To reiterate my thesis again for the weak-willed, the mentally feeble, and the generally useless- I AM WRITING THIS ARTICLE SERIES BECAUSE MOST PEOPLE HAVE NEVER HEARD OF HAROLD POOLE, WHO WAS AN IMPORTANT NATTY LIFTER AND BODYBUILDER. IT JUST SO HAPPENS THAT MY INTEREST IN POOLE PEAKED AT A TIME OF SOCIAL UNREST, SO I THOUGHT IT TO BE A TIMELY SUBJECT MATTER. THAT SAID, THE LIST OF REASONS YOU DON’T KNOW THE MAN’S NAME INCLUDES RACISM, AND RACISM IN SPORT IS AN INTERESTING SUBJECT BECAUSE IT ADDS A LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY TO WINNING THAT MOST OF US NEVER HAVE TO EXPERIENCE.
Jesus fucking Christ, I never thought I would have to drive a point home with a fucking nailgun, but here we are, surrounded by drooling, racist, limp-dicked halfwits who require shit like this forward. To those of you who are similarly afflicted with these people on a daily basis, you have my deepest condolences- luckily for us, the red-hatters are a feeble, sickly, uninsured, and generally weak bunch who will die long before their natural life expectancy, so at least they won’t have much time in which to annoy us as they die of complications for type two diabetes.
We left off describing the environment in which Harold Poole was competing, and it wasn’t exactly the friendliest, though it was an obvious considerable improvement over the conditions the fine people of the Deep South would have preferred. Much like today, there were halfwits on either side claiming that the world was a travesty so unspeakable that history had no good corollary, and such such believed the entire system should be torn down and rebuilt (although life as that point was as good as it had ever been on the planet, much like it is now). As idiots will always be idiots, there is little point in parsing the sides’ opinions because the zeitgeist as a whole was rather difficult to understand from a modern perspective because everything was such a fucking mess (even by 2020 standards).
The year is 1960. JFK moves into the White House and begins banging Marilyn Monroe like the fate of the free world depended on it. Forty years of constant inhalation and ingestion of lead and cadmium particulates means basically everyone in the world is directly out of their fucking mind. We’d defeated the Germans and Japanese only to be brought to our knees by legions of half-starved, parasite-filled, who while not starving weren’t exactly opponents on the level of even the surrender-friendly, battle-averse Italians during world WW2 North Koreans and Chinese soldiers, and in a year we’d lose again to the Cubans. Almost ninety percent of Americans are white, but the The Civil Rights Act of 1962 is passed, allowing minorities access to the polls they’d never have before, a move that would still have impotent white males with potbellies and lifetime subscriptions to Guns & Ammo angry as fuck sixty years later. Oh, and those claiming not to have lead and cadmium poisoning are simply suffering from mercury poisoning resulting from their cavity fillings, making them even more absent minded, hyper, depressed, and insane, which probably explains why we were a bunch of racist Christian psychopaths hell-bent on sending men to the moon strapped to thousands of gallons of highly combustible gases, guided there by computers with barely the computing power of a fucking OG GameBoy.
In short, it was a weird fucking time. The number one song on the Billboard charts was some pile of shit for a Peggy Lee movie unimaginatively titled, “Theme from a Summer Place, and the heaviest shit anyone could’ve used for posing music was an instrumental song most of us only know from Pulp Fiction– “Rumble” by Link Ray and the Wray Men (which though tame as fuck by modern standards was so brutal it was thought to contribute to juvenile delinquency and incite gang fights, so it was banned from the radio in New York and Boston). And it was into the core of that lily white, watercress-sandwiches-with-the-crusts-removed-and-extra-mayo, piss-scared of the growing anti-establishment movement society that a sixteen-year-old black-German-Cherokee kid named Harold Poole thrust himself.
The fact that he’d entered the most prestigious bodybuilding competition in the United States as an unknown sixteen-year-old black kid likely did not make a favorable impression on the judges at the Mr. America, but teenaged Harold Poole had already been out of fucks to give about what other people thought of him for half a decade. The reason Poole had started lifting in the first place was because as a kid living in a new town (his family had moved from the horribly depressed black area of Indianapolis to New Jersey) he was bound to catch a lot of shit, but he was also a brown kid with a horrible stutter. As anyone who’s moved as a kid who never quite fit in anyway knows, being different than everyone else in a wildly different environment than you’re used doesn’t exactly endear you to local kids, among whom conformity is key.
“They walked up to me and said, ‘What the hell are you? You’re not black; you’re not white. We don’t like you,’ ” Poole said of his childhood tormentors. “And that’s when I realized I’ve got to get stronger, I’ve got to gain weight, and I have to learn to run” (Stratford).
