History – Jim Sollows Photography

Oskar Barnack:

A Tribute from the Workbench

Oscar Barnack Workbench with Leica 0 Still Life

In the early years of photography, cameras were heavy, slow, and difficult to carry into the real world. For Oskar Barnack, an avid traveler whose health made carrying massive gear increasingly difficult, there had to be a better way.

As a precision engineer at Ernst Leitz in Wetzlar, Barnack spent his days perfecting microscopes, but his side project was far more radical. He looked at 35mm movie film and had a stroke of genius: he turned the film on its side. By running it horizontally, he doubled the frame size to 24×36mm, creating the still-photo frame size that remains a standard to this day.

Barnack approached photography with the mind of a problem solver and the hands of a craftsman. In 1913, he built his first working prototype. He nicknamed it “Lilliput,” a nod to the tiny people of Gulliver’s Travels, because compared to the giant plate cameras of the era, his invention seemed impossibly small. He worked closely with Max Berek, Leitz’s lens expert, to ensure that the tiny negatives could be enlarged into sharp prints. This was the birth of modern handheld photography.

The true test came not in a laboratory, but in disaster. In 1913, severe flooding struck Wetzlar, and Barnack used his small prototype to document the devastation. While others struggled with bulky equipment, he was able to move freely through the streets, capturing scenes that would have been nearly impossible with the cameras of the day. Those images proved that his little camera was not just clever engineering, but a practical tool for real life.

Flood in Wetzlar teaser 1200x800 1 1024x681 — Wetzlar floods 1913 captured by Barnack with his early prototype

However, an invention needs a champion. His boss, Ernst Leitz, was a visionary who recognized the potential of the “Lilliput” and even took a prototype to New York in 1914 to test it himself, photographing the city’s skyscraper canyons.

The First World War delayed production for a decade, and by 1924, Germany was in economic ruin. Most of Leitz’s advisors told him to kill the project, fearing it was too risky to launch a new camera format during a depression. But Leitz saw a way to keep his factory workers employed and change the world. In a legendary board meeting, he ended the debate with one sentence:

“Ich entscheide hiermit: Es wird riskiert.”
(“I hereby decide: the risk will be taken.”)

With the decision made to go to market, the “Lilliput” needed a professional name. They combined the first three letters of the owner’s name (Leitz) with the first two letters of the word camera. And just like that, the Leica was born.

When the Leica I finally reached the public in 1925, it changed the direction of photography forever. Photojournalists and everyday storytellers finally had the freedom Barnack had imagined at his workbench.

The image above is my tribute to that moment. The Leica 0 sits on a blueprint that echoes the engineering sketches of the prototype camera design. The tools surrounding it reflect the world Barnack and Leitz inhabited—a world where precision and imagination worked side by side.

Barnack didn’t just design a camera, and Leitz wasn’t merely a businessman. Together, they created a tool that sparked a revolution in photography. Every shutter click carries a trace of their original vision.

In the beginning

… the Leica 0

1923 Leica 0 a surprise Christmas gift from Shari

In the early 1920s, photography was slow and cumbersome. Most cameras were big, heavy wooden boxes mounted on tripods. Film handling was awkward, exposures were deliberate, and spontaneity was rare. Making a photograph required planning and patience.

DSCF9797 — Watson & Sons is an example of a camera prior to the Leica 0

Then in 1923 a small experimental camera quietly changed everything. The Leica 0 began as a personal solution. Oskar Barnack was an engineer at the optical instruments company owned by Ernst Leitz. He struggled with asthma and found the heavy cameras of the day difficult to carry. A traveler and outdoorsman, he wanted a camera that could move with him rather than slow him down. His idea was radical for its time: use 35mm motion picture film horizontally to create a 24×36mm negative with excellent image quality in a compact body. Leitz supported the concept by helping finance the research and development of both the camera and a new type of film and canister to support it. That is the same 35mm film format and canister still in use today.

Many doubted that photographers would accept such a small negative. Large formats were considered essential for quality. But Ernst Leitz trusted Barnack’s engineering instincts and supported years of testing and refinement. The Leica 0 was built to answer a simple question: could this new approach work outside the workshop?

