At six feet tall with a jaw like granite and a reputation as heavy as the weights she hoisted, Josephine Blatt—known onstage as Minerva—wasn’t just a strongwoman. She was a living monument to power in a time when women were expected to be quiet, domestic, and breakable. Born Josephine Schauer in New York City in 1869 to German immigrants, she traded corsets for harnesses, kitchens for crowded arenas, and became one of the earliest—and fiercest—female wrestling champions in American history.
Minerva didn’t step into the spotlight. She bench-pressed it.
The Early Years: Smoke, Mirrors, and Muscle
Details about Minerva’s early life are foggy at best. She once told a New Hampshire paper she was born in Hamburg, Germany, in 1865. Other records peg her birth in 1869, in New York. Hoboken and Elizabethtown, New Jersey, both lay claim to her childhood. It fits, somehow. Legends need mystery, and Minerva carried hers like a cape.
What we do know is this: Josephine Schauer was the ninth child of Joseph and Louisa, German immigrants who came to America with little more than grit in their pockets. That grit became the foundation of Minerva’s career. She began performing in 1887, and by 1888 had married fellow strongman Charles Blatt, a pairing that likely shattered every dinner table they ever leaned on.
The Lift Heard ‘Round the World
In 1895, Minerva stood onstage at the Bijou Theatre in Hoboken, New Jersey, clad in leather harnesses and a steel will. Before her: a wooden platform stacked with men. Eighteen of them, according to the Police Gazette, weighing in at a collective 3,000 pounds. She harness-lifted the whole spectacle with her hips like it was a basket of laundry.
Some later accounts upped the ante. Rosetta Hoffman, writing in Strength & Health magazine in 1937, claimed Minerva hoisted 23 men and a platform—3,564 pounds in total. The Guinness Book of World Records latched onto this and credited her for the greatest lift by a woman, even if the math was a little fuzzy and the truth somewhere between vaudeville myth and muscle-bound reality.
What’s not in dispute: she got a solid gold loving cup for her effort, courtesy of the Police Gazette. That trophy is lost now, like most things given to women before the world bothered to keep score.
The Ring Queen
But Minerva didn’t stop with weights. She stepped into the squared circle and carved out a new kind of fame—one bruised and blistered by competition. She took on all comers, male and female, and claimed the title of America’s first female wrestling champion. She was more than a novelty act. She was a pioneer with a mean streak and a ground game.
In the early 1900s, she lost the title to Alice Williams, who passed it on to Laura Bennett. Minerva challenged Bennett repeatedly but could never reclaim the belt. No matter—her place in wrestling lore was secure. She had kicked open the door, and it would never close again.
Beyond the Spotlight
Minerva’s career stretched from the late 1880s to 1910, a run that would make today’s champions blush. When she left the stage, she invested in New Jersey real estate—a smart move for someone who’d spent years getting paid in applause and gold-plated cups. She died in 1923, at age 54, her legacy mostly lost to time.
But here’s the thing about muscle: it leaves an impression. Even after it fades.
Legacy of a Trailblazer
In a world built for men, Josephine Blatt chose to be Minerva—the Roman goddess of wisdom and war. She lifted men before women were allowed to vote. She wrestled when female athletes were considered sideshow material. She turned brute strength into performance art. She turned her body into a weapon, her name into a legend.
So when you see today’s champions raise their arms in victory, know that somewhere behind the curtain stands Minerva, watching from the past. Strong, proud, and maybe a little amused.
She was the original powerhouse. The first queen of the ring. And she never needed a spotlight—because she was the show.