Years from now, when the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are finally a memory dwelt upon chiefly by men and women in their 50s and 60s (dwelt upon with some as-yet-unknowable mixture of pride and regret), we can be sure those veterans will reflect on the images preserved by their digital cameras and video-capable cell phones.

Americans who served in Vietnam also came back with plenty of photos taken with the film-loaded Nikons and Pentaxes and Minoltas that were available at bargain prices to anyone who could get to a PX. The exhibit now mounted at the N.C. Museum of History -- "A Thousand Words: Photographs by Vietnam Veterans" -- offers a sample.

We see, in the 60 or so photos, a fair representation of the war's hardship and danger. The wounded are carried out of the line of fire. The body of a dead enemy soldier is towed in a flooded ditch.

It was more likely the combat photographer, military or civilian, who could concentrate on taking pictures when the bullets were flying. The ordinary soldier or sailor or Marine tended to have other things to worry about.

During down time, though, the impulse for many was to collect images of the places and people woven into their day-to-day Vietnam experience -- places that could be both beautiful and terrible, people who could become close friends but who could be lost in the blink of an eye if an enemy round or mine or rocket found its mark. There were the Vietnamese themselves, with whom we had such a tragic relationship. The exhibit here in Raleigh does well in conveying the kinds of images that our troops in Vietnam chose on their own to remember.

No one knows what my friend Doug Itri was thinking when he captured the image reproduced here. But of this we can be sure: Doug's last picture bears witness to incredible coolness under fire. Doug died having made a documentary photo that is unforgettable for its drama and its insight into the horror visited upon so many young Americans in that hideous war.

Doug, who was from Boston, and I were photographers with the Army's 221st Signal Company (Pictorial). My yearlong tour was up and I returned to the States about a month before President Nixon ordered U.S. troops into Cambodia in an effort to root out Communist sanctuaries. Along with four other photographers from the 221st and four helicopter crew members, Doug was killed when their chopper was shot down near Pleiku as they returned from a Cambodia mission. The date was May 9, 1970.

I've told the story here before, as a tribute to Doug and the rest. But this is new: Following a column published in 2005, an e-mail arrived from Robert Swartz of Los Angeles, a lawyer who had been executive officer of the 221st at the time of the shoot-down. He referred me to his post on a Vietnam memorial Web site. The post included this:

"After the crash, an intact camera was recovered from the helicopter. It was Doug's. ... The film from that camera was developed and the last photo shows the plexiglass windshield, pierced by a large-caliber round, and the crash site in the distance. For reasons too long to discuss here, the higher-ups tried to confiscate all copies of this last photo.

"I have a contact sheet made from the last roll. I attach a copy of Doug's last photo."

Spec. 5 Douglas John Itri was only 22 when he died, 38 years ago Friday. Besides the memories of him as a friend and loved one, he left us with a photo that is worth at least a thousand words.

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