Think about the last time you queued up a fitness
app. Maybe you threw a yoga video on YouTube
or popped in your earbuds for a guided run. Or
clipped into a stationary bike. Right. You hit
play, a voice jumps into your ears, and suddenly
your living room or your local sidewalk is completely
transformed into a private fitness studio. It's
basically magic. It really is. And it feels like
a very modern, hyper tech -driven phenomenon,
right? Definitely. We tend to think this kind
of on -demand virtual instruction only exists
because we have smartphones and high -speed internet.
Exactly. I mean, it feels intrinsically tied
to the digital age. Yeah. If you ask most people,
we assume that the concept of on -demand fitness
was cooked up in a Silicon Valley boardroom somewhere
around the mid -2000s. Like it's just a software
innovation. Right. We view it as a tech thing.
Well, for today's deep dive, we are going to
completely shatter that assumption. Oh, totally.
We're exploring the forgotten origins of the
at -home fitness industry. And to do that, we're
looking at a single, incredibly fascinating Wikipedia
article. Such a good one, too. It's about a man
who essentially invented the home workout over
a century ago. It really is a remarkable piece
of hidden history. Yeah. The biographical page
we are diving into today belongs to a man named
Wallace M. Rogerson. Wallace M. Rogerson. And
through the very specific details of his life
and his business, we get a front row seat to
a massive cultural shift, one that most of us
completely take for granted today. OK, let's
unpack this, because to understand where the
modern fitness empire actually comes from, we
have to go back to a time way before spandex.
Or smartwatches. Or heart rate monitors, right?
We have to go back to Malene Rock, Illinois.
A very different world. Very different. That
is where Wallace M. Rogerson was born on November
29th, 1880. Wow, 1880. So right off the bat,
we are talking about a guy born squarely in the
Victorian era. Right, the late 19th century.
Yeah. And this is a time when the concept of
working out for general health was, you know,
still very much in its infancy for the average
person. It wasn't really a thing. Not at all.
But by the time Rogerson reaches adulthood...
Right around the turn of the 20th century, he
is fully immersed in physical training. He makes
it his whole life. He does. He ends up founding
the Wallace Institute in Chicago. Oh, and just
a quick historical housekeeping note here, because,
well, this is the Internet and things get tangled
so easily. Good point. If you go searching for
this later, this 1918 Wallace Institute in Chicago.
is not to be confused with a totally different
organization called the Wallace Institute. Right,
the one that closed recently. Exactly, the one
that ceased operating on September 1st, 2002.
Totally different things. Completely different.
Our guy is the early 1900s fitness pioneer. A
crucial distinction to make. So picture the scene.
It's 1918. Okay. Rodgerson is in Chicago running
this physical institute, and he is offering in
-person physical training. Like a modern gym.
Basically, yeah. He is essentially an early 20th
century personal trainer. People are coming to
him in his building to get in shape. Which is
a highly successful business model. Oh, absolutely.
But here is where he makes a leap that I just
find absolutely staggering. It's so wild. Imagine
you have a really popular high -end boutique
gym in Chicago today. The owner is doing great.
The classes are packed. There's a waiting list.
The traditional business move is to just open
another physical location, maybe franchise it.
Right. You scale the real estate. Exactly. But
instead of doing that, this gym owner decides
to build a massive tech platform. They decide
to build the very first Peloton or the first
interactive fitness app. It's a huge pivot. That
is basically what Rogerson did in the early 1920s.
He took a localized in -person business and translated
it to the absolute cutting edge consumer technology
of his day. The phonograph. The phonograph. He
developed something called Wallace records or
Wallace reducing records. It is an incredible
pivot. I mean, he isn't just scaling his business.
He is inventing a completely new way for humans
to interact with a machine. But I have to push
back on the logistics of this because I'm trying
to picture how this actually works. Why would
a successful in -person trainer take the massive
financial risk of putting his voice on a piece
of heavy, fragile vinyl? It does seem crazy.
Right. And maybe more importantly, how do people
even react to their record player suddenly giving
them orders? That's the best part. I mean, a
record player was strictly for music. It was
for entertainment. What's fascinating here is
that Rodgersson recognized the... Thonograph
wasn't just a passive medium for listening to
jazz or whatever. OK. It was a tool for unprecedented
scale. Oh, I see. In a physical room in Chicago,
he is bound by the laws of physics. He could
only train the 30 or 40 people standing directly
in front of him. Right. There's a cap on his
income. Exactly. But by pressing his routines
into a 78 RPM record, he is untethering his expertise
from his physical presence. Wow. He realized
that this technology could deliver his presence,
like his authority, directly into the consumer's
most private space, their living room. OK, but
physically, how do you follow a workout from
a record player? It's tricky, right? Because
if I'm doing a yoga video on my TV right now,
I am constantly craning my neck to look at the
screen. Just to make sure you're doing it right.
Yeah. To see if my posture matches the instructor.
If it is just pure audio, how do you not just
completely lose your place? Or just injure yourself?
