By Eric Gaillard

One evening while returning home I came upon a scene that I had never imagined in a country as rich as France – people rummaging through supermarket trash bins looking for food.

In spite of the difficulties I would encounter, I decided to go ahead and meet these people head-on. That day I saw an elderly man waiting on a public bench. Quickly I understood that he was waiting for the trash container from a nearby neighborhood supermarket. I approached him, with my camera on my shoulder, and started a conversation, which stopped abruptly with a curt, “Leave me alone, don’t take my photo”.

I sat down beside him, changed the direction of our conversation, in the hopes of building trust. I knew that what I was asking him was difficult to accept. We spoke of other things when suddenly he opened up giving me his name, Eugene and his age, 87, and that he first rummaged for food during the war when he was twelve. “Times were difficult,” he told me, sighing. Eugene revealed that the money he saved from rummaging for food allowed him to pay for a flight to Thailand once a year to see his “girlfriend”.

Suddenly a supermarket employee arrived with the trash and in a moment, nothing else mattered. Eugene, in spite of his age, jumped up and quickly went towards the bins. There was competition with two other individuals who were also waiting for this moment. I followed with my camera and he turned and said, “Don’t show my face”. I respected his wishes to remain anonymous and started to photograph in spite of the others who started rummaging through the bin looking for food. Quickly everything was removed and then returned to the container. The treasure was not too bad: fruit, milk, a box of eggs which need to be sorted.

I continued to photograph Eugene as he arranged the food into bags. He said nothing. I followed several steps behind and asked if he was returning to his apartment. To my surprise he loaded the bags into his old car and told me that he was now off to another supermarket. I asked if I could follow him and he replied “Yes”.

When we arrived at the second supermarket he warned me, “There is a band of Romanians who wait like me and they are mean. We need to be discreet”, he said. For a year now, there have been more of these groups who compete for food with individuals such as Eugene. I arrived with my camera in clear sight. Glances said everything – I was not welcome here. I remained to the side and after an hour of waiting the trash containers arrived from a hangar. Eugene was slow to move and the Romanians jumped on the container with a vengeance. Eugene did his best to harvest food from the fray. I had the impression that I was watching wild cats or sharks during feeding time.

In face of the excitement of the scene, I realized that I had become invisible to those rummaging for food. I circled around the trash containers without a problem. I was bumped into accidentally a bit, and received some direct insults. Quickly Eugene indicated that there was nothing left to salvage. My working by his side in the scrum built trust between us. He got into his car to return home and I followed. I asked if I could enter his apartment, which he refused categorically. I told him that I would see him again tomorrow.

I saw Eugene for several days and photographed him as he sorted through the trash from neighborhood supermarkets with one idea in mind: to have him invite me to his home and watch him cook a meal from the salvaged food. I was able to persuade Eugene and photographed him in his kitchen, but only his kitchen. “It’s such a mess in the rest of my apartment.” I said to myself, “He’ll change his mind”, but the next day he invited me to his place where a dark, narrow hallway led to a small kitchen.

Eugene proudly opened his fridge to display his findings. It was stocked with food, some of which I recognized from following him the last several days. He took out the box of eggs and showed me his recipe for an omelette. We spoke for a moment, then he asked me to leave. Eugene wanted his privacy back.

With my reporting reaching its end, I asked Eugene what would please him. “A photo of myself” he replied. “What kind of photo?” I asked. “Well, a photo of me looking for food in the trash. That will be a good souvenir for when I am older.” The next day I presented him with four photos. He was excited and showed them off to his fellow “trash binners”. He spoke to me with the familiar French form “Tu” and we made a final round of supermarkets looking for food.

It was at this time that I learned that he waits until dark to unload his bags of food from the trunk of his car so as not to be seen by his neighbors. Eugene maintains his pride, but is practical because with only 1000 euros ($1,300) he has to be inventive to get by. He confessed that during all these days we had spent together he thought that I was a member of the police. With his savings from gathering food he hopes to leave one day – in the direction of Las Vegas.

By Eric Gaillard

In 1987, I covered my fifth Cannes Film Festival. I really wanted to find THE original and exclusive photo to announce its opening.

“The cinema Clap” – An idea which became evidence: Take a photo of the President of the Jury holding a cinema clap. The show begins for another 12-day festival.

