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The center of attraction of last week’s newsletter, the purple ball, went over like a lead balloon. I should have known; bombers are not generally the touchy-squeezey type. However, I did have a few takers, dedicated leadheads since the days of Dragnet (just the facts, Ma’am), who found wisdom and insight in my roly-poly proposal.
“Whatever works, works! We don’t care if it’s pink and lacey, smells like lilacs and goes by the name Sue.”
I can remember when I was a young whippersnapper (mid-forties), cutting fresh stability balls into 4”x 4” squares and passing them out to my hardcore buddies as grips for chinning and bench pressing, heavy rows and deadlifts. “Thanks, bro, these are really cool.”
Yeah, I’m a man of iron with a heart of gold. “No problem, dude. We’ve got ‘em in hot red, mellow yellow and all-purpose purple.”
This week we’ll be taking a break from the next wild installment in my series of powerful training techniques, Bungee Cord Antics. Sit back, relax and ponder an interview I did with T-mag earlier this spring. Have some popcorn. It’s free.
This is part one of a two-part article. Dig in.
Dave Draper Q’nA , interviewed by Chris Colucci
Q: For those who might not know, who was David the Gladiator? Did you really get into the acting business just to pay the bills?
A: In a breath, David the Gladiator was a burly, bare-chested character fitted with leather and equipped with a sword who introduced old muscle flicks to LA’s largest television viewing audience, KHJ-TV, every Saturday evening from 8 to 10 for a year through mid-’63 and ’64.
Shortly after I moved from Jersey to California in 1963, where I trained at the Muscle Beach Gym, AKA The Dungeon, I was chosen from the local beef to play the off-the-wall dungeon-dweller character.
Action: “Hi, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys and you muscle worshippers. You guessed it, it’s me, your favorite Gladiator in the flesh to introduce tonight’s extraordinary, daring and action-packed film, “Hercules Unchained,” starring the pudgy and homely Steve Reeves. But first, I must pause to fight off beautiful and naughty slave girls pounding on my dungeon door... and bring you this exciting news from Ford Motor Company and Chariot Builders.”
Corny, but fun and insightful for me, and the audience loved it till KHJ ran out of films. The Hollywood scene and cattle-calls and casting were new to me. I never pursued an acting career. The few things I did in filmdom were sorta accidental. Cattle-calls circulate the local gyms and everyone with a 15-inch pumped biceps ascends the agency... mostly out-of-work extras.
A head full of experience, entertainment and life instruction, and a pocketful of change. No passion for acting, no time to pursue, no bucks for three to stay afloat on a battered raft.
Q: You also did an episode of the Beverly Hillbillies. Any chance you've got some juicy behind-the-scenes stories about Ellie May?
A: Mr. Universe Trains Ellie May: The entire cast and crew was professional, of course, but unusually laid back and treated me like family. I thought any minute between takes Jed would spark up the ole corncob pipe and Granny would break out the moonshine. Ellie May, played by Donna Douglas, was adorable and eagerly rehearsed our scenes off camera to ease my nerves. Miss the good old days...
Q: What was pro bodybuilding's general atmosphere like in the '60s, before Arnold's arrival? Did the sport change much after he began competing in the U.S.?
A: The atmosphere was gentle as an undisturbed rhino, rugged as a mountain gorilla and honest as a wholesome child (with 18-inch arms).
In 1960 you could fit pro bodybuilding and the contenders in the palm of your hand (Pearl, Park, Reeves, Eiferman, Eder, Ross, Colbert, Zabo and such). If the guys who lifted weights and had muscles stood side by side, they’d stretch half way down a football field. By 1965 there were fistfuls and they crowded the whole darn field, goalpost to goalpost. The word was out and a good thing was becoming a rage.
It wasn’t Arnold who set the clanging action in motion; bodybuilding was accelerating at exponential speed by the time he reached our fruited planes. He certainly grasped mightily the opportunity afforded him by Joe Weider and his (Arnold’s) early American friends in ‘68 and rode -- and drove -- the wave to its momentous heights.
Q: What was it like competing against Reg Park and Arnold for the Mr. Universe? Did you see it as "just another contest," or was there anything particular about it?
A: I stepped out of a desirable low-key training limbo to enter a series of shows in the fall of 1970. The classic black-and-white photos by Artie Zeller of Arnold, Zane, Katz, Franco and me portray that six-week summer training season in preparation for the shows. I went from a svelte (scrawny) 205 to a meaty 235 in less than six weeks and competed at 230. We were in the zone.
My heart was in my training and I was on a delicious surge. The competitions were like pulling my teeth one by one with rusty pliers. But for my physique, I was so unready for the London Mr. U that I found myself anxiously late for pre-judging (hi, everyone) and globbing on wheat germ oil (all I had in my gym bag) minutes before my lack-luster, blink-of-an-eye onstage performance. It’s not one of my favorite recollections... E for effort, D for dumb.
