The life and times of Doug Hepburn.
The
following pages reveal the struggle of this extraordinary man, truly one of a
kind.
Born cross-eyed and with a crippled leg, Doug Hepburn through iron determination, absolute dedication and perseverance attained the ultimate pinnacle in the world of strength: THE UNDISPUTED STRONGEST MAN IN HISTORY.
The only child of a broken family, a devoted mother forced to work to maintain a home, he lived in solitude, often ridiculed by schoolmates. With a prominent limp from a permanently crippled leg and cross-eyed, he withdrew into a solitary world. Uninfluenced and unaware he formed an idealistic overview of life, which remains steadfast to this day.
Stubborn by nature, he refused to accept the values that most entertained. He had no parameters governing his ability physically or psychologically. Nor would he accept the possibility that others were different than he.
He bares the forceps indentations in each cheekbone, witness to a stubborn birth. His father upon first seeing his misshapen head in the delivery room remarked, eyes twinkling: "Doctor can't you put him out of his misery now, who would want to go through life with a head like that?" He vividly remembers his father lifting him out of the crib screaming at eight months and cutting the cast from his crippled right leg with a jackknife exposing a CLUB FOOT and the stench of gangrene exclaiming " I don't care what the doctor says, this bloody thing is coming off. He remembers at the age of four, kicking and struggling on the operating table at the children's hospital where instead of a corrective brace his left anklebone was being removed fusing the ankle into immobility. He remembers the complete atrophy from the knee to the foot, which was one and a half inches shorter, CRIPPLED for life.
As his early years passed, he began to realize that even with his handicap, athletically and intellectually, he could more than hold his own with those of his age and most others considerably older and beyond his size. The first day at elementary school he wrestled the gang leader and pinned him to the ground. A fully-grown older man could not physically remove him from a private wharf where he was fishing. The high school picnics and sports where he was excluded from further competitions in running, throwing, wrestling and jumping as he had easily won everything that he entered. As he edged on into his teens he was chosen as a pitcher for hardball and softball. One day he struck out 16 batters with nothing more than a crude fastball at a junior hardball game. His muscular reflex, even to this day is nothing short of amazing. In pure hand speed he has never been beaten, by any man including top professional boxers, black belt judo and karate teachers. Even the great Jack Dempsey, after his retirement bowed to his incredible speed of hand. This extraordinary ability he believes is the major factor in all his strength lifts, but especially in overhead pressing movements.
He remarked that even his cat wouldn’t play with him as he could continually slap the paw of his pet in play boxing. He remembers at the peak of his strength he could shoulder a 360-pound barbell, push it out horizontally to arms length at the shoulders and then pull it back to his shoulders for repetitions.
He laughed when he spoke of the time he was accosted by a studious slight young man wearing dark rimmed glasses after his record-breaking performance. "Hepburn, you are all brawn and no brains!" Hepburn replied to the young scholar "Isn't it awful when you don't have either?"
This brought to mind elementary and high school where he continually received a c- rating excepting the occasions when they presented the school with a rated 3-hour I.Q. test. For weeks afterwards he was perplexed when throughout the day the door to his classroom would open and a group of teachers would look and point to him. It is noteworthy to mention here that he never studied with homework except on one occasion to please his teacher and received one of the highest marks in the class.
Having no father, brothers and sisters, his mother away at work, he withdrew further into his tightrope solitary world. Hiding his feelings of affection and withholding these feelings for others he eventually became unable to express them. He saw himself and the external world as a grand idealistic creation. And somehow achieved a complete and immutable dedication to fulfill his purpose of bettering the world with his realization.
A professor of psychology at a lecture once stated, "Hepburn has subjugated his libido, I don't know how in the hell the man did it but he did it”.
As he grew older onto his later teens two major events materialized. His leaning towards the eastern way of thought and its philosophy and the introduction into the world of strength building. One day he saw a young man wearing a t-shirt boarding a bus. The man's arms were huge and muscular. He was awe struck. In that instant he knew that his goal was to have arms like that man at all cost. And that henceforth he would dedicate all his time and will to overcoming all obstacles that stood in his way. He seemed to know intuitively what to do in any situation and he was invariably correct.
He was the first to devise the fundamental principle of progressive strength building. He is presently recognized worldwide as the father of power lifting.
