[Leica] Farewell, My Lovelies

[W.C. Clough]

USA
TEXAS
VICTORIA
08 February 2016

	I have cleaned the bodies, the black M6 and the chrome, double-stroke M3, cycled their shutters at 1/1000 a number of times to keep them in shape and then carefully wrapped them in protective bubble wrap for their journey.

	As best I could, I cleaned their lenses — the 35mm Summicron, the 90mm Elmar, the Skopar 21mm — each with their incredible stories. Soon, equally protected, they joined the bodies, all cushioned and sealed inside the double-cardboard box for their trip to a new existence.

	Someone once said that all farewells should be brief. That philosophy is the great tradition of Episcopal funeral services, a quick service to spare the grief of those left behind.

	In this case, the rapidity was to prevent second thoughts. The cameras had been on there shelf for so long it was a surprise to find an exposed roll of Kodak BW400 still in the M6. What frames are latent are as much a mystery as where, in today’s digital world, to have the film developed.

	“Of course we still develop film,” says the manager at the local Walgreen’s Drug Store. “But we put the images on a CD. You don’t get the negatives back.”

	The company buying the equipment will never know the chain of events that they represent.

	At the turn of the century I ran a computer search for “Leica Users Group.” To my astonishment and pleasure there was one. It had a strange program called “PAW.”

	At that time, the only bodies I owned was an antique — and still working — Leica ii, and a double-stroke M3. The only lens was the first lens I ever bought, a 1960 50mm Nikkor f1.4.

	A few, senior, LUG members may remember the story of that lens. After a few days of shooting, the aperture was getting stiff. I found leafs of the iris floating freely inside. I wrote a long, nostalgic obit for the lens on the LUG which prompted a score of messages all with “Focal Point” in the subject line.

	Focal Point was a company in Colorado specializing in repairing old lenses. A telephone call indicated the problem was common and familiar; the cost would be about $125.

	I was the news director of the public radio station in Corpus Christi. It was the smallest market public radio station in the country. It ran pledge drives for light bulbs. I was pretty sure I could afford to fix the lens, barely.

	Then came the invoice for $250. Another obit on the LUG, explaining I couldn’t afford the repair.

	In less than a week, the lens arrived, paid in full. I still don’t know who to thank. No greater example exists of the LUG being a family.

	I have kept the Nikkor. It has earned a special place on the collector shelf.

	The next link in the chain was an email from LUG member no longer active. “What is your mailing address?” he messaged. I sent it. In a few days a 90mm f4 Elmar arrived. He had found it on a shelf, unused, and thought I might make use of it.

	A few weeks later, there was a message on my desk that read “Leica,” with a phone number. It was from a photojournalist who was spending his retirement driving around the country in an RV. When he drove into a town, he checked out the camera stores, and then, at the next town, passed on what Leica bargains he had found in the previous town.

	He told me that in El Paso, he had found a 35mm f2.8. “There’s only one camera store there and they want to get rid of it,” he said.

	He was wrong. There were six cameras stores in El Paso. Naturally, the correct one was the last I called. And, it wasn’t a f2.8, it was an f2.

	 The company emailed me photographs of the lens. This is an important point, because if it knew how to attach photos to an email, then access to the internet was a given.

	The asking price was $250. At that time, the average used price for a 35mm Summicron was $650.

	One of the best photographers I know is a colleague, Tyler Vance. He sold me a M6 at half the market price. In short order, I had a Leica system.

	In the ensuing years, I have hoped that the images I posted to the LUG and to the annual yearbook partially paid for these incredible breaks.

	Age demands its dues. Over those same years, digital cameras have come into their own. I am just as slaved to the ability to preview as I am to auto focus. So, the Leicas lived in limbo, locked in the camera closet.

	I still have the old Kinderman tanks: 1,2 4 and 8-reel tanks. But, at 74, I have to admit I’m simply not willing to go back to the game.

	So, earlier this week, I sold them all. Like a father watching his offspring spring off to their own worlds, I hope they will find a home where they will be as respected and as loved as I loved and respected them.

	I watched them disappear into a FedEx truck with a smile, a tear, with great sadness and regret. It breaks my heart.

	I had to wait for the truck to leave. Sending them off was enough of a betrayal. I couldn’t live with myself if they had seen me turn to the computer to study the latest reviews of the Fuji X-Pro2.

	Farewell, my lovelies.

—Bill