The Earle Liederman Story
by Kenneth Terrell
Part One
FOR more years than I care to remember I have been reading stories about the great and the near great figures of the Physical Culture world. Old timers such as Sando, Saxon, Apollon, Cyr, Travis, and Macfadden; young-old timers such as Atlas, Massimo, Jowett, Nordquest, Matysek; and the moderns, Klein, Goodrich, Terlazzo, Grimek, Ross, Stephan, and Reeves; all have had their places in the sun. Thousands of words have been written about these men; thousands more about many lesser known men in each group. Of all that has been written, no one can find any case for criticism. It has, for the most of us, been interesting, enlightening, and inspiring.
What I'm kicking about is that which has not been written; for nowhere have I ever read The Liederman Story! -- You tell me -- Have you ever seen even an Item about Earle Liederman? No? -- Why ? -- Why has so little, nothing, been said about a man who rated with the first group, and I mean rated shoulder-to-shoulder with them although he is a little young to be called an Old Timer; who stood out head and shoulders above the second group; and who is still a "leader-man" amongst the so-called moderns?!
It just doesn't make sense, besides, it isn't fair! So: I shall forthwith attempt to right that wrong. But before I do, let me try and answer some of my own questions: First, the story has never been written because; as well as Earle Liederman is known, he is still a man nobody KNOWS, and to make it tougher, he likes it that way; next -- the latter being true-how the heck would a prospective biographer go about getting the necessary information to give even a fair account of the man? It is simply impossible to get him to talk about himself. For instance: You meet Liederman; you pass the time of day; you ask, "How are you?" He will say, "Okay"; then you will immediately find the conversation has turned to yourself or some other equally interesting personality. Your direct questions will be directly answered just so long as they are kept away from the subject of Earle Liederman; send them in that direction and you will find them very deftly re-directed.
Now don't misunderstand this to mean that he tries to build any aura of mystery about himself; or that he has anything to hide. I might have had that idea myself at first, but twenty-six years of acquaintance with him has convinced me differently (for that matter, I was convinced almost immediately when I first met him). Nor, is it due to any false modesty; on the contrary, I believe his reluctance to talk about himself springs entirely from a sincere interest in you, in me, in seashells, or poetry; in beauty, even in some forms of ugliness; for he would find something of beauty in that, too.
Now, it would seem that I have chosen a pretty difficult subject for my first contribution to Muscle Power. Could be, but not the way I intend doing it. You see, I have been privileged to spend a large number of those twenty-six years in perhaps closer association with Liederman than anyone else has. I shall, then, merely relate events and incidents from this more than a quarter century of acquaintance and friendship with him; from it all you will be able to draw a fair picture of him.
I say friendship advisedly; it has been that from our first meeting which, on my part, took a bit of bringing about. And it has been a friendship which has survived rough years, smooth ones, lean, fat years; years in which a fellow desperately needed a friend; some in which one might have had some opportunity to be a friend. It has been a friendship that has endured all that any comparable period could possibly dish out.
Being gifted (or burdened) with a memory that never lets anything go, the passing of time offers no handicap. But he is the editor of Muscle Power. Being a man who likes to soft-pedal all talk of himself, how will we get past him? Well, he brought it on himself when he told me I could write on any subject that might interest Muscle Power's readers; what could be more so than Mr. Muscle Power himself!
No apology is offered for self talk; for detours; for the entrance of other personalities; it is all necessary to completion of the picture.
By the time I was fourteen years old, I had had practically every ailment known to man -- and a few that I dreamed up myself. To me, feeling lousy was feeling average; I didn't mind, I had never known any other condition. But the medicines, the pills, the various other concoctions I took; the doctors of varied talents, who practiced on me; the quacks, even voo-doo healers, who had a go at me (my family has never been one to let nature take its course, we have to keep pushing, 'try everything' is our motto) were finally getting me down. I decided that I must have had a tough constitution to start with, or I should never have weathered my illnesses, to say nothing of the so-called cures. Maybe something better could be found; I took matters in my own hands.
My doctor, of the moment, who was half dead himself, but didn't know it, told me: "Young man, if you don't do as I say, you're going to die!" I said, "I'd rather!" All drugs were immediately thrown out the window. Much to everyone's surprise, including my own, I didn't die. Actually, I soon felt somewhat better.
