PHILADELPHIA _ In deciding to tangle with Richard Brown, the Holy Spirit was taking on one mighty opponent. Brown is very big and very strong. He can bench-press 465 pounds and squat nearly half a ton.
But the Holy Spirit was undaunted, and set to rasslin' with Brown late last winter, and he with It, and in the end, the Holy Spirit, being the Holy Spirit, won.
And so it came to pass that Richard Brown, despite fears he wasn't ready for the challenge and responsibility, became owner and operator of Rivers Gym & Health Center.
``I call it `my Nineveh experience,''' says Brown whose full and formal name is the Rev. Dr. Richard Brown 3Rd. ``You know, God told Jonah to go to Nineveh, and he balked, so he got swallowed by the whale.''
To bodybuilders and fitness buffs in Philadelphia, Rivers Gym is an institution. The gym was founded in 1979 by Bob Rivers _ ``Deacon Bob Rivers,'' Brown corrects _ and, according to Brown, is the oldest African American-owned-and-operated gym and health club in Philadelphia, maybe on the East Coast.
Brown, 42, has been lifting since he was a student at Overbrook High. He became serious about the sport a decade or so ago. That's when he began working out at Rivers Gym with a fellow iron-pumping enthusiast named Paul Anthony Daniels.
Brown became not only a friend but also a coach and mentor to the promising Adonis from Cherry Hill, N.J. Last November, Brown and Daniels traveled to Italy for a major bodybuilding contest, Brown as U.S. team coach, Daniels as competitor. Daniels, 31, flexed and posed and rippled his oiled muscles. The judges were wowed, and certified the perfection of his physique by naming him, from a field of 120, Universe. It's a title once owned by such weightlifting luminaries as Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lou Ferrigno. Now it's an honor proudly possessed by Daniels, shared by Brown and celebrated at Rivers Gym.
The iron game has its unusual characters, but Brown, who describes himself as ``a bodybuilder in disguise,'' is more unusual than most. He is a minister of the Lord, associate pastor of Galilee Baptist Church in Roxborough. He also holds a doctorate in music composition from now-defunct Combes College of Music. To earn his doctorate, he wrote an opera based on the life of Thomas Andrew Dorsey, the father of gospel music.
Mainly, he is a teacher, sharing knowledge and spreading goodness in many modes and arenas. He teaches music at Pulaski Middle School in Chester, where, he says, he's ``the department head, bottom, and everything in between.'' For his efforts to revive the instrumental music program there, he was given the ``Holland's Opus'' Award last year by the NARAS Foundation, the nonprofit arm of the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, the same outfit that hands out the Grammys.
After trying to impart his love for melody and harmony to 700 or so restless pupils whose music appreciation commonly begins and ends with rap, Brown shows up at the gym, where he works well into the night, coaxing, cajoling, guiding, encouraging.
``This is part of my ministry,'' he said the other day, ``helping to build bodies, to build self-esteem, helping people deal with their problems.''
Rivers Gym is not just a health club, says Brown. It's a sanctuary, ``someplace to turn to.'' And its mission is not just bodybuilding and physical fitness. ``We're here to serve the community and its needs,'' says Brown. ``This is a place where people are coached by caring.''
Many young folks show up after school and return to the gym during college breaks and vacations. They are drawn by the strength, beauty and glamour of such pillars of brawn as Daniels, who are gym and community idols. The older lifters, in turn, act as role models and mentors, says Brown's sister, Etheria, a clinical psychologist who helps run the gym. ``They take the youngsters in hand and treat them like brothers and sisters.''
At this gym, not only muscle measurements and lifting records are monitored, but also homework and report cards. ``It's more than just a business,'' says Etheria Brown. ``We talk to young people about their problems, about their homes and families. It's not something we advertise. It just happens. If we can help people in that way, we're happy to do it.''
It's not a glitzy showcase for preening narcissists. The carpet is patched with duct tape. The equipment is basic and well-used, wonderfully funky and functional. Nor is it a temple of testosterone, reserved for grunting macho men. Many women use the gym, including such princesses of physioculture as Traci McLeod, Miss New Jersey, and a couple of grandmothers in their 70s. Over and over, patrons use the word ``family'' to describe the warm, welcoming, close-knit atmosphere.