At that moment I could not imagine the work and the stress behind this challenge and how far I would have to fight to succeed. Anyway, it was the start of an exciting experience, that I’ve continued every year since.

Walking with the clap on the boulevard on my way to an exclusive photo shoot with the President, a real challenge!

The Cannes Film Festival is really tough but at the same time a wonderful experience. With its protocol and its secrets every year, it’s like a commando operation to obtain my famous clap picture.

A few points are crucial to finalize it. I need to be aware of the arrival time of the President. It’s even better if I can be advised of his schedule. A critical moment arises when I have to deal with security and bodyguards. It is the last minute of the operation which is really decisive when I must be very discreet and ready to shoot. Believe me, they will just give me a few seconds to immortalize the famous moment, and that’s it!

May 12, 2013: I had just arrived in Cannes for my 30th festival. The challenge this year was huge. Renowned U.S. Director Steven Spielberg was chairing the jury this year and all the photographers, reporters and television crews were hoping to see him upon his arrival. Security measures were tough and I faced a total black out. I couldn’t get any information from my contacts.

It was impossible to know when Spielberg would show up and where he would stay. Rumors suggested that he might be on a yacht offshore in the bay of Cannes. A source told me that the jury would have dinner in a Palace on the Croisette. They usually gather for the festival’s eve kick off. I finally got confirmation at very last minute and received the green light from officials. I would have Steven Spielberg available for what I hoped would make a great picture!

No time to lose, I needed to run to arrive in time and sneak discreetly into the lobby of the hotel. It was very exciting to be alone, waiting for a unique photo call as all the other photographers had no choice but to just doorstep the restaurant, without being sure of seeing anything. I always feel a bit stressed that my appointment might be cancelled.

My contact came to meet me and asked me to wait discreetly in the restaurant. Celebrity jury members arrived and I had the feeling that the President was not far away. Australian actress Nicole Kidman offered me a nice smile. It was a great privilege to be so close to such a big star without shooting a picture for once!

Finally Steven Spielberg arrived and his PR led him towards me. Now, I was surely in business. A last check of the clap to be sure that all was fine. Spielberg was really relaxed and posed perfectly with the clap. Yes, I got a great picture! He offered me 10 seconds but really behaved as a professional.

Now, I had my picture and the 66th Cannes Film Festival could begin…

While chasing this famous photo in the past, I encountered some nice surprises and some disappointments.

In 1988, the film director Ettore Escola told me that a film director could not hold a clap: No photo this time.

In 1989, I met Wim Wenders at his hotel. He was a real gentleman, relaxed, and very open. He offered me a big smile, while posing with the clap.

1991, was not my year. I rushed to Nice airport to meet Roman Polanski. Believe it or not but I was not really welcomed. Nevertheless, I tried all the possibilities to change his mind and have him accept to pose for me. I ended up sitting next to him in his car and despite not really appreciating it, he finally accepted to pose. Once again I had my picture!

In 1993, Louis Malle posed for me but it made a boring photo. He was not really convinced by the idea or motivated.

1994, was a great year. Clint Eastwood was the President. As he left to the Palace of the festival, I managed to catch him. He took the clap, gave me three seconds but threw the clap to the fans waiting for him. I had to fight hard to get it back from the crowd.

For the 50th anniversary of the festival Isabelle Adjani chaired the presidency. I was convinced that she would never pose for me… What a surprise! It worked and she offered me a good series.

In 2000, Luc Besson declined my proposal. The only chance to get something was to push and insist. I held the clap myself and he finally posed behind it!

In 2004, twenty photographers were expecting Quentin Tarentino at the airport. I needed to be very discreet to avoid having my idea stolen. I decided to wait near his car. When he sat down, he took the clap and I grabbed my picture.

I often think of abandoning the photo with the clap, when I think of the constraints, the negotiations and the time consumed.

In 2001, the Jury President Liv Ullmann found my idea of the photo with the clap quite nice, she posed and asked me to offer it to her. I hesitated and with a smile I politely refused. The excitement and the challenge that this story provides me every year at the start of the Cannes Film festival remains too strong.

Let’s wait for the next one…

By Eric Gaillard

Several days prior to the winter truce for evictions in France for people who are behind on their rent, I asked myself how I could illustrate and make contacts with people who could help. The local associations I spoke with seeking help to make contact with those in precarious living situations were not helpful as they saw this as voyeurism, that these individuals were ashamed and would not permit a photographer to follow them.

