Mr. Universe

Very few people can say they helped Mr. Universe. I am one of them.

I was a missionary once. I had the pleasure of meeting a man named Jusup Wilcosz. He lived in the 38th story of a run-down apartment complex in Stuttgart. The hulking man carried himself gingerly. He wore baggy sweatpants and spoke with a deep, booming voice. He smelled of alcohol most of the time. I guess you could say teaching Jusup was one of my own Book-of-Mormon-Musical moments when I learned that some scars are too violent for my sunny and simple understanding of the world to repair. Some sicknesses go too deep for words to mend. Some pains take root within the soul, and there they stay, compressing the conscience like a slow-turning vice. What could I do for this man? I was naive. I was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. What could I offer him that other sources couldn't?

A signed copy of his book called "Was Bleibt?" He wrote Keep on pumping! at the bottom.

Now, some are inclined to criticize the LDS Church for expecting all worthy, healthy young men to serve missions. Many see this as oppressive, restrictive, and unnecessary. I didn't know it at the time, but my experience with Jusup was one that would change how I viewed my "job" as a missionary. Coincidentally, this also made my mission something that I would never regret or exchange for anything. I now understand why the church expects this from the young men.

Jusup's apartment was dirty. It was littered with stacks of papers filled with his curling, heavy handwriting. He would always offer us milk or tea or water and would sit across from us sipping his milk from a tiny tea cup that looked even smaller in his massive hands. Jusup has lived more than most people ever will. He would often speak of his glory days while leading us around the cramped space and showing us pictures of him lifting weights. His obvious favorite was a black-and-white print of him and Arnold Schwarzenegger training together. Speaking of these times would bring a broad smile to his face, (never mind the drops of milk suspended in his beard).

Arnold and Jusup doing what they do best.

Perhaps what makes Jusup's story so tragic is that Arnold Schwarzenegger's success stands as a constant reminder of what could have been. That differing trajectory must bring him constant torture. Jusup began lifting weights competitively in the "golden age" of bodybuilding. A list of his achievements and titles can be found here. After several injuries, his career began to fall apart. At the same time, his best friend, Joseph, betrayed him, took his successful gym away, and stole his investment money. Soon after, his wife got cancer and died. Jusup suffered a nervous breakdown and had to temporarily enter a mental institution for delusions and suicidal tendencies. He quickly went from Mr. Universe to destitute. He learned in a dramatic way that muscle doesn't make you invincible.

Fast-forward twenty years. As often happens when one hits rock bottom, they find God waiting. Some may argue that it is weakness and desperation that leads people into believing in God, but I believe that that is how God intended it to be. That humility leads to inner strength and conviction. For all his accomplishments, Jusup wasn't as strong as he thought. My companion and I made earnest efforts to get him to stop drinking and come to church with us. But it seemed for every step forward he would take, he would then take two steps backwards. But I loved him in my own way. I could never be angry with him for his apparent lack of progress, and eventually it became comforting to me just to hear him say that it did him good to meet with us. And that became enough for me.

My companion Elder Norris and Jusup in his apartment.

He would often say that he considered killing himself but that he was too much of a coward to do so. Perhaps that "never give up" attitude that led him to the world title twice is what kept him from ending his life. It broke my heart to see someone who was so successful fall so far. He never even saw it coming. But he is a hero to me. His name will always stand as Mr. Universe in 1979, 1980. Despite his success and failure, he is one of the kindest and most humble people I have ever met. And it might be cliche, but Jusup helped me as much as I helped him, if not more. And maybe some people don't need "saving" in the sense that we often think of. I know that God knows Jusup, God loves him. The real Mr. Universe is watching over his son.

If I brought some small measure of comfort to a broken, hopeless man, then my job was done.

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