I had the good fortune to discover Physical Culture magazine -- at that time it was more of a strong-man's type of magazine than it is today. I began, feebly at first, to practice a series of calisthenics therein illustrated. My improvement, after only a few short weeks, was convincing proof; here was the right idea. My dad was so pleased that he agreed to my ordering Walter Camp's "Daily Dozen," which brought another degree of improvement.
Soon I had the energy to do a spot of work, to earn a little money of my own. Advertising physical instructors got it all. In quick succession, I ordered: Farmer Burns' "Five Minute Dumb-bell Course"; his "Home Wrestling Course"; but since I had no one with whom to practice, I got little out of this one. Then came the "Matysek System"; and his "Muscle Control"; the "Strongfort System"; and others. In some the exercises were so tough I was sure that even their authors couldn't have performed them. Some of the systems, in retrospect, were plain screwy. By now, although I had gained considerably in health and strength, my purchases were keeping me broke -- I had enough.
But it was too late -- already faint traces of muscles were beginning to loom upon my bodily horizon--once such a phenomenon appears, a man never quits; he is forever a convert; he will forever worship at the shrine of Physical Perfection.
A series of advertisements (full page -- no less -- in enormous headlines) intrigued me, they read: "How Do You Look in a Bathing Suit?" -- "If You Were Dying Tonight-and I could save you, would you, etc.-?" -- "Muscles Five Cents Apiece--If you were guaranteed perfect muscles for five cents apiece, would you buy them? You bet your life you would. Well--etc." Send ten cents for my FREE booklet, "Muscular Development," yours truly, Earle E. Liederman. Of course I sent for the booklet, and; the booklet sold me the course.
Man alive, this was IT! -- The exercises were perfectly chosen for progressiveness; understandably explained, in writing, and by photographs; they got right to the point; put emphasis where it belonged, at the center of the part it was meant to develop.
I trained religiously; became exercise mad! Soon my sprigs of muscles were coming into full bloom.
My girl friend became jealous. She said that all I cared for was my silly old training. I lost her-didn't care.
Soon I had bigger muscles than anyone in my block; in my school; in my town. I had TOO MANY muscles for my town. But I wanted still more; to meet men who had more; to meet, above all, Earle Liederman, who was, to my way of thinking, the father of the Modern Muscle.
There was only one thing to do, I did it: I saved my pennies; I hoarded my muscles; then -- took a train to New York. . . So--now that we're in New York, we can stop by Liederman's office, and see him any old time. That's what I THOUGHT.
I fully intended to take New York by storm. Just like the advertisements said, I walked with the gliding, springy step of a panther. My muscles, rippling under my clothing, were bound to show through and suggest to all who turned for a second look at me, all the strength and graceful, explosive fury of that jungle terror.
It didn't work that way. From the moment I got off the train it seemed to take all my strength to stay on my feet. I was pushed, shoved, jostled, and spun about. My protests were never heard. I was a bobbing cork on a stormy sea; I was like the sparrow who was mistaken for a shuttlecock in a badminton game. If I hadn't gotten into the spirit of the game, but quickly, I should have spent more time off my feet than on them. Nobody turned for a second look -- nobody even took the first. Consequently; instead of taking the Big Town by storm, it took me by panic -- at least that was my first reaction.
But I had come here to see Liederman. I felt that when I should meet him everything would begin to look differently; that I would start to feel I was a part of all this hurrying, busy metropolis. I located his office on a map of the city. It was some distance down-town. A policeman told me how to get there on the sub-way. He forgot to warn me about the hazards of the rush hours; I had chosen the bright and early morning for my first trip. It seemed that the entire population of New York had found it necessary to go at the same time, and on the same train. The train came in, the doors opened, I made a rush for them; but somehow, fast as I was, the car filled to overflowing ahead of me. By sub-way the trip would have taken only a few minutes; by surface car, as I now traveled, it required nearly half a day, but I made it.
Liederman's office occupied the entire second floor of a down-town sky-scraper-at the edge of the financial district. It was the biggest office I had ever seen. The elevator door opened into a small waiting room in which a lone girl worked. Beyond were two large, glass-partitioned, private offices, so arranged that no one could be seen in either-at any rate, not from where I stood. A railing separated the waiting-room from the main, working office; this consisted of the greater part of the remainder of the floor. There were sixty-three (I counted them) girls at individual desks. Each girl was furiously busy addressing envelopes and fitting them with booklets and various other correspondence. A number of men were busy measuring and cutting cables for, and fitting attachments and handles to the famous Liederman 'chest-pull' exerciser, and assembling and packing other muscle building equipment.
