Goliath of Nazareth

Let’s say you’re a guy who’s always been … different. You realized this when you were 12, and lifted a piece of heavy farm equipment — a Troybilt rototiller — out of a pickup truck all by yourself.

When you finally got around to strength training, you were just past 30, an age when most guys are already settled into a life on the sidelines. But something clicked, and you entered your first powerlifting meet just two months later. You benched 425 pounds and deadlifted 500. Barely seven years later, you would set a world record in the squat with 1,200 pounds on your back.

Meanwhile, you were spreading the gospel of strength sports, first as a member of the Metal Militia, then as a gym owner in Nazareth, Pennsylvania. One important exercise you used with your clients at Nazareth Barbell is sled-dragging, a muscle- and endurance-building drill that involves pulling a weighted sled down a street or sidewalk.

And that led to a few problems:

Nazareth’s a small town where sitting on porches in warm weather to chat with neighbors has been a favorite pastime for a century. It’s a place where newcomers are sometimes regarded with suspicion — even when the newcomer is as famous inside some circles of the still-fringe sport of strength competitions as the Andrettis are in racing or the Martins are to guitars.

There was something, then, about the sight of a 6-foot, 4-inch, 350-pound man guiding clients down borough streets that unnerved some residents.

“You could hear it and it interfered with the TV. It’s just a racket,” said Lilian Shultz, whose house faces Pine Street, the alley used by gymgoers. “I was wondering what they were doing. I just shut the door.”

Others took a more proactive approach, calling police to complain about the parking and the noise, and going before council.

Ultimately, Police Chief Bruce Ruch stepped in and told Miller: This is no North Pole. Stop with the sled pulling.

Then, about two months ago, the sleds — which weighed between 50 and 100 pounds — disappeared.

Miller theorized a garbage collector mistook them for trash. “I’m just kind of hoping that’s what it was,” he said. “I don’t think it was a malicious thing.”

I can’t imagine anyone having the stones to steal conditioning equipment from one of the world’s strongest men, but then again, I’ve lived in small towns and I know how people enjoy their peace and quiet.

But one thing you realize when you’ve lived in small towns is that people often aren’t what they seem. In our little township, Lower Macungie, a supervisor named Marge Szulborski stole $2.5 million in sewer-connection fees. She started stealing when she was an employee of the township, and then kept stealing as a supervisor, where her job included supervising herself.

Marge is hardly sui generis — according to this article in today’s New York Times, there’s a lot of this going around in the unlikeliest of places:

A survey by researchers at Villanova University has found that 85 percent of Roman Catholic dioceses that responded had discovered embezzlement of church money in the last five years, with 11 percent reporting that more than $500,000 had been stolen.

The Catholic Church has some of the most rigorous financial guidelines of any denomination, specialists in church ethics said, but the survey found that the guidelines were often ignored in parishes. And when no one is looking, the cash that goes into the collection plate does not always get deposited into the church’s bank account.

“As a faith-based organization, we place a lot of trust in our folks,” said Chuck Zech, a co-author of the study and director of the Center for the Study of Church Management at Villanova.

“We think if you work for a church — you’re a volunteer or a priest — the last thing on your mind is to do something dishonest,” Mr. Zech said. “But people are people, and there’s a lot of temptation there, and with the cash-based aspect of how churches operate, it’s pretty easy.”

Here’s the most outrageous case mentioned in the story:

In October alone, three large cases of embezzlement surfaced, including one in Delray Beach, Fla., where two priests spent $8.6 million on trips to Las Vegas, dental work, property taxes and other expenses over four decades.

So you’d think a small town like Nazareth would appreciate having some big people around, particularly a guy like Miller, who’s a former police officer. But sometimes people just don’t react the way you expect.

Tags: Tags: strength