Tell me, do any of these names sound familiar? Gary Grant, Casey Purpus, Drew Brooks, or Michael David Simms? How about Eric Tomooka, Henry Reynolds, or Alex(andra) Roberts?

If you're part of the $52 billion fitness industry—whether as a trainer, gym owner, or influencer—you should know these names, and I’m about to tell you why.

My name is Tjader Harris, and in 1981, I had been out of high school for 2 years and was trying unsuccessfully to find myself. Though I was enrolled in Ventura Junior College, I had zero interest in anything NOT martial arts, cars, or girls… in that order. I had been studying various forms of martial arts since I was 7, and my dream was to open a martial arts school. Of course, my ultimate goal was to be discovered by Hollywood and become the black Bruce Lee, but first things first.

Unfortunately, my hometown of Oxnard, California, at the time at least, had a distressingly low number of talent scouts within its zip code. Like…, ZERO, so it was clear I had my work cut out for me. 

Recognizing my obsession, my mother had promised to help me open a martial arts school as long as I was in college, and true to her word, she did. That meant, anytime I was not in class feigning interest in something I was convinced I didn’t need to know, I was at my kickboxing school honing my craft. 

Oxnard is literally built around a naval base, so it wasn’t long before SEALs, Seabees, and other military personnel began enrolling in my classes. One day, one of the regulars showed up for class and mentioned that there would be a martial arts demonstration at Ventura College. Of course, I already knew about the demonstration, after all, I was still ostensibly enrolled there. However, knowing about it and wishing to participate are two entirely different things. While I genuinely love teaching, having hundreds of hyper-intellectual eyeballs peering at me was decidedly NOT my thing. I politely pointed out that I would rather be boiled in oil, but before I could drop the mic, he replied “there will be girls there.” Thus, the pattern began.

Most martial arts demonstrations back then were carefully choreographed examples of what NOT TO DO if you plan to survive a knife or gun attack. Basically, the assailant steps forward (why, he has a gun?) in a ridiculous manner more in line with poking the victim with the weapon than shooting them with it. This allows the trained fighter to disarm him and rain 35 unanswered blows upon his, strangely non-reactive, person. The End.

We, however, decided to go with a more realistic account of what could happen if the attacker came armed with a weapon AND a brain.  Our goal was to provide the audience with a rebuttal to the pervasive narrative in the form of a cautionary tale. That all changed about 10 minutes before our demonstration was set to begin when a Chinese gentleman left the floor after his demonstration and began berating one of my Mandarin-speaking students about taking classes from the “hak gwai”. I couldn’t understand the entire interaction, but I knew what that phrase meant and, judging from my student’s reaction, how it was intended. At that point, we decided our demonstration would be full-contact sparring. 

We put on protective gear, and I went nearly full-out against 3 separate combatants, only switching when one was too stunned to continue or had tapped out. About halfway through our allotted time, we paused, and I invited the Chinese gentleman to join me on the mat, but he declined. I asked if he’d prefer to spar with the student he’d berated earlier, and he declined that as well.

Though the organic nature of the demonstration had completely cured my stage fright, the people in the stands hadn’t fared so well and was clearly unnerved by the realities of non-choreographed combat. The gym was all but silent as we bowed, packed our gear, and left the floor.  I knew right then this would be our last demonstration. 

As we walked past the bleachers, I spotted a guy approaching me. Thinking he was a member of the faculty about to start in on me over the demonstration, I braced for the onslaught; instead, he smiled and introduced himself as Joe Bonaduce.  Now, I hadn’t watched a sitcom in like 7 years, so it didn’t quite click until he said he was Danny Bonaduce’s father. I remembered hearing that the kid from the Partridge Family was a black belt, so I figured the guy was legit. After telling me how much he enjoyed our demonstration, he segued right into how he was producing a martial arts film that will star his son, and he wanted to know if I’d be interested in coming to Hollywood to work on it.  I immediately replied “Yes” but explained I was still in school and would have to take a leave of absence.  We spoke for a while longer and exchanged numbers.

Honestly, I was still a bit awe-struck when I called him a few weeks later and half expected him to yell “psyche!” and hang up. To his credit, he was just as personable on the phone and, after we hung up, I quickly made arrangements to stay with a friend who had recently moved to Van Nuys. Once everything was set, time slowed to a crawl until after nearly 5 months of butterflies and no sleep, off to Hollywood I went… sort of. 

