Out of the blue one day she said, “You know, Al loves you.”
“He gets to go home with my secretary; of course he loves me!” I said.
That got a laugh. “No, really, he loves you and wants to be in business with you. Would you think about doing business with him?”
“Well, find out what he has in mind, because there’s a building for sale down on Main Street, and if he wants to get involved . . .” Al had a reputation as a shrewd real estate brain, very good at sensing which areas to develop. He’d played a major role in reviving the historic district of Pasadena, California, with shops and lofts. I thought Santa Monica might be ripe for the same treatment. Main Street, which ran parallel to the ocean a few blocks in from the beach, was run down and full of drunks and drifters, and there was a lot of property for sale. I was looking to invest $70,000 I’d saved up from Pumping Iron and other work.
Al was already familiar with the building that had caught my eye. “That property and three others are for sale now,” he said. “Pick which one you like, and I’ll go in with you.” So Al and I bought the building and started organizing the turnaround of Main Street.
Our building started to pay for itself almost immediately. It came with three small houses out back, facing onto the next street, and we sold those off for enough money to reimburse our entire down payment. That made it easy to get a big loan and do a total renovation. And because the building was more than fifty years old, it qualified for historic status and a big tax advantage. This was yet another reason to love America: back in Austria, if you tried to get a building declared historic, they’d laugh at you unless it was five hundred years old.
Making money this way doubled my confidence. I adjusted my life plan: I still wanted to own a gymnasium chain eventually, but instead of making money from movies, like Reg Park and Steve Reeves did, I would make it from real estate.
—
Ronda always put public appearance requests in a pile for me to consider. The one that grabbed my attention that spring was an invitation from the Special Olympics signed by “Jacquie Kennedy.” It asked if I would fly to the University of Wisconsin to help with research on whether or not weight training made sense for mentally handicapped kids.
If I’d stopped to think, I would have realized that this wasn’t the Jackie Kennedy whom I’d met—that woman’s last name was now Onassis, she didn’t spell her name Jacquie, and she lived in New York. But I thought that maybe she was the honorary chair or something. So I said impulsively to Ronda, “I’ll accept.” I was already doing seminars on weight training and on how to be a winner, and I thought that consulting at a university would be a nice credential that would elevate bodybuilding as a sport, even though they weren’t offering to pay. I wasn’t sure if weight training could help intellectually challenged kids, but it fascinated me that they wanted to try, and for me this would open up a whole new world.
There was still snow on the ground in April when I arrived: this was the university’s northern branch, way up in Superior, Wisconsin, near Duluth. The two women who picked me up were both research scientists with PhDs. They introduced me to Jacquie, a slim, lively person from the Special Olympics, and showed me to the weight room in the gymnasium where the kids would be the next morning.
“What exercises can we have them do?” Jacquie asked.
“I don’t know how handicapped those kids are,” I said, “but a safe thing to do is bench press. Another safe thing is dead lift, another safe thing is the curls, another safe thing is . . .”
“Okay,” Jacquie said. “The first day, let’s just keep it at that.”
So we set up the equipment and the camera, checking to make sure there would be enough light to film, and made a plan for the next day. That night I lay in bed wondering how I would deal with the kids. Rather than worry, I decided just to improvise.
There were about ten boys in their early teens, and the minute I walked in the room, it was clear what to do. They milled around me and wanted to touch my muscles, and when I flexed for them, they exclaimed, “Wow! Wow!” I realized that they were putty in my hands. Authority for them was much more visual than intellectual—they would listen to me not because I’d studied physical therapy or anything like that but because of the biceps.
I started with the bench press, just the bar with one ten-pound plate on each side, and had the boys take turns doing ten reps each, with me there to position the bar and lower it down to their chest. The first couple of kids were fine, but the third boy panicked when he felt the weight and started to scream because he thought it would crush him. I lifted the bar off his chest, and he jumped up.
“That’s okay,” I said to him. “Don’t worry. Just breathe, relax, stay here, and watch your buddies.”
