Living Off the Fat of the Land
Reducing establishments can make you look better, but their fine print may make you feel worse.
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Invigorated and relaxed to the point of exhaustion, I went through the maze of money with Sylvia. Presidents-First Lady offers two programs, and was offering specials I could take advantage of. The one-year program was $340 cash, with a $40 discount if you paid in full on the first visit. Sylvia explained that they would extend the membership for another full year if I joined at that time. The regular two-year program was $20 a month for 24 months or a sum total of $480 (again with a $40 discount offered). However, small print at the bottom of the flyer Sylvia showed me stated that the cash price was $480 (with a down payment of $50) and a finance charge of $50 (an annual percentage rate of 1034)—a total price of $530. Sylvia explained that if I wanted the two-year plan Presidents-First Lady would let me have it for only $10 down and would extend it for an additional two years.
The genial director of Post Oak Presidents-First Lady, Pat Hall, filled me in on the owner of the chain, Richard Minns, who was once quoted as saying, "Practically everything in excess is bad for you—with the exception of sex and exercise." Minns also has a lifestyle that is mind-boggling: he was the first person to water-ski the perimeter of Lake Tahoe, the first American to dive from Acapulco's seaside cliffs, and is an adventurer-sportsman of the first degree.
Minns has built his Presidents-First Lady chain into one with healthy assets, with nine clubs in Houston, ten in Dallas, and others in Fort Worth, St. Louis, and Rockford, Illinois. Minns also plans expansion into the New York City area. Minns' spas, with their accent on the sensuous and their flamboyant decor, are obviously an extension of Minns' own extroverted personality.
However, if you're willing to pay the steep fee, Presidents-First Lady can be an experience in luxurious reduction and rates a supersmooth in getting it all together—every reducing machine known plus a multitude of hydrotherapeutic and sensuous indulgences.
IF YOU'RE SIGNING UP WITH any spa, beware of the fine print in the contract. Presidents-First Lady puts the "sign on the dotted line" part in a box and calls the customer's attention to it. However, many spas are not so cautious—you can end up paying a hunk of money as interest charge. Barron's reported in February, 1972 that health spa "membership sales usually are financed via promissory notes, the majority of which are sold to banks and other financing institutions. The latter, in turn, charge uncollectible notes against collateral reserves, which are accumulated by withholding agreed percentages from payments to the company for notes purchased."
Beware also of clauses in contracts that allow you to discontinue time purchased if you are ill. Be sure that you notify the spa that you are ill and that you wish to discontinue the time. Notify them in writing and keep a carbon copy. One customer at Houston's Presidents-First Lady had to write to the Better Business Bureau to get the spa to continue her contract. Another customer bought a Lifetime Executive Membership in Slenderbolic in Houston, and then found that the spa had lost all her papers. Fortunately, she had saved hers and the spa had to honor their contract.
Specials are good ways to try out spas to find out if they are suited to your needs. However, make sure you check on the original price for the program you are buying, and that what you are getting is really a "special." One customer of Presidents-First Lady in the Dallas area reported to the attorney general's court of inquiry that she paid $25 a month for two years for a double membership which allowed her husband to use the spa free of charge. She later learned that other members who had not signed up for the "double bonus" were paying only $15 a month.
Another dissatisfied customer testified that she signed a contract as part of a contest prize she had won. The spa represented to her that her membership would be extended for each week she did not attend the spa. She also testified that it took a doctor's letter for her finally to get the extension.
AFTER TWO WEEKS OF STEADY spa-going, I was even more determined to get thin and to do it by Christmas. I was also determined that there had to be a spa that was suited to me—peculiar hours and no contract. Sure enough—there it was, inconveniently located on Ben White Boulevard in Austin, but open until nine at night and with flexible programs to suit the fat, not-so-wealthy girl.
I checked up on prices with the spa's owner, Pat Rademacher, the thinnest, most chic grandmother I'd ever seen. When I asked about contracts, Pat said, "You don't want a contract and neither do I." La Belle Femme offers a goodly array of machines and an individualized program at a sensible price. Pat quoted me a one-month membership fee of $35. Or I could join for three months, coming six days, for $71. If I wanted only to use the front area—skipping the whirlpool, sauna, eucalyptus inhalation room, and sun lamp—I could pay $46 for three months. The one-year program cost $75, and I could pay half of the money when I joined and half in 30 days. There was also a two-month extension for illness or travel.
I opted for a three-day-a-week plan for three months for $48. I was weighed and measured by Camille, who was in the final stages of pregnancy and still doing leg lifts like an Olympic champion. Pat explained the diet program to me and gave me a diet sheet. She said that I was to keep a written record of what I ate and drank for one month. "Then it's show and tell time. If you're not losing weight, you show us your meals, and we tell you how to cut down." The diet sheet contained a high protein plan with an inordinate amount of celery, cucumbers, and lettuce.