That is where the genius of the audio formatting
comes in. You have to remember, these were the
first exercise records marketed in the United
States. He had no blueprint. None. He had to
invent the mechanism of audio -only biomechanical
instruction. Which is wild. And he did this by
combining verbal lessons with music. Okay, music.
But the music isn't just background noise to
make it fun. It acts as a metronome. Yeah, Rogerson
had to precisely time his vocal cues to the tempo
of the music and the physical constraints of
a 78 rpm record to ensure the listener was moving
at the exact right pace. Oh wow, it's like when
you're driving and using a modern navigation
app. Yes. The app doesn't just show you a map,
right? The audio voice says in 500 feet turn
right. It gives you the audio cue exactly when
your body needs to execute the physical movement
without you having to look at a screen. That
is a perfect analogy. He was doing that with
jumping jacks and stretches in 1920. The music
provides the pace and the verbal instruction
provides the structure. He was engineering a
highly specific user experience. That is so smart.
And he didn't just make one novelty record and
call it a day. He created a series of five or
more records. Which implies a curriculum. Right.
It isn't just a gimmick to play at a party. It's
a progressive program. You are meant to build
a habit. Yes. And the titles of these records
were incredibly direct. One of the primary titles
was Get Thin to Music. And that title Get Thin
to Music, along with the advertising materials
we have from 1920, tells us exactly what the
product was. And who it was for. Crucially, yes.
The records were explicitly targeted mostly to
women for the proposed use of weight reduction.
Here's where it gets really interesting and honestly
a little thorny. Yeah, we have to talk about
this. Because when I read that he was targeting
mostly women for weight reduction as far back
as 1920, my modern alarm bells start ringing
loudly. It's hard not to feel that way. It feels
a bit predatory to my modern ears, like it's
the absolute ground zero of the fitness industry
monetizing societal pressure. Weaponizing body
image to sell a product. Yeah, exactly. It is
entirely fair. to view it through that lens,
and we absolutely have to acknowledge that tension.
It's just so blatant. It is. The monetization
of a physical ideal is baked right into the title.
Get Thin is a directive based on a societal standard
of beauty. Right. But if we only look at the
marketing hook, we miss the radical nature of
what the product actually allowed women to do
in practice. Wait, you think a record telling
women to get thin was actually radical? In a
way, yes. How is that empowering? Because of
where and how they were finally allowed to do
it. Think about the public spaces of 1920. Okay.
Where exactly does a woman go to sweat? Oh, nowhere
really. Exactly. Gymnasiums and physical culture
clubs of that era were heavily male -dominated,
often aggressive, and culturally stigmatized
spaces for women. That makes sense. Societal
norms regarding modesty and behavior made vigorous
public physical exertion incredibly difficult
for a typical woman to access. Okay, I see where
you are going. So by putting this instruction
on a piece of vinyl... By putting it on a record,
he gave women the privacy to close their living
room doors, put on comfortable, unrestrictive
clothing, and engage in vigorous cardiovascular
activity entirely on their own terms. Wow. The
marketing hook was undoubtedly weight loss, but
the physical reality of the product was giving
women a tool for bodily autonomy in their own
homes. It's almost like a Trojan horse. That's
a great way to put it. You buy it because the
advertising card promises you will meet a beauty
standard, but what you actually get is a daily
cardiovascular habit. And physical strength.
Right. and a dedicated hour of private space
that is just for you. That is a really complex
dynamic. It is. We can recognize both sides of
it. And regardless of the sociological implications,
if we look purely at the mechanics of the business
he built, we have to marvel at the formula. Oh,
the formula is bulletproof. Music plus verbal
instruction. It is the formula. It is the exact
formula used in every spin class, every aerobics
video, and every guided running app today. And
he nailed that synthesis over a hundred years
ago. You really did. And he didn't just stop
at the records. The guy was a media mogul in
the making. Completely. He didn't just understand
product. He understood distribution. He expanded
his reach by conducting a radio program on WGN.
Keep Fit to Music. Keep Fit to Music. He did
this for years. That detail about the WGN radio
program... is crucial because it elevates him
from just an inventor to a master marketer. How
so? It shows a highly sophisticated understanding
of what we would now call cross platform or omni
-channel marketing. Break that down for me because
omni -channel marketing sounds like something
a tech CEO pitches on a conference call today.
Right. How was a guy in 1920 doing this? Think
about his funnel. First, he has the physical
Wallace Institute in Chicago. The premium in
-person service. Exactly, the high -touch option.
Then, he has the physical advertising cards being
distributed to build awareness. Okay, step two.
Then, he has the mass broadcast radio program
Keep Fit to Music. Which is free. The radio show
is free over the airwaves. It acts as a standalone
service, but it's also a massive daily marketing
funnel. Oh, I get it. You listen to him on the
radio, you realize you like his instruction,
and suddenly you are primed to buy the premium
consumer product. The records. The five -part
Wallace Reducing Records set so you can do it
whenever you want, not just when the radio show
is airing. It's brilliant. It's the exact model
of giving away free content on YouTube channel
today so that people will buy your app subscription.
It's identical. You listen on the radio for free.