Thinking that the story idea had hit a dead end, a local elected official from Antibes, 30 kms (18 miles) from Nice, informed me that he took care of people in precarious situations. At their local offices I studied their listing to learn that a man was living in an underground carpark in nearby Juan Les Pins. The official and I contacted Paul to explain the reason of my reportage. He accepted my invitation to meet.

Paul and I met along the beachfront of this chic summer holiday tourist city on the French Riviera where he explained his story. In 2005 he suffered an injury, followed by an operation, which resulted in disability, forcing him out of work. Then his wife, who continued to work to support the couple, died. Without resources to pay his rent, he was evicted.

Paul was currently sleeping in a carkpark, where he had been living for the last four months, in one of the twenty locked parking boxes that a resident generously allowed him to squat. He agreed to let me follow him the following Saturday when he had the electronic beeper to access the carpark that a resident loaned him on weekends. He did not want to be recognized, so making portraits was out of the question. We met along the beachfront before heading to his rough sleeping quarters.

As I followed him, Paul was visibly nervous. He explained that we had to be discreet, not make noise or been seen by residents of the building as there was a risk of him being thrown out. We entered the carpark, and Paul opened the space where he lived. He entered, lit a candle, and then quickly stretched out on the concrete floor due to his handicap. I took several photos, but he quickly became nervous from the camera’s shutter which added to noise from the garage. Often I had to go inside the car box, caught between the parked automobile and the garage door to hide from passing residents.

Not satisfied with the photos from this first encounter, I again contacted Paul and learned that through the generosity of people who knew of his situation, he was going to move from his carpark to a three-room apartment. He agreed to let me follow him into his new temporary lodgings, only for the winter months. Again I could not show the outside of the building, or do portraits of him to give a more personalized feel to my reportage.

To my surprise Paul took me to his temporary living quarters, a three-room apartment, with heat, television and a balcony view overlooking the French Riviera beachfront. He unpacked his things in one room and hung his clothes to dry in another. Paul invited me to share a meal of spaghetti that he wanted to prepare to celebrate the occasion.

During our lunch I continued to make photographs as Paul spoke about the associations, the lack of power of the local public officials to resolve the problems of individuals in precarious circumstances. He spoke also of the generosity of people who have helped him, even if only with temporary solutions that keep him off the streets.

Paul has found this temporary lodging while waiting to rent a 600 euro ($761) studio, which will be partially funded by others. This three-room apartment on the French Riviera, costs 2,000 euros ($2,537) a week during the summer holidays.

By Eric Gaillard

The PIP breast implant scandal or how a French news story became a global health problem.

During a recent daily news briefing, I learned from a Paris-based editor that a plastic surgeon in Nice named Dr. Denis Boucq had decided to remove breast implants manufactured by a French company called Poly Implant Prothese (PIP) as a precaution.

After some research, I found the surgeon’s contact details. I thought to myself that with such a busy schedule, he would be unlikely to give me an immediate appointment. I took a chance and to my surprise his secretary told me “Come in 30 minutes. He will see you between two patients.”

Following two hours of waiting, the doctor saw me and asked for details on my project. I explained that because of his statements on the breast implant health issue, I would like to see the implants and make images of their removal. Again, to my surprise, the doctor availed himself and showed me the only box of PIP implants that he had and the defective implants that he had removed from a patient.

Boucq told me that he would contact me the following week; the week of Christmas that I had planned my vacation for…

Five days later, the story took a new turn. France’s Minister of Health called for the withdrawal of all PIP implants and said that Social Security would reimburse the patients for the removal surgery.

Following this news, I went directly to the clinic and spoke to the doctor’s assistant. I said it was urgent that I complete my photo essay and I wanted to be able to photograph the operation.

The assistant disappeared for five minutes and upon return announced “Come back in 20 minutes and you will enter the room”.

I was so surprised and pumped with adrenaline. I rushed home to gather my camera gear, including three different zoom lenses, as I had no idea what awaited me or the conditions that I would be working in.

Along with Doctor Boucq, I went up to the patient’s room. I waited outside for the patient to agree to be photographed. And again, to my surprise, she accepted but didn’t want to have her face visible.

The surgeon asked her to remove her top so he could record certain information ahead of the operation.

