Muscle Building (Circa 1924) - Chapter 1 - The Various Forms of Exercise - By Earle E. Liederman

There are many and varied forms of exercise. Nearly anyone who is experienced in physical training has his own method of performing exercises. It is difficult to suggest a course of training for anyone where the exercises would please the individual in every respect. When training, the physical culturist must take the bitter with the sweet. He must perform exercises that are not at all to his liking, and often he will find that such exercises are really the ones his muscles require the most for full development. When an exercise seems disagreeable or difficult, it is proof in itself that the muscles affected have been neglected. If you wish to perform only the exercises to your liking, you will naturally pick out the easiest work, and neglect the ones most necessary. There is frequently a tendency to fool yourself. I can relate an instance from my own experience which demonstrates this.

Years ago, when I first started active training, I outlined a course for myself, I thought to be the best possible exercises, in order to develop and strengthen my muscles. I religiously followed this system, and as I found the work becoming easier and easier, I naturally thought I was increasing rapidly in strength. However, the truth of the matter was that I was gradually discovering easier and easier methods of performing the movements, thereby not only fooling myself, but also cheating my muscles as well.

Great care should be taken, therefore, in regard to the selection of exercises, for if the student discovers easier methods of performing them, he is not only fooling himself, but he is also retarding his progress.

Don't Hypnotize Yourself with a Wrong Idea.

I have often observed different individuals exercising in gymnasiums, and wondered while watching them perform light free-hand movements what physical goal they had set for themselves. I have seen some chaps swinging and twisting their arms madly, probably thinking in their minds that they were securing muscular development and strength. I have wondered how anyone would hypnotize himself this way. Light calisthenic work has never developed huge muscles, and never will. In fact, anyone who wants to obtain the best results in the minimum of time, should bear in mind that the muscles must be exercised in groups, as well as individually. It is all very well to adopt a system of light dumb-bell exercises, but you will find that in time the work will become exceedingly monotonous.

"Light calisthenic work has never developed huge muscles, and never will."

My main objection to light dumb-bell work is that in the beginning you need only practice an exercise from ten to twenty times in order to tire the muscles, while after several months, in order to tire these muscles to the same degree, the repetitions must be continued many hundreds of counts. When you consider the time involved in exercising in this manner, the folly of it can readily be seen.

Then again, endless repetition of movements has a tendency to wear away the tissues faster than they can be replenished. Therefore, instead of increasing the size of the muscles, they will slowly decrease, until the student possesses a body consisting of bones and long, stringy-looking muscles, not only unpleasing to the eye, but useless from the standpoint of strength. The muscles have endurance, it is true, but that kind of endurance for only one muscle at a time is absolutely useless for the hard worker. How can anyone expect to possess coordination in active work when his muscles have never worked together in groups? Of what use is biceps, for example, that can perform five hundred or one thousand flexions with a five-pound dumb-bell when put to a test, if it must seek the help of the shoulders, chest and leg muscles in some form of competition?

What Twenty Years of Close Observation Have Taught Me

It is not my intention to condemn any system of physical culture of the present day, for every teacher has a right to his own opinion, especially when he is in earnest. However, the pointers and advice I am endeavoring to set forth in these pages are based not only upon more that twenty years of close observation and study, but also upon more that twenty years of personal experience on my own body, which is the very best experience of all. Advise should be taken from one who can show results on his own person, and everyone knows that you can learn a great deal more from a practical man that you can from a theoretical one. If a penniless tramp tried to tell you how to become a financial success, you would not heed him one-tenth as much as you would a wealthy business man. The very same thing applies to physical training. Men who really do things are the men to learn from. If the student will bear this in mind in his endeavor to seek strength and development, more rapid progress will be made.

It is not necessary for anyone to attend a gymnasium in order to perfect his body. Of course, a gymnasium is a great help, owning to the atmosphere of the place and the competition one is bound to encounter. But if one has the will power and the determination to succeed, he can accomplish even better results in the privacy of his own room, where the fullest concentration can be effected.

I am a firm believer in paying strict attention to each extension and contraction of the muscles, for if the mind wanders, there is a tendency to slacken the effort.

In order to succeed in exercising, the student must perform progressive work. He must work a little harder each week or month in order to develop his body to its maximum proportions. If he does not do this, he will merely reach a certain point in development and then stand still.

The Wrong and the Right Way to Train

I remember some years ago a young man came to me asking my advice regarding the treatment of his own body. He had a fairly good physique. As I remember, his arm measured about 14 inches when flexed. This young man told me that he had been exercising a little more than three years. However, during the last year or more, he had not made any noticeable gain. Therefore, he was not only anxious, but somewhat discouraged over his progress, as naturally he would be.

I asked him what form of training he had been following and he told me. He never gave progressive exercising a though, but continued working every day at a monotonous drill that gave him a fairly good development, but no weight behind the muscles. He looked drawn and slim, and although he could move every muscle of his body at will, yet hey were not the kind that are pleasing to the eye. I took this man in hand and outlined a course of progressive work for him to follow, and in less than seven months his arm had increased to over 15 1/2 inches, thereby gaining as much in that short period of time as he had gained in more than twice that time while following non-progressive methods. Today he is one of the finest built athletes in this country.

A short while ago another young chap. a student of Columbia University, came in to see me. He had done a lot of work on the rings, the parallel bars and on the horse, but had never developed any really good looking muscle. He was very much dissatisfied with his progress, notwithstanding that his gym instructor had assured him that he had developed about as far as he could go.

I told him frankly that he could keep up this kind of work until feathers grew on frogs, but it wouldn't get him anywhere.

Well, to make a long story short, this chap put himself under my instruction. I gave him a carefully selected number of exercises, planned to develop his arms, chest, abdomen and legs, which he followed faithfully for three months. At the end of his time he gained a full inch and a half around the biceps, two inches in chest expansion and more than one inch around his thighs. Needless to say, he was delighted. I have since instructed at least a half dozen men from this man's fraternity, all of whom were equally well pleased with the results of their work.

What I Mean by Progressive Work

By progressive work I do not mean increasing the number of motions. I mean that the resistance you are working against must be made heavier as your muscles increase in strength. I am a firm believer in performing exercises that tire the muscles within ten repetitions. Of course, there are certain parts of the body that are exceptions in this case, such as the neck and thighs, possibly the abdominal region. For if too great a strain is placed upon these parts, serious results may develop. However, for the arms, chest and shoulders the student should never perform any movement that requires more than ten repetitions in order to tire the muscles if rapid gain in development is the object. The neck should be tired in less than twenty-five repetitions, likewise the thighs and the abdominal muscles.




"By progressive work I do not mean increasing the number of motions. I mean that the resistance you are working against must be made heavier as your muscles increase in strength."

Concentrate Your Mind on Your Work

The average beginner is ignorant regarding the proper method of performing his exercise. Just as there is a right and wrong way to lift weights, swim, skate or perform any feat of strength and skill, so there is a right and a wrong way to exercise. In exercising, the muscles should be worked in a natural manner. For example, when exercising your biceps, the concentration and the effort should be placed on the contraction and not on the extension. To make this clearer: if you are holding a weight in your hand with your arm hanging by your side, when you bend your arm, bend it with vigor and force, concentrating upon what you are doing, until your biceps is flexed and the arm is completely bent. Do not concentrate your effort on any resistance when relaxing the arm and lowering the weight to the arm's length at your side.

Another example: When your are chinning the bar, start by hanging on the bar with your arms straight. Then endeavor to bring your chin over the bar by flexing the arms and pulling the body upwards. Concentration and vigor should be put on this upward pull while you should lower yourself in a natural, relaxed way. I have seen athletes perform the exercise of chinning the bar and have noticed how slowly they have lowered themselves, seeming to pay special attention to the flexed state of their arms while lowering their body. If they paid more attention to pulling their bodies upward, much better results could be accomplished. Try this for yourself the next time you happen to be in the gym, and see what a difference it will make.

The triceps muscle, back of the arms, works just the reverse of the biceps. Therefore, when you push any object overhead, concentrate and use force in the movement. Pay no particular attention to the lowering of the weight to the shoulder again. In other words, use the muscles in their own natural way the way in which they were intended to be used. The biceps muscles was meant to flex the arm and the triceps muscle to extend the arm. The same thing applies to any muscle of the body. Later on I will go into this matter more completely.

The Size of the Bones Makes a Big Difference

The size of the bones is an important factor in determining the contour and shape, as well as the size of the muscles. That is why a person who has a small framework can hardly expect to equal the proportions of a large-boned individual, although I have seen phenomenally developed athletes with small bones.

Nevertheless, it is a fact that a large-boned man can become much stronger and have much larger muscles than his small-boned competitor. The small-boned man, however, has the advantage over a large-boned individual in the fact that he can develop muscles that are much more pleasing to the eye, and which will make him look much larger in photographs than anyone who has a large frame. This is because of his small wrist, elbow and knee joints.

