Muscular Development, Vol 4, No 1, Page 30, January 1967
EVERY YEAR since we started publishing MD magazine we try to select a worthy physique champion and send him to the Mr. Universe contest in London. This year we wanted to send two, and did, but only one competed in the contest. Last June during the Mr. America contest a few men were sounded out about competing in London, one of whom was Sergio Oliva. He was interested and raising his arms up in a pose, said: "Me go. Me win!"
We kept him in mind and did everything to arrange his passage. With the help of Bob Gajda, who wanted to lay off a year before trying, Gajda did everything he could to get things straightened out for Sergio. We agreed to pay his back taxes, even then the State Department refused to issue a passport until a thorough search into his background could be made. Such a search would take weeks, and the Mr. Universe contest was scheduled for the 24th of September. It would be over before Sergio could be cleared. . . we looked elsewhere.
About this time we heard that John Decola was planning to compete in the Mr. North America contest held in York. This would give us the opportunity to look him over and maybe send him. He failed to show up. Others were asked about it. All were eager but they were more anxious to win Mr. America first before surrendering their amateur status by competing in London.
Meanwhile, Vern Weaver, the 1963 Mr. America, was training hard and whipped himself into fantastic shape. When I saw him in Los Angeles last March he expressed a strong desire to try again. He disclosed elaborate plans of barnstorming Europe with his wife to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. It sounded great, so much so that it gave my wife, Angela, the same idea to celebrate our 25th anniversary coming up. While we agreed to send Weaver we would do so from York. We felt if he was really interested he would find a way to York. . . and he did. When we had just about given up hope of sending anyone, up pops Weaver. He took a few workouts and he looked like a sure winner. His passage was arranged, and because another man was not found, it was decided that I accompany him, watch the proceeding and bring back an eye-witness account.
Meanwhile because my personal funds were low I began talking my wife out of the trip. Our two working daughters, who were secretly planning a party for our anniversary, decided they would throw in the money for my wife's expenses instead of the party. After that no amount of talking could change Angela's mind. The next few days kept us busy getting our passports and other documents in order. Weaver's wife didn't make the trip.
It was decided to leave a day before the actual judging. Paradoxical as it may seem, York was without rain for months, yet the day we were leaving we experienced a near-deluge. To add to our frustrations the airline office called just before we started for the airport to tell us our flight has been cancelled. Was this a bad sign, an omen? I left the decision to Vern, should we go or wait until tomorrow. He felt we should go and we accepted one of the alternate flights they offered.
We drove in heavy rain to the airport and from there were taken by special bus to Dulles where we got on another liner. To add to the confusion I had called London earlier and told them when we would arrive. There would be a car waiting to pick us up. This change of schedules only added to the confusion. I pondered the eventual outcome.
Once airborne Vern and I discussed various plans. Lightning flashed nearby as we winged our way into the night. Flying east made the night shorter and before we knew it sunlight streamed through the windows. Beneath us a heavy layer of clouds obliterated everything. Impatiently we waited to land. In about two hours we were informed that "we were holding" and waiting for the fog to lift. Now, however, we were forced to go to Scotland to refuel.
In Prestwick, Scotland we got breakfast and killed another couple hours before reboarding the plane for London. The fog had lifted sufficiently and a safe landing was made. Once we cleared customs we exchanged our good old American dollars for some pounds and shillings to have some working cash, then we looked around for our ride. Since our plane was behind schedule we didn't think anyone would be waiting. We found a bus that was headed for Victoria Station and boarded it. At Victoria we desperately tried to remember the name of the hotel where we had reservations, but neither Vern nor I thought to bring along this vital information. While Vern checked with the taxi drivers, I tried my luck with the telephone, succeeding only after Vern found a taxi driver who knew where we wanted to go. Fifteen minutes later we found ourselves in front of the Royal Hotel. The place was swarming with contestants and officials. We renewed many old friendships.
We expected to be in London around 7 A.M. and here it was well into the afternoon. Vern had planned taking a workout but felt rather beat after this ordeal, ate a little and then "hit the sack." My wife and I inquired about eating places and learned of very few. We decided upon the Karachi Inn located only a short distance away. We were not up to trying their native dishes, so settled for soup, steak and salad. Meanwhile, Oscar Heidenstam, who sponsors the show, heard of our arrival and dropped in for a spot of tea. We had a nice chat and he briefed me about the events of the morrow. Finishing our meal we returned to the hotel and "gabbed some more." The ordeal made us feel that we should retire early for the big event next day. We did, only to awaken at midnight and not knowing whether we should remain put or get up and go out. We decided to remain and eventually fell asleep again.
