Recently hired as the Post's only photographer, he was at work early on July 24th, 1915 for no reason at all. Upon hearing the report on the Eastland, he snatched up his equipment and took off for the river. After taking many pictures from the docks, he climbed on the overturned vessel and witnessed a wharfman coming out of the hull with a dead child held tenderly in his arms with a look of horror and sorrow on his features. This picture really brought the reality of the disaster to life for the citizens of Chicago.

Despite the nervous strain of constant competition against the large number of rival photographers on other Chicago papers, Jun always remained calm and unruffled. Not only did he hold one of the most trying jobs in Chicago, but at that time was the only Japanese newspaper photographer in the country.

"When the other papers each have two or three men on the same story, I have to work like the dickens... I have a harder time getting around because I have no automobile and must depend upon L trains and taxis."

"Of them all I like Theodore Roosevelt best," he said. "He was the most human and democratic celebrity I ever photographed. Woodrow Wilson was very dignified and formal, but at that I think he was more likable than Calvin Coolidge. Hoover was always nice, before he became President."

Al Capone and other notorious gangsters knew him, as well as the movie stars who were always passing though Chicago en route to Hollywood or New York. Single-handedly he covered the Loeb-Leopold trial, defended by Clarence Darrow, and did a good job in competition with the battery of cameramen sent out by newspapers from across the country.

After he left the news field, Fujita developed his own commercial photography business. In 1935 and 1936, he was commissioned by the federal government to picture federal works projects all over the United States. In his spare time, he painted delicate oriental water colors, sketched sand dunes, and wrote poetry in a rigid Japanese style known as a tanka. He was the author of a book of poems printed under the title, Tanka: Poems in Exile (1923).

Jun Fujita was granted American citizenship by special congressional action introduced by the late Senator James Hamilton Lewis.

"My dream... is to go far away from civilization some day and lose myself in the wilderness. I already have the spot picked out--the northern end of British Columbia, which I believe is the most beautiful country in the world. Nature and the drama in it are all the companions I need. There I shall do what I like best to do, read and write. And I don't propose to take another picture!"

Personal Reflections on the Eastland
by Jun Fujita

The horror of the most frightful tragedies in the annals of Chicago is written on the face of the strong man in this picture. The little, limp figure in his arms express its INFINITE PITY. The man, who is evidently a rugged specimen of the type that work on the river, familiar with the uglier phases of life; its hardships and its sufferings, is smitten with an overwhelming sense of woe and terror that his eyes have looked upon. In their fixed stare is photographed the agony of struggle he has witnessed, the torture and the anguish of the drowning multitude.

From the throng of laughing, happy-hearted holiday makers that a few moments before turning its back upon the toil and grime of the city, faced a day of innocent fun and relaxation, he has gathered this one, small, lifeless body, the pitiful symbol of hundreds more, old and young, on whom a sudden and hideous death leaped from the very threshold of their joy.

Back of his horror is the thought , possibly, of children and grandchildren of his own, who might have been - perhaps were - among that crowd of merry pleasure-seekers. HIS MUSCULAR ARMS ARE TENDER IN THEIR GRASP. Let the picture preach its sermon to the people of Chicago. This tragedy must not be without its message.

Early this morning everybody was up and busy in the little home whence came this child. She was merriest of them all as MOTHER packed the picnic baskets and father donned his holiday clothes. The skies were gray, but threatening skies could not cloud the gladness of a whole day of fun and frolic with daddy and momma.

Forth went the gay group, the little one clinging to a hand of either parent as she skipped along the pavement. They reached the dock, and there were hundreds more of such groups.

The big steamer lay waiting for them, decked with flags, promising of pleasure. Beneath it the somber, treacherous river glided by. But none thought of its perils.

The happy trio pressed across the gang-plank with the throng. They climbed the stairs and sought the deck. There at the gunwale they stood and the child waved her hand - kerchief to those lingered on the dock. The surging crowd increased in number.

Was anybody counting those who poured on board? Was anybody concerned lest the limit of safety should be passed? Or was there no thought for anything but the gathering of tickets, each of which meant an added profit to somebody? These are the questions that must be answered.

All we know is the big ship trembled, wavered unsteadily on her keel; the joy of the crowd turned suddenly to fear and panic; it rushed to the vessel's side; some leaped into the river. Then the boat careened, turned over and its human freight was plunged to death.

And there lies one little sheaf from this awful harvest, in the strong man's arms - A CHILD LIFE forever STILLED.

These people were his own kind - workers like himself; men and the wives and children of men who earn their living by toil. Is there any wonder that horror looks from his eyes? God pity those who today are heartbroken. But of what avail is the pity of God against human carelessness?

July 24, 1915