Half-Century In The IRON GAME

By John C. Grimek

50-years of pushing, tugging, hoisting, rolling, lifting, pumping and moving iron...then the light begins to shine!

ALTHOUGH THE 11-YEAR-old youngster was pugnacious and constantly, looking for fights by challenging all whom he met, he was basically good-natured.

Though somewhat shorter for his age than his playmates, he was, nonetheless, proportionately stockier and stronger. Whenever a newcomer moved into the neighborhood, he would greet him with, "I think I can beat you+++++++++++. Let's fight!" Size or weight didn't matter. He sought to do battle then and there. After the fight, though, regardless of the outcome, they became and remained good friends and playmates.

The "tough guy" was always ready to prove his prowess. Whenever his friends were trying to lift or move an object, but failed to budge it, he would always come over and help.

If someone hit a ball farther than what he had done, he would practice until he could knock it out much farther. If someone ran faster or a greater distance, he would set out to beat it. Within him was the desire to outdo others, yet without any animosity...just for the fun of doing it.

During this time, the 11-year-old greatly admired boxers, wrestlers and strongmen and longed to emulate them. But since he lacked the training knowledge, he concentrated on doing chins, push-ups, hand balancing and running, which he felt would help to increase his muscle size and power.

During the school recess, he and his friends could always be found in the schoolyard doing chins on an old birch tree, as well as "skinning the cat," or dislocates as we now call them. He always tried to double the efforts of the others, without instigating competition.

Who was this pugnacious youngster? I hate to admit it but it was me. I look back upon those days with some misgivings now, but that's how I got started in the Iron Game a long, long time ago.

However, I didn't actually begin weight training until I was closer to 18. It was during this time that an older brother enrolled for a training course with Earl Leiderman, who offered chest expanders. Training with these, my brother began to sprout muscles all over and this really surprised me. Eventually he bought most of the courses offered by such trainers as Strongfort, Brietbart, Atlas, Titus, Schmidt and Milo Barbell.

I often watched him training and although it intrigued me, I was not permitted to exercise. In those days, weight training was taboo for anyone under 21. It supposedly stunted height, and inasmuch as I already was undersized, I wasn't given the chance to train.

To keep me from using the weights in my brother's absence, he chained everything together. Occasionally he forgot to chain the kettlebells, which when empty, weighed 30-pounds each. I was able to get them to my shoulders and do alternate presses, doing as many reps as I could. After a moment's rest, I'd repeat the exercise until my arms were dead tired.

From this one exercise, plus chins and pushups, I began to acquire fairly good shoulder and arm development. My friends, whom I invited to train with me, were unable to even get one kettle bell to their shoulder, let alone press it overhead.

Like most youngsters, I was athletically active, but my favorite sport was baseball, either playing or watching. I played any position but I really enjoyed pitching and I practiced throwing fancy curves, all day long. My batting was also pretty good and homers were not uncommon. Whenever my father needed me, all he'd have to do is ask where there was a ball game...I was sure to be there.

Bicycling and roller and ice skating were other pastimes I greatly enjoyed and indulged in, but behind all these activities was that inner desire to get bigger and stronger.

This desire to exercise and grow stronger never left once it imbedded itself within me. Whenever adults discussed power, my name always came up. Apparently I must have done something to impress them. If there was anything to be moved or lifted, I was called. But now as I reflect on the matter, I wonder whether this was an attempt to test my strength or just to "use" me. The latter, I think, fits more accurately.

If anyone of our group got beaten up, it was always up to me to seek out his attacker and take it out of his hide...but very few of our group was ever attacked.

Yet, hardly a week passed that I didn't have at least one battle with someone. However, there was one "urchin" whom no one ever challenged. He was a homeless youngster who ate and slept wherever he could. He had the reputation of a terror...the toughest around. He feared no youngster and very few adults and he would attack at the slightest provocation. Most people avoided him and treated him with respect...mainly out of fear.

I liked his individuality, however, and admired his reputation. One day my brother brought him to our house and fed him. I eyed him with awe, while still itching to get into a friendly fight or wrestling bout with him just to test his strength. Afterwards my brother brought him over several more times. I got to know him well and eventually got him to wrestle. Much to my surprise, I found I could hold him...although, like most others, I was still a little leery about tackling him outright.

