Category Archives: Leica

All about the wonderful cameras from Wetzlar.

A crank for cranks

There’s one born every minute.

For an index of all Leica-related articles click here.

I extolled the many virtues of the 1954 Leica M3, compared with its predecessors, here. However one failing I did not mention was the poor design of the film rewind knob on the top left, because it’s still a knob, is still small in diameter and is still sharply knurled. This means that rewinding an exposed film back into its cassette is a slow and painful procedure. In the 35 years I used an M3 I avoided this issue by fitting an aftermarket rewind crank and these remain abundantly available today, typically selling for some $55 from the Commies in China.


The aftermarket crank extended and ready for action.

But there are at least 2 alternatives. The first comes from a vendor named Popflash whose products are frequently listed on eBay. The advantage of their design is the inclusion of a small plastic nub on the tip of the retaining Allen screw which means that your precious rewind knob will not be marred by metal-to-metal contact. (Popflash also lists imitation 1960s era Leica lens clones under the ‘Light Lens Lab’ brand, if that’s your thing).


The smart design of the Popflash retaining screw.

As a precaution against marring, I also stick a small piece of Scotch tape to the top left side of the top plate of the M3 in case the base of the crank should come into contact with it when in use.

Mine ran me $79 and right after I bought it the price shot up to $138. This is verging on silly pricing for stupid people. But if you are really dumb, and I mean really, really dumb, why not go for the real thing from Leica, including free marring of your knob, if you know what I mean, something Leica warns about in its promotional materials:


A crank for cranks.

DUH!

Leitz actually added a built in crank with the M4 and most later film cameras. This was angled at 45 degrees to the top plate to clear the optional MR4 Leicameter exposure meter and some reports suggest that the device was on the fragile side. Certainly the massive center shaft of the earlier and simpler knurled knob design was not known to fail, as there was less to go wrong. My M6 had the sloped crank and I did not find it preferable to the stock knob plus aftermarket crank on the M3.


The angled crank on an M4.

Rewind time for a 36 exposure roll? I generally average 9-10 seconds without going crazy. 10 seconds if you push me.

Leica M3

A reunion.

For an index of all Leica-related articles click here.

I have been patiently building a small collection of classic photography hardware in my home theater, the emphasis being on cameras which were revolutionary in the way they changed the medium. Further, electronics are anathema to this collection which focuses on the great machines of the mechanical age.

If there is one 20th century camera which rules it has to be the Nikon F, the first bullet proof single lens reflex camera which, incidentally, can claim to have ended the Viet Nam war. Most of the searing images from the front lines of that conflict were made on the Nikon F which became de rigeur hardware for any aspiring photojournalist. The Nikon came along in 1959 along with a large range of fine lenses, but 5 years earlier 1954 saw an introduction almost as significant, in the guise of the Leica M3.

The screw mount Leicas with their poor ergonomics, unchanged since the 1930s, were suddenly a thing of the past.


Clunky with poor ergonomics –
the Leica IIIF predecessor to the M3.

Gone were the dual shutter speed dials, replaced with a single dial with equally spaced click stops. Gone was the slow and fussy screw mount for lenses, replaced with a robust and long wearing bayonet mount. Gone was the slow and clumsy knob used to advance the film, replaced with a beautifully ergonomically engineered advance lever. Gone was the antediluvian film loading system which dictated a long leader on your emulsion of choice to allow insertion from the baseplate past the twin sprockets. An opening film back made things far easier. Gone was the need to manually reset the film counter for every new roll, for the M3’s counter reset automatically to minus 2 when the take-up spool was removed.


The opening film back greatly simplified reloading.

But, most importantly, the masterstroke of the Leica M3 was the superb combined rangefinder/viewfinder. No more did the user have to focus through one peephole and compose through another. And the latter really was a peephole, one of the worst viewfinders in any camera. Now the generously sized rangefinder patch appeared in the center of the large and very bright viewfinder and, unlike the contemporary Zeiss Ikon Contax IIa, the edges of the rangefinder patch were perfectly sharp allowing for alignment focusing as well as coincident use. A masterstroke, and still to be found on today’s ridiculously priced digital Leica M11 and variants. 80 years and counting testify to the exceptional design. And not only was that combined rangefinder/viewfinder big and bright, it would automatically show the correct frame lines for 90mm and 135mm lenses when they were fitted. And the icing on the cake was that the finder was automatically parallax compensated, the frames moving diagonally down to the right as the lens was racked out.


A masterstroke – the fine M3 finder.
In this snap the 135mm frame appears inside the 50mm one.