At that moment, I realized the great trust this woman had placed in me to allow me to photograph her nude only 30 minutes before her operation.

While continuing to talk with the patient, I went with her to the operating room where I put on some sterile clothing.

With a certain curiosity and apprehension, I entered the theater to find the woman topless and her arms crossed. The room was small and I tried to maneuver my feet so as not to disturb the medical team. Knowing that I couldn’t move, I tried to imagine shooting different angles of view and adapt myself to the sterile environment.

I took my first shots amid the first movements of the electronic scalpel. The noise of the incision and the smell of burned flesh filled the room. The doctors and assistants watched me and inquired if I was okay, joking that they wanted to be sure before I fainted.

Curiously, there was not too much blood but I quickly limited what I photographed to what could be published. It is true that scenes of cut flesh can shock.

Soon, the doctor removed the first implant and showed me that the liquid was oozing from it and it was close to breaking. Recommending that the implants be removed was therefore completely justified, according to Boucq.

One hour later, after having put in the new implants, Doctor Boucq left the operating room satisfied before beginning a marathon of new implant removal surgeries.

While nearly 30,000 French patients were already concerned by the health minister’s decision, we learned the following day that hundreds of thousands of women with PIP implants around the world were also now concerned, giving our story and photos unexpected international attention.

From a local factory in the south of France originated a story that would become an international public health scandal.

En Francais:

Le scandale des implants mammaires PIP ou comment une histoire franco-francaise devient un probleme international de santé publique.

Lors d’un briefing quotidien il y a une quinzaine de jours avec Sandra , l’editrice du bureau de Paris, me signale qu’un chirurgien plasticien, le docteur Denis Boucq , installe a Nice se prononce sur le retrait par precaution des protheses mammaires PIP.

Apres une rapide recherche dans l’annuaire, je trouve les coordonnees du praticien.

Je me dis qu’avec un emploi du temps certainement surcharge, le chirurgien ne risquerait pas de m’accorder un rendez vous immediat.
Je tente ma chance, et a ma grande surprise sa secretaire me dit : venez dans 30 minutes, il vous recevra entre deux patientes.

Apres tout de meme deux heures d’attente, le docteur me recoit et me demande l’objet de mon reportage. Je lui explique que suite a ses declarations, j’aurai souhaite voir des protheses PIP et faire des images avec lui.
A ma grande surprise et avec une grande disponibilite , il me montre la seule boite de PIP qu’il possede et les protheses completement dechirees, qu’il a retire d’une patiente.

Face a une telle disponibilite, j’essaie d’aller un peu plus loin en lui demandant s’il pense qu’il serait possible de faire un reportage avec une patiente avant une operation de retrait de protheses.
A ce moment dans mon esprit il n’est pas question d’assister a l’operation en elle meme, mais de pouvoir assister a la preparation d’une patiente.

Le docteur Boucq me dit qu’il va voir et me recontactera dans la semaine suivante. La semaine de Noel ou j’avais pose des vacances..

Cinq jours plus tard, l’histoire prend une nouvelle tournure.. Le ministere de la sante preconise le retrait de toutes les protheses PIP et le remboursement de l’acte chirurgical par la securite sociale.

Suite a ce rebondissement, je vais directement a la clinique et dis a l’assistante du docteur, qu’il est a present urgent pour moi de pouvoir completer mon reportage et je tente ma demande d’assister a l’operation .

L’assistante disparait cinq minutes et revient pour m’annoncer :‘’ revenez dans 20 minutes et vous entrez au bloc’’.

Enorme surprise et grosse poussee d’adrenaline !!! Je fonce donc chez moi recuperer mon materiel photo et me retrouve barde de trois boitiers, monte de trois zoom differents, n’ayant aucune idee de ce qui m’attendait ni des conditions dans lesquelles j’allais travailler.

Pris en charge par le docteur Boucq en personne, je le suis jusqu’a la chambre de la patiente a operer. J’attends derriere la porte l’accord de la patiente pour etre photographiee.
Et la encore, surprise, elle accepte mais ne veut pas que l’on voit son visage.

Le chirurgien lui demande alors de se mettre torse nu afin d’inscrire certaines informations en vue de l’operation.

A cet instant Je me rends compte de la grande confiance que m’accorde la patiente qui se retrouve nue face un appareil photo et cela, a une demie-heure de son intervention.