The answer reshaped photography. The Leica was born, cameras became portable, photographers became mobile, and images became more immediate. Candid moments, street work, travel photography, and modern visual storytelling all grew from this shift.

Look at the camera you use today, film or digital. Its lineage traces back to this quiet experiment — the Leica 0, where modern photography truly began.

The Leica 0 in this photo was an unexpected gift from my wife this Christmas. It’s far more than a collector’s piece. It’s a piece of photographic history that changed how we see the world. My Leica 0 won’t be sitting on a shelf; it’s loaded with 35mm film. I’ve included a couple of the first frames I made in my eagerness to get out and shoot with this lovely, and very challenging, piece of history.

Test roll through the new Leica 0 with Ilford HP5 — In the Village – Leica 0 on Ilford HP5

Sample photo shot with the Leica 0 on Ilford HP5 — Bike rack on a wet day – Leica 0 on Ilford HP5

DSCF5765.RAF Export — Pedestrian bridge in the fog – Leica 0 on Ilford HP5

DSCF5769.RAF Export — Foggy Morning Bedford Channel – Leica 0 with Ilford HP5

Leica re‑issued this Leica 0 in 2000 as a fully functional tribute to the 1923 prototypes, marking the 75th anniversary of the company’s first production camera. Limited to just 2,000 units, the camera was hand built from the original design to faithfully recreate the look and operation of the original Leica 0, of which only 25 were ever built and just a handful survive today. Those surviving originals routinely sell for many million dollars at auction, underscoring their status as some of the rarest and most historically important cameras ever made. The 2000 re‑issue offered photographers and collectors a way to experience Oskar Barnack’s pioneering history making design.

Rescued From a 65-Year Sleep

Recently I received a message from a friend at Switzers Vintage in Chilliwack British Columbia. He showed me a photo of an old roll of 120 film that had come into his possession. Knowing that I develop a lot of vintage film, he asked if I wanted to try and develop it. Of course, I said yes.

Several days later, I made the trip to Chilliwack to retrieve the film. Looking at the roll in my hands, my heart sank. It appeared the Kodak Panatomic film hadn’t been exposed. If it had been rolled through a camera, I’d be seeing the opposite end of the backing paper with the word Exposed. Instead, I was looking at the start of the roll, suggesting it hadn’t made a trip through a camera.

Back in my studio, I examined it more closely and noticed faint writing on the paper: 2 Exp Left. Could it be that the film was partially shot and then re-rolled onto the original spool to save the remaining frames for later? Not a simple process with many cameras, but fairly common among pros and serious photographers of the era. It was worth a try.

I then set about estimating the film’s age, which would help determine optimal development times. Panatomic was introduced around 1933 and remained popular into the early ’90s. This roll had a metal spool, not plastic, and the distinctive yellow-orange backing paper with simple text and no graphics. Most likely, it was manufactured in the mid-1950s, making it somewhere between 65 and 75 years old.

Next, I had to choose a development method. I immediately ruled out stand development, which tends to produce faint images on vintage film. These latent photos had been sitting for nearly 70 years, and they’d need a little extra kick. My developer of choice for very old film is Rodinal. It might introduce some fogging, but it excels at pulling out detail, which is more important. I used a longer fix time and a slightly cooler development temperature to help minimize fog.

I mixed the chemicals and set the timers. Eventually, the film sat in the final rinse stage, and I prepared myself for disappointment: a blank, unexposed roll. The darkroom timer buzzed. I pulled the film out… and there were images. Only three, but they were there. I hung the film to dry.

The last frame was a double exposure, but the first two were clear. One was a portrait of a young woman in front of a Christmas tree. The third image, however, was particularly intriguing.

From a roll of kodak panatomic film dating to the mid to late 1950's — From a roll of Kodak Panatomic Film dating to the mid to late 1950’s

It appeared to be a public event. A man in a dark hat stood on the right, holding what looked like an 8mm movie camera, possibly a reporter? A couple of other photographers were visible in the crowd. The attire matched Vancouver in the 1950s, which aligned with where the film was found. But where was this scene, and what was happening?

I shared the image on social media and received a flood of responses. Many identified the location as the Vancouver English Bay Bathhouse. Comparing archival photos confirmed the match. But what was the event?