Little Harold trotted over to a nearby construction site and asked the foreman if he could snag some cinder blocks and concrete poles. After the foreman loaded him up with all he needed, the coffee-colored 10-year-old took what he needed home and began lifting in the backyard with his brother. The two essentially followed an old York course modified to their equipment, and built their legs by squatting with their brother on their back.
Not that the kids thought they were going to build bonkers bodies with that sort of a setup- they just needed that as a jumping off point. At some point an artist has to improve his tools if he wants to improve his creations. The boys joined the old-as-fuck-school Indianapolis training facility, which now appears to be some kind of a hipster bar (from what I gather, it was an old school German training facility with a bar attached to the gym), although thankfully they’ve preserved the physical culture history in part here (and seriously, on the behalf of cultural historians everywhere- good on anyone involved in simply making that Facebook page). I managed to dig up the following on the owner of the place to include, because although it’s not integral to the story, it’s interesting nonetheless, and the man’s name is worth remembering for what he did for the scene as a whole (in stark contrast to most of the name “lifters” and gym owners on the planet these days, those dumbass faux-tactical, Grunt Style-clad hipster nothings from Attilis topping that list for keeping Jersey gyms closed indefinitely).
“Fred Hofmeister (1913-1983). As the operator of Hofmeister’s Studio of Physical Culture, he was the Godfather of a vibrant weightlifting scene in mid-20th century Indianapolis. Mickey Hargitay [a champion Hungarian speed skater who defected to the US and became NABBA Mr. Universe before marrying bombshell pinup broad Jane Mansfield] trained here, as did [Playgirl centerfold, actor, and bodybuilder] Peter Lupus and [pre-WWE maniac Dick the Bruiser Afflis], the Green Bay Packer-turned-pro wrestler who pinned Alex Karras in 1963. Hofmeister’s gym, which opened in 1936 and stayed open until Hofmeister’s death, had several locations, the last at 314 E. Vermont St. “Inside the gym,” wrote Louise Putcamp Jr. for the Indianapolis News in 1962, “is a smell like an elderly tennis shoe. One wall is adorned with photographs of sparsely clad men admiring their own muscles. Surrounded by surrealistic contraptions stands Fred Hofmeister, telling a photographer to ‘turn my head that way, so the bald spots won’t show in back” (Higgins).
Within six years, Harold had become a standout in what was essentially four varsity sports (wrestling, football, track [4×400], and field [shot put]), plus he won second in the state championship for wrestling at 175 as a junior, then took the silver again as a 200 pound heavyweight his senior year. Standing like the Rock amongst a sea of John Cenas, and other, lesser entertainer/professional wrestlers, Poole decided to turn his eye toward a competitive stage wherein he could compete against grown-ass men- bodybuilding.
“Harold was winning physique contests at the age of sixteen, when most neophyte bodybuilders are barely beginning to take an interest in the covers of physical culture magazines. I know of no other young man in the history of the physique game who can boast of a record which compares with this. The following are contests which Harold has won or placed high in during the last two years:
1960 (All at the age of sixteen)– Junior Mr. Indianapolis, Junior Mr. Indiana, 2nd Place Most Muscular, Mr. Middle States, and 18h Place Mr. America.
1961 (All at the age of seventeen)– Mr. Indianapolis, Mr. Indiana and Most Muscular Man, Mr. Middle States, Mr. Ohio Valley and Most Muscular Man, Junior Mr. America and Most Muscular Man (Central Section) and 4th Place Mr. America.
1962 (At the age of eighteen)– Mr. Hercules and Most Muscular Man, Mr. Northern Indiana and Most Muscular Man” (Comstock).
Bearing in mind the fact that Poole was a lifetime natty dude just as outspoken about it as fellow baddest motherfucker Chuck Sipes, consider this- at his peak of 6′ and 240 pounds, Harold Poole carried enough mass to outsize reigning non-natty Classic Physique Mr. Olympia Chris Bumstead, as well as everyone else who’s ever won that title. It is for this reason that Harold’s AAU Mr. America placings come into question, because if the man was too big and ripped for even modern gear-using competitors, he was certainly going to be trouble for the diminutive motherfuckers against whom he was competing… unless the judges stepped in and did something about it.
