Iron History

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07/11/2008 Entry: "7/11/2008: The letter of Charles A. Smith to Joe Roark July 30, 1987 (Continued)"

The letter of Charles A. Smith to Joe Roark July 30, 1987, continues:

A surprise last Tuesday. Came a rapping on the door- no it wasn�t a raven crying Nevermore, but the Reverend HIMSELF saying he had just�come to see �How you feel.� I held up my two hands and invited him in. Conversation went no where � at least not for me since he did all the talking, skirting around the Iran hearings, etc etc and only slowly approaching the question of my return to the Collection and when he got back from seeing Jow Hood take the 242�s he�d call me and see when I wanted to come in. I said quite openly that �I don�t feel like I want to.� And so it shall be.

If you burn a finger once, chalk it up to experience. Burn it twice under the same circumstances and that�s stupid. So I shall tell him that if he wants to bring me over stuff to sort and collate for him, I�ll do, but come back, No, No, a thousand times No.

Joe Hood was over a week or so ago and said that he fancied his chances of winning since his chief rival, John Kuc isn�t competing- at least so he was told. I uttered a �Caveat� here expressing the opinion that Kuc might have passed this around and then would totally demoralize Joe by TURNING UP and competing. However Joe feels he can take the title since he is now scaling 250, looks bloody huge- the bloody great ox, hopes to get a 765 squat, a bench of at least 450 and a dead lift of 810. He sure has put on a load of beef since I last saw him- thirty pounds odd of prime cuts.

Anyway, Joe is a nice guy, starts chiropractic school this coming September, has his master�s degree in exercise physiology and should do damn well if and when he graduates and I expect he will since he has loads in his noodle.

I am hearing lots from Herb Glossbrenner who is now writing me fulsome mail and inviting such from me and I am glad that my circle of correspondents is enlarging. He seems to be a nice bloke but wild about Anderson which I ain�t since I can�t understand how a man can make money off deprived kids in the name of all that�s charity, and drive around in an expensive car, and have his own plane which I understand he once did have. Too much like the PTL for me, although I may be doing him an injustice. I understand he has a tax free foundation.

I may sound cynical but knowing the nature of the beast, I�d keep your guard up in any dealings you have with the Wonderful Wanking Winder from Woodland Hills. He does NOTHING without considering the pros and cons as to what advantage he can gain from whatever enterprise he goes into. Nothing wrong with this of course since it is the mark of a good and prudent business man. But he applies this rule to EVERYTHING.

Boys [grandchildren] are calling me up each day now and the first ten minutes are spent in squabbling over who is gonna speak to Poppa first, one claiming he should since he made the phone call and the other saying he should talk first since he is the youngest, and this only leads to other rounds of negotiations a la Soviet American arms talks. Thunderous to say the last [sic].

Don�t know whether I mentioned it but Larry XXX got away with a �naughty naughty� and is having to go around telling youth groups of the dangers of imbibing steroids by vein or by mouth, and also is supposed to have been told he must have an 800 number so anyone can call him and get the same advice. He is claiming he did nothing wrong since he �ONLY sold then to friends,� said friends taxing the ability of a football stadium to contain the [sic]. This sort of excuse is like the Sultan of Turkey who was walking his harem one night only to be grabbed and soundly bussed. On discovering the culprit was his Grand Vizier he called for an excuse and was told, �Sorry Sultan, I thought you was your wife.� I am told it takes the good Larry two to three hours to pry his tongue from his cheek after he delivers one of his homilies.

Yes, time flies and how. Especially for me. I no sooner get up when it�s time for me to eat lunch. It seems but yesterday when I had my eys hauled into dry dock and refitted and that was in January and cold. Now it is bloody hot as the hobs of Hades,

Joe, you are an utter rotter. You keep telling me about those delicious beers you are quaffing and here I am, tongue and other things hanging out with the heat and perishing of thirst. You are no bloody good. Instead of sending three or four dozens of cases of the nectar, you just torture me with tales of its excellence and taste. Joe, you are no bloody good.

[conlusion of this letter next week]