As there was no built in light meter Leitz provided a coupling selenium cell version which slid into the accessory shoe and coupled with the shutter speed dial. All you had to do was note the aperture reading indicated by the needle and transfer that to the lens, which was as fast as exposure measurement got before the days of automation. It worked well and I used that slip on selenium meter, which needed no battery, for 35 years. It never let me down.


The Leicameter MC.

You can read more about Leicameters here.

Above all, along with all these functional improvements, the Leica M3 was – and remains to this day – beautiful to behold. And to hold and operate it was a dream, everything in the right place with a wonderful feel of solidity. The M3 was reliable as long as you sent it for a good cleaning and lubrication every decade or so. This, after all, was no Nikon F when it came to brute robustness, but it was no shrinking violet either, being tough and dependable. Whack the body and the rangefinder might go out of alignment but even the home klutz can realign things with two provided screws. Ask me how I know. During its 12 year run Leitz made almost a quarter million M3 bodies. Compare that with the Nikon’s 15 year run through 1974, during which time Nippon Kogaku churned out 4 times as many Nikon Fs. No, the F did not need service every decade.

The M3 was my first ‘serious’ camera bought after three years of scrimping and saving in 1971 when I was 20, and was my ‘go to’ camera for the next 35 years. It was finally sold in 2006 when the Canon 5D full frame DSLR came along. Yet, truth be told, I never quite got over that sale, which bowed to my vow not to own anything I was not using. Well, that vow has been broken with the arrival of my home theater collection and finally a Leica M3, the last addition, has joined the other classics on display.

These include:

  • The Minox B spy camera of the 007 Cold War generation
  • The Contax IIa similar to the one Capa took to Omaha Beach on D Day
  • A Nikon F of course
  • The Rolleiflex 2.8D which every fashion maven was using in the 1950s
  • A Bolex H16 movie camera on which Spielberg cut his teeth
  • A Calumet/Cambo monorail studio camera which takes 5″ x 4″ sheet film, much loved by the Hollywood glamor photographers of the early days of the talkies
  • Classic Leitz, Linhof and Gandolfi tripods, the latter over a century old

Not a microchip, sensor or battery to be found in the lot.

The Leica M3 had a long life, being made through 1966, and while there were minor variations, it was largely unchanged during those 12 years of production. Early models had a two stroke lever wind as Leitz wrongly believed that a rapid single stroke would tear the film’s sprockets, or maybe cause electrostatic sparking and fogging. Choose which version you like, but I tend to the sparking story as early models had a glass pressure plate, eventually replaced by a conventional – and conductive – metal one, which worked every bit as well. Or better. Somewhere in early production the film transport gears were switched from soft brass to steel, conferring harder wearing properties. Some nuts claim that the earlier brass gears were smoother to which all I can say is …. nuts. About the same time the strap eyelets were moved from the side of the top plate to the front of the body, making for a better balanced whole with a more elegant design.

Early shutter speed progression was the non-linear 1/2, 1/5, 1/10, 1/25 etc. one, later replaced by that in use by every other maker, 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/15, 1/30 and so on. Sometime around 1958 the rangefinder rectangle sprouted two protruding rectangles top and bottom which approximated the depth of field at f/16 and f/5.6 with the 50mm lens if the misaligned coincident images fell within their breadth. Hmmm. A solution looking for a problem.

While all M3s appeared to come with the front panel self timer lever, early models did not include the frame preview lever which allowed previewing of the 90mm and 135mm fields of view if neither of those lenses was fitted. The thicker 50mm frame lines were visible regardless of the lens fitted and if a 35mm optic was your thing Leitz provided one with auxiliary ‘goggles’ which made the 50mm frame show the wider field of view. A tad clunky but it worked for me for over three decades.


The 35mm Summaron with goggles for the M3.
These were easily removable on the early f/3.5 version.

And when my first Leica M3 arrived on August 2, 1971, with a modest 50mm collapsible Elmar lens, I was ready to hit the streets, having spent the scrimping and saving years boning up on Cartier-Bresson and Doisneau. These were two great if humorless French street workers, whose work I was determined to emulate with an added soupçon of humor. I eventually added two more modest lenses, a 35mm Summaron and a 90mm Elmar, sufficient for most tasks for which the camera was designed. And while my trinity of lenses represented the bottom of the line Leitz options their resolving power was just fine for big prints.

That Leica M3 was simply made for me and represented as fine a street snapper as was available, before auto everything and zoom lenses rendered it and its many derivatives obsolete.


As fine and humorous a street snapper
as was available.
Crufts Dog show, 1972. Leica M3,
90mm Elmar, TriX.

And now it’s in my collection and, yes, the serial number is almost identical to that of my first one, making it August 1958 vintage.