One of the most remarkable examples I have ever seen of this was in a young man who had but a 6 1/2 inch wrist and whose upper arm measured a trifle over 16 inches when flexed. His chest and back and legs also reached enormous proportions. This chap was but 5 feet 6 inches in height and weighed in the neighborhood of 165 pounds. If, with all the work he had done to obtain this phenomenal development, he had had large bones, he would have undoubtedly become one of the world's strongest and must muscular men. In photographs, however, he looked much better developed and much stronger than some of the world's record holders, who nearly always have been men of large bones.

A man who possesses an 8-inch wrist and who will train faithfully for several years, will eventually have a biceps measuring from 17 to 18 inches when flexed, and other parts of his body in same huge proportions, providing, of course, he is of average height. Anyone who has a small, light frame should be consoled greatly by the fact that he can develop much finer looking muscles than his large-boned neighbor. His muscles will stand out better and he will have better control of them. He will also make a better appearance than his big, husky competitor.

So cheer up, if you happen to be of slight frame, for faithful, regular performance of your exercises may bring rewards to you in muscular appearance that you couldn't get if you were a heavyweight.

Iron Nation

Read More »

MUSCLE BUILDING (Circa 1924 ) - Preface & Introduction - By Earle E. Liederman

Originally posted on NaturalStrength.com on 18 March 2003 *Pictures are randomly selected and are not all necessarily from the book.


Preface:

It may interest the reader to know that the manuscript of this book was carried in my pocket over 9,000 miles, which I traveled for the purpose of securing the material and photographs contained within these pages.

I have personally met and felt the muscles of nearly all the athletes whose pictures appear in this book. I have endeavored to secure photographs of men who have spent years in the world of athletics and whose physiques show the remarkable results of their different professions. I have done this solely to arouse the reader's enthusiasm.

Because of thousands of requests which I have received from all parts of the world, this book came into being. It has been written with an unprejudiced mind and I have endeavored to tell the exact truth on muscle building, gained from years of careful observation and research, coupled with experience not only on my own body, but also on the physiques of thousands upon thousands of my pupils.

Physiology has been completely left out. I have used as few anatomical terms as possible, and these only where it is necessary. I have endeavored to explain muscle building in a simplified manner so that it could be easily understood by readers in all stages of life.

If one - just one - under-developed reader obtains a strong, robust body through following he suggestions I have outlined in this book, I will feel amply repaid for my efforts.



Introduction:

There's probably a time in everyone's life when he wishes he were stronger, and had more skill and endurance. This my first make itself known in boyhood, in an argument with the school bully, or it ma not come until middle age, when a man realizes he is slipping backward. If you ask one hundred boys if they would like to double their present strength, you would probably receive one hundred answers in the affirmative, for the answer is revealed in the Bible adage, "The glory of young men is their strength."

If you propounded the same question to a group of men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, you probably would not receive more than 30 per cent, or 60 per cent, affirmative replies, for the remainder would hesitate, or perhaps would not know. Ask the same question of one hundred men between the age of forty and fifty and the ones who are enthusiastic about increasing their strength are in the minority, for a man at this age is usually more desirous of increasing his vitality and preparing to preparing to lengthen his stay upon this earth.

Regardless of age, however, there are very few people who would refuse to increase their strength, improve their appearance, and experience all the joys of living a physical culture life, if they could acquire these things without too much effort. The plain truth is that most people are lazy. They will not exert a sufficient amount of energy to the care and welfare of their bodies, which if left undone, will positively cause them to slip backward rather than go forward.

If more people realized the importance of devoting even ten to fifteen minutes daily to the care and welfare of their bodies, there would be far less dyspepsia, rheumatism, under-nourishment or obesity. If people only realized what it means to possess robust health, abounding strength and feeling of satisfaction that accompanies a well-muscled body, physical culturists would be in the majority instead of in the minority.

I have often watched crowds pass on the streets and noticed most of the individuals shuffle along more dead than alive. Seventy-five per cent of them are round-shouldered and flat-chested; many are carrying twenty-five to fifty pounds of extra weight around their waists and hips. Once in a while you will see someone in the passing throng with a springy step, deep, full chest and straight broad shoulders. You can tell at once that he is a physical culturist who has devoted some time to the care and welfare of his body. Your attention is attracted to him because of his personality, which is emphasized by his athletic appearance. His complexion is clear, his eyes sparkle, he radiates vitality. Lines of dissipation are absent.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if everyone looked and felt like this? Medical doctors would soon become rare and drug stores would sell fewer drugs, and even less toilet articles than they now sell. There is really no excuse for anyone who fails to enjoy all the thrills resulting from robust health. Anyone who is too lazy to devote a little time to his physical welfare deserves absolutely no sympathy when sickness or disease gets him.

It is my pleasure and great privilege to tell you in this series of little informal talks just how much you can enjoy the delights of robust health and the feeling of security and satisfaction that comes to a man who knows that he can give a good account of himself in any emergency that may arise, and who has the courage and the red-blooded love of life to want to increase not only his happiness, but also the happiness and the comfort of those who love and respect him and wish him well.


Iron Nation

Read More »

THE STRONGEST MAN THAT EVER LIVED - LOUIS CYR, (Circa 1927) - Reminiscence - (Last Chapter) - By George F. Jowett

Some years ago I wrote an article entitled, "Quebec, The Cradle of Strong Men." The title was the result of a statement I had made in which I remarked that within the province of Quebec could be found the strongest men in the world. The statement, and the article, drew widespread interest and comment as to what was the cause of this apparently extraordinary condition among an approximate number of two million people. Was it diet, race or hereditary condition? That was the exact question raised in an editorial.

I often turned that question over in my mind, but not for one moment did I consider the question of diet. I know only too well the thrifty frugal table of the habitant of Quebec, and while the table is well provided for the variety is scant. Three things which the dietitians taboo; namely, pork, white bread and maple syrup, they eat in abundance. The question of race might have something to do with it, but I very much doubt it.

The first people of Canada were the French Catholic Colonists, but very quickly they began to infuse the blood of the Huron and Iroquois into their progeny, and I doubt if there can be found a real native of Quebec wholly free of Indian blood. I say this in view of the fact that no person can call himself a native unless he can produce a lineage of four generations on the native soil. The French Canadians can produce such an heritage more easily than the English Canadian. Through this race commingling we find the blood ties of New France separated from Old France, and along with the change of blood ties we find a diversity of language. In my estimation, there is all the difference in the world between the Frenchman of France and the Frenchman of Canada, and it is also true that the native of Quebec recognizes this condition and does not recognize an absolute affinity with the old land. They grew as a race apart.

France refused to believe it, but when the famous French Canadian battalions first paraded through Paris en route during the great war, it became an established reality to them. France was curious to look upon the descendants of the hardy followers of Cartier and Champlain, and well I remember the French papers commenting on their observations of the prodigals and saying that, "They found them different."

If it had been a question of race they would not have been different. History is full of such incidents. The dispersion of the various Gothic nations as they trod underfoot the various civilizations in their barbarous conquests in the different parts of Europe proves this. They were in time absorbed by the conquered in the process of natural absorption. Most of these all-conquering Teuton races became Latinized. If these particular war-like races had within them the all-dominating features they would never have been absorbed. Other great nations fell of moral decay - for instance, the Hellenic Empire and the Empire of the Caesars. In only one instance have we any record of a race perpetuating its domination - the Anglo Saxons. The Norman conquest of England was absorbed within one generation and British race predominated as Anglo-Saxon.

Of hereditary conditions as a cause there probably are a few more reasons for belief, although I cannot bring myself to analyze this question in the same light as the masters of eugenics analyze hereditary traits, through their experiments with guinea pigs, white mice and rabbits. Whether I am right or wrong, I base my beliefs as history and ethnology have taught me, and until I am proved wrong I shall continue to believe that I am right.

It has always been a doubtful question in my mind as to just how much hereditary has to do with the success of a nation, but with the individual it is quite probably much more important. Yet the greatest fundamental that I have come to recognize is - environment. This condition more than any other makes men what they are. In itself it is the product of conditions or circumstances. The conditions and circumstance of Canada as found by its first settlers, were what determined the real hardiness of the future Canadian. Only the fittest survived, and necessity set for them a task of toil. It developed the true spirit of the pioneer, and from that such a man as Louis Cyr sprung. Among them, strength is a natural acquisition, they do not look for it, they expect it, and taking great pride in the amount they exhibit, the element of combat evolved.

Louis Cyr is not the only great man Quebec had, there are many others, but the great Louis was the greatest of them all. Further investigation proved that Louis was advertising the fact that in the same province were other man of powerful bone and sinew, more capable of comparison with himself than some of the luminaries of Europe. Louis had already produced the prodigious Horace Barre, a man who had on several occasions shouldered a bar bell of twelve hundred and seventy pounds and carried it the entire length of gymnasium of each occasion. Imagine a bar bell of twelve hundred and seventy pounds - would you not believe that such a weight on a bar would not only overbalance a man so that it would be impossible for him to carry it, but the weight on the bar would cause it to be buried deep into the flesh of the shoulder so that the burden would be unbearable. But Barre did it. Twice he performed the feat of the gymnasium of Professor Attila, in New York, and on other occasions in Montreal. Doing the feat so often is evidence enough that it was not his record performance. He could have done more.