By 7: 30 the next morning we were up. I attempted to call Vern to tell him it was time for breakfast and, perhaps, a light workout. In minutes he was pounding on our door. We left for breakfast. The dining room at the Royal was jammed with officials, contestants and their friends. I recognized many from their pictures, though my head and eyeballs still felt as if I wore a tourniquet around my head. The "bags under my eyes" looked like they themselves might be going on a trip, and might have indicated. "I was out doing the town" the night before, which I wasn't, of course.
We all ordered scrambled eggs but Vern, all pepped up, decided to try sausage. One mouthful of the eggs convinced me that toast and tea would be enough. Angela and Vern ate their eggs but he couldn't go the sausage. (They were hard, defying little rascals. I bit into one then understood why Vern left them.) By the time we finished the dining area cleared out and assembled in the lobby that was overcrowded. We lingered awhile and then headed for the ballroom where the prejudging was scheduled. When we arrived the place was nearly filled. Besides the 19 judges, cameramen and other officials, a huge crowd of spectators were also on hand to cheer their favorites. The crowd, however, was considerate and friendly. Oscar introduced the judges and others, they responded with enthusiasm. While I sat on the judging panel, Angela sat and chatted with Brenda Sell, a former Miss Britain winner and many others behind us.
By now Class # 3, the short men, were upon the scene. A number of fine entries competed in this category. The men stood in a group facing us. They were told to turn to the side, then back, opposite side and front again. We studied them. They retired and came back individually to pose without the benefit of special lighting and without any time limit or poses. We had the task of selecting six from this group. Then our score sheets were picked up, and tallied up by three of the hardest working members of this contest. Later they were returned to us to place our choice in numerical order; 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc. John Citrone, Mr. Britain, won this height class.
Class #2 was next, the medium height division. The judging procedure was repeated. Again we selected six men from this group, then later placed them in numerical order. William Bethsalel, a former Mr. Israel, won this height division.
By now it was past the noon hour and since both divisions of the professional competitors stood ready, we selected six men from each group. It was obvious that competition would be between Wynter and Wayne, Weaver and Paine. . . all formidable contestants. We took time out for lunch before placing the contestants in numerical order.
Our entry Vern Weaver looked good but seemed to have "lost something" on the trip. The day before we left he posed for us in the gym and everyone remarked that "he just couldn't lose." Yet he failed to show this impressiveness at the judging. True, the trip was overdrawn, boring and frustrating and he failed to get any workout outside of some push-ups and flexing, a real tough break due to weather and other conditions beyond his control.
Judging was resumed after lunch. It was hard for us to pick a winner. Paine was granite-rock looking, Wayne was massive and muscular, Wynter was symmetrically proportioned, and Vern was impressive and shapely. Who to pick? I abstained from casting a vote because of our entry, but would vote in case of a tie. It was a clear victory for the winner.
Class # 1, the tall men stood ready. There were many fine entries in this category. One glance convinced me this would be another tough class. It was. The men were compared, recompared until finally six of them were chosen. These were brought back again and again. Several judges got up and stood behind us (we had seats in the center). I heard the clincher that gave Yorton the lead over the young Austrian Schwarzenegger. "The 'Amerrrrican' has the edge over the Austrian. He has better 'cawves' I think." The comparing went on until finally each judge made his decision. I again held up my vote, promising to cast it in case of a tie. But it wasn't needed.
The Jr. Miss and Mr. Britain and the Miss Bikini contests came next. We were excused. This was a job for British officials. We looked on. By five the contests were completed. The ballroom cleared rapidly, Vern went with some of the other contestants for something to eat. Angela and I scouted around to find another eating place. We wound up again at the Karachi Inn, eating the same menu we did the day before.
After eating we went back to the hotel, and rested a while. Later took the subway and stopped off at Picadilly to see some of London, but saw very little of it. We walked around for a couple hours, stopped to get some dessert and gradually wended our way back to the hotel. It was past midnight by then.
The next day at 10 o'clock Oscar had arranged some buses to take the contestants to the Victoria Palace where a rehearsal took place. I didn't have to appear until show time. Therefore, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and later went down to the theatre. The taxi driver made the mistake of letting us off in front of the Victoria where the crowd stood 15 to 20 deep. With head down I struggled through the mob, scribbling (not signing) autographs. Out of nowhere came one of the secretaries, Bill Ball, to the rescue. I asked where the back entrance was. He motioned to follow. It was like pushing through a cattle stampede. Finally we made the stage door. Just as I was about to enter I heard someone call my name. I turned to look. "I'm Reg Park, Sr." came the reply. By golly, so it was. I remember seeing him briefly in '49. He is a young looking man to have a strapping Hercules like Reg. We talked until the crowd began to gather. The door guard urged us in.
