I have always loved the look of old cameras, their shape and design. Over my decades as a photographer, I collected half a dozen shelf sitters just to admire them.
In October of 2023, I had become somewhat disenchanted by the increase in AI helpers being built into the cameras and processing programs I use. I picked up a 1956 KalloFlex Seikosha-MX TLR in an antique shop and got hooked on film all over again. (It’s still possible to find film, but a little ingenuity is required for cameras with unusual film sizes.) I started searching thrift stores, Marketplace, and garage sales for more cameras. I retrieved my old film-processing gear and started developing black and white and colour film at home.
How vintage photography equipment opens doors to people’s stories
These days, I consider myself a camera rescuer. I bring them out from crawl spaces, attics, and the back of closets. I clean them and do minor repairs. I then try to give each one life by putting a roll of film through it. I’m often, but not always, successful.
My collection has cameras dating from the early 1900s that use various sizes of film. The variety of designs and engineering is astounding; I love their look, sound, and the way they feel in my hands. And I am using them again for what they were designed for.
These vintage cameras have allowed me to fulfill a long-held desire to do street photography. They seem to grant amazing access to people and their stories. There is nothing like pointing a camera from the 1930s at someone and asking to take their photo. They are drawn to the old camera, just as I am. It allows me to engage them in conversation, and they become relaxed and natural for the photo.
Cameras that tell unforgettable stories
I treasure the stories people tell me when being photographed (or providing the latest addition to my collection). These vintage cameras were not purchased to take photos of your cinnamon bun at the local coffee shop. They were witnesses to important events in people’s lives: weddings, birthdays, childhood adventures, holidays far from home.
A gentleman who sold me a camera at a garage sale told me he can’t picture his father without his camera. It was a fixture in every special moment. He keeps it at home on his bookshelf to remind him of his father.
I got to talking with two sisters in Toledo, Oregon while I was out with one of my old cameras. As we walked, they told me about the history of their little town. Eventually one stopped and said to her sister, “Ya know, I have Mom’s old camera on a shelf at home. We should give it to this nice young man so it can be used again. Mom would be thrilled.” The next day they gave me a 1924 Kodak Brownie 2A Model C with a lovely note.
At an air show last year, an older woman who noticed my film camera told me she has one that she loves using. I asked her which camera she has. She stated proudly, “A 1940 Leica rangefinder.” Some emotion in her tone made me stop loading and look up.
She went on to explain that it had been her father’s, adding she was lucky to have it: her father had had it with him, wrapped in plastic, when his bomber plane was shot down over the Bay of Biscay off the coast of Spain during World War II. She said he held it out of the water until he was rescued. I was stunned. I doubt this story will ever be topped.
“These vintage cameras were not purchased to take photos of your cinnamon bun at the local coffee shop. They were witnesses to important events in people’s lives.”
Cameras that tell unforgettable stories
I treasure the stories people tell me when being photographed (or providing the latest addition to my collection). These vintage cameras were not purchased to take photos of your cinnamon bun at the local coffee shop. They were witnesses to important events in people’s lives: weddings, birthdays, childhood adventures, holidays far from home.
A gentleman who sold me a camera at a garage sale told me he can’t picture his father without his camera. It was a fixture in every special moment. He keeps it at home on his bookshelf to remind him of his father.
I got to talking with two sisters in Toledo, Oregon while I was out with one of my old cameras. As we walked, they told me about the history of their little town. Eventually one stopped and said to her sister, “Ya know, I have Mom’s old camera on a shelf at home. We should give it to this nice young man so it can be used again. Mom would be thrilled.” The next day they gave me a 1924 Kodak Brownie 2A Model C with a lovely note.
At an air show last year, an older woman who noticed my film camera told me she has one that she loves using. I asked her which camera she has. She stated proudly, “A 1940 Leica rangefinder.” Some emotion in her tone made me stop loading and look up.
She went on to explain that it had been her father’s, adding she was lucky to have it: her father had had it with him, wrapped in plastic, when his bomber plane was shot down over the Bay of Biscay off the coast of Spain during World War II. She said he held it out of the water until he was rescued. I was stunned. I doubt this story will ever be topped.
“The cameras draw memories out of the shadows.”
When camera collections reveal their hidden treasures
I love finding old film in cameras: I get to be the first to see these images that someone took so long ago. I have images on film from as far back as 1955. When I can, I send photos back to the person I got the camera from.
I have seen many smiles develop as people reminisce about their first camera or the camera a loved one had. Recently a woman at a garage sale became quite emotional, saying she would be thrilled that her late husband’s cameras would be used again, as he loved them so much. The cameras draw memories out of the shadows. I can listen for hours.
If only the cameras could talk, too. I wonder what stories they would tell.