Just the direct opposite was little Bourette, a man who did not weigh much over one hundred pounds stripped. The little dynamo teamed with Louis in his circus troupe, and at every performance he raised a huge bar bell to arms length that weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, while lying on his back. I met Bourette years after his retirement when he was in his fifties, and he could still do it, although he had not touched a weight for years. He formed part of a tremendous spectacular feat with Louis, in which the iron king held a bar bell in his hands, on which Bourette would hang suspended with his hocks. Then Louis, quite matter of fact, would raise the combined weight to his shoulders, and push the weight out straight in front so that his arms were straight, and level with his shoulder. Slowly, he would return the man and weight to the shoulders. It seems terribly hard for the layman to believe a front, "muscle out" like that, but it was just a routine feat for the king of strength.

Then again, remember his brother, Peter, as a lad of nineteen was invincible as a middle weight. All at one time we find four superman produced from a population that then numbered not much over a million people. It was environment that created them, but it was Louis that created the environment. He inspired others, and they accustomed themselves to consider certain poundage as being ordinary, that really shocked the best products of other nations. Well, we always follow a leader and usually find that the magnitude of his brilliance is a cause for our continued striving. The brilliancy of Leader Louis was that he daily reduced the extraordinary in feats of man power to the commonplace.

These points that I have just covered were accepted by all those who had become deeply interested in this topic, but you know how one question will raise another. They pondered over the thought whether Quebec would always be the cradle of strong men. That is something that will always rest upon the lap of the gods. It all depends upon how time will affect the people of Quebec, and whether the future generation will be caught in the whirligig of fast life or not. So far these people have remained much to themselves, clannish if you wish to use the term, but free of the bigotry that prevails over most clannish races. They choose their bosom friends, and their wives from amongst themselves because they feel a closer relationship. It is not hate that separates them from others, but a greater affection for their own. We have to admire them for that.

Anyhow the march of progress has lifted all new countries far away from the pioneer days, which is also true of Quebec, and still be find the Anglo-French colony true to her Titan tradition. Of the men who followed Louis, perhaps the most notable was the young Montrealer, Hector DeCarrie. He certainly was a real good man, but lacked much of the bodyweight that Cyr and Barre had. I doubt if he ever made the two hundred pound bodyweight mark. Of course, we do not hear anything of DeCarrie now, as he retired from the strong man profession some years ago. Like all French Canadian strong men he was great on separate dumb-bell lifting, and he was a wonder on the bent press. He actually claimed to be the first man to do over three hundred pounds with one hand. Be that as it may, DeCarrie was the best man in Canada for many years. Then came Wilfred Cabana, who before he was out of his teens forged to the front with some stupendous claims, but he never conclusively proved his superiority over DeCarrie. Cabana became the rage. He was a regular Adonis, and it looked as though he was going to revive the old glories that had passed away with the incomparable Louis, but lack of proper management, and the refusal to be true to himself lost him his popularity, and he never climbed far on the steps that led to fame. Cabana was really ingenious, and contrived some wonderful feats, but his actual lifting was based upon his bent press ability. I remember quite well his human bridge stunt, performed a la Strongfort. Unfortunately, he was badly injured when the driver of the automobile lost control of the machine, which brought the whole works down upon him.

LaVallee was the next superman that invaded the field. He was undoubtedly the most powerful man since the days of Cyr. Of him I have written considerably in "The Key to Might and Muscle." Here was a man I would dearly have liked to seen featured. He was of a tremendous stature, tall, and well put together with enormous girth of limb. He reminded me much of Apollon, the old French idol, whom he resembled in every way, even to the extent of his laziness in being unwilling to demonstrate the actual limit of his strength. Around this time there sprung up another who claimed much public attention, Victor DeLamarre. He came from further east in the province, but to be frank with all my brother strength lovers, I cannot say that this man was in the same class as any of the other men I have mentioned on pure strength tests. He is a fine showman, but that is all, and I merely mention him because so many interested parties have written to me concerning him. From the moment I first saw him perform at the St. Dennis Theatre, in Montreal, I did not take him seriously. I do not think that he weighs over one hundred and sixty pounds, and I feel quite sure that Fournier could easily dispose of him on any set of lifts.

At that time, I could have put my hands on a dozen men in Montreal alone, who collectively, could defeat the twelve best men all the other nations of the world put together could bring. Since then, the world has made rapid strides in the strength field, and developed some wonderful material. Nevertheless, Quebec still produces the quota from her handful, that can challenge the world on an even footing.

I quite expect that there are some who will be inclined to think that Quebec's production is an accident. They may thing that a province of so small a population could not lord it over the rest of the world otherwise. Now here is where I want you to understand me thoroughly. I am no one who puts things down to miracles or accidents, when anything unusual becomes repeated more than two or three times. There is always a reason to be found somewhere, is my belief. It is not because the French Canadians are a northern people that they are so sturdy. The Scandinavian races have a similar climate, but they, as a people do not compare with the Canadian strong men. It is all in environment, the atmosphere we live in that moulds our character and disposition. Quebec is not the only country that has proved this. Look at little Estonia and the powerful men it has produced. They claim George Hackenschmidt, Lurich and Aberg of the old regime, and are responsible for such splendid men as Neuland, Kikkas and Tammer of the present day. It is an Estonian strength club that has the highest standard of any other club in the world. No man over one hundred and eighty-two pounds is admitted into membership, who cannot make a two-hands jerk in two clean movements of three hundred pounds.

I am aware of the fact that Hackenschmidt, Lurich and Aberg have claimed Russia as their nationality, but then, Estonia was part of Russia. On the other hand it was easier for them to say they came from Russia, just the same as it is for a native of Quebec to say he is from Canada.

It has been environment with Estonia, as with Quebec, that has developed such a high standard, and kept it, and as long as they cater to strength as their national sport, each nation will continue to produce extraordinary specimens.

Montreal has been the scene of many rare strength fests, and seen many a great man come and go. Last summer Arthur Giroux retired, and with him went much of that which we admire in the man of bone and sinew. He was a popular national figure, and endeared himself to the hearts of many American strength lovers. He did not commence to display his powers until he was thirty-four years of age, and when he did, he made them all step. I never knew a lifter who was as anxious as he was to satisfy others as to the honesty of the weights that he lifted. In that respect he was like his great forerunner, Louis Cyr. He was exceptionally good at walking with weights in both hands, and naturally his grip was unusually strong. He held the beautiful trophy from the French Canadian Federation of Weight Lifters, for many years, turning it in during the summer of 1926, when he announced his retirement.

Arthur Dandurand was also a fine speciman of manhood, and among the smaller men, Fournier, Marineau, Angers, Gratton, and Barbeau are wonders. But Montreal has recently brought to light another figure whose caliber of strength surpasses that of any other since the advent of Cyr. His name is Caouette. He is not yet thirty years of age, but is an enormous man, heavier even than Cyr. He strips at three hundred and forty-seven pounds, but is so powerful that it is hard to give any exact estimate of his strength at the present time. On some feats he equals the great Louis, but whether he can equal him on all tests, or beat him, is something that remains to be proved.

I have know them all, along with many others whom I have not mentioned, and with due respect to them all, including the powerful new comer, Caouette, none of them come within a thousand miles of touching the great Louis. With the exception of DeLavalee and Caouette, not one of them had anywhere near the strength of Cyr. Even if they had, there was many things that Cyr had, which they lack. This can be equally applied to all the strong men of any other country. Cyr was magnetic. He attracted, and swayed the public with his inborn traits of showmanship that was brought to the peak of perfection, from use. A promoter who had handled Louis, told me that he was the easiest man in the world to handle. He was a shrewd business man, but never exorbitant, and at no time was he known to resort to harsh words. Louis would say what he had to say, and if they could not agree on terms, well, there was no harm done. They all could part with a handshake, knowing Louis was still a friend. Most men who rise to the peak that Louis reached, are as hard to handle as any operatic star - No wonder their managers die young.

I have never met a strong man from the land of the maple leaf who did not feel that Louis was something way beyond the rest of them. Dear old Montreal, it has always been the Mecca of strong men on this side of the Atlantic, and rivals such great centers as Munich, Vienna and Reval. American traditions have reposed in the old city of Boston, although during the last few years, Philadelphia has become the hub of attraction. Even so, Boston still retains some magnificent characters. In Louis' days, it was the place and became more popular because the great king of fistiania commenced his career and lived his life there. John L. Sullivan was the first known to the sporting public as - "The Boston Strong Boy," and throughout his life he was tremendously proud of his strength. It was the feature of his ring career. Never was he known to refuse a test with any man of brawn, and he claimed no man was as strong as he unless he proved it. Incidentally, John L. had some pet stunts all of his own that really took some doing, but he found all his best as nothing against the superior powers of Our Louis.