He was born with an unfailing love for all the creatures of the animal kingdom. Throughout his life he has always had a dog or a cat as an inseparable companion as it is so this day.
His refusal or dislike to eat meat was his ever since a young boy. Even the malicious destruction of insects deeply disturbs him. He prefers solitude to companionship except of animals and nature. He sometimes talks more than he should then says little for weeks unless provoked by others. He can discuss at length and with great depth any subject.
He lives frugally but will spend freely on something that attracts his interest, mostly those things that assist to increase creativity. He has the greatest respect for all the great men of history and wishes to emulate them. He has little interest or patience in those who do not appreciate or value creativity, to talk to him at length is like playing a game of metaphysical pinball.
An extraordinary and enigmatic personality indeed.
He invented and developed a small revolutionary exercise device that may be used on the first manned voyage to Mars along with numerous strength-building units that are years ahead of present technology. He has familiarized himself with the works of the greatest minds in history: Kant, Voltaire, etc. He is a fine singer and was once asked to perform on the Anne Murray Christmas show. Of all the great men that ever walked the earth there is one man and one man alone he gives himself and daily measures himself to. Struggling daily to emulate here and hereafter. In so doing he has suffered and is suffering persecution, as did that great man so long ago.
Asked: “Doug, what is the secret of great physical strength” he said: the acquisition of great permanent physical strength is not primarily brought about by nutrition, modes of exercising, technique, social activates, etc. Rather by that area of the human body situated above the bridge of the nose.
At the age of 17 he faced another obstacle. He began to experience sever discomfort with headaches and dizziness and was force to retire to a darkened room to ease the pain in both eyes that his glasses would not alleviate. His uncle and aunt financed an eye operation to correct both eyes that was successful. He relates he experienced immediate increased gains in size and strength. And it was then that he first began with an unheard of method of weight training utilizing very low repetition high set routines. The gains from this were dramatic. Within a year he was attracting worldwide interest in his extraordinary progress.
These early formative years passed. Never failing his disciplined training and living habits he began to break Canadian and British Empire strength records. And to his amazement he had in training, edged within 15 lbs of a world Olympic press record. He then relented somewhat his introverted ways and became more permissive, candid, and friendly to the gentlemen of the fourth estate. Thereafter many articles and T.V. presentations of him showed a jovial, candid demeanor.
In his later years he came to realize the error of his ways. However, the die was cast and the clever twisting of his candor and trust by some of those press, radio, and T.V. personalities saw fit to present him to the public as a short witted buffoon. Character assassination indeed and a loss to the world of an exceptional mind.
I remember him telling me the sordid details related to him by a close friend, a taxi driver, who questioned a young Canadian in the back seat.
Driver "have you heard of Doug Hepburn?"
Young Man "That asshole?"
Driver "Have you ever met him?"
Young Man "No"
Driver "Why did you say that?"
Young Man "My friends told me about him."
I remember that Doug saying more than once "Is the price you must pay for being an idealist?"
Several years passed and during this time his strength was constantly growing. What little money he earned as a doorman, bouncer, painter, and summer lifeguard, provided enough to eat simply of milk, bananas, pasta, and rice. His training continued unbroken during this period and the strength aficionados worldwide lauded his exploits. Numerous articles appeared in magazines and T.V. appearances were common along with news media presentations. Strangely, he was never approached by the eastern national centers of weightlifting organizations to represent Canada in world competition. This same situation exists to this day. He went on unimpeded and won the world heavy weight weightlifting title in Stockholm Sweden in 1953 on his own. Excepting the kind assistance of spectators who put money in the hat to provide his traveling expenses. This event incidentally took place at a baseball game in Seattle Washington. Unfortunately two despicable situations had occurred three years earlier. Both events involved a Canadian and British Empire weight lifting record. Set in Vancouver under strict A.A.U. controlled officiating originating in the pre-mentioned eastern locations. The A.A.U. documents and verification were sent east for proper documentation. In both cases the eastern authorities “informed me that my records were inadmissible”. Two months later he set a Canadian, British Empire, and World record in the two hands Olympic press at the Senior Nationals at Los Angeles California. Impressed, the American at the national weight lifting team informed him after his success, stating "Mr. Hepburn, if you continue to progress, we are just going to have to change your citizenship."