Some suggested the annual English Bay Polar Bear Swim, held every New Year’s Day since the 1920s. But the mood was off. There were no smiles, no shivering swimmers wrapped in towels. The crowd looked solemn.

Then came a breakthrough. A few followers proposed it might be the demolition of the English Bay Pier, which was dismantled in 1958 due to decay and redevelopment plans. In January of that year, crowds gathered to witness its final moments.

English bay showing the Pier and behind it, the Bathhouse
Photo Source – Vancouver Archives CVA 677-95

I suspect that’s what we’re seeing. While the crowd watched the pier come down, the photographer turned their lens toward the onlookers, capturing not the spectacle, but the people witnessing it. A quiet inversion. A frozen moment of collective memory.

A few days later, I received a message from a follower. His father, now 91, had worked for Vancouver’s Public Works Department for over 40 years. He showed him the photo. Without hesitation, he said:

“Oh yes, I remember it. That was the day the pier came down.”

Photographic Plates from 1890’s Restored

I recently received a box of exposed photographic dry plates shot in the late 1800s. The plates, made by the M.A. Seed Dry Plate Company, are photographic negatives on glass since plastic didn’t exist at the time. We can date them because, in 1902, M.A. Seed became part of the burgeoning Eastman Kodak Company. Plates sold after 1902 would have borne the Kodak brand.

Remarkably, despite being around 130 years old, these plates have held up well. They were faded with age and showed some minor damage from handling and fungus. Each plate was meticulously cleaned and restored before being scanned.

Each plate was carefully inspected and cleaned using a solution that will not harm the delicate emulsion.

Once cleaned, each plate was placed on a special light source for digitizing negatives. The plate was then captured in a series of very close images spanning the entire surface of the plate. This resulted in a digital file equivalent to approximately 400 megapixels.

The focus peaking function (red) of the Fujifilm camera ensured extremely precise focus

Each high resolution digital image was then brought into ON-1 Photo Raw where it was carefully examined and using the wide variety of tools in ON-1 chunks of missing emulsion and scratches were repaired.

Finally each plate was printed to make a final hard copy of the image.

Here is a gallery of the plates. We don’t yet know who these people are. Their names may be lost to time, but we’ve had instances in the past where someone recognized a face, allowing us to eventually reunite the photographs with the descendants. It’s quite possible that these individuals were a family that lived in the Vancouver area around 1900.

If you have any tips or think you recognize anyone in these photos, please contact me.

Jim Sollows Photography
https://www.sollows.ca

Best era for film photography

This is one of the most common questions I am asked by my students. When was the best time to be a film photographer? Surely it must have been in the 70’s or 80’s at the peak of photography popularity among the general public.

Back in my early days of photography, I would shoot my roll of film and head straight into the darkroom. The film would be processed, and a contact sheet printed to determine which shots were worthy of printing. The next several hours would be spent making prints of my keepers. Once those prints were made, unless destined for a magazine or other publication, generally, the only ones who ever saw them were myself and maybe a few friends. Many of these prints were filed away in dusty albums, never seeing the light of day again.

Cameras were very expensive back then. A high-quality Nikon, Canon, Olympus, or Pentax SLR was comparable in price to a high quality camera today. Film was plentiful, and TV shows and magazines were filled with Kodak and Fujifilm advertisements. One-hour film processing shops seemed to be on every street corner. And film—oh my was it cheap! But was it really? I remember hearing photographers constantly lamenting about the price of film. Let’s talk about that in a bit.

In the 2010s, digital cameras stormed the market, causing film to fall out of popularity like a lead weight off a table. Camera companies retooled to produce digital cameras, and the phrase “Film is Dead” was everywhere. Kodak, Ilford, and Fujifilm drastically reduced production and canceled entire lines of film. But this wasn’t the end of the story.

Here we are in 2024. Entire generations have grown up in a heavily computerized era, where everything from the watch on your wrist to your refrigerator is digital. Machines make decisions for us as we go through our day. Even the art of photography has become heavily automated, with machines enhancing our images. These same generations are now longing for something that doesn’t involve a keyboard or voice interface. Many are picking up old film cameras, blowing the dust off, and shooting a roll. They are discovering film photography anew in the 2020s. They can make art themselves with just their brains, eyes, and hands. They can hold something in their hand that they truly created. This is unique and new for many and it’s spurring a fascination with film that is reinventing the entire industry.