What I didn’t realize was that lower-budgeted productions like this one often run out of funds, sometimes even before filming starts, and, as luck would have it, I quickly found myself stuck in Van Nuys with little money and no job. Optimistic genius that I was, I had closed my martial arts school before leaving for Hollywood because I was certain that I’d been “discovered” so, with no reason to go back to Oxnard, I decided to stay and pursue my dream.  

My first job in LA was at Holiday Spa in Hollywood. From there, I transferred to the Encino location where I met and became friends with people like Gary Shandling, Michael Biehn, John Holmes (yes, THAT John Holmes), and high-end clothier Rick Pallack. I even met a guy named Bill Mckinney who, while better known as one of the mountain men in the film “Deliverance”, was also in my all-time favorite film, Enter the Dragon with Bruce Lee, so I knew I was where I needed to be!

To supplement my income and get my foot in the door, I began working on low-budget productions with Sho Koshugi, David Heavener, and the like. I had a small part in “Mask” with Cher and an ill-fated part in “Into the Night” with Michelle Pfeiffer and Jeff Goldblum, so I almost wasn’t starving.  On one production, I met a guy named Ray Notaro who owned a boxing gym called Left Hook in Canoga Park. I’d been missing the opportunity to spar, so he invited me over to his gym to train with some of his fighters. My first day there, I’m warming up and Sylvester Stallone walks in and starts talking to Ray.  Apparently, Baa, Baa Blacksheep actor Robert Conrad had been looking to set up a boxing match between himself and Sly, but Ray had simply laughed it off, telling “Bob” to “just shoot yourself and save yourself a beating”.  Probably sound advice.

Back at work, I’d worked my way up to the Morning Manager position at Holiday Spa when, out of the blue, the Regional Manager, Mike Checo, accused me of stealing $20.00.  No ambiguity. No uncertainty.  Just, “You took it.” He then tried to play both Good Cop AND Bad Cop by saying, if I just returned it and admitted to taking it, he wouldn’t involve the authorities.  It was all I could do, not to reach across the table, so I invited him to call the cops and I left.  A couple of weeks later, I saw a manager from a neighboring location who told me they’d found the "missing money" the very same day but had somehow forgotten to call me and apologize.  Gee, whataya know.

A few days after leaving Holiday Spa, someone mentioned there was a new gym opening up down the street and that I should go speak to the managers to see if they were hiring. I don’t recall how I got the interview but when I arrived, I thought for sure I was at the wrong location. This place was upstairs, in a swanky, Ventura Blvd. office building with zero free parking.  When I walked in, there was no carpeting and workers were still putting the finishing touches on the interior space, but this was like no gym I’d ever seen. Extremely modern high-tech industrial… if there is such a thing, and there were these odd-looking machines with large glass cylinders attached.  The General Manager, Vinny Berniski, walked over and introduced himself before taking me on a tour of the facility. 

He explained that those odd-looking machines with the cylinders were actually “weight” machines with the resistance electronically controlled by adding or reducing the amount of water in each cylinder. They were designed to expedite workouts by allowing the user to do one set of each movement, and the premise was this. Start with the cylinders empty and decide how quickly you want the cylinders to fill. Begin the movement and push the thumb-actuated button to begin filling the cylinders with water. As the cylinders fill, the resistance increases until the user can no longer perform a repetition.  The user would then push the button that allows the water to drain from the cylinders while continuing to work until the cylinders are empty. (NOTE: The machines are featured in the Rocky 4 training montage on YouTube if you’re curious) It was quick, functional, super trendy, and the perfect, ultra-exclusive, lure for the big fish they were trying to catch.

By the time construction was complete, members could not wait to get in and be seen sweating next to the who’s who of the San Fernando Valley.  Encino was always more than just the home of the Jacksons, but with Sly and Arnold mainlining the new fitness paradigm directly into everyone’s psyche, Matrix One gave Encino panache. 

The trainers at Matrix One were an eclectic group. Besides being the first gym staff with a shoe sponsorship, (remember Kaepas, they had the little plastic inserts you could swap out to match your outfit?) we were all chasing greatness elsewhere.  Some of us were modeling and doing film work on the side, others were more musically inclined and seeking their break, but personal aspirations aside, in 1983, we were the FITNESS ROCKSTARS who inspired the film “Perfect” and clients were lined up and paying hundreds per hour to be trained by us.

