Jorge Valente Gurgel was born January 25, 1977 in Fortaleza Brazil. His father is a chemical engineer still in Brazil; his mother has a major in economy and has remarried and lives in New York. He has two brothers: Bebeto is a pharmaceutical rep in Chicago, and his little brother Rafael is a designer in New York City.
“No, you’re going,” she said, ending the discussion.
“My mother, single handedly, built me into who I am today. She’s the number one influence in my life. I have one hero and that’s my mom. Even though she never liked what I do, she always supported me even if she could not agree with it, but she wouldn’t tell me.”
So off he went, spending a year at Downers Grove South High School in Illinois.
Despite his apprehension, Jorge loved the way of life in the U.S., thinking that he was meant to be there.
“In Brazil it’s so different. Here, if you’re in high school and your parents are rich or make money, you still have a job at Subway or somewhere, and your parents have nice cars or houses you know you have to buy your own little car; even a little beater and you have to pay for stuff when you go out. In Brazil nobody works. You live with your parents until you’re married. You know, if you need money to go shopping you ask your parents for money.”
When he returned to Fortaleza he went to college and earned two degrees in English and became a full-time English teacher.
Jorge had always been into sports and his friends suggested jiu-jitsu. He smiled and said he remembered telling them that he wasn’t going to pay money to go grab a sweaty guy.
“I went one day, and that’s it … my life changed, everything changed. It just took over. I started going and I dropped all my courses. I started going twice a day, every day.”
“You know when you find your niche man? Like that’s what you’re meant to do? I just was completely consumed … by jiu-jitsu. I just wanted to train jiu-jitsu, lift weights, be athletic and train jiu-jitsu, and that started that day. I always looked up to the purple belts. There weren’t even black belts in my town in Brazil, that’s how early it was.”
Jorge trained under jiu-jitsu mastermind Marcus Aurelio.
“He’s the meanest. He’s relentless and his mindset for the sport is great. He trains hard and he is just good.”
Jorge wasn’t alone, as he proudly tells me that there are five top MMA fighters from Fortaleza, more than any other Brazilian city.
In addition to Jorge, there are Marcus, Thiago Alves (Pictures), Wilson Gouveia (Pictures) and Hermes Franca (Pictures).
“We all grew up together, 16-year-old punks, white belts choking each other out. Marcus of course was the big dog of the bunch. Marcus has been doing this since 1981, he was 9 years old. He’s a legend and is the best grappler in the world.”
Jorge’s parents weren’t very supportive at first. “What are you doing? What are you doing with your life? Your neck is all big, you have big muscles, your ears are all messed up, and you look like a monkey!”
They thought he was crazy.
“I wasn’t going to spend too much time trying to make my parents understand, so I had a brilliant plan to move back to America. My little brother was going to school in Ohio, but I was thinking about going to California where it’s warm. My parents said, ‘You’re going to Ohio!’ I’m like no I’m not. ‘OK, you’re not going.’ OK, sign me up.”
He made the decision on a Tuesday night. A week later he had sold all of his belongings, sold his car and broken up with his girlfriend.
I told him he must have been pretty confident.
“I’ve always been like this. I had three goals. Before I was 30 I wanted my own jiu-jitsu school. I wanted a black BMW; I’d never seen one in person in Brazil. In every movie all the bad-asses drove them. And I wanted to be the best in the world at something.”
Life wasn’t easy in the States. Jorge had a full scholarship to Business School and he and Bebeto worked full time as busboys to support themselves.
“I used to bus tables 12, 13, 14 hours a day straight. They would exploit the crap out of me and my brother. The bartenders and waiters were supposed to tip us out later, and they never did because they thought we didn’t know that they were supposed to.”
The brothers had a mattress on the floor in an apartment in a bad neighborhood in Dayton, and a TV that they put on the floor.
“We shared a car and lived like that and we were happy. After the shift at the restaurant we’d go to the school to the computer library because we couldn’t afford a computer to do our homework. We’d stay there until 3, 3:30 in the morning, drive home to get a couple of hours sleep, wake up at 7 and turn in our homework.
“It was tough. Sometimes we didn’t know if we had money to pay rent or buy food. Numerous times, and I’m not ashamed to say this, my life has changed, my brother and I would put a “to go” box beside the dishwasher. If I bussed a table where somebody didn’t have a half-piece of chicken here, or half a piece of meat here, or some pasta that they didn’t touch there, me and my brother would separate the food to take home and eat later. People knew we did this; it was embarrassing but we didn’t have any money to buy food.”