Tout en continuant a discuter avec la patiente, je descends avec elle au bloc operatoire ou l’on m’habille de vetements steriles.

Avec une certaine curiosite et apprehension je penetre dans la piece ou je decouvre la patiente torse nu et bras attaches en croix.

La salle est petite et j’essaie de trouver mes marques afin de ne pas gener les acteurs de l’operation. Sachant que je ne pourrai pas bouger, j’essaie d’imaginer des angles de prise de vue et de m’adapter a cet environnement sterile.

Premier coup de bistouri electronique et premieres sensations. Le bruit de l’incision et surtout une odeur de chair grillee se degage dans la piece.
Le docteur et ses assistantes me regardent et me demandent si tout va bien. Sur le ton de la plaisanterie on me demande de prevenir avant que je ne m’evanouisse.

Curieusement ce n’est pas trop sanguinolant mais tres vite je me limite a photographier ce qui peut etre publiable .
Par moment il est vrai que la vision des chairs decoupees peut choquer.

Tres vite le docteur retire la premiere prothese et me montre qu’elle suinte et qu’elle est proche de se rompre. Preconiser le retrait de ces protheses etait donc selon lui tout a fait justifie.

Une heure plus tard, apres avoir remis de nouvelles protheses a la patiente le Docteur Boucq sort du bloc satisfait avant de repartir dans la foulee pour un marathon de nouvelles extractions de protheses.

Alors que pres de 30000 patientes francaises etaient deja concernees par cette decision du ministere de la sante francaise, on apprenait des le lendemain que des centaines de milliers de patientes portant des protheses PIP etaient aussi concernees par ce probleme de par le monde, donnant a notre reportage et nos photos une importance internationale inattendue .

D’une entreprise locale du sud de la France etait partie une histoire qui allait devenir un scandale de sante publique internationale.

Since the creation of The Paris-Dakar Rally in 1979, I’d always dreamed of one day covering this extraordinary adventure.

Each year, I would follow the televised summaries of this rally race that traversed exceptional landscapes. So when I was asked to cover this event I didn’t have to think on it for long! It was with a feeling of excitement and trepidation that I embarked on this adventure.

I was warned that physically it would be difficult.

Life on the Dakar Rally is nomadic as every day we change camp. Using only basic comforts (sanitary and portable toilets), each night we pitched our tents in a noisy campsite, as all night the motorcycle, car and truck teams would repair and prepare the machines for the next day’s stage.

After transmitting our pictures for the day and after a brief shower (close to 2,000 people were in the camp), we would make our way to the mess hall for dinner. Under tents open to the four winds, competitors, journalists and mechanics came together in a relaxed atmosphere. The stars of the big teams are in the same boat, so it was not uncommon to eat next to the winners of 2011, Marc Comas et Nasser Al-Attiya.

That’s the spirit of Dakar.

The nights are short with a wakeup call at five in the morning. We must prepare ourselves in order to take off with our photo helicopters belonging to the Argentine and Chilean armies right at sunup. It’s a Bell helicopter like the ones used in the Vietnam war, in which five photographers are taken to cover the race. The media represented are Reuters, AP, AFP, the newspaper l’Équipe and the sports agency DPPI.

Attached in harnesses during the open-doored flights, we’re placed side-by-side on the right side of the vehicle. There’s not a lot of room to move as this is a military helicopter. Two pilots and two mechanics make up the flight team, whose job it is to look out for places to land in terrain that isn’t always welcoming. Each morning, using the course road book, we discuss points where we’ll either land or fly over. We have to consider flight times and fuel reserves. Often we would drop and, to save time, would ask the pilot to go and refuel in order to be ready to continue our day.

Landing in soft sand dunes is a big deal. The pilots can circle for around 10 minutes before finding a place to land. Often we would be put down two kilometers from the race course and would have to walk with our equipment towards the GPS point. Walking in the sand and scaling the dunes equates to doubling the distance in heat that often reached almost 52 degrees Celsius (125 degrees Fahrenheit).

But the reward is there: the fabulous scenery, white sand dunes, black mountains, red canyons and fantastic aerial views. It’s not always easy to photograph, given the small size of our space in the helicopter.

Back to the newsroom – a white tent where the temperature is around 45 degrees (113 degrees Fahrenheit) in the shade – the computer would no longer boot up and my camera batteries were no longer charging because of the heat. Then a sandstorm began, and my equipment was no longer working. Dust was getting into everything. We’ll have to improvise — that’s the Dakar adventure!

