Wristwatch Television : Running Watches That Track Distance : Brand Men Watches.

Wristwatch Television

wristwatch television

  • a watch that is worn strapped to the wrist

  • A watch worn on a strap around the wrist

  • television receiver: an electronic device that receives television signals and displays them on a screen; "the British call a tv set a telly"

  • The activity, profession, or medium of broadcasting on television

  • Television programs

  • A system for transmitting visual images and sound that are reproduced on screens, chiefly used to broadcast programs for entertainment, information, and education

  • a telecommunication system that transmits images of objects (stationary or moving) between distant points

  • broadcasting visual images of stationary or moving objects; "she is a star of screen and video"; "Television is a medium because it is neither rare nor well done" - Ernie Kovacs

El Salvador War Time

El Salvador War Time

Streets of the Cold War
Gary Mark Smith
Global Street Photography


The Short Back Story About "War Time"
The gunman had just told me in Spanish; if you take my picture I'll shoot you through your head. Well, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity --- a photograph with that Cold War anger in his eyes and his machine gun down my lens --- an M16 I'd helped pay for with my taxes leveled right at me.
A once in a lifetime chance …

I figured he was bluffing; knowing killing me would have caused him immeasurable grief with his commander, who I knew. So I took the picture just as he finished saying the words …su cabeza (…your head.) --- lowered the camera to my waist --- raised my hands very high over my head (so he knew I was serious) --- and I looked him right in the eye, winked a bit and smiled --- and then I asked him in Spanish; Hola, como esta usted hoy (Hello, how are you today?).
At that point he burst out laughing ---- and I'd wished I'd had enough courage to reach down (I nearly did!) grab the camera and capture him laughing. So I might display that image right next to the menacing one I already had in the can. Hanging off my neck at my waist on film inside my camera --- three feet from my nervously twitching trigger finger attached to my still highly-raised hands …

The Long Back Story About "War Time"
The gunman had just told me in Spanish; if you take my picture I'll shoot you through your head. Well, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity --- a photograph with that Cold War anger in his eyes and his machine gun down my lens --- an M16 I'd helped pay for with my taxes leveled right at me.
A once in a lifetime chance…

*The FMLN had called another “Road Advisory”.
It was going to be one of those days.

The UPI-TN reporter and I and our local driver pulled away from the Camino Real Hotel in San Salvador and headed across town toward Ilopango in light early morning traffic. Fog hung low on the San Salvador volcano behind us, and the usual yellowish haze filtered the air above the base at Ilopango. As we left San Pablo and meandered up toward Suchitoto through the Guazapa Volcano basin, it was (despite the Credence Clearwater Revival blaring Have You Ever Seen the Rain from the driver’s cassette tape player) eerily quiet in the car. Nobody talking for a good eight-to-ten-minute stretch. All of us lost inside our own heads – thinking about all our past Road Advisory excursions up this same road toward Suchitoto, in Chalatenango, at Morazan and elsewhere -- wherever the war had taken us in the past…
By the time we topped the first hill on the San Salvador-to-Suchitoto road, the haze and fog had for the most part lifted. A few patches of ground fog still lingered bright white in forest hollows here and there -- illuminated by the emerging mid-morning sun and contrasted brightly against the surrounding dark green landscape.

Most of the Road Advisories in the past had proved harmless. In fact, since it was easier for a freelance combat photographer to sell images of the FMLN (Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front) to the Associated Press (AP) and United Press International (UPI) if all he had to do was drive down the road to an FMLN Road Advisory Checkpoint, pass out a few cigarettes while working, and then drive back to the Camino Real in the capitol for a payday --- the announcement over the radio by the guerillas of a Road Advisory typically made the eyes of the press corps sparkle.

But things had gone very wrong a time or two in the past …

Like the four Dutch journalists getting murdered by the Salvadoran Army in March 82 for being with (what those in US-supplied camouflaged uniforms deridingly called) los muchachos. And that time in Chalatenango the year before when the same UPI Television Network (UPI-TN) college I was with on the Guazapa run this morning and I approached the piled rocks and brush and whole trees blocking the road flanked by painted FMLN graffiti on the macadam expecting to perhaps meet and photograph and interview a squad of Guerillas (and make some money). But instead, as we were leaving the car with a white flags on the antenna and a banner across the trunk declaring us PRENSA: No Dispare (PRESS: Don’t Shoot), wondering where everyone was, we were showered with a mortar barrage that for certain would have ended us both right there if not for the concrete drainage trench we’d pulled up next to and dove into that shielded us from the shrapnel whizzing within inches all around and above us.
Wonderful little inventions, those Salvadoran concrete drainage culverts, I thought to myself as Credence Clearwater Revival sang unnervingly about a Bad Moon Rising on the car radio --- --- and just then --- --- as we rounded a corner--- --- the driver turned off the music with a flick and declared barricada --- --- and the day’s adventure in global street photography was about to begin.
The typical Guerrilla barricade lay befo



The large photo is a poster a friend made for me from a 1948 publicity shot of 20 year old Phyllis Coates. She'd just gotten married and is wearing her wedding ring. Also, two-toned high heels and a badass one-piece swimsuit cut up the side. She wrote me that this had been taken on the Warner Brothers lot, shortly after she'd signed a contract with them to do comedy short subjects.

To the right on top is a framed matchbook cover from the Cotton Club in NY; another old photo of my sisters and me; and "Elvis' Sweat", a gag postcard containing a few drops of Elvis' precious sweat in a small vial.

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