Obviously, a sixteen-year-old taking 18th in his first Mr. America hardly seems like a ridiculous placing- the dude was just 5’10 and 175 pounds, after all, and he was a teenager with six years of lifting under his belt against grown men with double that and more. When he arrived the following year a full 25 pounds heavier, Poole was much harder to overlook. In that one, Poole took fourth behind 6′ 217 pound Ray Routledge, who was “due” for the title after taking second place in 1959 and 1960 (and who would win the ultimate international title, the NABBA Mr. Universe, in 1962); 6′ 226 pound Joe Abbenda, who would win the Mr. America the next year and the Mr. Universe the year after that; and some goof named Franklin Jones no one seems to know shit about, but the judges somehow picked him over both Harold Poole and the guy who won the Most Muscular that year, Hugo Labra.
“HUGO LABRA, last year’s Most Muscular Man, looks better than ever, if that is possible, and had been training hard for this contest. We know he was disappointed at not placing higher and he really looked good, for he is a real little giant of 5’6¾” and 180 pounds of solid muscle. He is 32, single, and has been training 16 years. Hugo works for Douglas Aircraft and has had 2 years of engineering training and is finishing his education in a West Coast University. He came from Lima, Peru 9 years ago and is now a U. S. citizen and was the Pan Am champ in 1951 and has done 240 [clean and jerk], 225 [snatch], 297 [press] in the Olympic lifts at 148 pounds bodyweight. He also squats with 475 and bench presses 400 for 2 reps and curls 190. Hugo has one of the best physiques in the country for a short fellow, and will surely continue to improve. He was our cover man in the September issue and we have had other outstanding photos of him and have many more to show.”
“Hugo Labra, a peppy, bouncy, vivacious personality, certainly has a terrific physique. He is also a great athlete and was the Pan Am Games Hammer Throwing Champ, as well as a weightlifting champion. He has a very broad pair of shoulders” (Rader).
At this point, I doubt the fact that Poole was black had little to do with his placings, because he was still just seventeen- you couldn’t really make the case that any 17-year-old could have the size or muscle maturity in anything but the lowest amateur show. 1962, however, proved to be a different animal altogether.
Eighteen-year-old Harold Poole’s 1962 Training Routine
Clearly, since Harold Poole started lifting construction equipment when he was ten, his training evolved over time. After beginning with an old York Barbell training routine that Harold and his brother adapted to their meager weight setup, Harold was taught the real ins-and-outs of lifting by his football coach, who was a remarkably forward-thinking dude for the early 1960s. Poole combined his physical prowess with the bodybuilding advice of his two closest friends growing up, Loren Comstock and Dossie San Sing, who taught him posing and presentation, and was able to win the Junior Mr. Indianapolis as a 16 year old.
In 1962, with a fourth place finish in the Mr. America in the bag and his eyes on the title itself, Poole picked up and moved from the sort of quaint-but-hardcore physical culture studio in Indianapolis to New York City. Poole immediately joined the hardest of hardcore NYC gyms, Mid-City Health Club in Manhattan, and began killing himself in the gym so he could take the Mr. America crown. competitions at the old school NYC standby where Lou Ferrigno trained, . Harold’s routine, like many of the day, didn’t have a lot of variety- they lacked the options we have in the gym today, obviously.
The following program is what Harold Poole and his training partner, the original “Giant Killer” Freddy Ortiz, did in the early 1960s both “in season” and in the off-seaon. “In season” at that point in history meant contests every week or two- they ran them close together at that time. In season, Harold trained twice a week with the following program, though precontest he did this four times a week and off-season he did it three times a week.
Barbell Press Behind Neck– 3 x 6
Barbell Bench Press, Wide Grip– 6 x 6
Barbell Row– 3 x 6
Chins Behind Neck– 3 x 6
Cheating Barbell Curl– 3 x 6
Triceps Kickbacks– 5 x 6
Front Squat– 3 x 6
Donkey Calf Raises– 6 x 30
Sit-ups– 1 x 30
Though he was only eighteen at the time, Harold Poole was perhaps the biggest person on the planet under the age of 21, Arnold included. He was working as a doorman at the wildest club in NYC at night to pay his rent, and that meant that he was hanging a beating on motherfuckers every single day of the week. If modern New York City is Disneyland, New York City of the 1960s was a gangster-filled, trash-laden, stinking fucking mess, and the people reflected their disgusting surroundings. The total number of crimes committed in New York City in 1965 dwarfed the total number now, in spite of an extra 1.3 million inhabitants, and the number of murders committed in 2018 was over 300 lower than in 1969 (New York Crime Rates)- New York City was a shitpile, and there were roughly half the cops there are, which meant that bouncers were able to take a lot of liberties with their fists and feet. And guns and knives and blackjacks and what have you- these are not the doormen you’re used to, but rather far more like you’d expect the doormen at a night club in Transnistria to be.