These two men were very friendly, although John L. was very repugnant to Louis when John L. was under the influence of drink, which was very often. While much can be said for John L. as a fighter, and much for him as a man, when sober, nevertheless when drinking he was degraded. He reigned with a rule of terror, and it is a fact that when he called for every man to drink to his toast, he drank. He pulled this stunt off wherever he went, and always when the bar room was the most crowded. His voice was the roar of a bull, and as loud as he could roar he would call for everyone to line up against the bar. This done, and with everyone standing glass in hand waiting for the toast, John L. would exclaim, "Here's to John L. Sullivan, I can lick any son of a - in the world." As they drank, Sullivan would glare around from under his scowling brow to see if anyone had not responded. The day came when one man did refuse, none other than Louis Cyr. They had both walked into a saloon, and when the crowd had gathered to its largest, John L. made his usual boastful toast. The glass was to the mouth of Louis when the speech began, but as it progressed a look of reproach settled upon his face, and he returned his glass to the bar. Sullivan had drank enough to bring all the viciousness of his nature to the surface, which always laid dormant when he was sober.

"Drink!" He roared out at Louis, but Louis just shook his head. " I'm sorry, M'sier, I cannot drink to that expression." Silence settled upon all as tense as that experienced by a soldier waiting for a flying bomb to explode. John was shocked speechless for the moment, but he quickly recovered and took a step closer to Louis, with the glass in his hand that Louis had set down.

"Drink that!" he shouted, almost purple in the face, but Louis replied by placing one hand on John L.'s chest, and gave him a push that sent the drunken prize fighter reeling up against the bar. That was all. Sullivan then came to his senses, and manfully said to Louis, "I did not mean it that way, Louis." The breach thus filled, Louis called for drinks all around, and toasted, "To the champion fighter of the world, John L. Sullivan," to which everyone there applauded, glad to be released from the tense situation.

This little incident alone proves Louis' broadness of mind. Some men with half the strength that Cyr had would have tried to have taken advantage of the situation. Instead, Louis gave John L. a chance to reassert himself, which he did. Judged in our day, such a statement is a deep affront and most men are likely to resent it. Many years ago, it was used as an expression of deep friendship, or in terms of admiration, but with it went the cowboy's advice, "Say, pard, when yuh use that name, smile." John L. Sullivan never smiled; his face always bore a ferocious scowl with which he always tried to reduce his opponent.

However, that expression broke a friendship later on that ended in a thrashing being administered to him by James J. Corbett, who also took his title. Cyr and Corbett are the only two men known to have dared to refuse the toast to Sullivan and get away with it.

Cyr did not pass the thing off lightly because he was afraid of Sullivan. Not a bit. Cyr quite well knew that John L. was supposed to be the most dangerous when under the influence of drink. Louis was positively fearless, and as I have stated in the first chapter of this book, Cyr could outfight any man in the province. Of course, that meant in a rough and tumble fight, hitting when down, as well as when up. John L. came to think an awful lot of Cyr, and he would laugh heartily at his vain attempts to move arm of Louis in a wrist-turning test. On one of these impromptu occasions John L. said, " I bet that I can hit a harder blow than you, Louis. Big as you are, I can knock you off your feet with a blow on the chest." To this Louis replied, "No, John, you can't." By Hokey, I can," John declared, and each man rose to his feet. "All ready," John L. asked. "Stand well back, boys, so you can catch him as he falls, or open the door wide, for I'm going to knock him for a row."

Louis stood up squarely upon his feet, one foot braced ahead of the other and his enormous chest thrust out big enough target for a blind man to hit. John L. had rolled the sleeve of his shirt after discarding his coat, and he measured his distance with the practiced eye of a fighter who is used to measure off an opponent for a blow. The Boston bruiser looked formidable enough as he drew back his powerful right arm to the shoulder and launched forward the blow with all the strength in his body behind. His fist struck with the thudding boom of a big dud shell as it buries its force in the earth. The onlookers gasped and exclaimed, as the contact of knuckles on breastbone collided, and resounded throughout the room. But the mountain of bone and muscle was not moved from off his feet. Sullivan was the most amazed man there; he had never dreamt that any man could physically repulse a blow of his. Ruefully he rubbed his hand and said, "Darn it all, Louis, I would not want to be pounding men like you in the ring."

There was one stunt in particular that was a favorite with John L. which he was everlastingly having fun with. He had a glass a little taller than the ordinary drinking glass, and also with a smaller circumference. In it he place a silver dollar and challenged the onlookers to try to blow it out. It takes some doing, and very few have I seen do it. The object is to blow the breath as forcibly as possible into the glass, and see if the reaction of the air striking the bottom of the glass will lift the silver dollar out of the glass. John L. could do it every time, and as is to be expected, he stuck Louis for the stunt. It strikes me as funny that John L. should entertain the thought that Louis could not do as good as he. Goodness sake! A man with a sixty inch chest surely has a pair of lungs in proportion, and the way Louis blew that silver dollar out was enough to make believe he had four pair of lungs within him. How that made John L. laugh. At another time they both were feeling exceptionally playful, and they decided to have a free-for-all bout. The donned the mitts, and John socked the big man of might as he charged in, but it could not stop him, and the next thing John knew was that he was being squeezed to death with two great arms that wrapped around his head like the tentacles of an octopus. John could not strike, and the next thing he was thrown to the ground with Louis on top. John L. thought the house had fallen on him, and big as Sullivan was, he was completely submerged in the gigantic folds of the giant that held him crushed and powerless. You can hardly believe that men of such size would feel inclined to indulge in such horseplay, but there was much of the boy in both of them. Boston never forgot Louis any more than it ever forgot John L., and their popularity is what made their separate centers so famous in sport.

This retrospect has given me the opportunity to tell you a little more of Our Hero and of others who played a part with him, as well of those inspired by the great iron master who followed after him. I have explained only in a brief was why I believe environment is the real cause of the success of Quebec. I did not see nay reason to go into the technicalities of eugenics, or history, for I do not think you are so deeply concerned with those subjects as much as you are in the evidence produced by the strength of the men we honor.

Lifting weights to the French Canadian is like cricket to the English and baseball to the American. It is their sport. Of course, strength covers a much wider field than the national sports I have mentioned do. Strength embraces the world and has lovers everywhere. Beyond a doubt it is because of the great scope it covers that so many questions and comparisons are raised. Some people like to talk about the wonderful physique of the South American Indians, who live in the high altitude of the Andes, or of the Zulu, the west Australian native of the interior, and so on. To me they mean nothing. The South American sickens and dies when he descends from his high altitude, and the Australian when he comes in contact with the white. They can only live under certain conditions. Then they are not wholly physically strong. Give me the man that can go anywhere, and meet anyone on equal terms, and still remain strong. He holds our answer. Not these people who seclude themselves in the isolated spots of the earth.

We worship Louis Cyr because he was so much all man. It is for these characteristics that make up that type of men we prefer to follow him, and hold him, as our inspiration. If I had the wealth of some men, I would set up a monument to his glory, and in letters of gold inscribe the lesson he gave to manliness and clean living so that all who read would pause and check up on themselves. Show them the value of taking a personal physical inventory so that they would gladly throw away their vices and follow him, as you and I are doing, for the betterment of ourselves and our children.

Iron Nation

Read More »

THE STRONGEST MAN THAT EVER LIVED - LOUIS CYR, (Circa 1927) - Chapter 8 - By George F. Jowett

Monument to Louis Cyr by Robert Pelletier in Place des Hommes-Forts in Montreal -(Wiki)


Well, my friends and brother strength lovers, I am coming to the end of the career of this great wielder of the Titan rod. His saloon and farm interests began to call for more of attention than ever, which finds him at the close of the nineteenth century completely retired from active show life. He still held the title along with the belt, but was thankful for the seclusion of domestic life, as is always true of a man who has wandered over the world for many years.

Louis was a model husband, a good father and a great friend of every man. I am not saying that because I feel a great affection for him. It is one thing in me to admire a man for his talent, and another thing to admire him for his general principles. If he had any shortcomings other than commonly found in man I would say so, but I can honestly say that he was the only great athlete I never say stones thrown at. Curiously calm, he rarely showed anger even when under the sting of provocation. He was full of kindness and lived an exemplary life before the eyes of all who knew him. His courtesy never forsook him, for in him was all the chivalry of old France, and the hand of arrogance had never touched his brow. As a son of the soil he lived, with the kindred tastes that go with the people of the soil, which are so simple to fulfill. His fealty was now centered in his home, and on his wife and daughter. Although he had always loved his profession earnestly, and served the gods who rule the iron children faithfully and generously. In return they had smiled upon him and crowned his life with success and fortune. His home was a veritable palace of trophies, bestowed upon him at one time and another by his admirers, who ranged form the crowned heads of the world to the poorest plowman.

The first few years after 1900 passed away uneventfully, but Canada was still producing her remarkable quota of strong men, fast growing into manhood. About 1904 Louis began to show signs of ailing health, due to his excessive eating and life of inactivity. His physical appearance had changed, and the body had become very corpulent, so that he would say it was easier for him to lift a ton than pick up a pin. Actually he weighed over four hundred pounds.