On the third stage of the Tour between Wanze in Belgium and Arenberg in France, I was riding on the second of our two motorcycles. The second bike is not authorized to shoot the riders on the move, but instead can overtake the pack and then stop on the side of the road so the photographer can shoot the riders as they pass by. The third stage was very special as the last 50 kilometers were on the famous cobblestone backroads of northern France more commonly associated with the Paris-Roubaix cycling classic. This section is known as the “Hell of the North”. I have covered 21 Tour de France races, but never had the occasion to cover either Paris-Roubaix, nor shoot a cobblestone section.

Early in the stage, while listening in to the official two-way radio commentary, the race directors announced that all the motorcycles must travel directly to the arrival site bypassing this cobblestone sector at the end of the race because it was simply too narrow and too dangerous for everyone to work. Only a one-motorcycle pool would be authorized access. So, I took a chance and sped way ahead of the race. Our motorcyclist got the bike onto the cobblestone section and safely parked the bike off the road well before the race drew near. The day had been terribly hot and the impenetrable dust cloud thrown up from the accompanying official vehicles gave an aura of a foggy winter day rather than mid summer.

I was totally unfamiliar with this sector but I had a gut feeling that being on a tight bend would be the best place to shoot the riders because their trajectory would oblige them to pass very near me. I crouched low amongst the feet of the spectators tightly packed together on the side of the road. The first lead riders suddenly appeared and it became clear that the position was in fact a good one. The riders were passing within inches of me and I switched from my 16-35mm lens to a wider 15mm fisheye. Just as another group of riders appeared they suddenly collided and fell literally inches from me. My first thought was that they were going to land right on top of me but I kept my finger on the motordrive of my Canon 1D MkIV. Then Lance Armstrong appeared but skillfully avoided the fallen riders, then Contador, and again another group arrived and incredibly fell like skittles at exactly the same spot. I just kept shooting, this time with my 16-35mm.

There were seven different cobblestone sections, each many kilometers long. I simply cannot believe the likelihood of having been in the right place at the right time. The chance must be several million-to-one.

The images were transmitted straight from my camera using the Canon WFT transmitter and a Mifi unit to our Paris pictures desk and were thus available to our clients within minutes. The New York Times was just one of the many users of these spectacular images. My most amazing and unlikely experience of 21 years of Tour de France road cycling coverage.

Paris photographer Philippe Wojazer told me, “because it’s quiet, there isn’t any need for the two of us here, I’m going back to my place.” I remember seeing him take his motorbike helmet and then seeing a news flash that said, “Plane crash at Roissy.” The adrenaline was pumping in the office when a second news flash announced “It is a Concorde.”

Philippe told me to head to Roissy on a motorbike with a driver and he would stay at the office to receive my photos. On the way to Roissy, I could see a column of smoke in the distance. Immediately I realized the severity of the situation and the fact that it was a Concorde heightened the news value of the event. Quickly we arrived close to the crash site but it was already surrounded by police who had blocked access to the area and the surrounding two miles.

After a moment’s consideration I told the motorbike driver, “We are going to break the barrier.” And that is what we did, despite the reluctance of my driver. While passing them, two police officers tried to grab my shirt to stop us. Finally, we arrived at the field where the Concorde had crashed. There was a lot of smoke and until that moment I hadn’t realized that the Concorde had crashed into a hotel. After taking several general view pictures, I started to cross the field to get closer to the crash site. In the distance I could see police officers running towards me and I realized that I wouldn’t be able to continue to take pictures for long.

I saw the plane’s wheels and the firemen surrounding the plane. I turned around and saw the police were now practically on me. I had started to take pictures of the site. Quickly, I took out the disc from my camera and hid it before being detained by the police and escorted from the site.

I got my laptop back and immediately sent my photos to Philippe, who had stayed at the office. We were the first news organization to transmit pictures of the crash. I remember talking to my Swiss colleague, Ruben Sprich, who told me that we had made all the deadlines for the Swiss newspapers.

Moments later, Philippe called me and told me that he had found and bought a photograph of the crash taken by a plane spotter. It showed the Concorde with flames coming out of it shortly before the crash.

That photo appeared in newspapers around the world.