The Leica M3.

Now all I have to do is find a lens for it. I rather fancy that 35mm Summaron with goggles which was used for most of the pictures in my book ‘Street Smarts‘.

Want to buy one? Either make sure it has had a recent documented CLA (Cleaning, Lubrication and Adjustment) or budget up to $500 to have it brought up to snuff. Even the youngest M3 is almost 60 years old and those lubricants, if original, are probably dried up. Cosmetic appearance and function are unrelated.

Walter Mandler

The designer’s designer.

For an index of all Leica-related articles click here.

The names of great engineers are known to few. And that is sad. Who knows who designed the Golden Gate? Who cares? What do you mean who cares? What does that say about our educational system? Everyone should know and care.

And it’s the same with photographers. Ask the average fellow with $10k of the best in gear around his neck who Gauss, Bertele or Mandler (1922-2005) was and you will be met with a blank stare. And that saddens me. Because those are three of the lens designers without whose work the 12-400mm f/2.8 autofocus retractable zoom on that magical digital in your vest pocket would not exist.

Mandler’s primary design tool.

Back in 1973, I concluded my undergraduate dissertation, which happened to deal with the thrilling subject of the erosion of polymers. Until then, research had lacked understanding of a crucial variable. That was accurate determination of the speed of impact of abrasive particles (sand, grit) on the polymer (plastic) linings used to reduce wear in intake ducts for helicopter jet engines, essential for killing the innocents in Asia. Because the subject fascinated me no end (the erosion, not the killing part), I determined to solve for this missing variable and rooting around in the back of the lab at University College School of Engineering, UC London, I came across two tools of priceless value. A Perkin-Elmer stroboscope whose light duration was specified to great accuracy, and a Minolta SRT101 SLR with a 50mm f/2 Rokkor lens. Yes, you guessed it. Another rip off of Walter Mandler’s timeless Leica Summicron design. (By the way, this was my first serious inkling of America’s genius. Perkin-Elmer made the mirror which NASA placed on the moon, allowing us to determine its distance to, oh, a foot or two, when they bounced a timed light beam off it).

Now my first thought of the Minolta was that I could get to rack it out, no charge, given UC’s famously liberal culture, taking pictures of the many street protests of the time. “Honest, Dr. Jones, they grabbed me and smashed the camera. It wasn’t my fault!” But then I thought about it and the light went off, so to speak. I have a light of known duration, I have a camera which can photograph the intervening flying abrasive particles using Schlieren lighting with the strobe pointed directly into the lens and the rest is just exposure and some simple measurement of blur lengths and schoolboy mathematics. Heck, I even processed the film myself! (PlusX in Microphen if you must know – I was a loyal Kodak man even back then).

The dropped jaws occasioned by my insouciant presentation to the assembled dons, with the requisite anti-American incantations about ‘Nam and the efficiency of killing, said a First, and a First it was. “No, Doctor Jones, I want to go into the real world. Thanks for the offer of post-graduate study, anyway. I want to compete, not teach. And escaping poverty would be nice, too.”

What a First looks like. I had to type this on my mum’s old Remington ….

My tool of choice. RMP? Renata Maria Pindelski.

And thank you, Dr. Mandler.

Surprise fact, something other than Labatt’s and professional complainants was produced in the frozen North that passes for Canada, a nation with the longest contiguous border with the most powerful country on earth and little to show for it. A German company in Midland, Ontario, Canada, a subsidiary of Ernst Leitz, Wetzlar, West Germany, saw to it that Canada’s reputation in the optical pantheon would be secure, even if it was secured by a German mathematician and designer. Walter Mandler was that designer and few would dispute that he is one of the premier optical designers in history.

I am pleased to relate that I owned and used all of the following Walter Mandler designed lenses and not for one moment were they anything but the best. And every time I pressed the button I knew Mandler’s genius was on my side; all I had to do was to try to live up to his standards:

  • 35mm Summicron f/2
  • 50mm Summicron f/2
  • 90mm Elmar f/4
  • 90mm Summicron-R f/2
  • 90mm Elmarit f/2.8
  • 90mm Tele-Elmarit f/2.8
  • 135mm Elmar f/4
  • 135mm Tele Elmar f/4
  • 200mm Telyt f/4
  • 280mm Telyt f/4.8

…. and last, and by no means least, his masterpiece for NASA (and for you and me), the ….

  • 180mm f/3.4 Apo-Telyt-R f/3.4

Mandler’s 200mm f/4 Telyt for the Visoflex.

