An Average Day
Going with Russ Warner on a photo assignment can be quite an ordeal...

Muscle Builder July 1967

by Dick Tyler, West Coast Editor, Muscle Builder July 1967

Going with Russ Warner on a photo assignment can be quite an ordeal...

"Want to go to a cemetery?" This was physique photographer Russ Warner's cheery greeting as we met one day recently. I thought it over for a second. While running amidst the graves is a ball when you have nothing better to do, I felt sure that I could find something to do that was a little more "lively." "Uh, look Russ," I said finally, "you go ahead and have a good time, I think I'll stay home and play a crazy game of Scrabble." "You don't understand," protested Russ, "I was going with Dave Draper." "You mean?" . . . I asked in horror. "No, no, of course not," said Russ, "Dave's never looked better. I thought I'd go to one of the cemeteries for some physique photos with the statuary."

Russ, of course, was referring to one of Southern California's swank "death gardens." They try to make these glorified graveyards so inviting you hope for an early death. They are filled with some striking art treasures, however, that would be complementary to unusual physique studies. I said okay I'd go because of the unusual story value and Russ went ahead with the arrangements.

Unfortunately, the officials at the cemetery declined to let us use their facilities. I could see their point. After all, Dave posing against a 33' statue of Michelangelo's David could detract from the sober atmosphere of the surroundings. With a little figuring, Russ came up with the idea of taking photos in a more conventional locale. I can't tell you the name of the place because it's unprintable. Let's just say it's a dramatic eruption of rocks known as Bat "fertilizer" Rocks and you fill in the details.

Whizzing along the freeway toward our destination we started talking about the recent results of the balloting for the top ten greatest bodybuilders of all time. I remarked jokingly that I was not in the elite ten and that I should demand a recount. "I sure feel flattered," said Dave, "I mean placing 7th right after Bill Pearl is pretty great."

"The fact that you've appeared in and won only two major contest in your life and still placed as the seventh greatest bodybuilder of all time is really to your credit," I said. "When people have seen you they've gone away impressed." Dave frowned.

"What's wrong?" asked Russ.

"Oh, I don't know. It's just tough placing that high. It's almost like a responsibility." "You're right, Dave," I interrupted, "a responsibility to be better all the time." "Well, I try, believe me. I never want to let my fans down."

Soon we were off the freeway and heading towards Chatsworth where the rocks were located. Almost immediately we were upon them. I had never been to this particular spot before so their sudden emergence was a surprise. There they were.. A giant mountain of boulders reaching for the sky. Unfortunately they had been defaced by "nature lovers."

"These are the same rocks where those great photos of Larry Scott were taken aren't they?" inquired Dave.

"Yeah," said Russ, "how can you tell?" Dave looked at Russ. "By the writing, of course."

Now, the problem was to find the best way to reach the top. I suggested a parachute drop but the idea was nixed in favor of our feet. Russ had forgotten where the pathway was so we were stuck wandering around looking up and yearning. At last someone came up with the brilliant idea of waiting until we saw someone coming down and to start up in the same direction. It worked and before long we were picking our way up the craggy surfaces. I almost felt sorry for Russ as he was loaded down with all his photo gear. Since Dave was carrying a bag with a change of clothes and some food that left me with just my bodyweight to propel and a feeling of guilt, I felt that at least I should help Russ, but successfully fought off the urge until we reached our destination. After around 20 minutes of climbing we were at last at the summit, and exhausted, I plopped down on the first rock I could get my hand on.

Russ, on the hand, started immediately setting up his gear and soon he was operational. Dave stripped down to his posing trunks and Russ started taking pictures. Big Dave looked in better shape than I had ever seen him. Even better than when he had won the coveted Mr. America crown.

Dave Draper had moulded his physique into one of the most sensational and respected in many years. Gone now were any layers of excess tissue and standing before me was an amazing anatomical specimen who could literally become a model for muscular separation and definition. I predict that Dave will soon be the most often cited example of what proper training methods can accomplish. I counted four rows of abdominal muscle that were flanked by great serratus and oblique definition. It was a great picture of what a muscular mid-section should look like. There is little point in my going into the Draper arms and other bodyparts, the photos speak for themselves.

After an hour of steady work we took a break. Frankly, up until now, I felt that while the posing had been good it had not been inspired. Russ had worked like a dog trying to get the best shots he could. He had run up and down the rocks trying to photograph from different positions and had posed Dave for some great shots. Still something just wasn't clicking. We were about to pack up when Russ said, "Let me take just one more roll of color." While he was reloading Dave and I started talking about some of the bodybuilders around Muscle Beach. He stood up and started to demonstrate some of their favorite poses.

"Hey," said Russ, "that pose is great." It was. That seemed to do it and Dave started warming to the task. He seemed to relax and move from pose to pose. Each one was a masterpiece of rugged muscularity and power. Russ got more great shots in 15 minutes than he had for the previous hour.

Now it was time to go. We packed up the gear and started to leave. Believing that the trip down would be easier than it was coming up, I nobly "volunteered" to carry some of Russ' equipment. The minute I got hold of it I was sorry. It was heavy but it was too late to back out now. I had committed my troops. We went a few steps and came to a crisis. "Which Way is down?" We all looked at one another. "Down this way," I said with finality. "I remember this rock that has 'Johnson loves Goldwater' painted on it was facing us this way as we came up." Either I should be a little sharper on politics or carry a compass cause we were lucky to get down that blasted pile of rock in one piece.

Needless to say, I picked the wrong path and we all paid the price. Clinging to the sheer face of naked rock is something I like to watch some poor guy do on television while sitting comfortably in my easy chair at home. Now, I was doing it only there were no TV cameras around to record the event. the whole thing had one advantage, however; at one point I was able to say to Russ, "Say, Russ, could you take hold of your equipment again while I try to make it down this dangerous rock?" I never took hold of the stuff again until we got back home and I helped him take it out of Dave's car.

After great sacrifice and a little blood we reached the car. As we were driving away, I looked over my shoulder at those rocks with all the funny and sometimes dirty sayings scribbled on them and wondered if we had been able to go to that other place that had writing on the rocks, if we would have had an easier time of it. I shouldn't worry, however, because someday I'll spend an eternity there.