I asked if they told their parents what life was like for them.
“We never told them. I came from a very nice family, upper middle-class. I was brought up with two housekeepers in my house in Brazil. I didn’t even know how to fold clothes when I moved here. I came back from the gym, take off my shirt, throw it on the floor, walked by and by the time I walked back my shirt was already washed, folded and in my drawer. I never made my bed, I never washed a dish, and here I was serving people food, washing dishes, eating leftovers.”
Even with this busy schedule of school and work, Jorge made time to go to the gym. Bebeto thought he was crazy. Despite all this the brothers were happy. The only thing missing for Jorge was jiu-jitsu.
He was a blue belt when he came to the States. He was a six-time Brazilian State champion and he felt very capable of teaching. He went to every place; every school to offer his BJJ services but nobody would give him the time of day.
Even with Royce Gracie (Pictures) dominating the early UFC, very few people knew what BJJ was.
“I was the first guy in the Midwest, in Ohio, seriously.”
Jorge’s life started changing when he found a local jiu-jitsu school where he annihilated everyone in grappling, including the owner. The owner was excited and impressed that Jorge was from Brazil and offered him $8 an hour to teach BJJ. He would teach weekends from 11 to 12, then go in the back and wash up, put on his tie and walk across the street to wait tables until 11 p.m.
It happened many times that he would train his students and then serve them food later on the same day.
The first year Jorge had four students and these are the guys he still has today, including Jon Stutzman, who’s his only black belt so far. The second year he had six students, the third year ten 10 the fourth year he had 40.
The day finally came where Jorge could say bye-bye restaurant.
“I was teaching privates (lessons), teaching jiu-jitsu at two different schools full time. Three times a week I would drive an hour and a half to downtown Cincinnati to teach at this other school to try to make private money.”
Then one day Jorge met one of the handful of people that have helped shape his career in mixed martial arts.
“This guy walked into class in 2001. He was learning gi and he was quiet and composed and like everybody else I made fun of him and beat the crap out of him. After we got done he took his gi off to change, and that guy, I’d never seen anything like that.”
“He was a monster; he was huge, ripped to the bone. He said he did a little personal training and I asked if he knew how to make me lean and strong, and he said Yeah.”
I told him, “I eat perfect; I eat a huge turkey sandwich followed by a protein shake.” And he started laughing. Right in front of my class he was, “Ha, ha, ha, that’s retarded.”
“We made a deal where I’d teach him fighting and he wouldn’t pay a dime, and he’d make me lean and strong.”
That guy was the “Mad Scientist,” Billy Rush.
“That day my life changed. All my training for the first couple of years, mine and Rich Franklin (Pictures), was all Billy Rush.”
“Billy needed to train himself, so he went to Mike Ferguson at Power Station Gym, and he came back with these crazy workouts for me and Rich to do. Billy brought us there one day and then Mike started training me, Billy and Rich.”
“Training every day is different. Mike Ferguson is another blessing from the sky. This guy’s done three tours in Vietnam. One day is circuit training, one day is heavy, and one day he makes us run uphill with a tire on our backs. Every day is different; it’s one hour and it’s the hardest part of the day, three times a week.”
“He’s very creative so we never know what’s going to happen. He’s still very bodybuilding oriented so we always bench, curl, back exercises, leg extensions. Everything done is in vision of explosion of conditioning and muscle endurance.”
“Our repetitions on the leg press sometimes Mike will say, ‘OK, do 100.’”
“It’s mentally testing, that’s why it makes you very tough. You think by about 50 you’re about to shit yourself and he’s in your face going ‘Don’t you stop!,’ and all of a sudden you’ve finished 100 and you’d never thought in a million years that you’d finish it.”
“So many times Rich and I would get out of there and we’d go straight to the car and pass out. Or sit on the bench quivering and shaking. But its worth it man, we don’t get tired.”
“Mike laughs when you’re in pain, he thinks it’s hilarious. We never miss a day and right now he’s upset because I’m up here in Canada. Me and Rich joke all the time that Mike is the only person in the world that puts the fear of God in our eyes.”
“We’re so scared of him; he’s just this huge man. Three-percent body fat, 260 pounds, 64-year-old man that looks like a 20 year old.”
“He’s unbelievable, he pushes you to the limit man, and Mike Ferguson is such a big part of mine and Rich’s conditioning and success.”