The way the training was structured, with trainers working the floor until they acquired a client base sufficient to leave the gym payroll and become private contractors, meant the gym was benefiting from memberships as well as from the trainers.  As private contractors, trainers could pay the gym $500.00 per month to train as many clients as they could fit on their schedule, and recognizing the potential, it wasn’t long before management began hiring trainers and encouraging them to become private contractors almost immediately. 

It was awesome to be young and making your own schedule. It seemed normal, like that was the way a 22-year-old’s life was supposed to be. Most Friday nights after work, those of us who didn’t have plans for the evening would ride the stationary bikes while watching Miami Vice together. 

Retrospectively, I think I always knew our situation was different. I remember looking around at the people on those bikes, thinking how special it was to have that group together, at that time, enjoying our lives. 

One day I arrived at work and, when I got off the elevator, there were the telltale signs of a film crew in the hallway. It was not uncommon to have film crews, news crews, interviewers, and their subjects walking around the gym. Though the space was relatively small, especially by today’s standards, it usually wasn’t that big of a deal to keep training as long as we were quiet. 

I always arrived about a half hour early to train my clients, so I walked over and sat against a wall to watch the filming for a while. On this occasion, as soon as I sat down, the crew broke for lunch and an older gentleman in a suit and hat came over and sat on the floor next to me.  A few seconds later, someone brought him a plate of food and we struck up a conversation while he ate.  We laughed and talked about fitness, where each of us was from, and the perils of being Jewish… him, not me, and the whole time I was preoccupied with trying to figure out why his voice sounded so familiar.   

A while later, when he’d finished eating, he stood up, brushed off whatever crumbs were on his suit, and said, “I didn’t catch your name?”.  I laughed when I realized we had been talking for almost 30 minutes without ever exchanging names.  I told him my name, and for the first time, I was able to see his face head-on.  He must have noticed the look on my face because he smiled as he extended his hand.  I’m sure my hand must have been shaking on its own at that point, but he grabbed it anyway and said, “Tjader, I’m Kirk Douglas, it’s been a pleasure talking to you.” Then he tossed me the apple from his lunch and walked away. Such was my life at Matrix One. 

Unfortunately, as anyone who’s spent any time in the limelight will tell you, you’re only as good as your last hit, and with Hollywood being the land of copycats, a small, one-trick pony gym where you must pay to park meant that, sooner rather than later, you’re going to be relegated to footnote status. It didn’t take long as roughly 2 years in; the trainers and staff began hearing whispers that the gym wasn’t doing very well. I had noticed a fair bit of tension in my personal dealings with management, and had noticed that they were always trying to squeeze more money out of us.

A short time later, I was killing time, being a nuisance at the front desk, when 2 guys in suits walked in. Vinnie welcomed them into his office and closed the door behind them.  A couple of minutes later, Vinnie emerged and asked me, Gary Grant, and I think, Drew Brooks to join them.  I remember the ominous feeling on the short walk to Vinnie’s office, like a trip to the electric chair.  So much so, that I began rifling through my mental Rolodex thinking what I’d done… this time. 

As it turned out, the 2 guys were representatives from The American College of Sports Medicine, and they wanted us to design the curriculum for what would become a personal trainer certification course.  I was the only member of our crew to have actually studied kinesiology, exercise physiology, etc., and, though I was relieved that I wasn’t going to be fired, at least immediately, I was also highly suspect of ACSMs motivation.  I viewed their request as little more than a pay-to-play scam that would force trainers to pay them for a “certification” to do something we’d been doing, and doing well, all along. The flip side was, that as much as I felt it to be a pure cash grab by ACSM, I also knew a certification process could prevent just anyone from coming along, claiming proficiency, and possibly hurting someone.  Once we agreed on the parameters, I relented, and the meeting progressed. We were asked to standardize the verbiage for each movement, categorize and identify main, secondary, and support muscle groups for each movement, highlight notes on the performance of each, and then develop a series of multiple choice, true or false, and situational questions based around that verbiage.  In return, Matrix One would have the exclusive rights to use ACSM accreditation in their advertising for a certain length of time, and the trainers who developed the course were to receive free accreditation and free continued education certification as long as we took the tests.  This was unequivocal and, besides the aforementioned safety concerns, the sole reason I agreed to participate.

Before the meeting was over, one of the reps took all the trainer’s names and phone numbers so they’d be able to verify their participation when we called for certification. We all shook hands and they left.

