There were witnesses, lots of witnesses. Without their testimony, it is almost impossible to believe Henry Holtgrewe’s feats of strength. The “Cincinnati Strong Man” could lift a 300-pound dumbbell over his head with one hand. He once lifted a wooden platform holding 4,600 pounds of metal weights, a crowd of grown men and even a monkey on his back.

Henry Holtgrewe died 100 years ago, on January 1, 1917.

Holtgrewe was born in Germany, near Hanover, and came to America as a young man. His father, Fred, was known as a strong man, but Henry was legendary. Here is a story from the Cincinnati Enquirer [28 February 1915]:

“At Carrollton, Ky., Henry was showing his strength at the fairgrounds. One night a friend desired to sell a horse to Holtgrewe and brought the steed attached to a runabout around to the hotel to show Henry what the horse could do. Holtgrewe was sitting on the front street curb with his chair tilted back. Holtgrewe grabbed hold of the axle of the runabout with one hand. As the man cracked his whip for the horse to start Henry held back the buggy without taking his eyes off the paper. The horse could not move.”

In those pre-television days, Holtgrewe could have made a lot of money doing exhibitions of strength, but he preferred a regular job and a normal home life to the attractions of the road and the stage. For most of his life, Holtgrewe managed a series of saloons in Cincinnati, where his strength came in handy for security.

“When Henry was running a cafe on Sixth Street Hill four rowdies entered his place, bent on ‘doing him up.’ Henry picked one man up by the ankle and used him for a club, knocking out the other three as if they had been struck by a club.”

Although a formidable athlete and a dangerous enemy, Holtgrewe was known for a heart of solid gold. According to his obituary [Cincinnati Enquirer 2 January 1917]:

“Once he made a match for $500 with a weight-lifter. He defeated him with ease. The fellow told Henry he was hard up and had six children. Henry gave him all the stake money back and sent him back home with presents for the kids.”

Those who attempted to trifle with Henry Holtgrewe soon learned that his strength was beyond their imaginations. One weightlifter who did hire an agent and make a lot of money giving public demonstrations of his strength was Eugen Sandow. On a tour of the States, Sandow anticipated some interference from Holtgrewe when he stopped in Cincinnati, so he had his heaviest weights bolted to the stage floor. Sure enough, Holtgrewe showed up and attempted to lift Sandow’s barbells. Soon the sound of splintering wood racketed through the theater as Holtgrewe pulled up not only the weights, but several floorboards as well.

Holtgrewe’s cafés thrived on Sixth Street, on Linn Street in the West End, and on Harrison Pike in the heart of Cheviot, where Holtgrewe attracted as many customers to his upstairs gymnasium as to his downstairs bar.

In 1896, the Cincinnati Enquirer hauled Holtgrewe, a load of wood and assorted dumbbells out to the Baseball Park. While carpenters hammered together a platform of solid hickory, the Enquirer recorded Holtgrewe’s measurements: 5 feet, 8 inches tall and 242 pounds, with a chest measurement of 52 inches. His left bicep measured 18.5 inches in diameter, while his right registered 19.25 inches.

Mounted across two sawhorses, the platform was loaded with metal weights ranging from 50 pounds to 300 pounds apiece, totaling 1,600 pounds. At a signal, 20 men, including John Schwab, groundskeeper for the ballpark, holding “Jocko,” the monkey mascot of the Cincinnati Reds, climbed onboard. Standing beneath the platform, Holtgrewe steadied himself, took a deep breath, then:

“Straining every sinew until the muscles stood out like whipcords on his arms and chest he slowly raised the heavy load. Up it went until it balanced at least 10 inches above the wooden supports on Holtgrewe’s back; then as slowly descended to its former place. When Holtgrewe emerged from beneath it he scarcely panted, although the total weight he had lifted was within a fraction of 4,600 pounds.”

Because of his good-natured personality and his iron-clad ethics, Holtgrewe was often called upon to referee athletic events in the city. Participating in an event policed by Holtgrewe was perilous to any miscreant, whether participating or merely spectating:

“At a wrestling match in a local theater one night a fellow named Dooley, who was sitting on the stage near the mat, kicked one of the contestants behind the ear. Holtgrewe noticed this, and without a word walked over and picked up the offender by the ankle and flung him across the stage.”

By 1915, at the age of 54, Holtgrewe announced his retirement from competitive weight-lifting. He blamed rheumatism, but it was worse. Holtgrewe was suffering from advanced Bright’s disease, involving chronic inflammation of the kidneys, what we might call acute or chronic nephritis, a condition usually accompanied by high blood pressure. In Holtgrewe’s case, his health was additionally compromised by diabetes.

Late in 1916, Holtgrewe suffered a serious stroke, which paralyzed him completely. He was a mere skeleton of his former self in any event, but the stroke proved eventually fatal and he died at 3:00 a.m. on New Year’s Day 1917. The Cincinnati Strongman is buried in Old St. Joseph Cemetery.

Artworks, in partnership with 3CDC & Over-the-Rhine Chamber of Commerce, has painted a huge mural, designed by Jason Snell, celebrating Henry Holtgrewe at 1215 Vine Street.