I owned maybe a half dozen other Leitz optics, non-Mandlers I admit, but clearly he dominated the output of the marque. And if you tell me that my 21mm Apo-Elmarit-M f/2.8, the 35mm Apo-Summicron-M f/2, the 90mm Apo-Summicron-M f/2 or the 400mm Telyt f/6.8 didn’t have Mandler’s genes all over them, well, you have no idea.

And each was special in its own way. Anything with that magic sobriquet ‘Summicron’ needs no explanation. It means ‘f/2 and beyond compare’. Maybe bad pictures can be taken with a Summicron, but I never went there. And while I could never afford a Mandler Summilux (f/1.4 and every bit as good, while twice as fast) I now revel in a 1969 Nikkor-S 50mm f/1.4 which was ‘borrowed’ from Mandler’s workbench. That and Nikon’s 50mm Nikkor-H f/2 of that era, a Summicron clone, are every bit as good as Mandler’s Summiluxes and Summicrons, respectively. Though I hate waste, I have no qualms about owning both. And the Nikon optics make no quality concessions. Today those facts would attract some serious patent litigation, but back then the king deigned not to sue his loyal supplicants.

So, unsung master that he may be, next time you snap a picture give a thought to the master lens designer of the past century.

Words are cheap. Here are some Mandlers:

Pelican, Morro Bay. Leica M2, 90mm Elmar, Kodak Gold 100.

Morning paper, Greenwich Village. Leica M3, 135mm Elmar. Kodachrome 64.

American whales. NY Museum of Natural History. Leica M3, 35mm Summicron, Kodachrome 64.

Amsterdam café. Leica M3, 50mm Summicron.

Lake Elizabeth. Leicaflex SL, 180mm Apo-Telyt-R, Kodachrome 64.

SoHo, NYC. Leicaflex SL, 50mm Summicron-R, Kodachrome 64.

San Diego downtown. Leica M2, 90mm Elmarit, Kodak Gold 100.

San Luis Obispo hard hat. Leicaflex SL, 90mm Summicron-R, Kodak Gold 100.

See what I mean?

A part of me is no more

After 35 years, my Leica M3 is sold.

For an index of all Leica-related articles click here.

Did I really needed to sell it? After all, it was so hard to buy, back on August 2, 1971. It had won many prizes and kept me in film and paper when I was a poor kid trying to make his way.

“It could be worth a lot one day” I thought.

“No, it’s a machine for taking pictures and it needs to be used. And I will not let it lie around gathering dust.”

Trying to console myself.

So right before packing it and including an autographed copy of my book, every picture in which had been taken with that M3, I ran through the shutter with the tape recorder on. There was that familiar second curtain bounce, common to all Ms, at 1/15th and 1/30th. The sound of the escapement on the slow speeds. The joyous sensuality of 1/60th or 1/125th. Not so much a click as a susurrus. The delayed action – so useful, I wonder they ever deleted it from later models.


A great shutter, one last time

But one thing none of the above can recreate is the feel of that Leica body and the flare free nature of the great view/rangefinder, equalled by the M2 and destroyed in later models by accountants who thought they knew better than the engineers.

And all those pleasant memories.

Pictures speak louder than words.

Roll 1, Picture 1 – a winner:

Girl on a train. My first ever Leica photograph, August 2, 1971. Roll 1, Picture 1. M3, 50mm Elmar, TriX

Then, but a few rolls of TriX later, that crazy wolfhound at Cruft’s Dog Show:


Crufts Dog Show, 1972. M3, 90mm Elmar, TriX at 800ASA

Or how about that tough guy with the balloons?


Balloon Guy, 1973. M3, 35mm Summaron, TriX

My first big prizewinner – Photographer of the Year, 1974, Photography Magazine (UK):


Comparisons, 1974. Reg Butler sculpture show, Holland Park, London. M3, 50mm DR Summicron, TriX

Or that Parisienne – I leave it to you to guess her profession:


Lady and dog, Paris, 1974. M3, 35mm Summaron, TriX

These and many more like it chronicle 1970s London and Paris in my book.

In 1977 that M3 accompanied me in the cabin of PanAm’s 747 with a one way ticket to America, leaving behind poor, socialist England, with its class distinctions, foul climate and punitive taxation.

And the magic continued, this time in color:


Late sun, Anchorage, Alaska, 1978. M3, 50mm Summicron, Kodachrome 64

Later, when the west coast beckoned, the M3 was just as much at home:


Ojai, CA, 1990. M3, 50mm Summicron, Kodachrome 64

But it would be disingenuous to preach ‘Change or Die’, as I am wont to do, and have this magnificent machine gathering dust in some never opened cupboard, a victim of digital technology.

So the Leica M3 had to move on.

May its next custodian have thirty-five great years with it.

Sob.