Eugen Sandow: Bodybuilding's Great Pioneerby David Chapman - Author of 'Sandow the Magnificent - Eugen Sandow and the Beginnings of Bodybuilding'

Sandow was born on April 2, 1867 in the ancient German city of Konigsberg in East Prussia - today it is part of Russia. His real name was Friedrich Muller, son of a greengrocer of humble though hardly of destitute beginnings. Later the young man chose to rechristen himself "Eugen Sandow" for two reasons: first, stage performers traditionally changed their names; and second, he needed to cover his tracks since he had dodged the Prussian draft. But from this somewhat dubious start, a great man was destined to grow.
Fortunately, Sandow was blessed with a great natural physique and the brains to use it. After several angry blowups with his family, the young man left his birthplace with a circus that was passing through. He became an acrobat, honing his skills as an athlete and a performer as he traveled from place to place. He was also improving his body. The gymnastics and acrobatics were hardening and defining his muscles to a remarkable degree.
Sandow's acrobatic career might have continued indefinitely had it not been for one problem: the circus he worked for went bankrupt in Brussels. However well disguised it might have seemed at the time, this stranding turned out to be great blessing. In the Belgian capital lived Louis Attila, a professional strongman and early instructor in physical culture, who immediately saw in Sandow the makings of a truly great athlete. Attila took Sandow as a pupil and proceeded to teach him the rudiments of showmanship that the young man would need in order to become a star. He also began working on the young athlete's body, "improving by art what nature had bestowed." After this brief training period, the two men went from city to city displaying their feats of strength and making a scanty living from the infrequent bookings in second-rate music halls.
By 1889 Sandow and Attila had separated, though they occasionally kept in touch by letter. Attila settled in London, and his young protege wandered about Europe, eventually ending up in Venice. While bathing in the Adriatic, Sandow was spotted by an American artist, E. Aubrey Hunt, who painted a magnificent portrait of the handsome young strongman. While Sandow was posing for this painting, he learned from Attila of a challenge which he knew Sandow could not refuse.
Performing in London at this time were two professional strongmen named Sampson and Cyclops. Neither man was particularly strong, but they had arranged an act that skillfully concealed this fact. The leader of the duo, Sampson, taunted his audience with a nightly dare--he would present the prize of 500 British Pounds to anyone who could equal the strength and lifting stunts of him and his partner. Since Attila knew that this was sheer bravado on Sampson's part, he felt that the two were ripe for the picking.
Sandow traveled to London and once again put himself under Attila's direction. A few nights later the young athlete jumped the stage after Sampson's challenge and bested the second-rate athlete at his own game. The interest and excitement that Sandow generated in this escapade was just the impetus that he needed to launch himself on a career as an athletic superstar.
After his triumph over Sampson, Sandow began receiving bookings all over Britain. Audiences were charmed by the handsome, muscular young German, and they were willing to pay good money to see him perform. For four years Sandow went from one British music hall to the next entertaining audiences with feats of lifting, strength, and posing. By the end of that time, Sandow had polished his act to a fine point. He knew what audiences wanted and how to give it to them.
In 1893 Sandow caught the eye of an American impresario who induced the popular strongman to come across the Atlantic and try his luck there. Sandow accepted the offer and began a run in New York in the summer of the same year. Accustomed as he was to large and enthusiastic crowds, his American reception was something less than he had expected. The young strongman found himself sandwiched between a couple of dreary burlesque sketches. Even the weather seemed in conspiracy against him; it was swelteringly hot and muggy. Not the kind of temperatures that would encourage people to coop themselves up in a hot theater--and very few did. So Sandow toiled on, probably anxious to return to Europe. But fate had something else in store for him.
If the strongman had thought his extraordinary luck had run out, he was assuredly mistaken. Sitting in the theater one sultry night was a man who was quick to notice that the few women in the audience suddenly sat upright as soon as they caught sight of Sandow and gazed admiringly at the beautiful young athlete. That perceptive young man was Florenz Ziegfeld, and he was destined to catapult Sandow into the realm of superstardom.
Like Attila before him, Ziegfeld took charge of Sandow and guided him in the right direction. Almost at once Sandow began to experience a change. Ziegfeld was an energetic, high-powered individual who was determined to make the young athlete a household word. One of the first things his new manager did was to get Sandow away from New York. In 1894 the World's Columbian Exhibition, a much-ballyhooed world's fair, was slated to open in Chicago. Ziegfeld decided that this is where Sandow would make his mark.The Exhibition was situated in a huge area fronting Lake Michigan, but on the periphery there were several makeshift theaters; one of these was the Trocadero. Here Sandow performed as the headliner in a mixed program of vaudevilles. The public was accustomed to ponderous and fleshy strongmen who performed lackluster tricks and questionable feats of strength. It was a great revelation therefore when Sandow (under Ziegfeld's careful preparation, of course) stood before a gasping audience on his opening night. Instead of a mountain of flesh swathed in yards of leopard skin, they saw a well-formed, muscular young man in a very skimpy costume. It did not take long for the Victorian audience to decide that they liked what they saw - especially the ladies. By the time the Exhibition closed, Sandow was an undeniable hit. He had made a name for himself and a pile of money for Ziegfeld. It seemed a shame to dissolve the lucrative partnership