It was a couple of years later that my brother left home, leaving behind him all his exercising paraphernalia. Finally, he gave me permission to use whatever equipment I wanted. Eager to begin, I failed to read the instructions correctly, and so I failed to comprehend them. It advised increasing the reps every third day. Since I thought training was to be done every day, I took the third-day increase literally, and after three or four weeks I began to drag. Since I was energetic, I went into the training for all I was worth, but that pep and vigor were soon depleted. Then I learned that you should train only every other day, or three times a week, so my enthusiasm returned.

Even when I was training every day, however, I was gaining slightly and my muscles sharpened up. I weighed about 130 pounds and stood 5'3" in height. My training quarters were in an attic that was too hot to train in during the summer and too cold in the winter. So, I rarely got in more than five or six months of training a year.

In spite of this abbreviated training, however, once I got straightened out and began training three times a week instead of seven days, my body weight and even my height increased. Each new summer season found me bigger and stronger, and people who knew me would stop me on the street to ask what I was doing. When I answered, "exercising," they gave me that funny look that could mean just about anything.

I enjoyed my newly found strength, and I began doing numerous, impromptu stunts everywhere. As my power reputation expanded, it reached the ears of the "tough terror," and whenever he heard anything that I had done, I was told he would only shrug his shoulders and simply say, "I can still take him anytime."

Naturally, those who heard this challenge didn't waste time rushing the report to me. As I grew stronger, however, my pugnaciousness diminished. I fought only when I was pressed into action; otherwise I ignored any provocation and avoided fighting.

When I had heard that the "terror" challenged me, though, I sent word back to him that anytime he felt he was ready to take me on, I'd be waiting, day or night. His acceptance never reached me. I then began walking around the neighborhood where he supposedly hung out. I never saw him, nor could I learn where he was...in fact, I never heard of him after that. He led such a beastly life, frankly, he mightly have died...we'll never know.

Anyway, I continued to do odd strength feats. One evening I grabbed the wheels of a model-T Ford, packed with people, and almost overturned it, until the owner yelled "bloody murder."

I lifted telephone poles and railroad ties, the latter in a rough sort of one-arm press, and I often engaged about a dozen of my friends in a wrestling bout or battle. The idea of the battle was to get me down, or at least to see who could give me the hardest crack. This provided me with a lot of practice, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

I also began learning how to lift people, using either one or both hands. I supported heavy weights--a loaded barbell plus four or six or more persons hanging on...and some of these would initiate a swinging action. If you ever held a heavy weight that was in motion, you'll know that it's really something else!

Running and jumping were also favorites of mine. On the beach we played what we called a "one-inning game." It was an advanced version of leapfrog. One man acted as the "down-man" and the others were to vault over him in two movements. Each participant is permitted a short run to a marked, "take-off" spot, from which he jumps as close to the "down-man" as possible. Then, from his landing spot, the leaper attempts to vault over the "down-man." If he makes the vault, the "down-man" moves to the spot where the successful vaulter landed, and the vaulter returns to the starting spot for another attempt.

As you can see, the more successes that are made, the more difficult it becomes to jump near the "down-man" and, hence, the more difficult the vault becomes.

This was my favorite beach game and only very rarely did I miss a vault and had to become the "down-man." My friends, however, worked out patterns to try and make me start as far away from the "down-man" as possible. The regular, heavy squats that I did, though, gave my legs so much spring that I could fly over the fellow, well over 10 feet away.

I was easy going by this time and took nothing seriously. So I didn't mind that I was the "one to get" in our little game. Also, at this time, everyone seemed to be interested in my development and the questions mostly plied to me were: "What are you doing? How did you get all those muscles?"

Earlier, friends used to taunt me about being a good runner and ball player as well as being strong and good at hand balancing but not being able to swim.

I admit I couldn't swim, nor did I even learn to paddle around until shortly before I started training. I had developed a dreadful fear of water. My brother and his friends once threw me off the dock into deep water. I sputtered and almost drank up the river. When they finally pulled me out, I secretly vowed to myself that I would never venture near water again...and, for years, I didn't. I watched and envied those who could swim, however, and the more I was teased about not being able to swim, the more determined I became to learn.

I finally went to the beach and played in the water up to my knees. Then I sat down and splashed. Each day I got a little bolder until finally I started dog-paddling.

Then one day while I was in the water, I accidentally bumped into a swimmer, who picked me up and threw me. I hit bottom but I paddled furiously until I reached shore. I was tired but elated...after all, I could swim!