He seriously began to consider giving the title to some other worthy man of strength, but irrespective of his ill health, he said that whoever took it must take it in combat so that he would be proved worthy of the honor. In 1906 he agreed to meet Hector DeCarrie a young Montrealer who had displayed remarkable ability, but way below what Cyr could show at any time. Nevertheless, by popular opinion he was looked upon as the best bet on the American continent, since Barre had also retired. It so happened that around the time of the match Louis was in much poorer health than usual. In fact, he had not touched a weight for a long time, and actually done no steady training since his retirement. His physician begged of Louis not to engage in the contest, but the indomitable soul of Louis rose over the weakness of his flesh and he remained obdurate.- lost in the heart of the little whispering voice of other days that was one again fanning the spark of conquest. They met a Sohmer Park, Montreal, but if was a sadly different Louis to the one who had defied the power of the horses fourteen years before in the eyes of a wildly cheering assemblage.

Louis sat down between every lift. Quite different to the vitallic, eager moving man who before was always impatient for his turn. The first lift was a one-hand press with feet together. Louis raised one hundred and fifty-one and one-half pounds and DeCarrie one hundred and seventy-one and one-half pounds, though the crowd hooted the lift of DeCarrie as improper, but Louis waved his assent to the judges to pass it. Cyr made a swing to arms' length overhead with the same weight, and DeCarrie refused to try it. Next they lifted a bell while sitting on a chair, using one hand. Cyr did one hundred and thirty-nine pounds against one hundred and fifty-one and one-half pounds by Hector. The crowd protested again, but Louis paid no attention to it, so they passed on the next lift, which was a two-hand clean lift from the ground to the shoulder and then jerk overhead. The gallant veteran could hardly stand, but he unquenchable spirit of his fathers that had driven the murderous redskins before them rose within him, and he actually pressed two hundred and eighty-eight pounds. This young challenger would not try.

I should have told you that at the beginning that each man had picked four lifts, with the contest starting on Louis' choice. The finish of the set found Louis way ahead, with a total of seven hundred and thirty pounds against three hundred and twenty-three pounds. DeCarrie had only made two lifts out the four. The next passed on to DeCarrie's set, commencing with a one-hand dumb bell lift, which was won by DeCarrie by ten pounds; that is, tow hundred and twenty-pounds against two hundred and ten pounds. Then followed a two-dumb-bell lift. Louis pushed up two hundred and twenty-seven pounds, but DeCarrie could not make the grade and refused to try. Then they had a repetition lift with a one hundred and fifty-one and one-half dumb bell. Louis got in four presses against five by Hector. The final lift was a back lift which Louis easily won, doing two thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine pounds, a poundage which DeCarrie would not try.

Now in repetition lifting, which was quite a fad in those days with some, they would multiply the poundage by the number of times the object was lifted. There on the dumb bell repetition lift, DeCarrie was credited with seven hundred and fifty-one and one half pounds by lifting the weight five times. DeCarrie's set of four lifts was won by Louis with a total of three thousand nine hundred and twenty-two pounds against nine hundred and seventy-seven and one-half pounds. The grand total was four thousand six hundred and fifty-two pounds to Cyr with one thousand three hundred and one-half pounds to DeCarrie. This was his last act, and as the curtain was drawn over the scene it was to cover him as a winner, and a glorious victor.

No wonder the sun set in glory as the last lift was made. The heavens flushed with victory and bathed the waning rays of the sun in gold and blood red - the gold of victory spilling its honors over the blood of a great warrior. Staggering and reeling, he closed the portals of his career in a triumph never equaled, and as the turned to leave, he blessed the young man, on whom he transferred his title. Sickness could not rob him of victory, nothing living could, only death. But the precipice of life found just the same battling Louis of old, calm and dignified.

He passed away at his home in Montreal on November 10th, 1912, with chronic nephritis. His death cast a great sadness over the royal city, and every bell tolled in reverence of her most distinguished son. All the Canadian newspapers carried huge black headlines announcing his demise, and the news shot around the world, with the startling alacrity only equaled two years later, when the world throbbed at the news of the invasion of Belgium.

The ancient province went into mourning, and flags flew at half mast. He was buried in regal state by the Holy Catholic Church in a splendor of magnificence never shown to any gladiator in the history of the world. The pomp of state and church combined, and never was there a royal entourage more glorious than this, for the man who was just a strong man. Every street was packed with mourners all the way from the church to the "way of the cross."

A bare-headed multitude crowded the cemetery, and as the last funeral rites were performed at the graveside, the "Last Post" was sounded, and the muffled drums rolled out their thunder to mingle with the dying echo of the bugle, while the rifles barked out their last salute who has been called "The Daddie of 'Em All," as a Godspeed to his great soul, as it ascended on the way to the halls of Valhalla, where the "Saga" stories tell us all the great gladiators are gathered.

The death of Sir Wilfred Laurier, Canada's most brilliant statesman and the man acclaimed by the world as the most brilliant orator of this generation, did not receive the same homage as paid to all that left mortal to the great-souled, Louis Cyr. It was the greatest and most magnificent spectacle ever seen in Montreal, where the magnitude of magnificence is out-rivaled. This alone speaks louder than my pen can write of the life of the man, and the esteem in which he was held by all who knew him.

There are pessimists who point out, and tell you that all strong men die young. Bah! We should worry about what they say. All things happen for a purpose, and Cyr died because he was subject to the frailties of the flesh. He was only human, and he killed himself with gluttony, just as you and I would do if such was our weakness. I am making no excuses for him, neither have I cold feet that shake from facts, but I am human, so who am I to judge. Only fools and pessimists judge the death of a man. It is the life the led that counts, the good he did and the lesson he left. From the cradle to the grave the life of Louis Cyr was filled with usefulness. You know what the philosophy of the Arab says; "that man better live one score years and ten in usefulness that three score years and ten in indifference." Cyr did much better than that. If nothing else, he left much in himself to be admired and little to be found fault with. What is it that Kipling says on the creed of man in that famous song of "The Seven Seas?"

"Only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame And no one shall work for money and no one shall work for fame, But each for the joy of working, and each on his separate star Shall draw the things as he sees for the God of Things as they are."

This is just what Cyr did, and what he did was done well and done honorably. It is true that behind the living we see the dead, but such a man is deathless, the kind that lives beyond the grave to spur us on to exemplify and extol the wonders of physical manhood by our own efforts and example.

A few months ago I called on Dr Ammou, the husband of the charming daughter of the great sire, at their home in Montreal. Madame showed me her greatest treasure, the championship belt which her father had won and worn, as he was never defeated it never passed away from him, but remains now a family heirloom. Madame Louis Cyr is still alive and when mention is made of her great lord the color will mount to her cheeks and her eyes flash in honest pride. Louis may be gone, but she is still in love with him. Peter Cyr, the young brother of Louis, is alive and takes care of his farm that lies on the outskirts of Montreal, and he still takes a great deal of interest in the deeds of strong men, but loyal as they make 'em, he never will believe the world will produce another like the brother he worshipped.

Horace Barre slipped out into the great beyond seven years after his great teammate, and so the story is told.

Last summer I made a pilgrimage to the shrine of the herculean monarch of Ironia, and as I stood by the side of his grave the leave of time unfolded, and I read again the life of him who now is but a glorious memory. Like one body attracts another, I felt his great presence, and a wonderful happiness filled me, and I thanked God that such a man had lived. The next day I sailed away from Montreal on the swelling bosom of the majestic St. Lawrence. I watched the royal city through the dusk of the evening as the twilight veil of natural loveliness settled down, shrouding as it were, her great son, until the myriad stars broke out like little drops of jeweled silver, and I thought of what Spencer said of what constitutes our existence, Life, Space, and Time. The Life to live, the Space to expand in, and the Time to do good in. Ah! Yes, most people would live a thousand years all for no purpose. But Louis Cyr exemplified those three gifts as no other man did, by his wonderful, forcible, indomitable strength, and an unquenchable spirit of fire that has blazed a trail in strong-manism never touched before or since. Never did such crowds gather to follow a man as they did him, and we still continue to follow him. Why Not? Millions worship the god of Gold and the flaming diamond. Then is it not nobler to worship the great gift of God - a glorified body with a glorified soul - which He fashioned and made, and placed as a beacon among men to impress us.

To me, men like Cyr are the emancipators of clean living, that carry us nearer to the path of "the way we live" which so many blindly seek. But never has there been another who by his terrific strength and kindly smile, by his flaming spirit and honest heart proved himself to stand equal with the greatest of them all, Louis Cyr - the Great Canadian - "The Daddy of 'em all."

Iron Nation

Read More »

THE STRONGEST MAN THAT EVER LIVED - LOUIS CYR, (Circa 1927) - Chapter 7 - By George F. Jowett

I never will forget the first time I met him. It was very incidental and came at an age when first impressions are etched with vivid distinction upon the mind. You never forget. I had been standing at the corner of one of the cross streets of Notre Dame, about a block away from Place D'Armes, for about fifteen minutes, waiting for a pal who showed no signs of turning up. In fact had told me not to wait any longer than eight o'clock, and it was then ten minutes after. Why I stood there so long I do not know. The night was cold, and the street so ill lit that it was almost in complete darkness.

