NAked Warrior - ZANDERBILT

I R O N E S S A Y S
Stuffed with every conceivable piece of resistance equipment, there was not a single cardio
machine of any type. This “joint” was the epitome of a hardcore lifting establishment, and
the clientele the polar opposite of the Egg Harbor crowd at the marina. I strode to the
counter and introduced myself. He knew of me as I knew of him. I sat down and we began
comparing notes. We’d each been in the game for decades so our list of mutual powerlifting
acquaintances went on and on. He appeared sullen because he was sullen. But once he
knew you were one of the hardcore he allowed his sense of humor to emerge. Within
twenty minutes it was as if we’d known each other for years.
We’d been talking for a few hours when a dapper gentleman of say 45, dressed in a
$1,000 business suit, complete with silk tie, cuff links and a diamond stick pin, walked
through the door and approached the counter. I sat in front of the counter and Ken sat
behind it. Kenny glanced over to the approaching dandy and said in a flat, but loud voice.
“Not for you—take off.”
“I beg your pardon?” The business-type strode closer, “I wanted to talk to someone about
joining your gym and engaging the services of a personal trainer….” He might have been a
professor from nearby Yale, or a business tycoon or a doctor.
“Not for you – this gym is not for you.”
This business exec promptly identified him self by name. He was used to getting his way
and he was used to being treated deferentially; he could not believe his ears.
“Is the owner around? I wish to speak with the owner.” To this man’s way of thinking it
was an impossibility that this hulking behemoth behind the counter could be anything
more than an 8 dollar an hour staff person holding down the desk while the owner was out
getting diner.
“I am the f#*king owner F#*k face!…and I needs YOU to take off right now! NOT
FOR YOU!”
Fantano stood up and the dapper man got a full view of the massive Italian for the first
time. Ken’s mood was menacing and I stepped down off my stool. Was Fantano going to
body slam this guy? Would I be a witness in a manslaughter case? What if he asked me to
participate in the beat down and then be asked to help dispose of the body? “Help me drag
his corpse to the bathtub—we’ll cut the body into little parts and dump them into the Long
Island Sound.” It all ran through my head…I didn’t know Ken from Adam. Would Fantano
“off” a rich guy seeking to join the gym? I was baffled and disoriented. The exec was also
disoriented and his face went from indignant to the look a person gets when they find
For complete information on Marty Gallagher’s The Purposeful Primitive, or to
purchase the physical book, visit http://www.dragondoor.com/b37.html now
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