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.