Blog # 5 -The 3rd Generation Brick: A Legacy in Black & White
Author’s AI rendition of Dr. Frankinfilm’s work bench
Argus C3
It is a quiet marvel how cameras linger. They are physical anchors of memory that refuse to fade, even as they pass from one hand to another. Such is the case with this Argus C3, the boxy, "steampunk-like" rangefinder affectionately known as the "Brick".
Popular from its 1939 conception through 1966, the C3 was a heavy metal workhorse for the masses. With over two million produced, it’s a camera often found at the bottom of a collector's box, yet its rugged simplicity makes it a favorite for those of us who enjoy the art of restoration. Its distinct exterior—a landscape of visible gears and manual dials for focus, film advance, and shutter speeds—requires a certain level of tactile dexterity to master.
A Davenport/Burgin Heirloom
Grandpa’s Argus C3 with his address label and name still sticking.
This specific third-generation C3 carries a weight far beyond its metal chassis. It began with my Grandpa Burgin, the likely eye behind the countless black-and-white photos that fill our family albums. From him, it passed to my father (his Son-in-lsw). By the time Dad received it, the "Brick" was technically outdated; Dad was already a devotee of the Olympus system. Yet, he kept the C3 for decades, anchored by its sentimental gravity.
The camera eventually traveled to my younger brother, Eric, where it sat in a box, nearly forgotten in an era where film was fading. But Davenport tradition dictates a specific destination for such relics: they come to the workbench of Dr. Frankinfilm. When it finally reached my hands, still bearing the original owner's name sticker, I felt a poignant mix of sadness for its years in exile and excitement for its new status as a multi-generational heirloom. It received a minor clean and lube and it was ready to go again.
Dad’s patio turned into an enclosed sunroom.
Dad’s Last Roll: The Legend Returns
My father has always had a camera since the 1950s, yet thirty years had passed since he last shot a single frame. As he approaches his 92nd year, I decided to bridge that silence. I handed him the Argus and asked for one more roll—what I’ve called 'Dad’s Last Roll of Film.' It may not truly be his final roll, but this particular study in FPP Wolfman black and white 100 captured something timeless. The camera still has a great sharp lens.
Dad’s front yard
Despite the "quirks" of the C3—like the manual reset of the frame counter—the legend’s muscle memory was intact. Though he only captured six frames before the camera seemingly reached its limit, the results are priceless in composition.
Dad and Missy are inseparable
The standout image, which I’ve titled "Dad’s Quiet Corner," is almost a self-portrait. It captures his favorite sanctuary: a sunroom converted from a patio, featuring his rocking chair, a warm blanket, and a stack of books for an avid reader. Even his faithful walking partner, Missy the dog, is there, watching over him.
Dad’s Quiet Corner
The Dr. Frankinfilm Prescription
As a restorer, I keep spare Argus C3 parts on hand to ensure these heirlooms stay alive. But we don't just save the machines; we save the craft. Seeing my father frame a perfect indoor exposure with a "relic" from 1939 reminds me that a true photographer’s eye never loses its light. And his special place for quiet times seems fitting for his last roll of film. This Argus C3 is no longer just a "Brick"—it is a bridge to the man who spent a lifetime teaching me to see the world through a lens