How about film itself? As I type this post, I have a roll of Ilford HP4 (the predecessor of modern-day HP5) from 1979 sitting in front of me. It still has its original London Drugs price sticker of $1.75, which equates to roughly $8 in 2024. Today, a roll of HP5 costs $11 at London Drugs. So, film has indeed become a bit more expensive over 45 years, but not as drastically as some might think. Companies like Kodak and Ilford are struggling to meet customer demand, which is a good thing. Kodak has even reopened an entire factory that had been mothballed for years, and Ilford has expanded their manufacturing. We also have newcomers like Flicfilm, Cinestill and others, repurposing cine film into 35mm canisters for still photography. Some companies are even manufacturing new stocks of film or reviving old ones that were previously discontinued. In 2024, we arguably have more variety of film available than we did in the 1980s.

The market is also rich with beautiful old cameras at amazing prices. Today, you can buy a premium professional-grade SLR like a Nikon F2 for about $300-$400. Back in the day, that camera would have been out of reach for anyone but a working professional. In front of me, I have my Hasselblad 500cm and Leica M6. Both are top-tier cameras. In the 1970s, purchasing a Hasselblad would have cost roughly a year’s gross salary for the average person. It was far out of reach for the average hobbyist. While still expensive today, these cameras are now within reach for dedicated enthusiasts. The Leica M6 is similarly prestigious and costly. In the 1980s, owning even one of these cameras would have been unthinkable for me, much less both.

Let’s talk about processing and sharing. Today, I still have to process my film, either myself or at a photo lab. The corner one-hour photo shop is pretty much gone, but I still have a couple of labs within a few minutes’ drive. I choose to develop my film at home because it’s significantly cheaper, and I enjoy the process. Here is where a huge difference lies: back in the day, I would spend hours in the darkroom proofing my film and printing the chosen keepers. Today, I can scan or digitize the entire roll and handle them as digital images. This allows me to share my photos on social media or send them to friends and family anywhere in the world with the click of a button. While they are now digital, these images still retain the unique look and characteristics of film that digital still can’t accurately replicate. Occasionally, some of my images catch my eye, and I choose to take them into the darkroom for traditional wet processing. You don’t need a darkroom to enjoy processing your own film today. Hybrid photography processes the film in daylight and combines that with digital processing of the final images. The key difference is that today, I have choice! I can process my images entirely in a darkroom or entirely digital, or as in my case I can use a mix of the two. In addition I can share my images with an audience that would have been unimaginable in previous years. Every time I share a photo, it is seen by thousands on my social media accounts, and I engage in meaningful conversations about them. This level of exposure and interaction has never existed before in history.

So, when was the best time to be a film photographer? As someone who has been shooting film for 50 years, I can say without hesitation that the answer is today!

Escape from East Berlin

In the looming presence of the Berlin Wall, Helmut and Erika Straus navigated the intricate dance of Cold War politics in 1971. Their hunger for freedom ignited a daring escape plan, capitalizing on Helmut’s stature as a successful businessman with sporadic West-bound privileges granted by East German authorities.

As night settled over their humble East Berlin home, Erika clutched forged identity papers, the lifeline connecting them to a potential new life. Identified as Helmut’s secretary, these papers aimed to deceive the Stasi, securing Erika’s spot on the westward journey. The Stasi’s watchful eye demanded the illusion that Helmut’s wife remained at home, transforming she and all they possessed into stark assurances of Helmut’s return.

Anxiously, Erika carefully placed a handful of clothes into a worn suitcase, skillfully upholding the facade of a short absence. Simultaneously, Helmut chose items for his leather satchel, among them this special camera—a possession that, if uncovered, would undoubtedly jeopardize their lives. Erika had long pondered the purpose of this perilous device, yet every inquiry yielded Helmut’s terse reply: “It’s better for you not to know.”