So he stood and watched the others taking their turns and lifting the weight up and down ten times. After a while I could see that he was interested again. I suggested, “Why don’t you try now?” and he agreed. He had a little bit more confidence when I put the empty bar on him, and he did ten reps. “Hold the bar,” I said. “You’re really strong; I think you can handle the plates now.” I added the plates, twenty pounds total, and he not only did ten more reps easily but also asked me to put on more. I realized I was witnessing something unique. This kid had been completely intimidated twenty minutes before, and now he had all this confidence. I did sessions with other groups of kids over the next couple of days, trying different things until the researchers had gotten all the data they needed. One observation that emerged was that weight training was a better confidence builder than, say, soccer. In soccer, sometimes you make a good kick and sometimes not, but in weight training, you know when you lift four plates that the next time you will be able to lift four plates. This predictability helped the kids gain confidence quickly.
Out of this work came the power-lifting events at the Special Olympics, which now draw more competitors than any other sport. We looked for the lifts that would be safe; sometimes because of their handicap, the kids don’t balance well, for instance, so we left out squats. We narrowed it down to the dead lift, where nothing can go wrong because you’re simply lifting the bar until you stand straight up, and the bench press, where you can have spotters present to steady the bar if needed.
One of the researchers had a dinner for me at her house, and in the course of conversation, Jacquie asked about my education. “Well, I’ve taken five thousand courses but never went for a degree because they’re at a mishmash of three colleges,” I said.
And she said, “We have the biggest off-campus learning program in the country, so maybe you can finish your degree here. Why don’t you mail us your transcripts?”
I followed up after I went home, and after analyzing my records, they wrote back that I was missing only two courses for a degree: basic science and physical education. I had to laugh about the second one. But we made a plan to fill in both gaps.
—
When Bobby Zarem called in early August with a real Kennedy invitation, I almost said no. It was to play in the Robert F. Kennedy Celebrity Tennis Tournament in Forest Hills, New York.
“I don’t know how to play tennis,” I told him. What sense did it make to show up if you couldn’t really contribute to the occasion? I’d turned down celebrity golf tournaments for the same reason.
“You should go,” Bobby said. “This is a tough invitation to get.” He explained that he’d been able to grab a last-minute spot for me because actor James Caan had dropped out. “Think about it at least, okay?”
This was just the sort of dilemma Larry loved, so I called him. “Take it,” he said, almost before the words were out of my mouth. “You just need to get a coach. Why don’t you use the guy Bruce Jenner used? He got invited there, and he’d been taking lessons from this guy for only a year, and he won.”
Bobby called again and had Ethel Kennedy, Robert Kennedy’s widow, on the phone with him. That convinced me.
I said to myself, “Don’t be stupid. You ca
n’t turn down Ethel Kennedy! And don’t you like to jump into things?” Plus, it was for a great cause. So I told them yes and started driving up to Malibu three times a week to hit with Olympic star Bruce Jenner’s tennis pro.
The tournament was scheduled for August 27, so we had only three weeks. At first balls were flying all over the place, but I practiced enough to be able to hit the ball back and forth. Also, I was good at running around, which helped. Larry and Craig would take time off from work and volley with me when I didn’t have the pro. They wanted to make sure I looked as good as possible among all the celebs out there on the court.
It was a new experience, training for something I had no hope of winning. I didn’t even mind if people laughed—I expected it. But I hoped to make a good showing, and it was good for the cause.
CHAPTER 12
Dream Girl
ON FRIDAY, AUGUST 26, 1977, I flew to New York for the Robert F. Kennedy Celebrity Tennis Tournament. The pretournament party was at the Rainbow Room on top of the NBC building in Rockefeller Center. Tom Brokaw was standing there with a drink when I walked in. I knew him from Los Angeles, where he’d been NBC’s late-night news anchor before getting sent to cover the White House. He was a friend of the Kennedys and was becoming a major figure in network news.
