Originally published in Ironman Magazine, September 1988
Reprinted with permission of Dr. Ken and Ironman publisher John Balik
In college during the volatile 1960s, I enjoyed playing football. Lifting weights and becoming stronger was also high on my list of things to do, and a number of college teammates at the University of Cincinnati felt the same.
One of my teammates was Larry Gordon. He was easily noticed due to his outstanding physique. If he wasn’t a bodybuilder, he had certainly lifted weights in a serious manner. He was a former Mr. Cincinnati winner, and quite strong in many lifts, especially the bench press. At 5’10” and 190 pounds, his All State running back status paled in comparison to his lifting accomplishments.
Larry decided to leave school, at least for a while, with the intention of traveling to California. Six months later, he returned much bigger and unbelievably stronger. He raved about a gym that sounds like it had fallen off of another planet. A gym where sirens announced the lifting of a heavy squat; where one could test ones strength against a variety of odd shaped dumbbells and globes. Here strong men strained to become stronger under the guidance of a Lutheran minister who allowed only gospel and religious music as background to the clanging of heavy iron.
Oversized fiberglass gorillas and a two-ton front door added to the atmosphere. Everyone’s purpose was to become stronger, this at a time when most “serious” California gyms were dedicated to the enhancements of their members’ muscular measurements.
This strength training oddity was Zuver’s Hall of Fame Gym.
In 1968 I found myself sitting in Zuver’s Gym, receiving the first of many lectures from the Reverend Robert Zuver. In time, I became quite friendly with Bob, his wife Jean and their two sons. His son Ricky “The Rhino,” in fact, was forever exhorting gym members to “help Ken on his next squat.” A different type of gym? Words still, after two decades, fail to describe it, and the feeling one got upon the initial visit.
The walls that supported the very high ceiling were decorated with signs exhorting one to further heights. The good Reverend included many spiritual messages, meant to augment the muscle that filled the air. Signs reminded one that “Profanity Is Not Tolerated On These Premises,” nor was it. Unlike the typical gym, members policed newcomers, reminded them that respect was to be shown to all others, and the equipment, at all times.
Each of the three competitive powerlifts was given a special place. Many heavy duty benches, forerunners to today’s sturdy, high tech products, lined one wall. Like other California gyms, a particular training philosophy dominated the programs of most of the members and competitive lifters. The primary auxiliary exercises were dumbbell bench presses and dips, done with very heavy weights. Special short benches would be pulled close to angled dumbbell racks, built so that one could in fact bring the 100- to 250-pound bells to ones chest without dangerously cleaning them. These benches were constructed so that a spotter could literally launch the trainee back towards the angled rack, allowing for replacement of the dumbbells, which were held close to the lifter’s chest the entire time.
Few gyms have angled dipping bars, which allow for a variety of grips, and Zuver’s was the only one that had a 12-foot version, allowing for more than one lifter to train simultaneously.
In order to safely allow for the use of 300-pound dumbbells, a converted railroad flatcar rode on a track beneath the dip bars. This added to the safety and convenience of moving such heavy weights from one end of the bar to the other.
While the lat pulleys were very strong, one cannot forget the day Wayne Coleman, later to gain fame as professional wrestling’s Superstar Billy Graham, loaded the weight carriage to an absurd limit. Although the carriage failed to move, the solid iron lat bar handle literally curled around Coleman’s upper back, ensuring this semicircle of iron would forever remind others of his legendary strength.
A refreshing pause by the water fountain was met by the clanging of fire bells. In a tribute to the firefighters who trained in his establishment, Bob had covered the fountain with a fire helmet, which, when lifted on its hinges to allow access to the drinking spout, triggered the bells.
The specialized squatting racks also were never to be forgotten. One had its own 300-pound bar, indicating that only the heaviest of squats could be done within its confines. Bob’s walls were mounted with 100- and 200-pound plates for the stouthearted. An airplane bomb hoist provided a foot-operated safety spot within the rack, an innovation that protected both the lifter and his spotters.
The power rack in the back of the gym had lights and sirens, which alerted other gym members that a member of Zuver’s competitive powerlifting team was about to make a personal record attempt. This, of course, allowed everyone present to cheer the lifter on, and made for enthusiastic training sessions.
Every piece of equipment was by far the most heavy-duty I had seen up to that time, anywhere. Conventional leg extension, curl and press machines were available, all handcrafted by Bob and his young sons. Bob felt that one could lift as heavily as possible only if he had the confidence that comes from the knowledge that the equipment was the best, the sturdiest and the safest available.
Bob’s expertise led him to manufacture his own line of strength training equipment. These design innovations are still utilized today, although I am sure many are not aware of their origins. He also provided all of the unique lifting apparati used in the early World’s Strongest Man contests. Needless to say, “well equipped” was an understatement at Zuver’s Gym.
Interestingly enough, the gym was not located on commercial property. Bob had long maintained an interest in physical fitness, and had converted his garage into a small but functional home gym. His bench, squat racks and other odd pieces were homemade, yet good looking, and well used by many youngsters in the neighborhood.
Bob’s interest in Costa Mesa’s youth eventually let to his garage being an unofficial meeting area and positive hangout for many formerly disruptive adolescents, youngsters who had been led into positive pursuits by the Zuver family. In time, Bob’s wife insisted that he either give this up, or build a real gym. They purchased the house across the street from the one they lived in, and converted it into a gym. At the time I wandered into the gym, they had expanded it a number of times, and it provided an excellent training facility, although they would not even have have showers installed until late in 1968.
Bob’s collection of strength “odds and ends” was given a permanent home on a specially constructed platform in the rear of the gym. My favorite was the Big Barrel, a metal monstrosity filled with 200 or 250 pounds of constantly shifting water. I became the twelfth man to elevate the barrel overhead, a feat requiring one to first roll it up the length of his body before attempting an overhead thrust.
When I returned to New York, I told many tales of Zuver’s Gym and the great powerlifting team they had. Len Ingro, Tom Overholtzer, Bill Whitting, Jim Waters, Willie Kindred, Rudy Lozano and others won local, state and national honors, often jostling with the more famous club from Bill West’s Culver City garage.
Upon a return visit to Southern California two years later, I returned to Zuver’s Gym, only to find it had again expanded and now housed a complete women’s fitness area. The approach to the gym, what had in fact been the driveway to the house, featured a life-sized gorilla statue, huge iron gates shaped like a pair of muscular arms and a cascading waterfall that fell over huge boulders that formed the new front of the gym. It was a sight to see, and a sight to remember.
For those who do remember Zuver’s Hall of Fame Gym, it was fondly recalled as an inspirational and colorful home of powerlifting. The wonderful workouts, unusual and enthusiastic environment, and the great lifts born of camaraderie and encouragement all come to mind when the name is mentioned.
More than a challenger for the powerlifting titles, Zuver’s Gym remains one of those chapters of strength training history that make the sport what it is today. No gym has ever quite recreated the championship atmosphere fashioned by Robert Zuver.
Enthusiastic thanks for Dr. Ken for this glimpse of the special place that was Zuver’s. For a photo collection and other memories of Zuver’s from people there at the time, here’s a choice IOL forum thread you’ll get a kick out of.
To sink your teeth into the era in which Zuver’s fits, grab yourself a copy of Dick Tyler’s West Coast Bodybuilding Scene.
Or start here, with a Zuver’s memory excerpt from West Coast Bodybuilding Scene.
Our old forum friend, Bill Luttrell (RIP), offered up his later memory of Zuver’s.
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