As time pressed on, a tapestry of anticipation woven with threads of fear unfolded. Tomorrow, armed with forged papers and hope, they would approach the checkpoint. Sleep eluded them, the impending escape demanding they leave everything behind. Erika, well aware of the dire fate awaiting escapees, shuddered at the prospect of capture.

In the hushed pre-dawn moments, Helmut and Erika prepared to venture into the unknown, each step carrying the weight of freedom and the looming specter of danger.

Fast forward to 2023, and Erika, now in her 80s, weaves a captivating narrative with her German accent. She holds Helmuts’ tiny Minox spy camera delicately in one hand, while cradling a cup of tea in the other. Our backdrop is their stunning home, perched above the ocean in White Rock, Canada. Since Helmut’s passing several years ago, Erika, now living alone, graciously welcomes the opportunity to serve me tea. With a tender smile, she passes the camera to me, remarking, “Helmut would want it to find a home with someone who truly understands its significance.”

Today’s photograph serves as a poignant tribute to the enduring story of Helmut, Erika, and the unassuming camera that silently carried unknown secrets to the West.

This image photographed with Hasselblad 500cm and Ilford HP5 film

Finn Slough

Nestled on the banks of the Fraser River in Steveston, British Columbia Canada, there is a very unique and picturesque little fishing village known as Finn Slough. Its story is one of history, resilience, and community spirit that has defined the area for over a century.

I ventured out there this week, to document this most fascinating community. Most of the photos below were taken with a Hasselblad 500 cm on Ilford HP5 medium format film. The residents are very private but I managed to talk with one fellow who has lived in the Slough for “many years”. Unfortunately he declined to be named or have his photo taken but the time he spent with me was invaluable as there is little documentation about the Slough.

Finn Slough traces its origins back to the late 1800’s when Scandinavian and Irish settlers arrived in Steveston, seeking opportunities in the growing fishing industry. The village became a hub of activity, with its wooden houses perched on stilts above the muddy inter-tidal marshland.

The name “Finn Slough” originates from the Finnish settlers who called this place home. They were primarily fishermen, drawn to the abundant salmon runs in the Fraser River. The Finnish community grew, and soon, other European immigrants joined them. Together, they built a tight-knit community bound by their shared passion for fishing and the river.

In those early years, Finn Slough thrived, with fishing boats dotting the river and the sound of seagulls filling the air. Families would gather on the docks, repairing nets and preparing for the next catch. Life revolved around the tides, the seasons, and the unpredictable nature of the river.

However, as time passed, the modern world began to encroach upon the quiet haven of Finn Slough. Industrialization, urban development, and changes in the fishing industry brought challenges to the community. The once-bustling fishing village found itself facing a decline in fish stocks, stricter regulations, and pressure from land developers eager to claim the waterfront area.

Despite these challenges, the residents of Finn Slough refuse to let their beloved village fade into obscurity. They banded together, forming the Finn Slough Heritage and Wetland Society in the 1980’s, to preserve their unique way of life and protect the marshland that serves as home for both residents and wildlife alike.

Over the years, Finn Slough has become a symbol of resistance and a haven for artists, environmentalists, and nature lovers. Its ramshackle buildings, weathered and worn, exude a rustic charm that continues to draw visitors from far and wide. The village has served as an inspiration for painters, photographers, and writers, capturing its timeless beauty and celebrating its historical significance.

Today, Finn Slough stands as a living testament to the resilience of its community. Its wooden structures, held together by the collective efforts of its residents, continues to defy the passage of time.

Finn Slough tends to be very private, and no trespassing signs abound. However, visitors can freely stroll the road adjacent to the village to admire the unique architecture, and appreciate the peaceful serenity of the marshland. On occasion, I’ve encountered residents who are more than willing to share stories of the community past and present.

Finn Slough is a reminder that even in the face of change, some places hold steadfast to their roots. It’s a special place where the past and the present harmoniously coexist. As the sun sets over the Fraser River, casting a warm glow upon the village, the story of Finn Slough continues to unfold, inviting future generations to write their own chapters in its remarkable history.

Leica Freedom Train

This is a photo of a camera but not just any camera. It’s one that is very special to me. Not just because it’s gorgeous and takes beautiful photos. Not just because Leica was the pioneer in 35mm photography, but much more than that. This camera saved lives, so many lives! It’s not just a camera it’s symbol of freedom from tyranny!

