View David Gentle's Curriculum Vitae
To reach the 50th issue of any publication is no mean feat, and it is
still the same price, something of a record in itself. Many a similar
venture has been attempted i.e. to bring out a successful muscle journal
and failed in the past. Not through effort or want of trying, usually
the publishers simply because too ambitious, too soon, and ran out of
readers’ support or even worse money. Greatest hurdle a publisher faces
is the print bill, for some reason the printers always want to be paid.
Despite authoritive, glossy thick pages, star support (oh yes??) et al;
none of these qualities or advantages are enough without readership
support. That means people BUYING the mag, and not just reading it at
the newsstands, or nicking their mates copy.
Your editor and publisher Steve Gardener has wisely taken on board my
advice and that of others who have been burned in the past, to progress
slowly and avoid ego rips. Of over-publishing/printing 10,000’s of
copies to wind up with piles of returned unsold copies. It is not how
many you have printed (so you can boast figures) but how many you SELL,
that keeps a magazine afloat.
How do I know? Why am I so bloody clever? Because I have worked for and
contributed for at least 25 muscle journal, writing up to five articles
an issue, turning out all but adverts, ‘ghost ' writing for the stars,
over a lifetime (50 years plus) and worked on and with most of the known
names in physical culture. I have known of editors literally intoxicated
with temporary success, to go on and ‘piss’ up the mags profits, so that
the next print issue could not be paid for. So the mag, packs up and the
publisher goes missing. Others traveled to exotic parts, stayed in the
best hotels, let the life of ‘Reilly’ at the expense of the magazine, to
find they could not afford to continue, yet they still took on board new
subscribers. Result readers left with useless subscriptions to yet
another failed muscle magazine. Not only do they lose those readers,
they also spoil it for others, as people do not usually fall for this
same mistake twice.
Despite our personal opinions, p.c. is in general of limited short span
interest. Any gym owner will confirm the turn over of new members is
rapid, less than 2 in 10 stick at weight training for more than six
months. It is too hard for one thing, than most are led to believe.
Expecting super bodies to take shape in less than that period believing
all the hype and supplement baloney. Unless you ARE genetically gifted,
you will not build a Mr. Universe body in six months. But you will make
good gains and transform your body, if you are prepared to WORK.
Poor genetics was the very reason I began physical culture, first
attracted by a picture of an old time strongman, Hermann Goerner in a
1947 issue of yellow glossy Health and Strength magazine and inside was
a guy called Steve Reeves who had just won some Mr. America title. As a
result of this I too brought out my first muscle magazine, just a little
time after old Joe published Your Physique in Montreal. I had three
readers. Me, my best mate Jim Turner and our art teacher, who obviously
had fallen in love with me, spots and all, the way she kept me in after
school, so I had a six mile walk home at night. There were no
photocopiers in those days, or word processors.
The 8-page effort consisted of neat print and ink drawings. Its title,
why Mr. America of course, “Why Mr. America” said my art teacher (gazing
into my eyes with lust). Well the main reason was because I had seen
Steve Reeves, wasn’t that enough? The stapled ‘mag’ contained current
news of how many press-ups the editor could do at the time (80
consecutive, being on the Charles Atlas course) and posed its readers
(Jim mainly) contests for the best at the two arms chin award. Jim beat
me, being able, even then to chin with one arm.
Despite my dipping and self resistance exercise courtesy old Angelo
Siciliano (Atlas) I resembled a survivor of a concentration camp, it not
being so long ago, we had daily witnessed graphic pictures of such
horrors in the Daily Mirror. Rationing was still on in Britain, and most
kids suffered in some ways from mal nutrition. Along with that I had a
sunken chest box, my left pectoral muscle had most of its insertions
missing. I had some spinal curvature, and a shortened leg and all in all
a sorry specimen. But I knew Charles Atlas could save me, and in a way
he did bless him, along with Earle Liederman, who in turn had originally
trained Atlas.
Health and Strength came every two weeks, and despite all round mirth
and ridicule, I had copies delivered, the seed was sown and the only way
was up. No six months to a Mr. Universe body, in fact it took me YEARS
to begin to look ‘normal’ or average, but always it meant progress and
SELF IMPROVEMENT. What more can you ask.
Life despite, or because of the experience, still in most people’s minds
was more genteel. Health and Strength had its own ‘League’, which I
joined in 1947. I still have the enrollment form somewhere signed by
Laurie Webb. My number was 228291, like my army number, never to be
forgotten. Leaguers actually were friendly and helped each other, not
just at the gym but also in life itself. We said quaint things, like
“Hello Leaguer” to total strangers whom we noted wore the league badge.
Famous leaguers such as Bob Woolgar, father of Dianne Bennett, ran for
example the Sunshine Holiday Camp, where all varieties of bodybuilders,
weight trainers and lifters gathered for fund and instruction from
experts such as Al Murray.
People with common interests could communicate and share knowledge or
nostalgia. It as probably Vic Boff’s OABS newsletter that inspired me.
As a result of them contributing for so many muscle magazines for
others, I received a whole stack of personal mail, and though, “Why not
bring US all together in a monthly magazine.
