Exclusive imagery of California's spectacular North Coast

		Two Black Beauties My Coming Of Age With Leicas Originally published in “Viewfinder” Quarterly Journal of the Leica Historical Society of America, Vol. 30, No. 3 Third Quarter 1997 By Gary Todoroff Datamaster Designs 1824 County Ln, Eureka, CA 95501 DataMaster@NorthCoastPhotos.com
In 1967 professional photographers in Stockholm were upgrading from the Leica M2 and M3 to the new M4. My job at Kamera Bild, a 40 employee photo division of Sweden’s largest publishing company, gave me daily contact with some of the world’s best photographers. When I wasn’t printing their negatives on a Leitz Focomat IIC, I was listening to their latest stories at lunch and coffee breaks: photojournalists just out of the jungles of Vietnam, fashion photographers back from Rome or Paris, or another who had just photographed the Swedish crown princess in her apartment. I was a third year Antioch College student, studying for a year in Germany and getting my college co-operative job credits at what seemed like the photographic center of the world. In the 1960's, chrome camera bodies defined the amateur market, while black bodies meant professional. Although Leica had intended the M2 as less expensive alternative to of the M3, many photojournalists preferred the M2 because of its built-in 35mm viewing frame. So, when the M4 became the new standard, used black body M2's were fairly common where I worked, even though Leitz only made slightly more than 1800 of them. Reportage photographer Björn Larsson sold me my first black M2. He included a 35mm f2.8 Summaron and a 9cm f/4 Elmar. I still have the receipt with my scribbled notes on the conversion from Swedish crowns to US dollars - $160 for the whole kit. I took to the streets of Europe with new confidence and a formidable companion - my very own Leica! Always at my elbow, prefocused at three meters and adjusted for the prevailing light, my Leica inspired a quiet resolve to see and do my best. As well, it reminded me of who had used it before: Björn Larsson, a fine photojournalist, with a life and photographic career to impress anyone just getting started. I wish my M2 could tell of his photo adventures all over the world, although one of his assignments actually involved me. Fighting, famine and fear defined Biafra back then - one of several third world countries having its miseries graphically portrayed in living color photographs. I was managing E-4 transparency processing the day an editor came to the lab anxious to know how long the color development took. “About 45 minutes,” I replied. “Too long,” he said, “Björn just landed at the airport from Biafra, we’re already behind schedule, but we can’t print this week’s news magazine until we have his photos.” I asked if the slides needed to be archival. “Five minutes to get them to the pressman is all we need,” the editor replied. Mentally calculating every processing step that could be shortened, I replied, “In that case, how’s 25 minutes total to dry?” “Do it!” he said, and I prepared the stainless Nikkor reels and dip basket for Björn’s arrival. Seven or eight film cartridges arrived shortly, which I spooled in record time and immersed in the pre-developer, my four Gray Lab timers keeping friendly luminescent company along with the gurgling, warm water baths in the total dark. The fixing tanks saw Ektachrome for a quick dunk or two instead of the usual three minutes. Stop baths were not much more than fumes. The drying cabinet had been preheated to its maximum, and I watched the film inside anxiously, trying to avoid the same fate as Robert Capa’s darkroom assistant who melted most of his famous World War II D-Day invasion negatives. The whites quickly cleared, but the film was still tacky as Björn and others quickly selected images on the light table. Alone a few minutes later, I smiled, realizing that had the editor been speaking English instead of Swedish a half hour ago, the translation would have been, “Hold the presses!” My black M2 from Björn Larsson was probably the one that he took to Biafra and to who-knows-where-else all over the world. The brass showing through the black enamel looked like the decorations marking many photographic campaigns and a few too many Land Rover floor boards. Certainly it had been in Moscow, as evidenced by the Kamera Bild promotional brochure that shows Björn Larsson in Red Square with my M2 around his neck. With my battle-scarred Leica, I could finally retire my Ricoh Singlex SLR with its sometimes questionable lens performance. From now on, a fuzzy photograph could not be blamed on the camera. I carried my M2 everywhere, constantly presetting focus and adjusting exposure settings as conditions changed. I could shoot unobserved from my hip. The quietness of the shutter made me bold. Even radar couldn’t see me! I could steal any picture I wanted, and it was perfectly legal. The city of Stockholm beckoned me to emulate Henri Cartier-Bresson and other “decisive moment” heroes of mine, as I stalked the streets with my black beauty and its 35mm f/2.8 Summaron lens. In a nostalgic way, I still regret not keeping that Summaron when my next black-paint M2 came along, this one a newer model with lever rewind release instead of the button. The black 35mm f/2 Summicron was a perfect complement to the brassy body, which together cost $80 from photographer Chister Åkerberg. I traded my slower 35mm Summaron for a new Elmar 50mm f/2.8 collapsible. A fellow darkroom technician who also knew his priorities had just bought a new M4. My 35mm Summaron was closer to the photojournalistic standard he aspired to, and his new 50mm Elmar fit neatly between by 35mm Summicron and 9cm Elmar. Already, the pattern was set for buying and swapping old Leica equipment! Two M2 Leicas and three Leitz lenses did not quite fill my old camera bag, but they certainly filled the hopes and determination of a young man with the Old World at his doorstep. I felt equipped to handle all of Europe. Eventually I did cover a great deal of both Germany and Sweden. My college required both the work experience of Kamera Bild and my studies in Tübingen (where I was a declared chemistry major, but mostly took Swedish classes). German University vacations were almost three months long at various times of the year, and I always went to Stockholm, eventually living in apartments on three different islands of that beautiful city . When it was time to return to classes 800 miles to the south, my darkroom manager would always ask if I needed any film. Responding that a few rolls would be nice, he would always grab three or four bricks of color and black and white and tell me to have fun. Returning to Stockholm a few months later, I would soup 60 or 70 rolls of film myself, then spend wonderful lunch hours and evenings mounting slides and printing on the freely available 20x30cm (approx 9 _ by 12 inch) Kodak Bromesko - a European paper that I grew to love and appreciate, especially under the razor sharp rays of a Focotar 50mm enlarging lens. When not printing my own work on off-hours, my paid time as a printer involved equal amounts of journalistic and fashion photography. On the journalist side, I quickly learned to see the subtle difference between perfectly exposed Nikon and Leica negatives. Before acquiring my own Leica and the life-long bias that comes with it, I noticed that the Leitz optics displayed a certain sparkle which I believe was due to the better color resolution (i.e., focusing all wavelengths to the same spot). Being able to capture that enhanced contrast on the print was a constant challenge and great delight when successful. Of course, learning to see and appreciate that subtle "sparkle" has cost me a lot of money ever since! In the darkroom my Focomat IIC was a large and impressive piece of Leica equipment. I especially liked the ease of switching from 35mm to 6x6cm format negatives. When enlarging fashion photos taken by Hasselblads, the simple sliding of the 95mm f/4.5 Focotar into place under the condenser lens gave a satisfying snick like the bolt-action sound of a high quality rifle. My favorite fashion photographer was Torbjörn Ehrnvall, who had one of Karmera Bild’s four main studios. I had not yet met him though, when I realized one morning that it was Torbjörn speaking to the darkroom manager just around the corner from where I was working. “Who has been printing my photos?” he asked suddenly. In my jobs two years before as an 18 year-old apprentice in Germany, abrupt questions about me were rarely followed by good news. The incredible high standards of the German “Meister” often meant that comments about my work were prelude to criticism and a usually deserved lesson on how to do it right. As my manager responded that “Gary, the new American kid” was printing Torbjörn’s photos, my mind raced to fathom what had gone wrong. Were the prints too soft? Had my care to perfectly expose a gorgeous model’s face detracted from the focus on the dress? Where had I failed? “My assistant is going on vacation,” Torbjörn continued as my ear almost wrapped around the corner. “Can you free up Gary to work for me?” From agony to ecstasy in a heartbeat, I went back to work, rehearsing my acceptance speech for when my manager told me that afternoon about a change of assignment. As Torbjörn’s assistant in the studio, I was privileged to see his vision that I had subconsciously shared and appreciated in the darkroom. He taught me many lessons, especially the idea of “assistant” that has applied to all my jobs since. I especially liked his simple definition of the difference between an amateur and professional photographer: “A professional gets the job done, no matter what happens.” Although Torbjörn used Hasselblads at work, he had a fine appreciation for his personal Leica equipment. He let me use his 21mm f/4 SuperAngulon one time. The first look through the bright-line finder opened a new vision on the world. My initial pictures were a bit clumsy and distorted - the lens almost seemed to be challenging me like a spirited horse to a timid rider. A few months later back in Germany I agonized over my purchase of a new wide-angle Leica lens, and the budget won out. Even with a professional discount because of Kamera Bild, the 21mm lens was out of reach. Instead I bought the then-new 28mm Wetzlar f/2.8 Elmarit with the chrome SLOOZ finder. Foto Schnell in Tübingen charged an even 450 marks - $178, including tax. My first “road test” of the 28mm Elmarit was literally just that - the 1000 Kilometers of the Nurburgring road race. My Swedish employee ID for darkroom printer said “Photocopist” , close enough to “photographer” for the German press pass officials to give me the run of the pits and the track for two glorious days. Two black M2 Leicas’s certainly helped me look the part. The Elmarit was perfect for close-in work - fast and sharp enough to take tight color shots inside garages as anxious teams and drivers prepared the exotic race cars. Standing three feet from the pavement on the inside of the Karousell turn was probably the biggest thrill, as roaring machines banked by me like fighter planes. But the faces of drivers and crew also made for some great studies in the pits during an era when security was a very minor concern. The Porsche team won that year, but the real German winner to me was my new 28/2.8 Wetzlar Elmarit. The hope for a 21mm lens went unfulfilled for many years as the expenses of education and a growing family kept me from one of the crown jewels of the Leitz treasury. Finally the result of those many expenses - my first son graduating in 1996 from Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California - prompted the renewal of the 21mm challenge. Del’s Camera in Santa Barbara had a beautiful used Elmarit-M 21mm f/2.8 on display. What better way to commemorate a son’s achievement; besides, it was cheap in comparison to the cost of four years of college! Almost 30 years have gone by between my first Leica and that more recent Elmarit purchase. Amazingly, my old black M2's still survive. They were in boats down wild rivers and rode in my pack crossing the Grand Canyon both ways. They’ve rattled around an old Ford Falcon across 10,000 miles and four months to look for America. They avoided theft while living in whoever-came-by communes and were still sitting on rocks where I had forgetfully left one for a few hours. They battered each other around my neck during the loving rush of many weddings and documented times that already look too old to be my own past. Like a harnessed team, I pushed them to haul the visionary load, then groomed them with chamois cloth at the end of the day, clicked the shutters through all the speeds, ostensibly to keep them loose, but mostly just to hear that delicious sound. A Leica is funny - you hardly notice it in your hands when you’re seeing and shooting; only when the work is done do you feel the need to pay it some fond attention. By the time that I discovered the collector’s value of a black-paint M2, even that surprising amount could not compare to their personal value as faithful tools over the years. My twin M2's have retired to a restful shelf, worn and brassy, and more valuable to me than one in mint condition. Today a chrome M3 and a black M6 don’t make quite the matched pair, but they still get the job done in the special way unique to Leica: a camera so transparent in the inspiring and capturing of a moment; a tool and jewel of the photographer’s craft - like a beautiful dance partner who follows your slightest lead without hesitation, and who draws admiring glances when simply standing still; a camera that challenges you to push, to risk, and to probe the limits of vision until you know that your Leica has given you something rare and wonderful in return. You see!

