture is correctly understood by them. They salute and leave. And I climb onto the stage and stand right in front of the table where the Act of surrender will be signed. I'm happy: I have a point to all points!
Correspondents throughout the press are stunned. They would love to follow my example, but it's too late: the ceremony begins. Unfortunately, none of our correspondents, as I expected, managed to film this event from the point where they were put. Nikolai Petrov shot with a telephoto lens, but was not happy with the picture.
My picture was printed by Pravda. The editorial board noted my resourcefulness and efficiency. They rewarded me. The picture was praised by my colleagues. Later he was included in all military collections, in one of the volumes "The Great Patriotic War".
But I was pleased on another occasion: it was the last snapshot of the war!
Viktor Temin, photojournalist for Pravda newspaper. Recorded on February 17, 1977 at his apartment.
Transcript of the text of the phonogram - researcher at the Museum of Contemporary History of Russia M. Polishchuk.
Victor Antonovich Temin (1908−1987)
Soviet photojournalist, worked in the newspapers Pravda and Izvestia, as well as in the magazine Ogonyok and TASS. Born in the city of Tsarevokokshaisk (now Yoshkar-Ola) in the family of a priest. From school years he was fond of photography.
He began his career as a photojournalist at the age of 14 in 1922 in the newspaper Izvestiya TatTsIKa, which was later called Krasnaya Tataria (the modern name is the Republic of Tatarstan).
In 1929, on the instructions of the editorial board, Viktor Temin took pictures of the famous writer Maxim Gorky, who had arrived in Kazan. At the meeting, Gorky presented the young correspondent with the then portable Leica camera, which Temin never parted with throughout his life.
In the 1930s. he captured many outstanding events, including the first Soviet expedition to the North Pole, the epic of the rescue of the Chelyuskinites, the flights of V. P. Chkalova, A. V. Belyakov and G. F. Baidukov.
Viktor Temin went down in the history of Soviet journalism as the most efficient and highly professional photojournalist.
He, the only photojournalist, was lucky enough to photograph all the Soviet battle flags of victory, including Lake Khasan (1938), the Khalkhin Gol River (1939), on the blown up pillboxes of the Mannerheim Line (1940), on the Electric Cliff in Port Arthur (1945).
During the Great Patriotic War, he visited many fronts. On May 1, 1945, he was the first to photograph the Victory Banner over the Reichstag from the Po-2 plane. And for the prompt delivery of these images to Moscow to the editorial office of Pravda, I was able to use the plane of Marshal G. Zhukov.
Later, on the Missouri cruiser, Temin recorded the signing of the Japan Surrender Act. He was also a correspondent for Pravda at the Nuremberg trials, and was among eight reporters present at the execution of the main culprits of the Second World War. In addition, for 35 years, Viktor Temin regularly filmed the writer Mikhail Alexandrovich Sholokhov.
Temin filmed combat episodes of the war often at the risk of his life. The order on the editorial board of Pravda dated May 3, 1945 says: "War correspondent Temin, performing the task of the editorial board under enemy fire, filmed street battles in Berlin."
During the Great Patriotic War, Viktor Temin was awarded three Orders of the Red Star and the Order of the Patriotic War, II degree. For the 40th anniversary of Victory in 1985 he received the Order of the Patriotic War, 1st degree. In addition, he was awarded the honorary title "Honored Worker of Culture of the RSFSR".
Viktor Antonovich Temin was buried in Moscow at the Kuntsevo cemetery.