From the dog-paddle stroke, I adopted an overhand stroke. Within weeks I could swim fairly good but I still lacked confidence. By the following season I could swim anywhere and to any point, and I eventually won a couple of swimming ribbons in contests that were featured over the holidays, such as the 4th of July, Labor Day, etc.

About this time, I began diving into shallow water. One dangerous (and somewhat stupid) stunt was to take off from the roof of the bathing houses and dive into water not more than two feet deep. The top of the houses down to the water was at least 15 feet, and since one gets added height as he takes off, it was at least 18 feet into the shallow water. Often I would stand up even before the splash of water came down.

The owner had to call the police to stop this neckbreaking stunt, but surprisingly, no one was ever injured. One day, however, I did wind up with scratches from my nose to my toes. We were diving off some bulwark, eight or nine feet high, into a foot or less of water. We waited for the "tide" to roll in to land onit, but if you were a split second late, like I was, you had it. I was one big scratch, and bleeding fromevery pore. That cured me of diving from that spot!

The secret of such shallow diving was to hit the water flat. You should straighten out just as you hit, and if you fail to do this, it could mean curtains.

On certain occasions I acted as a springboard. I'd lie on the edge of the dock and the fellows would jump on my abdomen and by contracting my abdominal muscles which I acquired from training, I'd shoot them upward, One fellow caught me unaware, however, and came down smack on my ribcage. All I can say is I'm glad my ribs were flexible, otherwise I think I would have suffered cracked ribs for months--or life!

As you might guess, this was taking place during some of the depression years. Work, of course, was largely unattainable but I took whatever I could get.

One such job was as a soda jerk. After spending a couple weeks washing dishes and learning how to make the various sundaes, etc., the boss took delight in sending me out to tackle anyone who was obnoxious. I enjoyed this part of the job because normally when a person saw you were really out to get him, he took off. Sometimes, though, you had to lift a person up and shake him a little to convince him that you weren't fooling around.

One day, however, I was the one who got the surprise. I went after a fellow and expected him to run...and he did. But only to get a heavy club, and when I went out the door I felt this club over my head. It really brought the stars out early for me. AS I shook my head clear of cobwebs I discovered that he had run off. I searched for him for weeks but never did find him. After this incident, naturally, I took more precautions when going after anyone.

Afterwards, I was put in charge of making the ice cream and helping in the candy department, as everything in the place was homemade. We ordered sugar by the truckful and, of course, I was asked to help unload. We had to carry the Bags from the curb to the back of the shop, well over 100 yards away. I was the "strong"wise guy who carried a 100-Pound bag under each arm. The others weren't that "smart" they took their time and carried one bag at a time. Later I held a bag under each arm and then gripped another bag in each hand...for a grand total of four! Sure it surprised everyone but they didn't care. They encouraged me to carry more...it was less for them to carry!

One day, and this was a few years later, the boss was discussing some strongmen he heard about. I showed him how I could press two bags of sugar alternately. Then I told him I could lift both bags with one hand...and we made a bet.

There was an eight-foot long brass rail. I laid a bag of sugar on each end, and picked it up to get the balance. Then I pulled it to my shoulder and bentpressed it overhead as far as the low ceiling would allow. No one who saw me press this weight would believe it...but they never forgot it either.

I also worked as a grocery clerk, butcher and delivery boy. I carned orders in a basket for a mile or more. Some were so heavy that once I got it atop my shoulder I couldn't stop or let it down until I got to my destination. Later I got a bicycle and it was much easier. I pedaled up the steepest hills I could find and, on weekends, took the bike home and would ride it for exercise. I would cover 30 to 50 miles over the weekend, so it was no wonder that the tires wore out in no time.

During "beach season" the test of one's swimming ability was to swim across the Raritan Bay to the New York state line, a distance of over four miles. Many could do it at the end of a season but I decided to do it when the season opened so I could be the first.

Unfortunately, I didn't have any place to practice swimming. However, I reasoned that by running and waving my arms to simulate swimming I would get the same reaction. The official opening date was May 30 and I put my training idea into effect in February. Each morning I ran the five or six miles to where I worked, waving my arms about like a wild man. I did this six days a week, rain, snow or shine, cold or hot.

Finally, the big day arrived. The season opened and I was all set. I felt super and thought I could make the swim in record time. I ran, dove in and started to swim. A friend with a rowboat was already out a ways waiting to follow me. I started swimming like a house afire but, to my surprise, before I swam the first quarter-mile I was huffing and puffing and I ached all over. I couldn't believe it! Before I could swim another half-mile I had to stop...my program of running and arm waving was good but it did nothing for my swimming. I knew then that in order to be good at something, you had to practice that something.