I guess that I was in one of those retrospective moods of mine with nothing to do and all night to do it in. When I arrived I had noticed across the way what looked to be the end of a lighted cigar stuck in someone's mouth. The person was so hidden by the greater darkness of the doorway in which he stood that I could not see who it was, or what it was. In consequence, the lighted cigar appeared glaringly visible. I would watch it gleam and dull as the smoker puffed and relaxed on it, and all the time my interest grew. I can remember as though it was today, how I stood trying to pierce the darkness with a curiosity that made me think of what Ella Wheeler Wilcox said about the fascination in all human beings to raise the veil to peer into the unseen. Perhaps this reads queerly to you, as you may wonder what on earth is there to the lighted end of a cigar. Not much, as a rule, I'll admit, but there was this time. The light vanished and I still lingered.

Presently a voice spoke - "Bon Soir, M'sieur. Quelle heure est-il?" (which apart from bidding you a good night means he wants to know the time). I told him; then he asked me for a light, and I had to apologize for not having one. When I told the stranger I did not smoke he asked me with a friendly laugh if I was an athlete. Well, you can figure what happened after that. One thing led to another, which climaxed with his asking me if I knew personally the great Louis Cyr, with whom he was well acquainted. Up until then I had never seen Cyr, as I was quite young and being a real enthusiast of body culture had never dreamed of frequenting saloons.

Anyhow, the upshot was we started for Louis' place with me all athrill. Happily, it was too early for the regular nightly gathering when we arrived, and few of the patrons were as yet about. My companion shouted, "Hello, Louis," as a form so huge appeared in the doorway I thought he would shove the door jambs out as he came through. My father was a big man, and my grandfather was bigger, but his man looked like them both in one. I was awed out of my senses.

My friend introduced me and Louis smiled kindly when he was informed that I was one who practiced lifting weights. The big man felt my hand and wrist and said, "Yes, you're a strong boy." I colored visibly at this kindness, and the rest of the night my fascinated gaze never the herculean proportions of the colossal chest, and back of the arms upon which the sleeves were rolled. That was all I could see of him above the bar, and enough for one night. As the gathering grew the patrons became noisy and more boisterous with every drink. Everything talked about was strength and every word of it I devoured.

Finally, "Come, Louis, let me see if can move your arm tonight; I feel terribly strong," one burly fellow sang out happily. Louis strode up behind the bar facing the challenger with a smile and placed his huge arm upon the bar with the forearm bent at right angles. With both hands the burly fellow took hold of Louis' hand, and throwing all his weight backwards he tried to pull the arm down. It was useless. He reminded me of a flying dangling on the end of a fishing hook. Then he called for his friend to help him. Two more complied and all Louis did was to double up his forearm on the biceps to foil their resistance.

At another time I saw Louis perform a feat by which he is commonly remembered. Men came from all over with the hope of witnessing this unusual stunt, and in it there was a great deal of secret tact between Louis and his wife. Though it was never said so, but I always believed it to be a trade-drawing stunt, and the way it was offered it was never meant to appear as a stunt, but more or less of a commonplace event in the order of their matrimonial life.

Louis would be standing with arms folded on the bar, talking to the patrons (he was always talking when it happened), when from the rear Madame would emerge dressed for the street, and simply say "Louis." Without breaking his speech or taking his eyes away from their original object, one big arm would slide off the bar. Madame would then sit upon the palm of that great platter of hand without doing anything other than pull on her gloves, or look into her handbag, while as easily and smoothly as the hoist of an elevator, her weight would be curled over the height of the bar, and then in a clear muscle-out, she would be transferred over the bar and gently lowered on the other side until her feet touched the floor. Sliding off the hand, she would then pass out into the street with the commonplace expression of one who had ordinarily used and elevator, or an escalator, to transfer then along from one place to another. Silence was the biggest attribute ever paid to this wonderful feat. Never was there any vociferous applause heard or resounding of clapped hands or stamped feet upon the floor. They spoke their thought to each other by shaking their heads in an understanding way. While Louis continued his conversation, unmoved, a past master of showmanship.

The manner in which he loaded or unloaded barrels of beer and wine off the brewery trucks, would have excited the envy of Goliath. Three hundred and twenty pounds, four hundred; 'twas all alike to him. He grasped the barrel by the chines and with one swing hurled it onto the dray wagon or upon his one shoulder, as perfectly as if a windlass had been employed, and with it stride away with his long, heavy measured tread, like a patrolling soldier on picket duty with a shouldered rifle.

Here is a little stunt worth the telling which he used to do when he wore long hair which almost slipped my mind. In the folds of his twisted tresses he tied three fifty pound weights, one on each side of the head and one in the center. With these dangling from his scalp, he would spin around until they whirled and whizzed like the propeller on an aeroplane. It always presented a thrilling sight and never failed to delight, and for years he used this stunt with which to wind up his act.

But he later cut off his hair, and with it went this spectacular stunt. As I have often said, Louis never refused a bet on odds of strength. Nor was he ever backward in working out a physical problem. Watching an engine drag a long line of freight cars through a station, he and his friends began to speculate on the weight of a freight car, and the relative amount of manpower it would take to push one along. Louis exclaimed after a moment of thought, "I am willing to wager that I can push one along." Doubt was expressed by one of the group and a wager was made. Cyr jumped right into the task by simply throwing off his coat. The hardest part was the start, but as those two under pins of power straightened themselves the car began to move. Steadily he pushed the car along, not on the level track but up a grade. Just the same, the pride of American had his limitations, and on two occasions he was worsted in the conflict.

The first I will relate to is amusing and also surprising. I bet if someone asked you if you could pass through the full length of a train and open and shut all the windows one after the other without a pause you would say you could. Louis said so, but he failed. His great strength played out just before he completed the round, and never has there been known a man to succeed in this task, no matter how used he is to the work, or how strong. This is one of those tests that on first hearing sound as unbelievable as the ability to tie you up helpless with a foot of thread. Just as surely as the latter can be done, just as surely can the former not be done.

The second time that Louis got stumped was by pure piece of trickery. I am willing to say if he had known it at the time things would have gone ill with the party concerned. It all happened in the Bowery of New York, where a big ex-strong man kept a saloon. This man boasted that no man was ever as strong as he, and on the floor of saloon he had a huge weight placed between two low trestles that acted as a platform for each foot of the lifter to stand on. At the top of the weight was a large ring through which passed a heavy piece of straight iron that acted as a bar to lift the weight with. The object was to stand straddle of the weight by grasping the handle and lift. Something like a two-hand dead lift off the floor. The saloon proprietor had a standing wager that no man could lift it but he. From the very moment Louis heard of it he had a strong desire to see this stubborn piece of metal that would only raise to the exertion of one man.

On the first opportunity he had, down to the Bowery saloon he went. The moment Louis walked in and saw the bloated appearance of a man smaller than he, he figured the lift was all over. The wager was accepted, and everybody gathered around to see the test. Louis stepped astride the mass of metal and began to lift, but not a move. He set himself and tried again, with no better result. Louis was astounded. He looked at the saloonkeeper and then at the weight, bewildered for the first time in his life. It made him angry, so that he grabbed at the bar again and lifted till he saw stars, the bar bent under the great pressure of his pull. Still the weight remained unmoved. Louis knew now that there was something phony about it, but so skillfully was the trick concealed that he was not able to accuse the man of fraud. But in order to win the wager the saloonkeeper had to make the lift. Brazen from use, he arrogantly stepped from behind the bar, and with one pull lifted the weight clear off the floor.

Professor Adrian Schmidt was very familiar with the whole affair; he told me that he had often been around and seen the trick pulled off. But all things come to those who wait, and sure enough exposure came to this faker. The saloon keeper had employed a cellar helper and one day they came to words, and then to blows. The upshot was that the beaten-up smoke took some fellows in to see how the lifting trick was done. In the center of the weight was a tongue which passed through a hole in the floor. In the tongue, was cut a slot through which a bar was put whenever a wager was made, a signal was sent down to the cellar helper who kept the bar in when the other fellow tried. He always knew when the saloonkeeper was going to lift by the manner of his walk, which was also his cue to take out the bar. The other lifter would have to lift the floor up in order to move the weight, which you know is impossible. You might wonder why it was never detected, but it is not so easy to see clear underneath a wide, flat object that is only moved a half inch off the floor for a fraction of time and immediately dropped in order to make a lift.

Just another little story in which I was fooled, and where the superiority of our hero over the present-day luminaries of the iron circle was proven. You will remember me mentioning Professor Louis Attila in conjunction with Eugene Sandow. Well, Attila left Sandow when the latter decided to return to England after his American tour. The Professor started himself on Broadway, New York, and his gymnasium became the meeting place of all great iron men as long as Attila ran it. It was in that place that Louis Cyr and Horace Barre always trained when they came to New York. When Louis retired he gave the Professor one of his bar bells as an appreciation for old times sake. It weighed a little over one hundred and ninety pounds and has a thick handle which fits solidly into each sphere. This bell Louis snatched with one hand at every performance.