“Hi, Arnold,” he said. “How are you? Here, meet Ethel, she’s the host today.”
Ethel Kennedy gave me a big smile. “How wonderful to have you here! How nice to meet you. I’ve read so much about you, and thank you for helping us out. We’re raising money for . . .” and she talked about the tournament’s charities. Then she said, “Here, meet Teddy.”
Teddy Kennedy, the senator from Massachusetts, was also standing there with a drink. He came over and shook hands. Then Tom asked, “Are you here by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I have the right girl for you. You’ve got to meet Maria. Where’s Maria? Guys, get me Maria!” Maria Shriver came over. She had on an attractive outfit that was both evening-y and casual. She looked like this was her moment. She was funny, and she liked to laugh. A little later, I was also introduced to Eunice Kennedy Shriver, Maria’s mother. The first words I blurted out were “Your daughter has a great ass.” I always loved to say outrageous things to people, but Eunice didn’t even blink. “That’s very nice,” she replied.
Maria invited me to sit at her table for dinner. Afterward, we danced. “Wow,” I thought, “this girl is totally my style.” Not that I fell in love, because I didn’t know her. But I could see that Maria was full of joy, she had a good personality, she had this long black hair, and she was a bundle of positive energy that I wanted to be around.
The next morning our instructions were “Leave your belongings and valuables in your room. Dress in your tennis clothes and be downstairs at nine o’clock.” A bus took us to the West Side Tennis Club in Forest Hills. There we hung out in the area that served as the green room, we had fun, we schmoozed, we ate. I met everybody, including Vice President Walter Mondale, comedian Bill Cosby, singers Diana Ross and Andy Williams, tennis stars Ilie Năstase and Renée Richards, former Tonight Show host Jack Paar, and Pelé. All the while, the tennis games were being played out on the club’s two central courts. It was not a real tournament: it just moved along, and whenever they called you to play, you did, because it was all about charity and not about trying to win. The whole time, Caroline Kennedy and Maria were circulating, each with a camera, photographing everybody and taking many pictures of me.
Whoever matched up the doubles partners definitely had a sense of humor. Mine was Rosey Grier, the six-foot-five-inch, three-hundred-pound ex-football star. He played tennis only a little better than me, fortunately. Our opponents were a couple of ten-year-olds. We managed to get the ball back and forth with them, and when Rosey and I lost a point, we ripped off our shirts and threatened the kids—that made the crowd laugh, which is what Ethel wanted. People were donating a lot of money and paying to sit there and watch the whole day, so they deserved a good show. At one point, I introduced Pelé to receive an award, and he introduced me, and Bobby Kennedy Jr. came onstage and praised all the participants and handed out more awards. As the tournament was wrapping up in the late afternoon, Caroline and Maria came up to me in the staging area and asked, “What are you doing after this?”
“I don’t know; going home to Los Angeles.”
“You should think about coming to Hyannis Port.”
I knew that was someplace north of New York, but I didn’t know exactly where. “How do we get there?”
“By plane.”
“How long is that flight?”
“Maybe an hour and a half. But we have our own plane, so don’t worry about that.”
Afterward, we moved on to a restaurant for an early dinner, and here the push from Caroline and Maria continued. “You’ve got to come to Hyannis Port.”
Looking back, I think I know what happened. Maria and Caroline decided, “Wouldn’t it be funny to have Arnold come to Hyannis Port?” That was their sense of humor. “Hercules at Hyannis Port! What a show that would be.” Caroline knew me from my visit to Harvard earlier that year, and I don’t know how much she egged Maria on. But for sure they’d told their cousins about the plan. So now they were on a mission.
I wasn’t sure if I should go. It seemed too complicated. Plus, I had no money with me and only the tennis outfit and the racket they’d given me.
“Don’t worry about your clothes being back at the hotel,” Maria said. “The room’s paid for anyway by the foundation until tomorrow night. By that time, you’ll be back, and you can pick up your stuff and fly home. In the meantime, come with us. What we do, so you know—are you into waterskiing?”