Never for one moment before, then or since did I hope to make it a
commercial venture. I am already blessed with unlimited wealth in the
more important values of family and friends. I called it MUSCLE MOB
because as a kid I loved Humphrey Bogart and like the film star, always
had my own gang or mob. I enjoyed collecting muscle memorabilia, loved
nostalgia, although it is not what it used to be (the old jokes are
still the best) and respected the pioneers of physical culture and
lifting, upon who’s shoulders we all stand.
The hard work of literally cutting out and pasting of old muscle ads,
cartoons, etc. was great fun, although it ruined many a rare muscle mag.
Within a few issues going out, support grew and grew from fellow
enthusiasts to whom I am eternally grateful, It would be unfair to list
them, they know who they are, and any way my memory is such I now forget
what the hell it was I did yesterday, and yet I can still see, hear and
smell the scents and sounds and scenes of yesteryear, experiences of
long ago.
Of when we were first bombed out our two up and down in Southampton,
moving into a genuine gypsy ‘vardo’ or caravan, later to live and love a
shanty “house” made of just galvanized tin, like the Aussies put
together in the outback. We had no toilet, just a ‘dunny’ or bucket, no
tap, just a well, frogs and all, no electricity, just a broken gas spout
for which we could not afford ‘mantles’. My father an alcoholic rarely
worked, so it meant my mother had to support the family (Me and my
sister and the old man of course) on ₤1.50 a week. Rent was 50p, which I
earned as a grocery boy and an old bike. Unfortunately I never did
develop Reeves like calves for all my cycling. The water drawn from the
well was heated on a boiler and poured into a tin bath, which we shared.
Yes you are right, it was my turn last. I also had the chore of emptying
the shit bucket. We did not welcome visitors to use our ‘loo’.
I left school to help support the family and I remember working 12 hours
a day in the building industry, shoveling dusty cement, and later
finding I had sarcoma of the lungs. I also smoked 50 cigs a day, well do
did Humphrey Bogart. We copied film stars and thought it made us look
‘tough’. But I still trained. Lots of breathing squats of course. I also
spent two years at a chest hospital, daily weekly, monthly and then
yearly x-rays until he growth spontaneously disappeared. But from then I
was never able to buy life insurance. I remember spending six years in a
metal full torso and hip corset in an attempt to straighten a curved and
curious spine condition. But I sill trained, why you can do incline
bench work, bench presses, straight-arm pullovers and a whole lot more
if you really want to train. In fact for a period I trained without
missing a workout including holidays for 15 years and a total of 35
years ‘heavy' lifting. Later taking on Maxalding and strands because of
spinal problems.
I remember all my old home gyms, mud floors and tin roofs. Of apparatus
made from thrown out builders planks, four by four squat stands and junk
weights. Plates made of concrete, strands from bike tires.
I remember being quizzed by the CID when my father died just age 49.
They thought we had poisoned him. He actually died of Wiles disease
within 4 days. Of getting married to a young Rosemary, living for six
years in one room and then losing our first child Linda, the funeral
cost me just ₤5. No counseling in those days. So we went ahead right
away and had this time a healthy daughter, who herself blessed me with
two grandchildren who light up my life.
I can remember earlier, when a snotty nosed kid of being machine-gunned
by German planes whilst coming across fields, to only respond with
Churchill salutes and laughter. Youth has great strength. I recall
running literally a gauntlet of hate, because I was the only child to
take and pass the ‘eleven plus’ and go to a ‘Grammar’ school. Where I
was equally unwelcome. For a uniform, all we could afford was my cap.
Daily thrown into the mud by my ‘friends’. My English teacher said I
would never become anything. Some would agree, but every time I pen an
article I think I have had the last laugh. The best she ever wrote was
for a school play. A flop I am delighted to recall.
In fact despite the gypsy women saying to me once “David, if it wasn’t
for bad luck, you would have no luck at all”. I have in fact been very
lucky. I’ve survived being spat, stoned and even shot at in the army,
and that was just our side (actually it was in Egypt and Cyprus when I
was a regimental policeman). The Jerries missed our bomb shelter, and
their gunners were bad shots, or I like to believe really didn’t wish to
machine gun school kids really.
I remember being burgled, and feeling grateful that the yobs never took
my bodybuilding books or personal photos, just money. I know how to
appreciate fresh air, to still see and smell the flowers, to be able to
walk for miles, to relate to others and understand their misfortune and
losses and to value friendship.
I have met, most personalities and ‘stars’ in bodybuilding whom I have
admitted. I cherish meeting such names as Reg Park, Bill Pearl, Steve
Reeves, Reub Martin, David Webster OBE et al and most of all the late
and great John Grimek. When I close my eyes, I can still hear his old
gruff new Jersey voice, calling me ‘Gentle Dave’.
It was because I WAS a skinny kid I first took up Earle Liederman and
Atlas courses all those years ago. A better, ‘normal’ well-developed kid
would not have bothered, and he would have missed all my wonderful
experiences, MUSCLE MOB magazine is a by product of my life and I am
confident as birds of a feather stick together, so will Muscle Mob
continue to grow and excel under the excellent editorialship and
publication of Steve Gardener. Here's to our centenary issue.
Life & Times of David Gentle
© Copyright by David Gentle
All Rights Reserved
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