An addition to his misfortune occurred when the Mayor and the administrative division of a large west coast Canadian city, reneged in their promise to provide him with a gym in return for winning a prestige gold medal for the said city. The head honcho, of which I refer to literally stated: Next time, get it in writing. He complained, as printed in a liberal local tabloid, and the next day, probably as a result of the article, an old man accosted him, hands gnarled and callused from heavy labor. You just don’t get it, do ya? Can’t you see that they’re not gonna let you have any money? Again, that specter that had dogged him appeared.
Undaunted, exceptionally talented and creative, he painstakingly produced and invented 4 patented breakthrough inventions for strength building devices, years ahead of their time, prepared and ready for the world market. Complete with tooling for mass manufacturing in the millions. This Herculean effort was entirely his own, hoping at last he could find his rightful place in society.
He entrusted the entirety of his work, placing it in the hands of those claiming the expertise to market his products. Lost in the labyrinth of legalities and penniless when all was said and done.
Upon reflecting on the words of a wise old inventor: “You have got some great ideas here, they are winners. Boy let me tell you something. Your troubles are just beginning.”
One of the pre mentioned patented exercise devices is now in the hands of an experimental laboratory purported to be involved in the development of exercise apparatus for extended interplanetary voyages and has been so for a lengthy period without acknowledgement or notification.
“I’ll go my way and reap whatever destiny has in store”.
He struggled to disguise the hurt as he spoke of withdrawing ever deeper into his solitary world. He rented an old dilapidated shack in the country with his dog Buck. He spoke of the numerous bouts of heavy drinking, sometimes a week at a time.
The depressions increased in intensity as though moving in a deep fog. His faithful Buck ever at his side.
Feeling that deep gutted sickness that, ever stronger, pervaded his mind and body. He remembered the farmer who left a shotgun against the wall and then that unforgettable moment came when his eyes caught that gun and stared, not very long but long enough. That instant of truth had come as it was destined to do.
He stood outside in the darkness, raised a fist to the clear starred night and swore aloud.
He moves to the city, finding a small dingy basement room in the rough part of town. He lay there on a bed for months in a deep depression. He saw a doctor who said: “If you withdraw into that room in your state you will destroy your mind”. He never felt hunger, eating only enough to live, with all his will and stubbornness struggling with the depression. Endless days and night passed. He remembers the elderly man who looked at him intently and asked: “Do you have a strong heart? You are going to need it. I think you will make it”.
The months passed. He weighed 180 lbs, face thinner and haggard. He remembers working part time in a nearby hotel bar as janitor. He refused to drink nor would he fraternize. One evening he was kneeling on the floor cleaning the latrine. A group of well-dressed men passed. One of the men recognized him and pointed saying to his friends: “Do you know who that is, that is Doug Hepburn”.
That very night, just before dawn, it happened. He was lying on the bed fully dressed. He said to himself: “I can’t take much more. I am fighting shadows. God, I wish I had two crippled legs and my arm cut off. At least I could fight. Then I would know what I would have to do to win. Whatever this thing is in my mind, it is my equal.”
He remembers the words of a rough and ready acquaintance: “ In your state your head is full of fly shit. You‘ve got to solve it from the outside in.”
In that instant he
remembered the old unused Olympic bar stored in the back of his room- weak and
sick he rolled out of the bed and muttered: “ This is either going to cure me
or kill me”. He rolled out the seven-foot bar and loaded it to 240 lbs.
Positioning himself, he bent down, grasped the bar and pulled it to his
shoulders. He held it for a moment, and then replaced the bar on the floor. He
staggered from the all out effort and dizziness then stood still to collect his
senses. The depression was gone! What a redemption and he reveled in it.
“I’ve got you beat, you bastard”. Now he had found a way to fight. Fight
he did, the depression returned 20 minutes later, forcing him to repeat the
process. Each time he did the loss of depression increased in duration. He
continued the process and witin one week his reoccurring despondence was
eliminated for two and three day periods eventually ceasing altogether. He was
at last in full control and free from his torment. No further fear now, as he
knew he had the ability to surmount his debilitation. He was now the master of
his ship. Nothing on earth would deter him now.
Alas, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. However, he looks back on those early years with pleasure. He remembers the many wonderful summers he spent on the beach. The happy hours training with his comrades in the gym, the exhilaration of breaking a world record.