An argument with my boss at the store caused me to leave and although he tried getting me back, I refused. Meanwhile, my father, who had a touch of lead poisoning, was forced to retire and he said he would do so only if they gave his job to me.

The foreman at the plant (a smelting foundry) didn't like me, however, even though I never gave him any lip or sass. He threw all the dirtiest and hardest jobs at me, hoping that I would quit.

I was determined to stick it out, however. That winter, 1930, was particularly bitter but I never wore more than an undershirt and a sweater. I also walked the four miles to work, carrying my lunch under my, arm...and that was something.

I could never get enough to eat. I packed such a big lunch that those who saw me invariably asked if I was going away for a week. In fact, my father often questioned whether my working was an asset to the family income, as I practically ate up my wages in lunches. I was a big bread eater at the time, often eating a loaf or two at one sitting. During the time I worked in the grocery store I would often open a can of beans and eat them...or a can of sauerkraut which I ate with a dry loaf of bread. I would eat anything that could be eaten...I ate and ate but I was never full.

At the foundry, of course, I worked harder so I needed more food. Often after a hard day's work of eight or nine hours, I would go home and train, taking a reasonably heavy workout yet the next day I'd be rarin' to go again. Although I got little protein in my diet, I still made gains...how, I don't know, but I did. Muscle building foods, such as Hoffman's were not available or I would have made faster gains.

At the foundry I was shifted from job to job. Anything that no one else would do, I was asked to do. One day I was to pour heavy metal--lead slugs for the government. Each weighed between 103 and 108 pounds. To complete the pouring all at one time, a big ladle had to be used. But a smaller ladle was used to fill the big one which itself weighed about 20 pounds. So, I had to handle well over 125 pounds all day long. By the day's end, my arm felt beat; yet that night I had one of the best workouts I ever had and I think my left arm was much bigger than my right that night.

The tonnage poured that day exceeded several tons. During a slack period that day I showed some of the other workers that I could take a slug in each hand and do alternate presses with them. No one there could press one of them with both hands so they were impressed.

As the slugs cooled I stacked them on the load car in a pyramid shape, which was then pulled by an electric car. I was unable to find the electric car and in disgust I started to pull the load by myself to the boxcar where it was to be unloaded.

As I pulled this load through the various departments, it caused quite a furor. Most workers were yelling that I would rupture myself or tear something, but I kept pulling the load without much effort. When I reached the loading zone, however, the boxcar didn't line up properly. So, I had to push the boxcar. The company had a special bar used for this purpose but again I couldn't locate it. I decided to do it with MY power. I braced my shoulder into the coupling and placed my feet on the ties and pushed. For seconds nothing happened except that my shoulder dug deeper into the coupling. Then I could feel my legs straightening and the car moving. By now I had to hold it back a little to keep it from going too far. The foreman heard about my pulling these slugs through the building. He came rushing to see what I was up to. When he saw me pushing the boxcar he echoed, "Now what the h--- are you doing?" I explained what I had done so I could load the car. He could say nothing...he just walked away, mumbling to himself.

I then had to put the steel dock-platefrom the doorway of the building to the boxcar so that I could pull the loaded slug car into it. There was a slight incline down to the car which I failed to calculate. As I started down with the loaded car, it gained speed and was impossible to hold it back. Only by sheer luck did I manage to pull the handle and turn the wheels to prevent it from going through the other side of the boxcar. I was also lucky enough to get out of the way or else I would have been cut in half or impaled by the handle. I hate to think what might have happened had the car gone through the side!

After I unloaded the slugs I went back to pour more, getting more metal to recharge the empty pots. That day I handled tons of metal, more than anyone else up to that time had done and yet after supper that night I took my usual workout...and a good one!

The next day was colder than usual. As I walked into the shop whistling, with lunch under my arm and in my usual attire, the foreman was shocked to see me. He just stood there with mouth open. He admitted that he didn't expect to see me again, feeling sure that I had had enough.

I asked if I should go back to pouring the slugs. He stammered a little and then suggested that I go back to pouring linotype metal, which was my usual job.

I later learned that the reason this foreman disliked me so much was because he was so tall, skinny and weak that just seeing me made him angry. Consequently, he tried to take it out on me.