So, in 1962 we had a shockingly young, black four-sport standout high school athlete and bodybuilding phenom competing in the second-most prestigious contest on Earth, in a sport whiter than whole milk, and that athlete was a hothead brawler who was a bouncer at the wildest club in New York City at a time when murders were half again as many as they are now, with fewer than half the cops. The Iceman Richard Kuklinski was whacking motherfuckers all over NYC at the time, and when Harold was prepping for his second Mr. America contest, Kuklinski was slaughtering homeless people and mob informants by the fucking boatload. To be sure, it was not a time to fuck with anyone, and a young, brash, and hyper-confident Harold Poole was probably last on the list of people to piss off, though his rage would really end up only hurting him in the end.
To be certain, it was not as if the coffee-colored beast didn’t make a splash when he stepped onstage in 1962- he’d listened to the judges and seriously brought up his legs, and he seemed be at the front of the line for the title having begun to proven he was willing to “pay his dues” and “work his way up from the bottom.” Though he didn’t win, Poole rocketed up from 18th the previous year to second in a single year, winning the Most Muscular title he’d lost to diminutive badass Hugo Labra the year prior. The issues lay, however, in the fact that Poole has lost the overall by a mere two points, and had been hurt seriously by the lifting portion of the judging, which was done on the athletes’ own time and at their own discretion, travelling to an AAU facility to perform the required Olympic lifts for an official. Though that rankled for Poole, who was one of only a few competitiors at the time with little to no Olympic lifting experience, the real issue lay in two of his biggest bugaboos- steroids and racism. Abbenda was thought to be one of the first bodybuilders to experiment with steroids (an article in the May 1963 Muscle Builder claimed both Abbenda and his training partner Bill Pearl were massive fans of dianabol, and both owed their physiques to its effects).
To say Harold Poole was fucking pissed was to put it mildly. Obviously, he was on the wrong side of history on the steroids issue, but it’s easy to understand why- in his eyes, the bodybuilding world took something that made him beyond special and made it sort of commonplace, all while they stacked the decks against him with racism on a daily basis as well. Hell, even the Ivy league university located in NYC, Columbia University, had a fucking segregated gym until the students protested for a week straight to change shit in 1968 (a protest broken up by what seems to have been every semi-sober cop within a hundred miles, since there were over a thousand of the truncheon-swinging motherfuckers to face down all of 86 black students peacefully protesting.
Up next, I’ll close out this series with the remainder of the occasionally criminal, always stuttering, often violent, and ever intelligent and protective ultra-jacked natty beast Harold Poole. Til then, take a fucking page out of his book and be less goddamned boring- there is plenty of shit out there to occupy your fucking brains beyond the silly shit everyone has to say on social media. Lift something, read something, smoke a whole lot of something, and get the fuck over yourself- that advice definitely would have served this baddest motherfucker well and probably benefits the lot of us as well.
Patreon is nice because it allows me to afford more source materials. If you want to join the fight against mental and physical weakness, mash the fuck out of that button and let’s verbally lump some motherfuckers up.
Sources:
Comstock, Lauren. Introducing Harold Poole. Reprinted from Strength & Health, Page 28, August 1962. Muscle Memory. Web. 7 Aug 2020. http://www.musclememory.com/showArticle.php?sh620828
Conner, Dick and Dave Wedding. High Rep Training. The Tight Tan Slacks of Dezso Ban. 28 Oct 2009. Web. 11 Aug 2020. http://ditillo2.blogspot.com/2009/10/high-rep-training-dick-conner-dave.htm
Estrada, Tony. Harold Poole, Legendary Delts. Tight Tan Slacks of Dezso Ban. 27 Mar 2017. Web. 31 Jul 2020. http://ditillo2.blogspot.com/2017/03/harold-poole-legendary-delts-tony.html
Fair, John. Mr. America: idealism or racism: color consciousness and the AAU Mr. America contest, 1939-1982. Iron Game History. Jun/Jul 2003, 8(1):9-30.
Fair, John D. Muscletown USA: Bob Hoffman and the Manly Culture of York Barbell. University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999.
Higgins, WIll. Weird lives of Hoosier muscle men: Twiggy’s bodyguard, Arnold’s template, Mel Brooks’ Mongo. Indy Star. Web. 7 Aug 2020. https://www.indystar.com/story/life/2018/01/30/odd-jobs-hoosier-strongtwiggys-bodyguard-mel-brooks-mongo-schwarzeneggers-template-odd-jobbing-hoosi/1047862001/
New York Crime Rates 1960-2018. Disaster Center. Web. 17 Aug 2020. http://www.disastercenter.com/crime/nycrime.htm
Rader, Peary. Abbenda Wins “Mr. America” As Twenty-five Men Compete For Title. Reprinted from IronMan Magazine, Vol 21, No 6, Page 12, August 1962. Muscle Memory. Web. 17 Aug 2020. http://www.musclememory.com/showArticle.php?im210612
Roach, Randy. Muscle, Smoke, and Mirrors, Vol. I. Bloomington: AuthorHouse, 2008.
