By Greg Myre
In the dying days of apartheid in South Africa two decades ago, the country was aflame with violence, and photographers constantly raced from one clash to another in search of a dramatic image that would make the front page. Many were young, scruffy white guys who always seemed coated in sweat and dust as they made their adrenalin-fueled rounds. You could hear them coming and going by the screeching of their car tires.
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