By the time I began to work at ATV O, the Christmas of 1968, many I spoke with talked about Morrie Pilens with a kind of awe: He was reputed as some unyielding, unrelenting, hard-nosed, unemotional, in-your-face with a camera, film-jockey. He’d blunder and bluff and connive; tough in a stouch with Pollies or Police, right upfront at press releases, tight with some political Big-Wigs, annoying in his attitude and presence. All probably correct. Why?
See now, below.
At the age of two, Modris Pilens had lived through the end of The Roaring Twenties, the end of Silent Movies, the beginning of The Talkies and The Wall Street Crash, though of course, he was unaware of this, being born in Riga, Latvia in 1928.
The new decade heralded The Great Depression, the advance of Fascism, and the rise of power in Germany, which had been busy throwing off the Old Guard, it’s Reparations after the end of The War To End All Wars, and the emergence of a fellow who had won the Iron Cross, First and Second Class, in that past war. A fellow who was the most pertinent of them all in what was to come less than a decade away.
By the age of twelve Modris had witnessed, along with all those millions of others on several continents, the beginning of the conflagration that became World War Two. At its conclusion, aged seventeen, he was spat out of the glut of madness, into the sombre aftermath of a grateful, though
wounded peace.
What had he witnessed? The forcing out of the Russians from Riga as the German army rolled in in 1943.
By this time Modris, had become involved with filming and its accoutrements: cameras, sound equipment, film itself. He had secured himself a job with the Riga Film Unit, and when the Germans arrived they swiftly commandeered the company and its workers. By the age of fifteen, Modris was put into an S.S. uniform, (The alternative was very unpleasant) and as a part of the Latvian War Correspondent Division, was sent to Poland. Later he was evacuated to Tieringen in Germany, to S.S. Standarte Kurt Eggers, a Propaganda Unit run by Goebbels. When the Allies bombed Berlin he witnessed the catastrophic effects of phosphorus burns; soldiers shooting victims to put them out of their misery.
He had been in Berlin for a while and saw, first-hand, the way things were. Even his youthful eyes and mind absorbed the conditioning of the public, the propaganda, the lie that was promulgated to the people as fact. And he registered that the general public had no part to play in what was happening, other than to acquiesce. The ordinary people of Germany were made to bow down beneath the yoke of their leaders, and their Fuhrer.
Abruptly, he and his group were ordered back to Tieringen.
There, they witnessed the approach of the Red Army and the retreat of the Germans.
Somewhere, amongst the looting of the town, there being no resistance by the locals, Modris and his countrymen managed to join the Russians in an ongoing party that continued until all the looted Champagne and Brandy ran out.
The Americans, joining forces with the Russians, informed Modris and his unit that they had to leave at once, because the Russians were about to partition Tieringen. It was to become their territory. All the Latvians were placed on a train bound for Vienna, stopping at Blomberg.
Modris survived the Second World War, the deprivations, the fear, the hunger. Already, in those early years, he had walked the haunted streets of the places of devastation. In Blomberg, aged seventeen he faced an uncertain, fragile future.
All that happened to him, from his childhood in Latvia, up until the beginning of The Second World War, and all that followed in its wake, are a part of the greater story and history of Modris Pilens: his marriages, his family, his innate ability to see and access and initiate, his grappling to come to an understanding of other places, languages, customs and laws, and his adaptability; are intrinsic of the man.
Gruff, tough, passionate, unrelenting… at times, bombastic. That is Modris (Morrie) Pilens.
I hope he gets to read this. I’ll raise a glass of Schnapps, or polish Vodka to him.
(He did read it)
Jennifer Kyte is reputed to have said something like, “If you can survive Morrie, you can survive anything.”
True maybe. But perhaps now you have a glimpse at what goes into the making of a survivor.
Morrie, 1928-2017. R.I.P.
At the passing of Morrie, I take this opportunity to repost a part of my Profile on him.