Once backstage Angela went to her seat. I elected to remain backstage and talk with some of the fellows. The show got underway. The judges were called out to make a curtain call. Some were introduced . . . the MC missed me. I was glad. I started getting nervous standing up there. Oscar and others began apologizing for the error, I laughed, saying I didn't want to go out there in the first, place but complied only because all the others accepted. They felt it unexcusable. I asked them to forget it. Then I hurried downstairs to see how Vern was doing. He was with George Paine, Roger Servin, Sergio Nubret and others (the amateurs were on stage). Everyone appeared somewhat apprehensive. Who could blame them? In a matter of an hour the whole thing would be over, and all the sweating and sacrificing would have either paid off or gone for nought! I was glad I didn't have to undergo that tension.
Down under the stage we could hear things moving along. I joked to ease the tension. It didn't help but everyone was friendly. I grew thirsty. I'd been thirsty ever since we left the states. I found "my bodyguard" and asked him where I might get something to drink; juice, coke, anything. He called his friend Bill Norris. They took me to a small pub -- for beer. I'm not a beer drinker, actually dislike it, but under the circumstances any liquid would suffice. They ordered me a pint. I swear it was a half gallon. They relished theirs. I poured mine down in a vain attempt to quench my insatiable thirst. They asked how I liked it? My answer is unprintable here, but we all laughed. They insisted I try another, a more potent brand. In my dehydrated state nothing mattered. However, I enjoyed our little "bull session" with these two marvelous gents. It was time to return to the theatre.
I watched the show from the wings, that is, as much as I could between talking with people. Bill Pullum Jr. was there and we had a pleasant chat. I haven't seen him since '49. Later I spoke with Clint Walker of Cheyenne fame. He was on hand to award the trophies. He made quite a hit with the audience, and was in fine muscular shape. I had plans to visit him on movie location but a change of plan cancelled that out. We are still trying to get his story . . . it's very interesting. Clint has always been health minded and exercise conscious. By now most of the show was over except for the finale. . . the winners. Then came the announcement that everyone was waiting for. Chet Yorton won the amateur title, and Paul Wynter took professional honors. I saw lugubrious looks on many faces. Cameras flashed as Clint presented the trophies.
Earlier that afternoon Oscar said he would call me and Angela on stage to give her a bouquet in honor of our anniversary. I agreed. But when he called only me, I hesitated to go out, thinking he had in mind to present me flowers. Me, flowers? Nothing doing. Several men tried to push me out front. I refused to budge. Finally one of them said he had a gift for me. I went out. After reintroducing me Oscar presented me a trophy. Then called Angela up to give her the bouquet. I said a few words over the mike and what I said I meant. . . that I've always enjoyed my visits to England. These people have always been cordial and friendly to me . . . I like them.
It took time before the theatre cleared out, but outside the stage door the mob jammed the street. Getting through would be a problem. Dr. MacQueen, one of the judges, came to the rescue, hailed a cab and hundreds of autographs later, we were on our way back to the hotel. I waved a s'long to the crowd and said we'd see them later at the dance. In the cab Vern, Roger, Angela and I settled said. . . "Yeah, but you all love it!" We exchanged glances and grinned.
(Next month more about this great event will be continued).
- A fine display of backs during the prejudging in the short man's division.
- Competitors in Class #3
- Competitors in Class #2
- Competitors in Class #1
- The professional entries that took part in the Mr. Universe contest.
- Bottom, left: Winners of the amateur Mr. Universe, Class #1, left to right: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Austria, Chet Yorton, USA, Vic Downs, Canada.
- Bottom, right: winners of Class #2: Janko Rudman, Sweden, William Bethsalel, Israel, Roy Perrott, England.
- The competitor that create a sensation with his appearance in the Mr. Universe contest was Arnold Schwarzenegger from Austria. Here he displays his fine back, arms and shoulders that show up remarkably well in this pose. This fellow is only 19 years old . . . and has great potential!
- Left: the fine muscular physique of George Paine from Brookly who won his height division and placed second in the overall competition.
- Right: the three individual winners of each class; Chet Yorton, Class 1, W. Bethsalel, Class 2, John Citrone, Class 3.
- Three of the hardest working men who tallied up the scores, a very responsible task. They are John O'Farrell, Bill Ball, and Bill Norris, all great fellows!
- Finalists in the Junior Miss Britain Contest.
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