Eventually I was laid off and had to look around for other jobs. In looking for work, I always got up before six, and since I had already made the rounds before, I was bored. To offset this boredom, instead of walking around, I ran.

I never knew just how far I ran until a few years ago when I returned to the old homestead. I decided to recheck my steps...but this time I did it in my car. It surprised me when I learned that those early morning jaunts covered anywhere from 23 to 30 miles, depending on the route I took. To me it never felt like more than a few miles.

During this time I began experimenting with training routines. For a time I trained three times a day every day. In the morning I went through a regular bodybuilding routine. After lunch I did what was called "lifting movements," and evenings I did heavy supports, something similar to what is now known as isometrics.

This went on for weeks, but once again due to my poor diet, I began dragging. Yet, I did continue to gain in strength. I finally went back to training every other day, and achieved better progress.

In my hometown, various strongmen (some truly great ones but a few phonies) would exhibit at the marketplace and peddle their wares. I would stand by watching trying to learn how they bent spikes, broke chains, etc.

One Saturday, two men appeared within 20 feet of each other. One was a huge, massive man who called himself Sailor Jim White. He had an anchor chair hanging around his shoulders and told the crowd that he was going to break it. I really wanted to see that but after 40 minutes of spieling, he was still threatening to break it although he never made an attempt.

I then moved up the line to hear the smaller but more rugged-looking individual. He called himself the Mighty Atom. He too did some spieling, he also showed some action. He had a special 3/8-inch steel bar which he proposed to bend. Before that, though, he broke chains and, to everyone's amazement, bit through a 20-penny nail.

I looked upon this feat with disbelief. I was sure he had some gadget in his mouth that cut the nail. Some of my friends had gathered around by now and were asking me what I thought of him. I had to admit he was capable of doing the other stunts, but biting nails seemed impossible.

He offered $25 to anyone who could bend the square bar he showed. My friends pointed to me... "he can do it!", they yelled. I shunned the idea. I didn't want to try but the Atom threw me the bar. I tested it quickly and decided that I couldn't bend it...and wouldn't even try.

"Wait," the Atom called back. "Here, put one of these on each end and try it." Using the smaller pipes for leverage, I made a strong effort and the seemingly unwielding bar gave way. I bent it into a horseshoe and the Atom called to me... "Now you see what a little knowledge can do."

This was my first encounter with an actual strongman and I took a great liking to this extraordinary strongman--the Mighty Atom--and we've been friends ever since. Today, in his mid-90s, he's still one of the greatest to be found anywhere...and he still does strength feats!

In 1936 I came to York to train for the Olympics, and have remained in York ever since.

PHOTO CAPTIONS

- Brother George (left) got things started. He enrolled in a mail-order training course and began to sprout muscles. This pose won for him a medal. The trainer used to sponsor contests for his students and offered many prizes. Later George grew much heavier from the training. Now in his 70s he still enjoys good health.

- An early picture taken after a year of training, which actually involved no more than six or seven months. The results, however, were so striking they provided great incentives.

- An attempt to control and isolate the scapula around 1929 or '30. It shows the arms, shoulders and back started to respond.

- About the time I hit 200 pounds for the first time. Because I was doing much heavy squatting, the legs began to grow out of proportions.

- Winter of '34 in near-zero weather. My clothes froze during the time we were taking pictures. I always enjoyed cold weather and often romped and laid around in the snow with only trunks...and when weather was at zero!

- Resting and relaxing in the sun.

- Two pictures (left and below) taken at the time I belonged to the Shore AC club in the Asbury Park area, and was asked to try my hand at shot-putting, hammer-throwing, the discus, javelin and the 56-pound weight toss. I threw the 56-pound weight a record distance with one hand, indicating the lack of proper form.

- A muscle pose - 1935.

- Trying to simulate the ancient Grecian way of throwing the discus.

After losing a clean at Madison Square Garden. Note trapezius mounds and carved deltoid slabs. Overnight I shed 16 pounds but still failed to make lightheavy...so lifted as heavy (183) and placed third, getting only one press, snatch and clean & jerk.

- Some poses taken during the early 30s.

- More poses taken during this time.

- Pose on left was taken in late 40s, but pose on right was in early 30s, from which a statue was fashioned some years ago and sold by competitors.

- Pose during this period were taken mostly for form without any attempt being made to bring-out or show muscles - just lines.

- Attempts were always made to try any kind of pose, as poses of this type seemed to find favor with art students and provided much variety.

Trying to push overhead a heavy weight with one arm.