Unfortunately, no sooner had the work begun on the curriculum, than I found myself completely on my own. Every once in a while, Eric Tomooka, who’d been hired shortly after the meeting to replace Drew on staff, would stick his oddly- shaped head into the office, laugh at my suffering, and walk away.  Nice.  

Without email and the other conveniences we enjoy today, it took a solid 8 months of after-hours work, phone calls, and revision meetings to finally get them a finished product and, when it was done, I never heard a single “Thank you” from anyone.

Of course, the shine on “the happening” that was once Matrix One had long since dulled, and a year or so later, the gym would close for good. The trainers were still keeping in touch and seeing each other at other gyms on occasion so, when Gary Grant called me saying he’d tried to take the certification course and ACSM had tried to charge him, I was incredulous.  I’d completely forgotten about the certification because I was busy with more film work by then, but Gary and I also knew ACSM had taken everyone’s name in the meeting and should have had a record of everyone associated with Matrix One. 

I called the main guy I’d been speaking to for 8 months to ask him to add Gary’s name to the list.  The first few times I called, I was told he was busy and would call me back, but he never did. By then, I’d spoken to Drew Brooks and Alex Roberts and they’d both told me they’d been refused.  The next time I called, I was transferred to a woman who, after hearing the deal we’d struck barely a year prior, only kept repeating “we have no record of that.”  When I asked for the guy I’d been talking to she told me he didn’t work there!  So, was he fired? Did he quit? Can you contact him or the guy who came with him to verify what I’m telling you? Nope. Nope! NOPE!  Zero help, zero attempts to help. 

By then, one of the previous owners of Matrix One had begun contacting trainers about a new gym he was opening with Kathy Smith, and the only stipulation was that we had to be certified.  Given the issues we were encountering and ACSM's blatant disregard for the agreement we had, there was absolutely no way I was going to pay them to take a test I myself had written.  Luckily, at the time, I was in a position to simply say “F – you people” and go about my business but trainers like Casey Purpus, Henry Reynolds, Todd Smith, and Alex(andra) Roberts all said they ended up paying for the certification.  I later happened upon Drew Brooks and when I asked him, he said his experience was exactly that of Gary Grant and me, and he’d told them to F-off as well. 

Years later, in 2017, I would plan a move to Colorado and would need that certification to get a job because there was no film work, and no one knew me out there.  I sent an email (see stream below) to Walt Thompson who was the President of the ACSM at the time.  I let him know exactly what had transpired, when, and who was involved on my end, but I could not remember the names of my contacts at ACSM. He responded by essentially calling me a liar and saying the Director of Certification at the time was a she, not a he (even though I never once mentioned speaking to the “Director of Certification” unless the “we have no record of that” woman was that person, in which case, yes, she was indeed a she.)

Oddly enough, he also wrote that they (ACSM) didn’t introduce the concept of personal trainer certification until 1996 so he’s either confused and meant 1986 or he’s a blatant liar who pre-sold 10 years of certification fees.  I emailed him with the additional information he requested (minus my contact’s name), but never heard back despite his proclamation of being “happy to pursue this” for me and my subsequent attempts to make sure he did so.

As for me, I still love training. I love being there for others and watching their transformations as they unwrap the gifts that are health and fitness. I continue to learn and expand my knowledge base so I can be more proficient, and I still practice what I preach because you should never trust anyone who doesn’t take their own advice. 

Is there still bitterness at the way we were lied to and cast aside by the American College of Sports Medicine?  One hundred percent.  Not only was it wrong and completely justified my initial misgivings about working with them in the first place, but more importantly, in the long run, it also robbed the industry of a birthplace and those who were there of their rightful places as pioneers within that industry.  For me, being a personal trainer is an honor because, at its core, it is a human’s greatest calling... that of helping those around you live happier, healthier, more productive lives. 

I may not love ALL the fruit the tree is producing, but I know the roots are sound because these are the people who planted the seeds.

Gary Grant

Casey Purpus

Drew Brooks

Michael Sims

Emily Meine

Eric Tomooka

Alexandra Roberts

Rob ???

Jackie Orr

Henry Lee Reynolds

Kenny Olsen 

Todd Smith

Morty Kehler

Christine ???

David Burr

George Lebrun

John Wilson

Tracy ???

Robbie Caravetta

Apologies to anyone I have forgotten or whose names I’ve misspelled, please know you are no less important.  This is dedicated to Gary Grant and his funny, tippy-toed, walk.  We miss ya, Buddy.