My program began under the watchful supervision of Dagmar, who resembled a games mistress with just a whiff of the Third Reich. If I faltered, there was Dagmar—"Let's get those legs going one more time." "Keep your arms close to your side and lift, Ann." One-two-three and we were off. There's no faltering and no nonsense at La Belle Femme. The program is strenuous and complete. The floor exercises are done on bright red carpeting—no clashing with my bright red spa suit—and the wall-to-wall mirrors let you see every bulge and every pucker.
Three times a week I diligently pursued my course. At the end of one month's agony, I had shed 212 inches from my shoulders; my bustline remained an immovable mass—but then it hadn't moved since my high school days; I had lost one inch in my waistline and a glorious four inches in the abdominal area. One thigh had shed 12 inch while the left one had led the race by shedding 34 inch. I had peeled off one inch in the hips and 112 inches in each of my arms.
For many ladies, the daily visit to the health spa is the high point on their social calendar. The spa becomes a place to meet old friends and discuss not only your body, but your husband—or someone else's—and your children. While you sweat away in the sauna, you can exchange recipes and all the news from last night's PTA meeting. There are no women's-libbers in the spa world.
ONE EVENING THE WOMEN AT the spa found one lone lady lolling in the whirlpool, all the lights out with only one candle flickering while she floated. When they inquired about the dimness of the scene, she answered, "But it's so sensuous to take a whirlpool bath by candlelight." And sensuousness is a decided part of spa going. With all the accent on metabolism building and body slimming, working out three times a week focuses your attention on your body and your looks. And after the body-building exercises and the floating about in whirlpool and sauna, there are only three things you really want—food, drink, and sex. But not necessarily in that order!
THE BATTLE OF THE BULGE
THE CAPER HAS ALL THE elements of a Grand Guignol international intrigue—two aggressive owners of Houston health spas, two of the city's most flamboyant attorneys, a former Houston policeman suspended from the force, a private detective, a cleaning woman, a black alligator briefcase, and a "croaker" sack tied with a blue string.
The action began when Robert Schwartz, a former employee of Richard Minns, owner of Presidents-First Lady, set up his own spa, Slenderbolic. First, Minns' President's Health Club and Ace Rican Silhouette Health Clubs filed a $2.2 million suit against Schwartz and his club alleging that Schwartz was "motivated by actual malice" in inducing customers away from Ace Rican. Schwartz was accused of taking for his own use the "secrets" concerning the operation and designs of Minns' hydro-whirlpool baths, and of inducing both employees and customers from Ace Rican.
A district judge refused to enjoin Slenderbolic from operating its baths or from selling memberships to the club. However, he enjoined both owners from copying each other's advertisements. Injunctions continued to be filed over the next year, and then Schwartz filed a $3 million damage suit against Minns accusing the spa owner of unfair competition and slander. The petition stated that the spa owner had since 1962 pursued "an unrelenting and vicious course of conduct in an attempt to drive Slenderbolic out of business."
Then, in 1969, Schwartz and a former Houston police officer were indicted on charges of felony theft concerning records and plans of Presidents Health Club. The first count of the indictment alleged that former police officer Neal B. Todd stole a black alligator briefcase and a set of architectural plans and blueprints from Presidents Health Club. The second count alleged that Schwartz aided and advised Todd in the theft and the third count charged the duo with conspiracy.
Todd was arrested in the rear of the Presidents Health Club carrying a burlap sack filled with papers. Mrs. Gladys Dillon testified that Todd had approached her and represented himself as an FBI agent. He requested that Mrs. Dillon, a cleaning woman for Presidents Health Club, place papers from the executive office of Presidents Health Club in a "croaker" sack, tie it with blue string, and that she would be well paid. Todd was apprehended by private detective Clyde A. Wilson, but was acquitted of charges. His attorney, Richard (Racehorse) Haynes, stated that "Gladys Dillon got things confused."
Minns' attorney, former Houston district attorney Frank Briscoe, continued charges against Schwartz until Minns wired from St. Louis that a slipped disc prevented his returning to Houston to testify. The judge dismissed the charges, but Schwartz filed a $10 million damage suit against the Minns' group. Then a former Southside police chief, William J. Holton, filed a $1.5 million suit against Schwartz, accusing him of malicious acts of intimidation and harassment after he testified against Schwartz. After that David R. Roller, vice president of the Presidents Health Club, got into action by filing a suit for $5 million against Schwartz, alleging that the spa owner had told members of the news media that Roller and others had sworn false and malicious testimony against him in the robbery suit.
Then Schwartz struck again! He filed a $6 million suit against Minns and First Lady again charging a "course of unfair and illegal business competition" designed to drive Schwartz and Slenderbolic out of business. Minns countered with an offer to buy Slenderbolic for $3 million. Peace finally reigned—after a total of $27.7 million in lawsuits and countersuits, two indictments for felony theft, and Minns' slipped disc. However, Presidents-First Lady and Slenderbolic continue to compete for the fat ladies of Houston.
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