By Paul Dza
My name is Paul Dza, I am a French-Korean photojournalist and researcher. As I mainly focus on post-communist countries, I got used to visiting local flea markets – even setting up a small online business – trying to find some analogue treasures.
This is the story of how I bumped into some historical anecdote mixing Soviet missiles, Warsaw Pact, some veteran generals and – most importantly – a unique Soviet rangefinder.
Back in November 2024, I had the opportunity to visit Sofia, Bulgaria’s capital city located in the Balkan mountains. I was travelling for my research, leaving a little time for wandering around and looking for cameras. I was rather frustrated at first that I didn’t have enough time to explore other regions, or even the Black Sea coast.
I had no particular expectations of the capital’s flea market: the few reviews I read online warned of its highly touristy location (between the Basilica and the Cathedral) and its vendors whose pushy reputation made them reluctant to negotiate.
Never giving up on the quest for antique gems!
So I went to see the market for a first sight, with these bad comments in mind, and my first impression partly matched that. One seller in particular insisted that he wanted to sell me his entire stall, making the bill dangerously high as he packed all his equipment and accessories into large sports bags. I noticed a Leningrad (non-functional), a KMZ ‘revolver’ turret viewfinder, a Kiev II (cyrillic) and a Zorki I with a tacky home-made gold paint job. In short, nothing exciting, and at a price that some eBay sellers wouldn’t even dare.
Facing this first stall, another merchant was more relaxed and showed me some of his gems. Following a few words, he mentioned a complete stereo kit for Kiev Arsenal and a KMZ Start. Both items were out of my budget, but gave me hope that the seller would be more serious.
I didn’t buy anything that day, and came back after a few days’ consideration – and after having found in a local antique shop a half-format Agat 18, which I’d been seeking for a long time! That day my pick was finally a Mir rangefinder from the early 1960s, a model not uncommon but missing from my little collection.
As I was about to pack the camera in my bag, the seller realised that he forgot to mention the camera’s leather case and box. The cardboard box was badly damaged, with hardly any text left to be deciphered. Regarding the leather case, the salesman commented: ‘There’s something engraved on it in Russian, but I can’t read it very well. I think it was a gift.’
A personal dedication
The text engraved on a metal plate attached to the top of the leather case translates as:
Dear comrade D J Todorov,
In memory of a great friendship
G Nadysev 1964
The man for whom the camera was intended was a stranger to me. Dimitar Zhelev Todorov was a Bulgarian lieutenant general, born in 1921 in Stara Zagora. After serving as a soldier and then taken as a political prisoner during the Second World War, he moved up through the ranks of the Bulgarian national army, undergoing military training at artillery schools in the USSR.
As for the second character, the one who decided that this Mir camera would be the perfect gift, he is a historical figure well known to enthusiasts of military history. Georgy Semenovich Nadysev was a Soviet lieutenant general, born in 1901 in Belogorye. At the age of 18 he joined the Red Army, taking part in battles against Nestor Makhno’s Revolutionary Insurgent Army in Ukraine.
He then studied at the Kyiv artillery school. During the Second World War, he was head of artillery at the headquarters of the Kiev special military district, then served as chief of staff of the artillery on the South-West, Don and Central fronts and on the 1st Front in Belarus.
The list of his military exploits is particularly long, and can be found on many Russian ‘patriotic’ websites. They notably include his decorations “for the defence of Stalingrad” and “for the capture of Berlin”.
In the early 1960s, the Soviet Union developed a strategic partnership with socialist Bulgaria to provide it with a missile launch capability. Both senior officers were at that time among the heads of their countries’ artillery forces. Given the stakes involved, the project was conducted in complete secrecy, with an armoured train delivering the missiles and General Nadysev attending all the preparations.
In 1963, after more than eight months of training, the first missile launch took place in Bulgaria, in the presence of the country’s Communist leader Todor Zhivkov.
Bulgaria was never part of the Soviet Union; despite being jokingly called the ‘16th Socialist Republic’, the country has managed to maintain its independence from the USSR while being part of the Soviet sphere of influence. The success of this partnership meant a great deal for cooperation between the USSR and Bulgarian authorities.
In the sources I have found, the authors mention ‘a ceremonial lunch organized for the distinguished guests and the fighters [who] were awarded with Opera televisions, Orion radios and cameras’. So this is where this Mir camera was at the centre of the polite protocol between these high-ranking officers!
There are few reports from the event, as the launching of missiles was kept secret by the authorities. The missile fired never reached its target, falling in a rural area where the inhabitants thought it was a comet.
Lt General Nadysev died in 1974 and is buried in Riga (Latvia). His memoirs are among well-known Soviet military literature still read today. Lt General Todorov died in 2018, and is considered by historians to be the founder of Bulgaria’s strategic missile forces.
A camera for Soviet citizens
Now let’s talk about the camera itself. The Mir is a 35mm rangefinder camera manufactured between 1959 and 1961 by the KMZ plant (Krasnogorsk). This camera – with a name that can mean “world” as well as “peace” – was intended for domestic consumption in the USSR.
Technically, the Mir is a simplified version of the Zorki-4, a well-known Leica-inspired camera. It has the same precise viewfinder with a +/- 1:1 magnification (making it 25% more accurate with fast lenses). This copy is from the first production version, with the fastest shutter speed of 1/1000 (later models only go up to 1/500) although not printed on the speed scale (just a black dot).
Good news about this Mir: it is in working condition. At least everything except from 1/30 and B is working, and the Jupiter-8 lens is sharp without any scratch. I like the idea of using all the cameras I collect, rather than letting them gather dust in a showcase. So when I got back from Bulgaria, I took this artillery grandpa with me on my weekly visit to the flea market, this time in Brussels!
This story could not have been written without the help of my friends Anton Karliner and Andrey Khludeyev.