Roach, Randy. Muscle, Smoke, and Mirrors, Vol. II. Bloomington: AuthorHouse, 2011.
Robson, David. An interview with the legendary Harold Poole. Bodybuilding.com. 19 Feb 2019. Web. 28 Jun 2020. https://www.bodybuilding.com/fun/drobson301.htm
Stratford, Amanda. Bodybuilder’s side: facing bullies. Florida Headline News / The Ledger. 8 Mar 2009. Web. 4 Aug 2020. https://www.theledger.com/news/20090308/bodybuilders-start-facing-bullies
Part 3 is just going to be about his neck, right?
Hahaha. There is literally nothing whatsoever on his neck, much like Phil Grippaldi. Frankly, that neck was probably from doing a shitload of wrestling as a kid and fighting as an adult, because he seems to have done no neck work at all. Grippaldi, as it happens, is some kind of multiple felon, as are all of the dudes who disappeared from the East Coast lifting scene at the late 70s it seems. From what I can gather, all of bigger guys in the NJ/NY area seem to have been muscle for the mob.
Keep up the good work Jamie, love these articles so far and all those nay-saying alt right motherfuckers can go drop dead (which they probably will anyway soon because half of them seem to be overweight and most of them don’t believe in the current pandemic which, I suppose fortunately, hits the obese harder) for calling you a SJW. Harold Poole lived a harder life than all the “hustle hard” IG warriors will ever be be exposed to, and people like this should be given their rightful place under the sun.
Your intro made me wonder something though. How do you think people 50-100 years ago seemed to have had so much more testosterone in spite of all the smoking and drinking they did, never mind all the exposure to air pollution (which had chemicals in it most Westerners nowadays could barely dream of) they had? I recall you’ve blogged about smoking and drinking before, but the way most people in the fitness and nutritional community talk about them nowadays makes it seem like they’ll turn you into a goddamn eunuch. Yet a lot of men of times past looked like a bunch of hard motherfuckers even though they smoked a minimum of two packs a day and regularly spent their whole paychecks on booze (I’m thinking of people like miners from the turn of the last century, or factory workers well into the 1960s).
People are fucking idiots- that’s why, haha. I wrote in the last Falling on My Sword that smoking actually raises test levels so much that it made people seem more virile than they actually are. Weed, as it happens, also raises your test by the same amount, which is roughly 15% from baseline.
As to why people were harder back then- they had to be. Plain and simple. They certainly weren’t better people by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, there were outliers like Col. Thomas Hoyer Monstery, but people even forty years ago were markedly less intelligent, productive, and kind. Yeah, average grip strength is down, but our upper end strength numbers have gone way up.
Anything below the top 25% of performers in anything is essentially immaterial- the mediocre are even more mediocre than the people of the past, because our options to be interesting are so much more great. I will probably build that into an article at some point, because it’s an interesting theme to run with.
You might like “Factfulness” if you’ve not already read it.
I’ll check it out. Thanks for the recommendation, man.
He built such thighs doing only front squats per 3 sets?
Yeah I was a little skeptical of that too. But he is doing it 3-4 times per week in the off-season, unless I just totally misunderstood that part. If they’re hard sets of 6, which I’m sure they were, then I figure they could result in some good quads. That being said I don’t totally buy it. I’m sure he did more than that and all of these routines are just snapshots of what the guys did for a while, that got put in a magazine, and is now on a blog 60 years later. I’m sure he tried plenty of shit.
ALL SHALL BE REVEALED IN PART THREE. Well, only shoulders and legs, but just with that you can see the structure changed completely. Yes, yes. I am fucking good. The leg routine came from a forty year old bodybduiling encyclopedia I own for nostalgia’s sake, haha.
Oh, and I discovered that as of 1970 Harold Poole had one of the ten best pound-for-pound benches in the history of the bench press. Every single other person on that list save one is also a BME, if memory serves, and I’d never heard of the other guy. Anyway, that is coming soon. I might drop it in shorter chunks just to make it more digestible, but it’s hard for me to do at the outset because the shape of the article doesn’t really occur until I’m deep into it.
What’s with all the black cock sucking lately? VOTE TRUMP
That is a weird name to pick for this comment.