Let’s go back in time to 1933. Adolph Hitler has been named chancellor of Germany and Ernst Leitz headed a German company, Leitz Inc, that was an internationally recognized brand that reflected credit on Germany. The company produced very high quality cameras, range-finders and other optical systems used by so many around the world, including the German military. In addition, the cash hungry Nazi government desperately needed income from abroad and Leitz’s single biggest market for their optical equipment was the cash rich United States. Leitz was a powerful man, and Leitz Inc (Leica) was a company that was essential to the German economy and military.

As Hitler ramped up his reign of terror, Leitz began to receive calls for help from Jewish employees and associates. They were asking Leitz to help get them, and their families, out of Hitlers reach. Leitz despised the Nazi’s and feared what was happening to his country. He knew he had to help, but how? Leitz soon established a system to covertly get Jews out of Germany under the pretence of being Leica employees that were being assigned to Leitz offices in France, Britain, Hong Kong, Canada and the United States.

To add credibility to their story, each employee was given a Leica III much like the one in the photo above. These cameras were considered to be the best in the world and as such they were very expensive! Anyone carrying one had to either be very wealthy, or an official representative of Leica. These families had to leave everything behind, so they left Germany with only what could fit in a suitcase. Leitz directed that once relocated, they could sell the camera to provide them with financial resources to rebuild their lives in their new home. In addition they were paid a stipend by Leica until they became established and could support themselves. Many continued to actually work for Leica in their new country, working as repair technicians, sales representatives and management.

This rescue effort wasn’t without cost. Members of the Leitz family and firm suffered for their good works. A top executive, Alfred Turk, was jailed for working to help Jews, and freed only after Leitz paid a substantial bribe. Leitz’s daughter Elsie, was imprisoned by the Gestapo after she was caught at the border, helping Jewish women cross into Switzerland . She eventually was freed but endured torture in the course of questioning. She also fell under suspicion when she attempted to improve the living conditions of 700 to 800 Ukrainian slave labourers during the 1940s.

The story of the Leica Freedom Train was kept quiet as the Leitz family wanted no reward or acknowledgement. Leitz felt they simply did what was necessary and that so many sacrificed so much more.

Every time I use my Leica III, I think of the other photographers that have used this camera over the many decades. Who were they? What were their stories? I’m only one photographer in a long chain and one day it will move to its next caretaker.

Peek into the Past – Part 2

t was back in April 2022 when I came into possession of an old roll of film in an antique shop. I wrote a blog post about that film and all that went into developing it and the 3 amazing prints that resulted. A lot has happened since then and a follow up post needed to be written to complete the story. If you haven’t read the first instalment, you should do that HERE before going on.

The film had been developed and we have some very old photos that appeared to be around the 1930’s or 1940’s but there was little to go on. I posted them here on my web site and also on my Facebook page. It generated a lot of interest but nothing compared to what was about to happen. It was around this time that my good friend and fellow photographer Steve Bueckert came into the picture. We were chatting one day and Steve suggested, “We really need to try and find these people or at least get more information. What we need is bigger circulation”. Steve went on to tell me about a friend who was a Vancouver newspaper editor. We contacted Bob Kronbauer at Vancouver is Awesome, a publication that circulates news about happenings around the city. Bob instantly took an interest in the story and arranged for an interview with reporter Brendan Kergin. Brendan listened to the story, asked a lot of questions and gathered the pictures. Next thing that happened was that the story not only appeared in the newspaper but it appeared front page. The article invited readers to contact me by social media or my web site if they knew who these people were or could shed more light.

The day the newspaper hit the streets, messages began to arrive. Some of the comments were nothing more than guesswork and a few that were less than helpful. There were also comments from people that identified aspects of the photos that we had not considered. We were even contacted by people who had some real knowledge of the time and offered valuable insights. Each day as new tips came in, Steve and I would discuss the information. We gradually started to assemble more information about the scene. Occasionally new information would add clarity that required us to toss previous assumptions. Here are a few of the things we learned along the way.

The old truck shown in a couple of the photos was common in British Columbia around the 1920’s-1930’s and was usually used in agriculture or logging and was especially common in farming on the south coast.