The honor of being called the strongest man in the world. The truly genuine respect and admiration from those many friends worldwide. True believers all.
Still reaching for his star, he continued to train, after he had a short stint in the pro wrestling game. He said: I could not do it, I have one life to dedicate to my idealistic dream, and I could not turn away even if I was offered the world. I stood my ground, and took it all the way.
Sax Rand talking with Doug
Rand: I asked him, was it worth it?
You bet your life! And I would do it again, a thousand times over; if I were given the chance and I would not change a thing.
I took them all on and won.
My life is the proof of my victory.
Rand: Tell me about Johnny.
Little John and I were inseparable. All the summer on the beach we practices various feats of hand balancing. I, at 260 pounds, John, a mere 120. It was not long before I adapted my shoulders pressing strength to an unheard of string of strength-oriented feats. Shades of Laurel and Hardy.
Rand: How about marriage?
(Smiling) Of course I have had numerous affairs with women, especially so during the short period when I was a professional wrestler. Once I came pretty damn close to marriage, but throughout all this time in all my contacts with the fair sex, there was always that something else that I wanted more. Call it a mystical thing. I have had this feeling all my life and it got stronger as the years passed.
Now at this late age of my life it is the only thing that is on my mind, whether waking or sleeping.
I suppose I have now the common affliction of older men, I derive the greatest pleasure just seeing women. It is not a physical thing, but a kind of an admiration especially so if their beauty is accompanied by intelligence, sophistication, and if I may, when such a lady is well bred. In other words, she is a lady with maturity, in both her thoughts and demeanor.
I saw him the last time late on east Hastings Street, a rough part of town. An old pair of pants, a ripped T-shirt, thinner and haggard, in front of a sports store window. There it was, the exerciser just as I saw it years before. It had the name of the biggest sport manufacturer of the world. We both stood staring in silence. An old man appeared, work worn hands gnarled and callused. There was whiskey on his breath, but he was still an old working guy. He stopped and looked in silence. See, I invented that. Sure buddy, and my name is…
We shook one last time.
I said: "Can you sum it all up for me?" He stood in silence for a time. His face unmoving, pensive. Every man, whether he be a beggar or a king, has about his waist a leather thong, knotted to which a pouch wherein is a jewel, it's value greater than that of the universe. Neither king nor beggar knows how to untie the knot.
I said: "Have you untied the knot?" He placed his hand upon my shoulder, his eyes glistening. "Yes I have. Goodbye my friend." He turned and disappeared into the night. I never saw or heard from him again.
1953 STOCKHOLM
I proceeded to London. A brief stopover. Then boarded the plane to Stockholm. What a strange coincidence. The name on the plane I had taken was John Davis. The very name of the man I had to lift against to win.
Upon arriving in Stockholm I was graciously received by a considerable entourage of reporters, coaches and trainers of the British weight lifting party. They pressed in close for photos and questions. Jostled as they requested autographs. In order to free his hand, I lowered my record of Oh Canada and placed it on end on the floor against my leg. Long enough to sign a number of papers thrust at me then reached down for the record. Alas, the record was smashed. As things went however, when I won, when I would climb and stand on the winner’s dais, God Save the Queen would reverberate throughout the giant arena.
Two days before I was slated to lift and I still felt pain when I walked. The question was would the injured leg tolerate the huge poundages I would have to lift in order to win. The championship was already in progress in the lighter classes and I was kindly invited by the coaches to watch the action. As fate would have it, they seated me right close to the lifting platform in the midst of the Russian team.
The two men on each side of me were both Olympic champions. I was astounded to hear from the British coach the next day that the man on the left was a brain surgeon and the one on my right a commander of a flotilla of submarines. It seems that their contribution as weight lifters at this time was of greater value to their country. Would it not be refreshing if we here in Canada entertained a similar outlook? Obviously, a great boon and boost to the sagging level of Canadian sports expertise and international competition.
The next day, having to lift the day after, I was obliged to extend no further time to test the leg. I was driven to the nearby training quarters for the lifters. I was ready now in full lifting gear. They knew I was coming. The American top coach was there with his staff. He knew about my problem, and was obviously concerned, for if I was capable of competing and winning, the American team, on points would lose for the first time to the Russians.