Profiles 10: Modris (Morrie) Pilens.
News-cameraman… Survivor… Tough S.O.B.
By the time I began to work at ATV O, the Christmas of 1968, many I spoke with talked about Morrie Pilens with a kind of awe: He was reputed as some unyielding, unrelenting, hard-nosed, unemotional, in-your-face with a camera, film-jockey. He’d blunder and bluff and connive; tough in a stouch with Pollies or Police, right upfront at press releases, tight with some political Big-Wigs, annoying in his attitude and presence. All probably correct. Why?
See now, below.
At the age of two, Modris Pilens had lived through the end of The Roaring Twenties, the end of Silent Movies, the beginning of The Talkies and The Wall Street Crash, though of course, he was unaware of this, being born in Riga, Latvia in 1928.
The new decade heralded The Great Depression, the advance of Fascism, and the rise of power in Germany, which had been busy throwing off the Old Guard, it’s Reparations after the end of The War To End All Wars, and the emergence of a fellow who had won the Iron Cross, First and Second Class, in that past war. A fellow who was the most pertinent of them all in what was to come less than a decade away.
By the age of twelve Modris had witnessed, along with all those millions of others on several continents, the beginning of the conflagration that became World War Two. At its conclusion, aged seventeen, he was spat out of the glut of madness, into the sombre aftermath of a grateful, though
wounded peace.
What had he witnessed? The forcing out of the Russians from Riga as the German army rolled in in 1943.
By this time Modris, had become involved with filming and its accoutrements: cameras, sound equipment, film itself. He had secured himself a job with the Riga Film Unit, and when the Germans arrived they swiftly commandeered the company and its workers. By the age of fifteen, Modris was put into an S.S. uniform, (The alternative was very unpleasant) and as a part of the Latvian War Correspondent Division, was sent to Poland. Later he was evacuated to Tieringen in Germany, to S.S. Standarte Kurt Eggers, a Propaganda Unit run by Goebbels. When the Allies bombed Berlin he witnessed the catastrophic effects of phosphorus burns; soldiers shooting victims to put them out of their misery.
He had been in Berlin for a while and saw, first-hand, the way things were. Even his youthful eyes and mind absorbed the conditioning of the public, the propaganda, the lie that was promulgated to the people as fact. And he registered that the general public had no part to play in what was happening, other than to acquiesce. The ordinary people of Germany were made to bow down beneath the yoke of their leaders, and their Fuhrer.
Abruptly, he and his group were ordered back to Tieringen.
There, they witnessed the approach of the Red Army and the retreat of the Germans.
Somewhere, amongst the looting of the town, there being no resistance by the locals, Modris and his countrymen managed to join the Russians in an ongoing party that continued until all the looted Champagne and Brandy ran out.
The Americans, joining forces with the Russians, informed Modris and his unit that they had to leave at once, because the Russians were about to partition Tieringen. It was to become their territory. All the Latvians were placed on a train bound for Vienna, stopping at Blomberg.
Modris survived the Second World War, the deprivations, the fear, the hunger. Already, in those early years, he had walked the haunted streets of the places of devastation. In Blomberg, aged seventeen he faced an uncertain, fragile future.
All that happened to him, from his childhood in Latvia, up until the beginning of The Second World War, and all that followed in its wake, are a part of the greater story and history of Modris Pilens: his marriages, his family, his innate ability to see and access and initiate, his grappling to come to an understanding of other places, languages, customs and laws, and his adaptability; are intrinsic of the man.
Gruff, tough, passionate, unrelenting… at times, bombastic. That is Modris (Morrie) Pilens.
I hope he gets to read this. I’ll raise a glass of Schnapps, or polish Vodka to him.
(He did read it)
Jennifer Kyte is reputed to have said something like, “If you can survive Morrie, you can survive anything.”
True maybe. But perhaps now you have a glimpse at what goes into the making of a survivor.
Morrie, 1928-2017. R.I.P.