The bicycle tire shown in one shot is vulcanized rubber that was common in that same period

There is an old wringer washing machine that dates to the early 1920’s

In the background of a couple shots is an MJB coffee can with a logo that was in use in the 1920’s

One of the young women in a photo is wearing a shirt that appears to bear and Flash Gordon graphic. Flash Gordon wasn’t released until the mid 1930’s

Based on the hundreds of tips that came in, we were pretty sure these photos had originated in the mid to late 1920’s, but we still didn’t know anything about the people or where.

One day I received a message that changed everything. A lady in Edmonton, named Pamela, said she was looking at the story in a local paper and instantly recognized the little toddler in a couple photos as being a childhood photo of her Grandmother. The little Toddler was her grandmother Lorraine who was born in 1924 and Pamela said her picture was unmistakable and a perfect match to others she had. To further confirm we had the right person, Pamela was able to identify all the other individuals in the photos including that of her Great Great Grandfather John Ivor Carlson and his wife Great Great Grandmother Jerti Carlson. She had been working on a family tree at the time the newspaper story came out and happened to have other photos of these very same people. They were all a match.

We exchanged messages back and forth with Pamela for a few days, adding details as Pamela worked through her archive of old family photos and notations on the back of many. By now the article had appeared in 22 newspapers across Canada, USA and even UK. I resisted the urge to just tell everyone the mystery had been solved. We still had a piece of the puzzle that just didn’t fit. How could Hjerdis be wearing a Flash Gordon shirt for a movie that won’t be released for another ten years?

One day a message came in from a sports historian who specializes in Olympic memorabilia. He said “I know exactly where that shirt came from. It was released as part of the 1924 Winter Olympics in Chamonix France. It’s not Flash Gordon, it’s actually a graphic of a freestyle skater. With this, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Steve and I were extremely excited, we couldn’t believe we had actually managed to identify these people. The last step was to deliver a set of original prints to Pamela in Edmonton. I thought I could just print them and ship to her in the mail. Steve said “Hey, I have a friend who is also a photographer in Edmonton who I’m sure will help us out!” Steve contacted Owen Law who eagerly offered to assist. We arranged to print the photos and mail them to Owen. Owen would then hand deliver the prints to Pamela, and shoot some photos of her receiving them.

While planning for the print delivery to Owen, I was contacted by Jay Durant, reporter and news anchor from Global News. Global is a major nationwide Canadian TV news service. Jay asked how the search was going and when I explained the findings, he said “We really need to do a story on this!” Within a mater of days I had Jay Durant, TV Cameras and lights occupying my home and even crammed into my darkroom. Jay interviewed me and asked me to explain the process of recovering the film. Sadly Steve was working and unable to be part of the Global interview. I regret that he wasn’t there because his role in this project was just as significant as my own. However Jay was able to arrange for a Global News camera crew from their Edmonton office to accompany Owen when he delivered the photos to Pamela. At one point I said to Jay, “I can’t believe Global is putting so much effort into this little story!”. Jay quickly responded and said “Actually this will be the story people will remember the next day. There is so much bad news that people need to hear this”. When the show aired the following week, it was positioned right at the end of the newscast, to end on a positive note.

This brings to a close, the story of the Verichrome Film. We started with an unknown roll of old film in an antique shop and not only recovered wonderful old photos, but put them back into the hands of the descendants where they belong. Moral of the story, never never never toss away an old roll of film. You never know what piece of history will be lost forever if you do!

I want to offer my personal thanks to the team that made this project possible. This includes Shari Sollows, my wife who was with me the day we found the film and whose tenacious enthusiasm for solving puzzles kept us motivated. Steve Bueckert who was the brains behind the news & social media aspects, and without whom this story would never have been seen by Pamela. Owen Law in Edmonton played a such a very important part when he eagerly volunteered his time and efforts facilitating the final hand over of prints to Pamela in person and being a liaison with the Edmonton Global TV crew. The last photos in the set are Owen and Pamela and the final one is Steve and Jim. Owen passed his camera to the Global cameraman and asked him to take the shot. It’s a wonderful photo to end this story.

Here are a few photos capturing the day the prints were delivered to Pamela in Edmonton.