Nearly every worker had a typewriter and most of these were in constant use. The people, while showing no pause in their activities, still managed to carry on considerable bantering conversation; that, along with the clacking of typewriters; the snip of cutting shears, and other noises; along wish that of the traffic in the street below, created an impression, however orderly, of considerable confusion.
If it hadn't been for the literature and the few physique photographs around I would have had my doubts as to whether or not I was in the right place. Whatever I had had in mind, this wasn't it. I think I had thought of a gymnasium with perhaps a small office in one corner from whence the mail-order business was conducted.
Also, in the back of my mind had been the idea to hit the Master up for a job in his gym where a fellow might watch the top-notch strong boys train, and maybe, pick up an extra muscle or two himself. With this in mind I approached the girl at the waiting-room desk. She had been busy with paper work; and evidently was quite accustomed to the visits of broad-shouldered, deep-chested, strong-jawed individuals who walked with the graceful, gliding step of the tiger; the suppressed, ferocious strength of that jungle monarch being suggested in every move; just like it said in the booklet; because, she paid no attention to me.
Taking a deep breath to off-set my, by now, awed emotions; I inquired for Mr. Liederman, explaining that I was his pupil, that I had come up from the South with the express purpose of meeting him. She was cordial, but sorry to say that Mr. Liederman was out of the city.
I asked, "Then, may I see the gymnasium?" She, "What gymnasium?" - I, "Why, Mr. Liederman's gymnasium, of course." She, "What on earth would he be doing with a gymnasium?" I, "Well, he's the Muscle Builder, isn't he, how can he be that without a gymnasium?" -She, "Strictly by mail, you know, you're his pupil, aren't you?" I, "Yes, but I thought he'd have to have a gymnasium, somehow, you see--" She, "Sorry, no gymnasium." I thanked the girl and left, muttering, "Now, what do you know about that, no gymnasium, well, I'll be--."
A lot of thoughts raced through my mind on the long ride back up-town: "H-mmmm, no gymnasium-the place is more like a factory-busier than most, too. Wonder if he really is out of town; seems to me he'd have to stick pretty close to run a place, like that-must have a million pupils, judging from the piles of letters I saw-yeah, and think of that money coming in in all or most of them --heh, heh, maybe that's why he has his office near the banking district; so he won't have to lug his money so far. Oh well, the course is a honey, who cares how much money he makes. Just the same, I gotta meet him, gymnasium or no gymnasium; job or no job. Ha, ha, never met millionaire before: but how to meet this one?"
The trip down-town was too long to take regularly in the hope of casually finding him in; or being admitted, if I did. As naive as I certainly was at that rime (okay, so I still am), I could understand that he might be pretty busy when he was in the office: so I would make an appointment.
With this in mind, I telephoned regularly; always received the same reply: "Sorry, Mr. Liederman is out of the city, no idea when he will return." I wrote letters which were courteously answered: but the message was always the same. I finally made the trip to the office again. This time I did meet the office manager, Arthur Hyson, a nice chap and a physical instructor in his own tight; but even he could offer only vague information as to when I might see the Head Man. So-to heck with it. I gave it up -- temporarily, that is.
PHOTO CAPTIONS
- EARLE LIEDERMAN The above photo was undoubtedly published in more newspapers and magazines than anyone can guess or imagine. It became a trade mark. I was about thirty - about 180 lbs. The biceps measurement was 16 1/2 inches and the neck 17 1/2 inches.
- I am proud of this artistic pose of myself (left) and Arth Hyson (right). The unusual effect was gotten by coating our bodies with a light oil, and then patting on bath powder. This required a lot of extra preparation, but I believe that the result was worth it.
- EARLE LIEDERMAN An old picture found in an old storage trunk. This photo was taken about 1915 or so. Then, and prior to that, was spent in vaudville.
- Two splendid poses of the author, Kenneth Terrell. Kenneth is one of Liederman's most famous pupils, and won himself great fame as a Stunt Man in the Movies. An all around athlete, Terrell used weights, expanders and other bodybuilding apparatus to develop his perfect physique.
- EARLE E LIEDERMAN An heretofore unpublished photograph taken of Your Editor when he was about 13 or 14 years of age. In fact it was a debut for my picture posing. If memory serves, the flexed arm measured 12 1/2 ins.