Going on a Photo Assignment
with Russ Warner can be Quite an Ordeal

Excerpt from the book
West Coast Bodybuilding Scene
by Dick Tyler

“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 amidt the graves is a ball when you have nothing better to do, I felt sure 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’re 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 thirty-three-foot 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 I was not in the elite ten and I should demand a recount.

“I sure feel flattered,” said Dave. “I mean, placing seventh right after Bill Pearl is pretty great.”

“The fact that you’ve appeared in and won only three major contests 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. 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 path 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 then 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, who 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 along with a feeling of guilt. I felt at least I should help Russ, but successfully fought off the urge until we reached our destination. After twenty minutes of climbing we were at last at the summit, and, exhausted, I plopped down on the first rock I stumbled over.

Russ, on the other hand, immediately set 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 won the coveted Mr. America crown.

Looking at Dave, I kept remembering all the remarks I heard prior to the big contest of ’65. Unfortunately, Dave was the fall guy for many jokes about vast expanses of blubber. This had always been unfair, to my way of thinking, but we are all allowed an opinion. Being a sensitive individual, Dave was always hurt by the remarks he heard. He is also a fighter and was even more determined to turn his detractors into admirers with every caustic remark he heard. With this determination, Draper molded 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 Dave will soon be the most-cited example of what proper training methods can accomplish. I counted four rows of abdominal muscle flanked by great serratus and oblique definition. It was a great picture of what a muscular midsection 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. Suddenly from around one of the boulders came two young men of school age. They ignored us and proceeded toward a lone boulder that loomed like a peak over the others. One of them had a stick with a tee shirt tied to it like a flag and it seemed to be their purpose to plant it at the top. It was quite an ordeal to make it up the sheer face of the rock, but they triumphantly planted their banner.

“That almost reminds me of the time we went out to Vasquez Rocks with Joe to take pictures of Scott and Nista,” I said to Russ.

“You mean all the spectators?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember the time I came to this place with Scott. It was a Sunday and you should have seen the crowd.”

“Any trouble?” asked Dave.

“No,” said Russ, “people were just curious to know who Larry was. They had never seen anything like him before.”

“You can say that again,” said Dave as be gulped down the last of his protein drink.

Frankly, up until now the posing had been good, but it had not been inspired. Russ worked like a dog trying to get the best shots he could. He ran up and down the rocks trying to photograph from different positions and had posed Dave for some great shots. Still, something 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 of 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 fifteen minutes than he had for the previous hour.

Now it truly was time to go. We packed up the gear and started to leave. Believing the trip down would be easier than 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 back the stuff until we got 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 allowed to go to that other place with writing on the rocks, would we have had an easier time of it. I shouldn’t worry, however, because someday I’ll spend an eternity there, at that other pile of rocks.

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Here Dick writes of Bill Pearl's strongman act

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