You buy the records to get the permanent curriculum
at home. And if you live in Chicago, maybe you
eventually walk into the Institute. It's an entire
ecosystem. It really is. But despite all of this
innovation, I mean, despite literally inventing
the at -home exercise record and building this
massive media funnel, his name isn't exactly
a household word today. No, it's not. Rodgerson
died on February 24th, 1943 in Chicago. And for
a long time, it seems like his exact place in
history was completely murky. Or just outright
stolen. Yeah. History is rarely a clean, straight
line. And that brings us to one of the most compelling
parts of his story. I love this part. It involves
a PBS broadcast from over half a century after
his death. Yes. On September 6, 2011, the PBS
show History Detectives actually aired an investigation
into Wallace Rogerson's legacy. It's a great
episode. It turns out there was a massive historical
dispute over who really started this whole industry.
The dispute centered around another historical
figure named Walter Camp. Right. For a very long
time, there was a serious question of who actually
got there first in terms of marketing these weight
reduction exercise records. Particularly to the
female demographic. Exactly. Camp was often the
one getting the credit. It's like a 1920s fitness
influencer rivalry, Rodgerson versus Camp. Basically,
yeah. But why does that happen? If Rogerson literally
invented the category and had this massive radio
and record empire, how does he get bumped to
the footnotes in favor of someone else for decades?
Because being first doesn't always guarantee
you get the credit in the history books. Often,
history favors whoever comes along with a slightly
louder megaphone later or whoever happens to
have their physical records survive in a museum
archive. While the actual pioneers work gets
scratched or thrown away. Exactly. History is
notoriously messy that way. But the 2011 PBS
investigation finally settled the score. They
proved definitively that Wallace records actually
preceded Walter Camp's efforts. Rodgerson really
was the first. He finally got his crown back.
He did. But there is another massive connection
in his legacy. The Wikipedia article states that
Rodgerson's work directly presaged the work of
Jack LaLanne. Right. And if we connect this to
the bigger picture, it highlights how true pioneers
are often eclipsed when the medium they worked
in gets superseded by new technology. So what
does this all mean for how we view fitness history?
I mean, everyone knows Jack LaLanne. Oh, absolutely.
He is universally recognized as the godfather
of modern fitness. He's the guy in the iconic
jumpsuit on television doing jumping jacks and
inspiring the nation. A total legend. Why do
we remember the TV guy so vividly and almost
completely forget the radio and record guy who
came decades earlier? Because audio was eventually
eclipsed by television. Makes sense. When Jack
LaLanne came along and brought fitness to television,
he was adding a visual component that was incredibly
sticky for a mass audience. You could finally
see the exercises. Exactly. Not just hear the
audio cues and the music. The screen became the
dominant interface for the American living room.
It's easy to assume the revolution started with
the screen, just because the screen is what we
all ended up staring at. Precisely. We confuse
the interface with the actual operating system.
Oh, I like that. What Rodgerson's story makes
crystal clear is that Jack LaLanne didn't invent
the underlying concept of at -home media -guided
fitness. Right? LaLanne simply changed the interface
from an audio speaker to a glass screen. Wow.
It was Wallace M. Rogerson who proved that the
home audience appetite even existed in the first
place. He took the risk. He took on the massive
risk of proving that regular people were willing
to buy a piece of media specifically to sweat
to it in the privacy of their own living rooms.
Rogerson wrote the original code. And everyone
else since then has just been updating the software.
It's just staggering to think about the timeline
here from a physical grindmortar gym in Chicago
in 1918 to pressing his commanding voice onto
a 78 RPM record in 1920. To having his rightful
place in history verified by PBS Detectives in
2011. So for you, the listener, the next time
you hit play on your smartwatch or open up that
yoga app on your phone or start a guided run,
just remember that you are participating in a
century old tradition. A very long tradition.
You are stepping right into a lineage of at -home
fitness that started with Get Thin to Music and
a guy named Wallace M. Rogerson, who had the
crazy idea that he could train you from the inside
of a record player. It really is a profound technological
and cultural leap. It really is. And this raises
an important question, actually, something I
really want you to chew on as we wrap up this
deep dive. OK, what is it? Well, we've talked
a lot about the mechanism, right? How these records
contain verbal lessons and music recorded by
Rodgerson himself. Yeah. But I want you to think
about the sheer psychological shift this required
from the consumer in 1920. What do you mean?
Before Wallace Rodgerson came along, the phonograph
in your living room was a machine that played
music for your entertainment. It was a completely
subservient device. You turned it on to relax
or to set the mood for a dinner party or to listen
to a story. It served you. Okay. But Rogerson
flipped that dynamic entirely by putting his
verbal commands, his breathless pacing, and his
physical expectations onto that piece of vinyl.
He turned the machine into an authority figure
in the home. That is so true. Did Wallace M.
Rogerson not just invent the home workout, but
fundamentally change the parasocial relationship
between consumers and machines? I've never thought
about it like that. He essentially took a passive,
entertaining wooden box in the corner of the
living room and turned it into a commanding presence
that told you exactly what to do with your own
body. And the wildest part is... You listened.