“Yeah, I know how to water ski. I can’t get up on one ski, but I can get up on two.”
“Do you swim?”
“Yeah, yeah. I feel very comfortable swimming.”
“Well, because we go out sailing and taking turns getting dragged behind the sailboat, and we go out to the Egg Island. And we have a great time! All we do is water stuff. So you really don’t need to bring anything. You already have tennis shorts, and Bobby, my brother, can give you other shorts, or a shirt, whatever you need.”
“I have no money with me, nothing.”
“You’re staying at our house! You don’t need any money.”
First a planeload of the “grown-ups” flew up: Ethel, Teddy, and that generation. Then at nine o’clock I went up with the cousins. I remember landing at ten thirty or so at night, and we were now at the big house in Hyannis Port, and Maria was really showing off. “Let’s go for a swim!” she said.
“What do you mean, go for a swim?”
“It’s a beautiful night! Let’s go for a swim.”
So we went out. We swam to a boat quite a long way out. She was a regular water rat, climbed on board to catch our breath, then swam back in.
All of this was part of the test. The cousins drag people up to the Kennedy compound all the time, and they test them. And play tricks. Of course, I had no idea.
Finally we went to sleep. Bobby gave me his room, right next door to Maria’s. The next morning I woke up to this big commotion. “Everybody get dressed! Everybody get dressed! We’re meeting at church; Grandma is coming to church. The Mass is for her!” Everyone was racing around taking clothes from everybody else.
Suddenly I realized: I had only a tennis outfit. I said, “I have nothing to put on.”
“Well, here, take one of Bobby’s shirts,” said a cousin. The shirt didn’t look so promising: Bobby weighed 170 pounds, and I weighed 230. It was bursting at the seams; buttons were ready to pop. I had no clothes, and we were going to church with Rose Kennedy meeting us there. Bobby tried to lend me pants, but they were way too small. I couldn’t get them past my thighs. So I had to go to church wearing shorts, like a little kid. It was highly embarrassing—which, of course, was the purpose. All the cousins were laughing. “This is hilarious! Look at his pan
ts! Look at his shirt!”
Then we went back to the house for breakfast. I had a little bit of a chance to regain my bearings. The Kennedy compound was a cluster of white two-story houses on big lawns along the water; very picturesque. Rose had her own house, and so did each of her kids. I was at the Shrivers’ house because Maria and Caroline had agreed that I would be mainly Maria’s guest.
Over the course of the day, the grown-ups were gathering at this or that house for breakfast, lunch, cocktails, and so forth. The idea that I wouldn’t need any dressy clothes was absolutely bogus because the men were all were decked out in their white pants and blazers for the cocktails—and there I was in my shorts. But I made the best of it, as Maria and Caroline introduced me.
Rose came over to meet me. She was very curious about this guy from the muscle world and started asking about exercising. “Our kids don’t get enough exercise, and I’m concerned. Can you show us some exercises now? I need something myself, for my stomach.” Rose was almost ninety at the time. Soon I had the younger grandkids plus some of the parents doing crunches and leg raises, and it was hilarious.
But there was a lot here to figure out. Why was there a family compound? Why have all these houses bunched all together? It was fascinating how the Kennedys circulated among themselves: “Today we’ll have cocktails at Teddy’s, and then we’ll have dinner at Pat’s, and tomorrow we’ll have breakfast over with Eunice and Sarge,” and so on.
The cousins were supercompetitive and wanted to test me to see if I was a good sport: they dragged me on a line behind the sailboat, for instance. But under the leadership of Joe Kennedy II, the oldest, they were also gracious. When they were getting ready for their usual game of touch football on their grandmother’s lawn, he asked me, “Do you play?”
“I’ve never touched a football,” I said.
“I noticed yesterday that you introduced Pelé like you really knew him, so you must come from a soccer background.”
“Yeah.”
Total Recall: My Unbelievably True Life Story Page 24