		In 1968 the author acquired two black-paint M2 cameras and four lenses while living in Sweden and Germany, beginning a life-long association with Leica equipment. Total cost was just over $400, including one piece of brand new equipment—the 28mm Elmarit with finder. The camera with button rewind is the 38th black M2 body that Leica made. Also, two of the lenses are somewhat unusual. The first version 35mm f2 black Summicron has the bayonet flange attached with the small set screw, and the first version 28mm f2.8 Elmarit is from Wetzlar.

		My fellow students at the University of Tübinggen weigh the political argument taking place during a Vietnam war demonstration in October 1967. A local policeman referees the two rhetorical combatants. Leica M2 with 35mm f2.8 Summaron takes in the scene where every eye is focused on the outdoor debate.

		LEFT: Part of the fun of street photography is the surprise. I was eyeing the old buildings and streets as a possible composition when one man rode by on his bike while another reached down to pet the dog. There is never time to think, "oh look, he's petting the dog and the bicycle looks good right about here..." Fortunately the 28mm Elmarit was already set and focused; instinct did the rest. RIGHT: In one of the many parks in downtown Stockholm, the title on the statue says "Youth." Elmar 50mm, probably at f16 and 1/500th in the sunlight.

		I was heading home to America via England in 1968 when this train station seemed to beg for the perspective of the 28/2.8 Elmarit. While I concentrated on the pattern of the tracks, a couple walked by, lending their long shadows to the scene. The Elmarit is remarkable in its ability to shoot straight into the early morning sun with hardly any evidence of flare.