Peek into the Past – Part 1

My wife and I enjoy visiting antique shops and one Saturday recently we found ourselves in a small shop in Vancouver. It was a tiny store with a limited selection of neatly placed items lining the shelves and tables. Among them, a small selection of camera and darkroom items immediately attracted my attention. I ended up purchasing a few small items. This led to very pleasant chat with the proprietor. When he learned that I do darkroom work and rescue old film, he gave me a couple exposed but undeveloped rolls that had found their way into the shop. One of the rolls was Kodak Verichrome in 130 format, which I had heard of but never actually seen.

Returning home later that day, I did some research and discovered that Kodak Verichrome film was the predecessor to Veriehrome Pan. Information about Verichrome in 130 format is spotty at best. I was able to find a bit of information indicating that it was released in 1907. Verichrome 130 was used to contact print post cards, was discontinued in the early l930’s. In other words this film may well be almost 100 years old.

The question remained, can I actually recover images from film that old? I’ve recovered photos from old lost films before, but nothing close to this age. To further complicate maters, my usual sources of information for developers and times, showed nothing on this very old film. There were many references to Verichrome Pan but not on the older Verichrome and the films do have some significant differences. In other words … I was on my own. I made some decisions based on past experience with vintage film but my choice of developer and times was, a best guess. To further complicate maters was the fact that this unusually large roll film wouldn’t fit any of my more modern development tanks. This meant that the only way to develop the film was to unroll it, in total darkness, and then see-saw it back and forth through each of the chemicals for the required time.

The time had come and there I was in the darkness, unrolling the delicate 1.5 meter long film. Going by feel, I managed to guide it to the developer tray and began the process of see-sawing the film back and forth in the developer. I quickly discovered a consequence of film being rolled tightly into a spool for 100 years … it wants to twist and coil like a snake around my arms. I wrestled with the film trying to, by some miracle, ensure it actually gets into the chemicals. I thought to myself, “There is no way this will work!” Finally when it had been moved through Developer, then Stop Bath and finally Fixer, it was placed into a rinse bath where I was able to turn on the lights.

As my eyes adjusted to the room light, my heart skipped a beat when I saw images! Not just faint, barely perceptible images! These were clear photos. Only the last 3 images were able to be recovered. The two images located on the outermost layers of the roll had degraded over the years and were completely gone. However the remaining three were in good condition. I anxiously hung the film to dry. I couldn’t wait to see the final result!

Following a couple hours of drying, I finally processed the prints. The three prints appear to be a family.

There is an older gentleman, perhaps the grandfather, who is dressed in a way that makes me think he may be a farmer. There are two younger women and man, as well as a young girl roughly 2 years of age.

The background in a couple shots shows the silhouette of an old truck and another shows a very old washing machine. Consulting with someone knowledgeable about historic farm and machinery equipment, these both appear to be 1920/30’s vintage. There is also a very old can of what appears to be MJB coffee with a logo that seems to date back to can design from the same period. We can’t be certain of the dates, this is merely a guess on our part.

The big question remains, who are these people? That we don’t know and likely never will. I have been contacted by a reporter from a local newspaper and magazine that specialize in British Columbia History. They have expressed a desire to continue the research and possibly determine more about the people in these images. What of the photographer that took these photos? Why were these photo’s never developed? Maybe the roll was miss-placed, or given that this may have been early or mid 30’s, perhaps the photographer was called into World War 2 and never came home. We can only guess. Regardless I feel privledged to be able to finish the work that this photographer started so many years ago.

Let me conclude by saying, never assume that an old roll of film is unrecoverable. You never know what mysteries or historic gems might be discovered. Film can remain viable for very long periods of time! I get excited every time I rescue a lost roll of film.

For those curious about the technical details. The film was developed in Rodinal 1:50 for 11 minutes and then 1 minute for Ilford Ilfostop and 8 minutes in Ilford Rapid Fix then a 20 minute rinse. Normal fixing time is 5 minutes but in this case I extrended to 8 minutes to ensure clearing this very old emulsion. The images are actually reversed. They curled so badly and it helped to keep them flat for digitization.

DON’T MISS PART 2 there is a lot more to this story