I went cuz it sounded like a good idea while squatting and benching and curling in the security of the gym; plus, I was offered a roundtrip ticket to Europe and this poor Jersey boy couldn’t turn down the opportunity to travel for free. I had about 40 bucks in my pocket and a gym bag full of canned tuna and supplements, a change of clothes and a toothbrush. Nevertheless, the experiences, good and not-so-good, were plentiful and priceless.
I saw Arnold and Reg at the pre-judging... “You’re late, Draper”... pretty sure it was them... nice guys.
Q: It seems like back then, titles like Mr. Universe and Mr. America were just as important, and just as recognizable, as the Mr. Olympia, but that's not the case today. Does that effect how the public views the sport?
A: We’re talking about different animals. I’m not sure how today’s public views the sport, or, perhaps, I don’t understand your question. Let me ramble. The title, Mr. Olympia, and the subsequent pro titles, were introduced post-1965 to accommodate and excite the growing mobs of participants and spectators.
Mr. America and Mr. Universe, though altogether real, original and admired, became quaint. Bodybuilding grew like a weed, lean bodies were “in,” gyms were on every other street corner; muscle mags featured girly foldouts and hyped enough exotic supplements to kill a race horse and its trainer. Did I mention someone -- not the bodybuilders -- were making big bucks?
As with most things that grow quickly, something was lost in the expansion. Throw excess and commerce, greed and power and plump marketeers into any wholesome mix and you produce separation and clumps, occasional bitterness and far too much to ingest, digest and savor.
Musclebuilding is an enormous industry on the cutting edge, along with iPods and texting and cloning. Swell. It’s also on the edge of a cliff. Take me to the dungeon.
Q: You've written that you decided to retire from competing because, "living in Venice [Beach] in the '60s was like living in a junkyard with a bunch of junkyard dogs." That doesn't sound like the classic Venice Beach we usually hear about, full of camaraderie, where bodybuilders helped each other out. Why is that? Was there a side of the classic Venice Beach we don't know about?
A: I enjoyed Venice as one might enjoy a lunch of hotdogs and pop in the bleachers of the Super Bowl: scrumptious, oddly satisfying, not exactly healthy, exciting, delirious and exhausting. The quarterback is phenomenal, the wide receiver can catch the ball without looking and the linemen crack helmets at the snap of the ball.
I love all dogs, even those of the junkyard variety. They drool, bark and snarl, but don’t bite unless you’re mean or give them the chance. Besides... they’re good dogs, when not fenced in and half-starved.
I stopped competing because it I didn’t like to compete. For a reasonable season of my life it seemed like the thing to do, like after-school classes or volunteer work at the community center. Competition stood between me and the curious relief and play of hoisting the hard, cold iron: the private exertion, the personal discipline, the pure delight, the absolute devotion and the daily fulfillment of lifting weights and building muscle and strength.
I also had the peculiar notion -- call me old-fashioned -- that muscle and strength were most complete when put to work at something you love. I withdrew from competition, continued to blast the weights around sunrise and dug into building over-sized furniture with my hands. I morphed into an authentic, accidental, long-haired ‘60s dropout with 19-inch biceps.
The Dungeon was heaven, Joe Gold’s was paradise, I loved my training companions, but the devil lurked in the shadows.
Q: You worked for the Weider Barbell Company for several years. Is it true that you two parted ways because you decided to stop competing? Did Arnold's arrival and rise to the Olympia play a part in your decision to leave the company?
A: We have here a curious coincidence. Less than enamored with Weider Barbell’s Fair Treatment Policy of employees and muscleheads, my above-mentioned thin coat of enthusiasm for competition eroded further with the absence of promise and honor, silver and gold. Arnold was rocking in Europe and rolled into America to save the day.
As a resident of California, I voted for the man.
More to come next week... save your ticket stubs.
Click here for part 2 of the interview.
THE BEST KEPT SECRET -- TOP SECRET TOP SQUATS
Save your shoulders, be nice to your back, improve your squat, delight in the action and build thunder thighs. Grasp the handles of a Top Squat, settle the padded bar across your back and lower yourself safely, comfortably and precisely to your favorite depth, and in the same way lift yourself up.
You can’t squat -- you will. You squat poorly -- you’ll squat properly. You hate squats -- you’ll adore them. You like squats -- you’ll love them. You love squats -- you’ll marry them.
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Scoop the blend into a glass, stir and drink with pleasure and satisfaction, when you need to, want to or should. All the time.
Soak yourself in a taste of bodybuilding’s Golden Era with Dick Tyler’s on-the-scene record, written in his easy-going, one-of-a-kind style, West Coast Bodybuilding Scene.
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