Dave Draper - Brother Iron, Sister Steel: A Bodybuilders Book

Brother Iron
Sister Steel

A Bodybuilders Book

Dave Draper

On Target Publications Santa Cruz, California

Brother Iron, Sister Steel: A Bodybuilders Book
by Dave Draper

Copyright 2001 Dave Draper

Published by:
On Target Publications
P. O. Box 1335
Aptos, CA 95001 USA
www.otpbooks.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for the inclusions of brief quotations in articles or reviews.

Publishers Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Draper, Dave
Brother Iron, Sister Steel : a bodybuilders book / Dave Draper.
p. 336 cm. 6x9 ill
Includes index and bibliographical referecences (p. 23)
ISBN 1-931046-65-4
1. Draper, Dave 2. Weight training Handbooks, manuals 3. Bodybuilding history 4. Bodybuilders United States Biography.
I. Title
796.41

00-191851

eBooks created by www.ebookconversion.com

Disclaimer

The words that compose this book are written with a logic that comes only from experience, with passion and excitement that come only from a long-time love of the iron. The facts of how to train, how to eat, why and when are presented to you clearly, as insight, not cold precepts that bind you like laws and classroom underscores. Here youll find exactly what you need to get you going and keep you going with knowledge and understanding, spirit and zeal, purpose and ever growing clarity. Bodybuilding, weight training, nutrition, fitness and exercise comprise an engaging diversion, a healthy sport, a rewarding challenge a robust lifestyle that lifts you higher and higher.

The writing of this book is based upon my personal experiences. Your experiences and results are certain to be different. Medical experts recommend that you see a doctor before starting a diet or exercise program and that you start slowly.

dd

Please note: This text was written in 2001 and has not been updated for this electronic edition. A few things have changed in Daves recommendations. In particular, he no longer recommends the volume of crunches he once did, and in fact for many people that recommendation should probably be none. He also warns against excessive bench pressing, and suggests using dumbbells more often than the bar and regular overhead pressing and horizontal rows to help protect against the shoulder issues that often come with long-term or heavy benching.

1

THE SOAP OPERA

A person can arrive at a place and not be entirely sure how one got there. The Brooklyn Academy of Music, as I recall, was a gothic structure composed of tall shadows, massive gray stone steps, arches, columns and pigeon-crowned portals. It was tightly pressed into a space amongst towering angular buildings, mortar and concrete that had hardened at the turn of the century. The elegance of its gilded and velvet-curtained opera boxes was not lost to me but the center of my attention focused on the dark and dusty backstage closures, the grandness of which was expressed in bewildering height, intricate pulley and cable systems that raised, lowered and controlled vast curtains, backdrops, scenery and props, microphones, lights and speakers. There, where the strings of the Philharmonic once rejoiced and Caruso had pleaded, wept and conquered, I found a corner to drop my gym bag and prepare an ad-lib strategy for the unknown reckoning ahead: the Mr. America Contest, September, 1965.

I wasnt alone. Tough union stagehands, an amateur crew of fledgling assistants and volunteers, a team of Roloflex photographers and a splat of magazine and newspaper writers spilled over the stage and flowed into the theaters front rows as the judges congregated, shared war stories and sharpened their pencils. Pre-judging would start without fanfare when all the contestants seemed to be present. And, of course, there were the contestants, primed, ragtag and mightyMr. America and Mr. Universe look-alikes, dressed funny and still a little wet behind the ears. They were a new breed, putting on Man Tan and pumping up with The Samson Twister and Kool-aid.

I stood in the shadows and peered like a wary owl in a thick forest at the slowly growing commotion around me. I dont mingle much and I mingled less then. I took the long, serious road to get to New York, leaving New Jersey in the spring of 63, stopping off in Los Angeles for a few years and arriving at La Guardia International in mid-September of 1965. Gave me a chance to think and see the sights. Theyve got sunshine out West; The Beach Boys were right.

A sociological fact stands out: You make friends when youre under stress and wearing the same witless outfit. There was a strong showing of primed bodies from the Islands (Puerto Rico, Trinidad, Tobago and Jamaica) and they were jolly-good. We laughed and had fun, and Ill never forget them. It was a time when I thought Id never laughever.

And then theres the ritual of oil application done with machismo and very particular care. Pumping up presents no problem cept for the sliding around and the overtraining, dehydration and hypoglycemia. The dapper fellow who brought the bananas, tuna and a water bottle knew what he was doing. He was the only guy who wore slippers, had a towel ever ready and didnt look like hed been rolled in the back alley as he presented himself before the judges. He even had spray deodorant in his giant gym bag. Big dandelion. The next year Id be sure to stock my gym bag with similar backstage contest survival gear.

Pre-judging was a mass of confusion which suited me just fine. The more distracted everyone became, the easier it was to relax, observe and enjoy. Self-conscious mistakes the size of a cow went unnoticed. The immediate post-judging challenge was fueling up before the evening show: no fuel, no energy, no pump, no fun. This I accomplished with Freddy Ortiz and his entourage at an authentic New York delicatessen around the corner, the original fast food of the Big Apple.

Crazy Freddy removed his shirt for no particular reason in the middle of an intersection and stopped traffic as I ate a roast beef on sourdough and drank a container of milk. He was warmin up for the nights performance. I envied his brashness. It took hooks to pull off my clothes and a net to get me on stage. Good grief. Earl Maynard had his shirt off and was trying to pull down Freddys pantsI was howling, down to a tank top and hitting double over-head biceps shots before a cheering yet ever-flowing stream of busy citizenry. It must have been the carbohydrates, the release from the dark scrutiny of the judges or the relief that accompanies a realization of ones finiteness; standing at the foot of skyscrapers amongst zillions of souls is liberating.

As the evening progressed, Larry Scott and I stuck together behind the thick and impenetrable curtains. Americas Mr. America, he knew the ropeshed been here before. You might say Larry had already ascended the heights of the famed landmark and returned to reminisceThe Dungeon of Santa Monica meets Vinces Gym of North Hollywood. Theres gonna be a party tonight.

Nothing that takes place backstage can compare with what goes on in a New York City audience, especially a bodybuilding audience, especially in 1965. The enthusiasm arrives in carloads, empties from subway stations, buses and taxicabs. Guys with wives and dudes with chicks on Saturday night, and they are looking cool and feeling no pain. But, wait, my friend. Its beyond that; theres something more and you can taste it. Theres a tremor, a stir of expectation, a charge in the air, on the street and in the bowels of the elegant auditorium. Its not frightening; yet, its not exactly without fright. Its an unknown, a mysterious, penetrating feeling.

Activity becomes more of a blur as the night goes on. I pump up again and again, smear more oil around, tire of nakedness, conversation and my now-greasy hairstyle gone ugly. Smudged, fat and skinny coetaneously, with nothing more constructive to do, I relent and turn toward the pulse of the crowd and the throb of the night. The audience hasnt missed a beat. They like the dark rippling men from the Islands of the Caribbean. They like the spiffy homeboys and the thick Europeans. Freddy poses in slow motion and shakes the century-old halls of grandeur; he tears down the house as he flexes his biceps and spreads his lats. No one has seen this stuff before tonight and theyre going crazy.