I started light, and carefully. No pain. Now I was ready. I loaded the bar to 330 pounds. I knew that the enforced rest had weakened my strength and condition. I pulled the bar to the shoulders and inwardly smiled. Well, I am over the major hurdle, but can I win out of top shape? From the side, I saw the American coach leaning forward intently. I still had to press the bar overhead. It was my superior pressing ability that counted now. I knew I had it and fooling pressed the bar halfway overhead and held it there stationary, then pressed it comfortably overhead.
Now they knew. I will never forget the words of Bob Hoffman, the American coach. Out loud: “We cannot compete with a derrick”. Back to the room to rest. It was late in august, the night was clear and full of stars. I lay fully clothed on the bed. A huge curtain in front, drawn. I fell into a shallow sleep. As I began to wake, a voice spoke: Look into the sky, if there is only one star, you will win. I opened my eyes, there it was. I searched the heavens, only one. I thought, so this is why they call it the lucky star.
Then morning came. I sat on the bed and stretched. Everything it seems is in working order. I slept well and long.
It was 10 am. I was slated to start at two pm. The communal kitchen downstairs supplied my request for a light breakfast. I was ready and waiting. I heard via the grapevine that Davis hardly slept. The floor of his room was strewn with slips of poundage totals of the 3 contested lifts, meant to upset my huge lead in the press. The morning wore onto early noon. It was time. A car appeared with chauffeur. My company in the car was Sylvetti, a huge 300 plus pounder from Argentina. He was good, really good, threatening Davis also. Then it was the three of us who would vie for the gold.
Strangely, on the way to the arena a humorous incident as told to me by a close friend popped into my mind. This occurred 6 months before in a conversation by John Davis and Jim Bradford, the 2 top American heavyweights, in the front seat of a car. My friend, unknown to them, was seated in the back. Overheard the following.
Bradford: I hear the guy is good.
Davis: Well, he’s got me worried.
Bradford: Maybe we can get him drunk before the world meet.
Hey, this is even better; we’ll set the guy up with a woman.
There was along pause, and then Davis said, laconically, it’s no use, the man’s a natural.
Two o’clock. Backstage dressing room. Get ready for the clean and press.
Lifting suit on, shoes laced, warmed up, two or three minutes, light poundage, lifters on stage making first attempts. Poundage increased as called on the giant speakers in front. Davis and Sylvetti had lifted; they were both in separate locations as I was. Davis made his first attempt, good. Next Sylvetti; Good. I held back. That was it. I called for 340 pounds. Successful. The crowd was cheering me now. Sylvetti, still on stage, embraced me and kissed my cheek.
Davis and Sylvetti made final attempt lifts. Sylvetti came out on top with a surprising 350-pound press. Backstage, wondering. Is Sylvetti the dark horse here? I had one more go on the press. I called for 370. I could feel the first signs of fatigue from my forced layoff. I had lost my peak and I knew it. I pulled the bar to my shoulders and drove it overhead. Not too much speed, but carefully. A loss of balance would very probably forfeit the championship. I received three green lights from the judges, establishing a new world record in the press. The packed arena roared. Sylvetti did not kiss me this time.
Davis succeeded with 310 in his snatch, gaining 10 pounds on me. Sylvetti, 290. I snatched 300 pounds, it was tough. I was forced to go into a deep split to get under the bar. This effort exhausted me. I knew I did not have much left. Too tired to even attempt more. I needed all I had left to make one more heavy clean to win. The American coach and another team member tried to disqualify the lift, claiming a knee touch. Up out of their chairs, yelling and pointing. I will never forget the tremendous roar that issued from the throats of 10,000 people. It literally blew the 2 of them down in their seats. It was on the verge of a riot. The American coach knew that if he could disqualify me Davis would win and his team would win on points over the Russians. But there was much more to this episode, something that I found hard to believe.
I heard laughter and loud voices. The British lifting coach appeared. They stood around me smiling. The head coach put his hand on my shoulder. All he says is, you have won. What, I could not believe it. Coach. Davis has to put up 398 pounds overhead to win and he cannot do it. The others had left. Coach: would you like a glass of water? My mouth felt awful dry – okay. He left. A moment passed. I was seated, hunched, staring at the floor. Two feet appeared imperceptibly. A voice says: I have spent a lot of time and a lot of my money to win, it sure means a lot to me, how much does it mean to you?
