I don’t remember when exactly I became aware of Leica cameras. I do remember the feeling of depressing a Leica shutter for the first time.
Mechanical bliss.
Time frozen forever.
You can feel a precision that most engineering doesn’t even try to imitate. Around this time would have also been when I was discovering that my favorite images and photographers use(d) an M3, or had an M6 or two. And lastly, of course, that they were expensive cameras. The most expensive. Prohibitively expensive. For most, justifying serious amateur or pro adjacent gear is hard enough on the wallet, spending on a single camera and lens the funds that could outfit you with an entire system and lenses and flashes and film and processing and out and about money- it’s just madness.
I wouldn’t be the first photographer to quantify the Leica a dream camera, but practical expense they are not. Especially when each pay check is spent around the time the next one arrives. For most of us they occupy a place in our consciousness, that we reserve for dreams of the future. That said, for me, one part of the brain told another part, “If someday you get a great photo using a Leica you will be “real” photographer.” But you hush that part of the brain.
But that’s not what I am here to write about.
I am here to write about Erica’s family. I was welcomed into their midst, me with camera in hand and them saying it was too bad I never met Pop. And “it’s nice to have someone around with a camera again”. It seems Erica’s grandfather, like my own, was something of a shutter bug, constantly with a camera in hand. Some 15 years into our relationship, as the family home in the suburbs of Boston (Havana St. in Roslindale, usually just referred to as “Havana Street”) was being consolidated, a box of prints, negatives, and an undeveloped roll of film appeared on a dining room table one night. I soon had the roll spooled up and developed. It was amazing to open the canister to reveal images over 50 years old. And when scanned further revealing; Erica’s grandmother. Her uncle as a toddler. Grainy images that might have been lost to time. It was photo archeology.
Pop’s camera had come to Boston with Erica where she used it at a Black and White Photography course at NESOP, The New England School of Photography, where I worked. The Olympus OM2 was a nice camera that I now appreciate more than I did when I was a Nikon snob. Her grandfather’s camera served her well and she got some great images in that course.
Ultimately, Havana St. came to be sold. More boxes appeared. And one day, a phone call from Peggy, Erica’s mother. “Does Ben want this box of photo books and development trays etc.?”
Yes – Ben did.
And so the latest box ended up at our house “Vacation Lane.” It was in the living room, half way through the stack of books that I found a consumer’s non-branded Leica M3 book. A users guide. Immediately I asked Erica, “did Pop have a Leica?”
Incredulous.
A Leica? This wasn’t a book you would have for no reason. We dug through the stack and found a few more Leica books. She called Peggy to ask the same question. Peggy replied that Erica already had Pop’s camera, to which Erica assured her it was not a Leica. Again, the OM2 is a respectable camera and he had a number of lenses for it. But it was not a Leica M3. So the question went to the aunts and uncles. After some time it was tracked down to be in Aunt Mary Ann’s possession. I remembered thinking excitedly, “Did it work? What condition was it in? What lens did it have? Would there be another roll of film lost to time in it? Would they let me run a roll of film through it to ensure that it did work?” What a day!
Unfortunately, rather than a beginning of time of bringing the Leica back to life, this was the beginning of a prolonged period of time wondering if it would ever see the light of day again. Mary Ann was not ready to part with the camera.
Months turned to a year.
Years passed and passed…
Then shortly after Christmas one year, Erica and I received an intriguing but vague invitation to Mary Ann’s house, just a couple of streets over from Havana St. And a leather case that looked 50 years old appeared. Not a late Christmas present. Not a book to bring back to the Cape. But a leather case.
And inside, a pristine Leica M3 double stroke. Pop’s camera. The M3.
Erica and I have been the care takers of Pop’s camera ever since. We did run that test roll through and it did need a little TLC. It was brought to the kitchen table of the only reputable Leica service person on the east coast. He sat at one end of the long kitchen table working on Leica bodies all day long. At the other end, his wife cleaned lenses. In between them a mound of Leica shrapnel/internal parts climbed to over a foot tall in the center, spreading to all edges of the table, except for the tiny work areas the couple had at each head of the table.
But that’s not what I am here to talk about… If you read this far you remember that I am here to talk about Erica’s family. I have shot thousands of photographs of them over these years. Weddings, funerals, babies, and birthdays. Parties and homecomings. Races and yard sales. Uncles, cousins, fathers, and sons.
One of them, cousin Bri, Mary Ann’s youngest.
Bri is in the fight of her life. I share this story for her. I share some photos from the M3. I share what her mom once called her favorite photo of her as a wee one back in 2001 (shot on Nikon F3 – also a very fine camera, but again, not an M3).
I share that she has brain cancer and could use support. Please read about her here, and if you can, provide some assistance. While Leica’s are expensive, you can’t put a price on health, family, the stories that bind us, or glimmers of light caught on celluloid.
*hover over images above for captions