It happened on one of my visits to Attila's gymnasium we were discussing Cyr and the remark was made that no man of all who had tried had ever snatched the bell once. I remarked that I thought if anyone could make the snatch lift with it, I believed that Henry Steinborn was the man. I was meeting Henry quite regularly then, and the next time I saw him I told him about it. Now I want you to bear in mind that Henry always figured that he was good enough for a one-hand snatch of two hundred and thirty pounds, and I had seen him do some wonderful stuff. A few days later we met again and he laughingly said, "Say, why did you tell them down at Attila's that I could lift that bell of Cyr's? They had me try it and I could do nothing with it." In surprise I said, "Honest?" "Sure," he remarked, "the handle is so thick and the weight so dead I couldn't get it started, and I do not think anyone else can."

Iron Nation

Read More »

THE STRONGEST MAN THAT EVER LIVED - LOUIS CYR, (Circa 1927) - Chapter 6 - By George F. Jowett

We next find Cyr back in America, drawing the eyes of the world to his great back-lifting feat, on May 27th, 1895, at the museum of Austin and Stones in Boston, Mass. Previously he had made the statement that on this night he was going to outlift any back-lift record he had ever made, and the weight would not be under four thousand pounds. The place was so crowded that many people were turned away unable to get any further than the entrance.

The hour arrived, and the indomitable Cyr ascended the stairs leading to the exhibition platform with a firm step, his heart light, and his general demeanor that of a man imbued with the idea that he was about to perform the most remarkable feat of his life. He paused as the cheering ceased and cast a cursory glance over the audience. His eyes fell upon one giant form here, and another there, and still another, until eighteen bulky men were called out and stood beside the champion. Most men would have weakened at the task before them, but the Canadian wore the same self-satisfied smile as he mentioned the men to take up their appointed place upon the lifting platform. I remember a Boston press report of that night, stating that as Cyr got beneath the load everything became so tensed in silence that the munching of a diminutive monkey up in one corner of the hall could be plainly heard - it is strange how these incidental things will impress themselves upon your mind on such memorable occasions, but they do, very vividly.

Louis prepared himself for the grand effort. With feet firmly spaced and hands gripping the oaken bench in front of him, he began to lift. There was a creak, a strain, but the platform did not budge. He moved his back a little, and the spectators, drawn by the movement, unconsciously moved with him. Louis wore a determined look and started again. His frame quivered and the muscles on his arms and legs seemed to draw the skin taut as the leaped to the task. Would he succeed? Anxious inquiry was depicted upon many faces. The platform creaked like a rusty hinge. It began to move. Again it moved. Up it was going, sure enough. A mighty shout tore from the throats of every watcher as they saw the terrific load of four thousand three hundred pounds suspended in mid-air, supported on the back of the invincible Cyr. The crowd continued to pour out its compliments as Cyr, flushed more with the recognition of his admirers than the exertion, stepped out from beneath the load. This was the greatest back lift ever recorded, and the best he ever did. It was a record not forgotten, and as a token of recognition the sportsmen of Boston made him a beautiful presentation before he left the city.

Cyr also received the Richard K. Fox, Police Gazette Belt, which pronounced the great French Canadian as the undisputed champion of the world. The years of 1892 and 1896 were the two red-letter years of his great career. The latter years we are in and find the genuine Sandow over in America making the claim in a New York paper that he was the strongest man in the world. Louis happened to be in Philadelphia when he heard this. He immediately set out for New York and walked into the editorial offices of the paper that had published the Sandow statement, and slammed down $500.00 as a deposit to cover any amount and publicly accepted the challenge. By the side of his wager was laid his Police Gazette Belt Trophy and said, "Let Sandow take this from me if he is man enough." The truth was Louis was sore at the small man's assumption. Needless to say, Sandow declined, and America never took Sandow seriously as a real strong man while they did bow to his beautiful physique and superb showmanship. Barre had left Cyr, and the latter filled his place with an all Cyr act. He had a brother who was thirteen years younger than himself named Peter, who at the time was nineteen. There was a world of difference in the build of the two. Peter was very tall and only weighed 154 pounds, but he was remarkably strong, and was unbeatable at his weight in straddling barrels of sand and water, and lifting them off the floor. Peter could clean and jerk with two hands two hundred and fifty-one pounds, and made a one-arm lift of one hundred and ninety-six pounds with a dumb bell. In conjunction with this act Louis had his nine-year - old daughter, a sweet-faced charming little girl who was a real chip off the old block. This little Amazon used to go through a few stunts with her father, and you can imagine how popular she was.

Talk about the law of opposites, but Louis' marriage was it. Just as Louis was big, so was his wife little. Never did this worthy madam weigh over one hundred pounds, but she ruled the heart of the great-souled iron man. Madame Cyr never wearied of watching him perform, and became the inspiration of some of his greatest feats. She was with him on the memorable night of March 31, 1896, when he made his great two-arm clean and jerk record of three hundred and forty-seven pounds, a world's record. The newspapers of that time said that Louis swept the weight off the floor with a rush, and with hardly a perceptible stop at the shoulders took it to arms' length. Whether he did it or not, I know Louis knew no science. There was no dipping or squatting under his lifts. Just a heave, and the rest was finished with a push out.

The next day, April the first, the unforgettable conflict between the giant of America and the extraordinary August Johnson of Sweden, hailed as the strongest man in Europe. Oh boy; don't you get a great kick out the proximity of events. Imagine the night before he meets the Lion of Scandinavia. He does his best in exhibition and staggers the inhabitants of the world of weights with his record two-arm jerk overhead of three hundred and forty-seven pounds. What was the morrow to him! Oh, well, the day would take care of itself surely. So would he. He was always filled with confidence; but when you consider how other men rest and nurse themselves prior to a contest, you cannot help but to admire this bear of a man.

Chicago was the scene of his last great feat, and was the scene of his clash with Johnson. Never was he any fitter than the night April first, weighing in at two hundred and seventy pounds stripped, the lightest body weight of his career. So finely trained was he, that for the first time people beheld the massive bony scaffold of his huge frame and marveled. Some tell me that his wrist measured a little over twelve inches, although it looked twice the size of mine, which is eight inches and a half.

In Johnson, Cyr met the foeman most worthy of his steel, and a man who by reason of the great courage he showed in their contest endeared himself to the heart of the Canadian. Louis always claimed that Johnson was the strongest man he ver met in contest. The Swede was a large, finely built man of over two hundred pounds, with a pair of twenty-eight inch thighs and the rest of his measurements in proportion. He was the first man in the world ever to do a two hands clean and jerk with three hundred twenty-eight pounds, and later raised three hundred and thirty pounds in the same manner. On October 16, 1892, in St. Petersburg, Russia, he made a one-arm press of two hundred and fifty-five pounds, using a dumb-bell. He was at various times associated with Waklund and Hjalmar Lundin, two Swedes, who were possessed of enormous natural strength. Johnson was unusual in his day for strong men; he was reticent and mild natured, more like Cyr. Despite the fact that he had met the best men in Europe in open contests, he never once styled himself other than "Champion weight lifter of the world." He even dropped this title when he lost to Cyr.

Johnson and Cyr met for a side wager of $1000.00 each, to be contested on a series of lifts that consisted of bar-bell and dumb-bell lifting, with one and two hands, in both press and jerk lifts, muscling out weights, and also swinging a dumb bell off the floor to arms' length. These, with some one and two-hand dead lifting off the floor, without use of harness, made up the entire program. They battled away until one o'clock in the following morning when Johnson, beaten on every lift, quit. He had fought so hard that his hands and fingers were blistered and raw but Louis was no better off, for his fingers were split and bled freely from the strenuous task. His antagonist had run him so tight on most lifts, that the battling demon within him was aroused as never before. The Canadian was leading by two hundred pounds when the Swede quit exhausted, knowing it was hopeless to continue; but the lust of the battle was upon Louis, who fighting from every fiber of his perspiring body would not quit.

The most notable of his lifts was a repetition of his great two hands jerk of three hundred and forty-seven pounds. Johnson made a one-hand dead lift with a dumb bell of four hundred and seventy-five pounds, using an inch and a half bar. On the same bar Louis raised five hundred and twenty-five pounds. Although Johnson's withdrawal gave the victory to Cyr, yet the Montrealer decided that once and for all he was going to show the world that he alone was the supreme lord of strong men. From the night of April until May eighth he conducted a strength fest all his own, during which time he made some wonderful lifts, besides duplicating all of his previous records. The best of his feats were performed on the nights of May seventh and eighth as follows: a crucifix lift, using ninety-seven and one-quarter dumb bell in the right hand and eighty eight pounds in the left hand. He pushed to arms' length a dumb bell of one hundred and sixty-two and one-half pounds with one hand thirty-six times in succession, a feat which proves he could have easily surpassed the world's military press record of one hundred and fifty-eight pounds by Barre if he had wanted. With either hand he made a dumb bell swing with one hundred and eighty-eight and one-half pounds, and a one-hand dumb bell clean and press with straight legs of two hundred and fifty-eight pounds. He made a one-finger lift of five hundred and fifty-two and one-half pounds, which was to be eclipsed on the following night, as also was his one-hand lift of nine-hundred and eighty-seven pounds, done without any artificial help, or without the help of his knees. This was followed by what the newspaper reports call a two hands dead lift of one thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven and one-quarter pounds, but we would term it a hand-and-thigh lift.