Out in front of the lifting platform. So this is what it is all about. One final lift that would change the course of my life. This then, was the measure of greatness. I was close to complete exhaustion, and I knew I would not be able to pull that 370-pound bar to a high position. This time I would have to go all the way down into a deep split position to be successful.
I was never able to do this with limit poundage. There was always a knee touch, which meant disqualification. It would have to be perfect technique. At this point in the competition the British coach came over and gave me sniff of ammonia and as I was inhaling the Russian coach and doctor of the team rushed over, snatched the bottle from my nose, took a sniff and went pahh! He reached into his pocket and extracted his own bottle. If I were successful with this lift, in defeating John Davis of the American weightlifting team, the Russian team, for the first time in history, the title would be theirs.
I took a deep breath and pulled with everything I had. Everything was blotted out. The arena, the sound, everything. And then, in an instant, I was there. People roaring! A perfect split in a deep low position.
I held it then ever so carefully. For Gods sake, don’t loose that bar now. Slowly, I inched my way to standing position. The sound in the arena was deafening. Keep calm. You pressed this weight and more many times. I leaned back into pressing position and slowly and carefully pressed the bar arms length overhead. Now it was done. On the winner’s dais midst the acclaim, I felt alone and I raised my arm in salute to my star. The course of my life had changed forever.
Later that night, I was invited to a party. I did not go. I would rather be alone, perhaps to savor my good fortune. The next day, I heard that the French sports federation had invited myself and another prominent weightlifting team to Paris, al expenses paid. I was to go with the team. I was not taken, suppose it’s all for the best.
Stopped off in London for a few days. Waiting for the plane to Canada. Holiday season. Gave a strength demonstration at one of the biggest gyms in the country. I showed them a strict overhead military press with 360 pounds. This caused quite a stir. Especially so when there was not a man in the British Empire that could press above 300 pounds. Landing in Vancouver. Met briefly by the Mayor and the cameraman.
He shook my hand and left. Well at least someone gave me a ride home. Were there no more worlds to conquer?
It seems that the values I maintained in my idealistic world were not those of western reality.
Quite the reverse. World media acclaim ensues. Write-ups in Time and Life heralded my victory. Newspaper, media covered my success.
I was certain at this point that something good was going to happen to me. Nothing would be further from the truth.
1954, Vancouver
Vancouver hosts the British Empire games. Sudden interest by the powers that be in the USA. A top wrestling promoter offers a big contract in San Francisco. The Mayor of Vancouver phoning 5 times a day. God is it going to happen again? Reticent, I answered his call. “ We want to see you right away, it’s important.
Back in Vancouver city hall, Mayor seated with his council. I waited expectantly.
Doug, we are the Host City and you are the only one who can get us gold.
My answer: I got a big wrestling contract, signed and waiting.
Mayor: What do you want?
My answer: I would be happy if I had my own gym.
Answer: We’ll take care of you.
I never got into their office again.
Through it all, I continued to train regularly, as I do to this day. The big bar is my rock of ages. A panacea if you will. Perhaps, even an instrument for self-identification, whatever, as the guy said: ” It works for me”.
Months passed, uneventful, excepting the usual, sometimes hackneyed, portrayals of my character, idiosyncrasies, or eccentricities. Frankly, I was unaware of my supposed shortcomings, more, as a matter of fact; I had much the same opinion of the majority of the underlings serving the Fourth Estate.
I was bombarded with invitations to dinners or meetings involving business clubs and or associations involving the business communities. Their modus operandi was always the same. VIP Dinner, press reception, photos and forthcoming news tabloids, radio or TV coverage, which I now realize, was oriented entirely on pecuniary betterment, on their behalf. The press however, was tenacious. And I was enticed to give way to numerous TV publications and magazine, newspapers, nationally. All to my further discredit. Except, and this is fair to state: those rare expositions reflecting my genuinity, creativity and intellectual capacity. To these few, and they know who they are, I salute you sir….
An old grocery store in the shabbier part of town made into a gym was my home. And where I trained for the world championship. I had built a hammock like bunk out of gunnysacks and 2 x 4’s. That night in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, and wondering, does the future hold anything for me.
I mused were there no more worlds to conquer? Not in the orthodox sense. What then idealism do I throw into the winds? Such a thing is not in me I am resigned to tread a path alone unquestioning and reap whatever destiny has in store.