``It's not like other gyms, where people are struttin' around and profilin' in the mirror,'' said Kathleen Nicholas, 45, of Logan, an administrative assistant at Rohm & Haas in Spring House. ``Everyone is very encouraging.''
``As a female, you sometimes feel intimidated in a gym,'' said Karen Stevens, 32, a Philadelphia schoolteacher who has shed 30 pounds since she began working out with weights last July. ``But the guys here are very supportive. If you're doing something wrong, they'll show you how to do it right.''
Of ``Doc,'' Stevens says: ``I love him.'' And that, too, is a word used more often than you'd expect. ``This is a place of love,'' Brown declared. ``We must love by any means necessary.''
Sometimes that love is obvious, as when two sculpted hunks spontaneously and joyously embraced the other day on learning that it was a birthday for both. Or when Brown, catching sight of a newcomer who was winded and flagging on an exercise bike, called out, ``OK, honey. Take your time, catch your breath.''
Other times, it's expressed in not so apparent ways. ``Different personalities come in the door,'' said Brown, ``so I can't give you a simple recipe for how I deal with people. Sometimes it means screaming and yelling. Sometimes it means telling a joke. Sometimes I'll get a little churchy and quote some Scripture. Sometimes some of the burliest, most muscular guys just need a hug.''
``He's a lovely guy,'' said bodybuilder Dele Obaitan, 31, a registered pharmacist from Mount Airy who was preparing for a contest. Which is not to say he's a softie. The other day, Brown was driving Obaitan hard through set after set of pec-defining cable crossovers, demanding just one more rep when Obaitan's arms, chest and face seemed ready to burst from the strain.
``The bottom line is, if you want results, he's the man to see,'' said Obaitan later, resting between exercises. Laughing, he quickly added: ``But it will be painful.''
Whatever Brown's methods, they work. He has loyal disciples around the country, as well as in South Africa and England. They call him at all hours for advice about diet and training or just to have their confidence boosted. Brown, a bachelor, gives his time unstintingly. ``I love people,'' he explains.
He takes his ministry seriously, and the gospel he preaches at Rivers Gym, a kind of church of progressive resistance, is the importance of liftin' for the Lord, literally and metaphorically. ``The Bible says, `Without a vision, people perish,''' said Brown. ``Without goals, people fall apart. ...
``God has given us beautiful bodies and the knowledge to make ourselves better and fix what is wrong. He has given us the ability to make ourselves stronger, to decrease fat and increase muscularity and aesthetic value. I tell people that bodybuilding is both an art and a science. It's the science of that which is beautiful and the art of making it perfect.''
Needless to say, Brown is an advocate of natural bodybuilding. ``The body is a temple of God, where the Holy Spirit abides. Anything that damages the body _ whether it be steroids or not exercising or overeating or using too much salt or not taking your blood pressure medication _ defiles the temple and is wrong.''
The saying goes: Those who can, do; those who can't, teach. Brown not only can do, but actually does. He not only trains Universe, but also trains ``with'' him, performing each and every exercise. The other day, Brown seemingly cruised through a set of 12 lat pulldowns with the entire weight stack _ 300 pounds. Daniels had never tried that much weight before. As usual, Brown was pushing him to step up.
``C'mon, c'mon,'' he urged quietly, as Daniels struggled to pull the bar to his chest during the last muscle-burning reps.
``It's hard to find people who are as genuine as him,'' said Daniels, a patients financial counselor at Albert Einstein Medical Center. ``He encourages people to believe in themselves, that you can do all things. There have been times when I've had doubts about myself. He always gives me the strength to keep going, to keep pressing, because the job's not done.''
(Art Carey is a health and fitness writer for the Philadelphia Inquirer. Write to him at the Philadelphia Inquirer, P.O. Box 8263, Philadelphia, PA 19101.)
(c) 1997, The Philadelphia Inquirer.
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