Next he shouldered a barrel filled with sand and water that weighed four hundred and thirty-three pounds, using the right hand without the help of the knees. Then it is claimed that he muscled-out with the right hand a dumb bell of one hundred and thirty -one and one-quarter pounds and held it there for five seconds before he brought it back to the shoulder. He next night (May eighth), a great gathering of prominent Chicago business men attended, the Reverend Father Boudreau,. of Long Island, acting as chairman. They very the following lifts: one-hand dead lift, with no other aid, of nine hundred and eighty-eight pounds - a duplication of his crucifix lift of the night before, and repetition lifting with the one hundred and sixty-five pound dumb bell. This night he shouldered, with the right arm, a barrel of iron and gravel weighing four hundred and forty-five pounds, taking hold only by the chines of the barrel. He imitated his one-hundred and thirty-one and one-quarter pound one-hand muscle-out and finished up with a one-finger lift of five hundred and fifty-eight pounds.

These feats were his great wind-up and the crowning features of his tourney of strength that had commenced as a lad of sixteen. Only on one more instance have we any record of him doing anything better; when appearing at Austin-Stones, in Boston, the next year, he jerked form the shoulder three hundred and fifty pounds.

No man ever has accomplished such wonderful lifting over so many consecutive lifts as Cyr did night after night. No wonder Johnson said, " I can out-lift any man in the world, but it is impossible for any man to out-lift that elephant.."

No other conquests were in sight, so literally smothered in glory Louis laid back upon his well earned laurels. He began to team again with Horace Barre, for Barnum and Bailey's Circus. One of their most impressive feats was a back lift. One man got under each end of the platform and raised together thirty people. Their act was wound up in a very spectacular way. A platform was carried into the center of the sawdust ring with a number of chairs placed side by side along the full length of the platform. At each end was a pair of hand grips, behind which one of them stood facing its entire length, and the other backed up to his end. As the circus band struck up the grand march, each man took hold with his hands, and together lifted the entire weight free of the ground, and out of the circus arena they marched with their load.

Barre did not stay in the show business very steadily, nor very long. Despite his great natural strength he was not a success. There are some who say that Horace was a stronger man than Cyr, but he never proved it. No doubt he did some remarkable lifting; yet there was nothing about his lifts that Louis could not do. Often when they were training together, Louis would out-lift Horace over a set of lifts so badly that Horace would quit. He lacked the fire that would make him a great fighter in any tough corner. Louis asked for nothing better than a tight struggle. The harder it was the better he liked it, and the more he lifted. Not for a moment do I wish to detract from the strength of Barre, for I believe he stood next to Cyr as the most formidable strong man of his day; but when all is said and done, Cyr was the stronger of the two, taking one lift with another. If Barre had had the same enthusiasm as Cyr for physical contest, some wonderful results would have been recorded. I believe feats of strength would have registered on many tests that would have stood forever. However, it is the fate that juggles with us, and not us with it. If fate did not play a hand in the game of life, things would be horribly stereotyped.

Louis had made a fortune, and he began to drift away from regular theatrical performance, spending his time with a few exceptions between his saloon and farm. Perhaps if Louis had stayed in the business, more would have been heard of Barre; unfortunately, Barre was easy prey for unscrupulous business men. When he gave up "the road," as show people say, he accepted a post as warden in a Montreal prison, but he and Louis remained bosom pals throughout their lives and often lived their adventures together over many a groaning board of food.

In eating, as in lifting Barre was a close second to Louis. I heard that one time they had any eating match to be decided by which could devour a twenty-two suckling pig the quickest, and they say that Louis was done when Horace was little more than half way through. That this should have been their weakness is to be deplored, as it was the means of their death. While Louis was showing, he mastered this weakness. Or I might better say his love to display his strength was stronger than his weakness. After he dropped away from active training he let himself go; yet you must never lose sight of the fact that strength must have an outlet. He had led a very strenuous life, using his strength for a living as others use their hands, and others their head. His new life was too inactive for his immense reserve of manpower, which had to be taken care of somehow. The unfortunate thing, as I see it, is that he should have allowed his natural failing for eating to provide the substitute for exercise. I am not blaming him Why should I ? We all have some weakness to which we submit, and because the other fellow's fault is not ours is no reason why we should condemn him. It is a natural weakness for us all to see the faults of others quicker than in ourselves. All I have to say is if the majority of people were as clean living as the big souled Canadian, the world would be much better to live in. He alone paid the price, no one else suffered.

In the days of Cyr's activities, it was customary for strength athletes to offer a certain amount of money to any man who could duplicate their lifts. Often the money had been won by some local athlete, but rarely had it been paid. Louis carried a monetary challenge with his act, offering $100.00 to any man who could do any one lift in his performance, and $1000.00 to the one who could follow him throughout the whole routine. Naturally you will say he was safe enough, but there was one time that had to lose $100.00 to a man named Therrien, of Michigan, who succeeded in duplicating one of his stunts. Which particular stunt it was, I do not recall, but I know he was the only one who ever was successful, and he was the only man I ever knew who received his money. Without any quibble Louis ordered his manager to pay Therrien the sum of $100.00 right there and then, while he shook hands with the man from Michigan. Four-square to all the winds, Louis sought no loop holes to four-flush the man out of what he was entitled to. However, any would-be Samsons got badly fooled, and it really was funny to see how eager every locality was to drag out its hero to match this sturdy son of Anak. Cyr was the first that I ever remember to leave any of his weights outside the place where he performed. He had a great big dumb bell that weighed around two hundred and fifty pounds, and the handle on it was monstrously large. Thousands of huskies tried it, but all they had to show for their vain attempts were bursted coat seams and broken belts. Clothes were worn tighter-fitting then than now, and any time of the day you cared to visit the scene of the giant dumb bell, you could see buttons fly, or find plenty scattered around on the ground, the sequel to the many vain attempts. But Louis was cute, and just to make his act a little more spicy, he would stick around until the last minute when everybody had tried, then walk through the throng up to the bell and pick it up with one hand as though if was a satchel, and walk up the steps, into the theatre and all the way back stage with no further ado beyond leaving the crowd gaping. Louis said he never saw any man lift it off the ground single-handed.

You can readily see that the strong-man profession has a humorous side to as well as its serious encounters. It was when he was in Chicago that he was mistaken for a fat man by the doorkeeper of a theatre. This latter person happened to be rather young, and at an age when he believed nobody could put anything over on him. So it was with a scornful eye that he looked over the massive bulk of humanity that stood before him asking admittance to see the manager of the theatre. " Would you kindly tell M'sier that it is Louis Cyr?" he asked of the doorman. "You, Louis Cyr! Yeh; Fatty. So'm I," he grinned, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his pants as he lay back lazily against the wall. Louis quickly appraised the young fellow and smiled as he further insisted, but the other was obdurate. "You may be fat enough," he continued, "but you ain't big enough to be Louis Cyr. Now go away and play, the police force is too busy to turn out and cart an elephant like you to the hospital."

Louis decided he had done all the talking he was going to, and started for the door that led to the manager's room. "Say, Tubby, you can't go in there," the doorkeeper yelled as he interposed himself between Louis and the door. Calmly the big man thrust out his giant hand and grabbed the young man by the clothes, lifting him clear off the ground. The doorman went pop-eyed and speechless, as Louis marched along with him tucked under his arm without any effort, finally depositing him with a sudden drop on the floor, as he stepped through the door into the manager's room.

A friend of mine told me that he and Louis were walking through the streets of Boston, when they came across a great commotion made by two teamsters who were trying their best to unlock the hind wheels of their wagons, which had been locked together. In spite of all their swearing, lashing the horses and their "Gee hawing," they got not further out of their trouble. My friend said that Louis placed his back under the tail end of one wagon and lifted it clear of its tangle, then with a step and a toss he heaved the wagon sideways, thus unlocking the locked situation. Done so quickly it took the people's breath and they dispersed laughing, as people generally do when they see something done by one when the efforts of many had been resisted.

Oscar Matthes, the great little wizard of strengthdom, was a wonderful pal of Louis, and whenever the latter went to Boston, they were together as much as possible. The affinity of extremes again appealing to the heart. Oscar was a foot shorter than Louis, and over 200 pounds lighter. They must have attracted some attention, all right, but so wrapped up were they in each other hat little they cared at what amused others. Oscar told me that he saw Louis make a perfect two-hands military press with three hundred pounds, and that his three hundred and forty-seven pound two-arm clean and jerk record was a straight-legged press. He claimed that Louis could not jerk. I do know that Louis certainly never tried to jerk a weight the way lifters of today do. All he seemed to do to get a start was to shake his body like a huge St. Bernard dog, and the rest was truly finished with a press out of the arms. I have seen Louis place a fifty-pound block weight on the palm of his hand, and with the arm bent at the elbow in the position a man is when halfway through on an arm curl to the shoulder. On the top of the first he placed another, and then another until he had four balanced, then he would walk around the room and replace them on the floor as gently as though they were eggs. Such an arm! I can see it yet. Shades of Hercules! I cannot explain it.

Iron Nation

Read More »