How Did I End Up With a Leica?

“Old Things” – Codeine

How did I end up with a Leica? Good question.

I visited Scott Hevener in Montana, and during an off moment he handed me his Leica M2. I responded badly. The correct response would have been an enthusiastic yelp as I grabbed it and begged to try it out. I should have been peppering him with questions and learning. However, I reacted with fear, hoping only to not break it. My life is often poorer for fear. Then doubly poorer for lamenting the fact without being able to do anything about it. Maybe triply poor because I know how lame the analysis cycle is. The Leica: I gingerly held it, looked at it in quiet fascination, then passed it back. Failure via fear. This is not a sign that I’ll never be a photographer, but it is evidence that I’m not one now. I have yet to step fully into the light.

I cruise Craigslist and eBay hourly, it seems, looking at marvels of photographic design history. I am thrilled by the existence of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese cameras, I coo at ostentatious displays of luxury, I imagine owning rare and wonderful cameras. A Leica, though has the weight of history behind it. Capa, among many other legends, used one sometimes. Despite the boutique prices, the Leica somehow retains an aura of hard work and determination, of serious business.

I saw this sad Leica on eBay, at first it seemed like something to be wary of. The condition was atrocious, it looked beat-up. The viewfinder was impossibly warped, as if it had been dropped from a very great height or hit with a very great hammer. It was hard to imagine the force required to do that to a camera. Surely the insides must be a sock full of screws. What must have happened to this small machine since its birth as the model M2 in 1958? Yet, still I took notice. I mentioned it to Scott, who said he had already seen the listing and that he had thought of me when he did. I’m not sure how true that was, and initially I was even a bit disheartened. Was I only worthy of some last-legs Leica? Scott then told me that he knew of the seller personally, that the man was competent in his work and honest in business. The seller was named Youxin Ye, and he made a habit of acquiring questionable Leicas, fixing them up, and selling them. In fact, were I to acquire a Leica through some other shady dealing, Youxin Ye would be where I would have to take it to be properly overhauled. If his auction description promised a cosmetically flawed but solidly working camera, I could be assured that is what was available.

So this was actually a very good opportunity to get a reliable Leica that other bidders, collectors, may ignore due to the immaterial cosmetic blemishes. This was one that had the cleaning, lubrication and adjustment already performed by one of the best. Could this be The One? Then, Scott dashed my hopes by opining his estimate for what price the camera would eventually sell for — something so high I still could not afford. With a day to go, poor auction strategy to be sure, I put in my maximum bid, far below what I now believed to be the ultimate selling price.

I slept on it.

The next morning, I checked without much curiosity. With long hours still to go, the bidding had reached my maximum bid but had gone no higher. I was still the high bidder, but I knew from experience that this was a standard tactic from snipers to determine just what price they’d need to beat. Complicating matters, the seller was selling multiple cameras. In fact another example of the exact same Leica model in slightly prettier condition was set to end mere minutes before the one I wanted. I knew that anyone who lost out on that higher priced one would swoop in for a consolation prize — the one I’d pinned my hopes on.

At that point, I knew I was out of it. Rather than dwell on it, or even contemplate going higher, I let it go. Even I knew it was better to move along and wait for another chance down the line. I’d bookmark Youxin Ye and wait for him to offer another. I’d keep hawking Craigslist.

Three hours later, I went to compose an e-mail and discovered that I’d won the thing.

It’s just an object, a tool — fifty-one years old. I still need to find the light. But, a week later I’m still happy about it. I’m going to go outside now to take pictures now.

“1958” – Skalpel

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One Response

1. scott hevener says:

   30 March, 2009 at 12:23 am

   have fun. take her everywhere. enjoy the time you spend together.

   Reply