(Whatever Happened to...? No. 6)

By Scott Teal

In a publication of this type, you can’t feature wrestling schools without making mention of one of the sport’s first and most famous teachers, Martin "Farmer" Burns.

Burns is best remembered as the man who trained Frank Gotch, taught him the fundamentals of the sport, and helped lead him to greatness as one of the best grapplers in America. But there is so much more to the life story of the great Farmer Burns.

Burns was born in a small log cabin on February 15, 1861 in Cedar County, Iowa. The oldest of six children, he grew up in an area of the country where farming was the way of life for most people. When Martin was just twelve years old, the stress and hardships of farming cost Martin’s father is life. Martin was forced to begin work on a neighbor’s farm to earn a living for his family. They paid him twelve dollars a month plus his keep.

Martin quit school in the sixth grade and continued to hack out a living as a farmer until he was nineteen years old. The pushing, shoving, and endless hours behind a horse-drawn plow helped him develop his athletic and powerful physique.

Martin loaded up a wagon and drove into town to sell his goods. While he was there, he always found someone willing to wrestle him for a small bet. He never lost a contest and was known as the countryside champion. As he grew older, he wrestled all comers and became unbeatable in the Midwest. Burns eventually suffered his first loss in 1886 at the hands of Evan "Strangler" Lewis, the then-recognized champion of the world, in Anamosa, Iowa.

When Martin was nineteen, he locked horns with David Graft, a renowned professional, in a struggle that lasted two hours and nineteen minutes, ending in a draw. Martin felt that he was ready to enter the big time and began working on the railroad grading camps, which paid better than farming. On payday, he would match his skills against the toughest men in the camps and never lost a match.

After the railroad job gave out, he returned to the farm in the fall of 1888 and worked until the spring of 1889. While on a ten-day trip to Chicago, where he had gone to sell two carloads of hogs, he noticed posters in store windows that advertised an event at the old Olympic Theatre. His old nemesis, "Strangler" Lewis, was in town and offering all comers twenty-five dollars who could stay with him for fifteen minutes. Martin lost not time beating a bath to the Olympic, but the manager told him that Lewis had all the opponents he needed for that evening. Martin refused to take "no" for an answer, showed up the next day, and again on the third day. The manager finally told him to show up that night and be ready to fight, but be prepared to face both Jack Carkeek and Lewis on the same night. If he could last the distance, he’d receive a $100 payoff.

Martin showed up in his overalls and, when the vaudeville acts were over, held both his preliminary foe Jack Carkeek and Lewis to a stalemate. He earned fifty dollars for going the distance with both men and earned the nickname that would stay with him for life—Farmer.

Burns joined the circus and remained undefeated as he wrestled with the Connors and Green Star shows until 1891, then began traveling with the Davis Floto show. In 1893, Burns left the circus and opened a gymnasium at Rock Island, Illinois, where he trained several hundred students and operated his famous correspondence school for many years.

In that same year, he defeated Jack King, the world light heavyweight champion, a title he held until his retirement in 1912 without suffering a single defeat. On his retirement, he gave the title to Fred Beell.

Farmer Burns was one of the biggest attractions in the country, and since 1889, fans of wrestling had been crying for a return match between Burns and Evan Lewis, but the Strangler refused, citing that Burns needed to earn the right to challenge for the world title. Burns beat every logical world-class challenger between himself and Lewis . . . until there was noone left but Lewis. In 1895 at Chicago’s Savoy Theatre, Farmer Burns knocked Lewis off his throne, despite being outweighed by fifty pounds.

Burns met all comers in defense of the title, regardless of their size or weight. In 1897, Burns lost the title to Tom Jenkins, a Cleveland rolling mill worker. Jenkins was eleven years younger and fifteen pounds heavier. After the turn of the century, and after Jenkins had lost the title to George Hackenschmidt, Burns held Jenkins to a one-hour, ten-minute stalemate in Cleveland.

On December 19, 1899, Burns met the great Frank Gotch at Fort Dodge, Iowa. Burns offered Gotch twenty-five dollars if he could got the distance for fifteen minutes and Frank collected the money. Burns managed to defeat Gotch a few times during the next fifteen years, but the two began an association that would lead Gotch to the pinnacle of success. Burns took over the training of Gotch and taught him the toe hold, the hold that made Gotch almost unbeatable. Under Burns’ tutelage, Gotch became the heavyweight champion of the world in Chicago on April 3, 1908.

In 1917, Burns had a hand in training Earl Caddock, who won the heavyweight title from Joe Stecher in Omaha. He also taught Jack Reynolds, a college wrestler who later won the world welterweight championship.

Martin Burns never did retire from wrestling. During his career, he won all but six matches (some reports say seven) of over six thousand contests. When he reached the age of 63, he tossed the intercollegiate champion in four minutes in what was scheduled as an exhibition.

Burns was a walking example of what good living can do for a man. He ate only two meals a day, drank nothing but milk and water, never smoked, and believed in exercise. He stood just under six feet tall and never weighed more than 180 pounds. And he continued to teach and train right up until 1929, when he fell and dislocated his hip.

Martin "Farmer" Burns passed away on February 9, 1937, and was buried in his hometown of Cedar, Iowa.
_______________________________________

J Michael,

As always, I enjoyed another informative and entertaining issue. There were however, a couple of inaccuracies and omissions that I noted in the masked wrestlers list that I would like to bring to your attention. While on the subject, here are a few other notable masked men who have appeared in western Canada that come to mind. These are just the ones at the top of my head, and I know that there are countless more, dozens of "one-nighters", or "double-ups"—someone no-showed and another wrestler who had already worked in the undercard donned the mask to allow the show to go on. In any case, here follows a brief list of fellows whose work under masks should not be ignored.

Vern May

wrestle_media@hotmail.com

On the night of December 18, 1889, one week before Christmas, Gotch and Burns met in the Opera House in Fort Dodge, a larger town just twenty miles south of Humboldt. The hall was packed for the bout between the sagacious Burns, who weighed just 160 pounds, and the powerful young farmer, who weighed 185. All Frank had to do to collect the $25 was last fifteen minutes without being pinned. But after a furious eleven minutes of action, Burns maneuvered Frank to his back and scored the pin.

"I was surprised at Gotch’s strength," Burns confided many years later. "I had never encountered a young wrestler of his remarkable agility and strength, but at the time he knew nothing about wrestling."

Immediately after the match, however, Burns had a message for Gotch and the audience: "If this young man will train with me, I will make him champion of America."

It was a boast that filled Frank’s heart with pride. It also made him determined to become a professional wrestler. "I had dreamed of being a fighter, being famous like John L. or Jim Corbett," he said years later. Now he was on his way.

Frank began training with Burns, learning a variety of tricks from the great technician. He also began taking matches. He rang up a string of victories and was offered the chance to sail to Alaska. Dick Butler, part owner of several mines up in the Yukon territory, came to Iowa to try and lure Burns back north. The camps were full of boastful miners proud of their strength, and almost every night wrestling and boxing matches sprung up. The other miners, starved for recreation, paid heavy prcies to see champions of the various camps tangle, and betting was rampant. Butler told Burns he could take an assumed name, come to the camps under the preetense of mining, and clean up as a wrestler.

A devoted family man, Burns wasn’t willing to leave his wife and children for six months. Instead, he recommended Gotch take his place. Butler studied the young Humboldt farmer in a training session, and quickly agreed.

Back in the states, Gotch was eager to begin his true wrestling career. Stronger and wiser, he continued learning his craft from Burns in gruelling, private sessions at the Farmer’s home in Big Rock, Iowa. The two spent long hours in the dusty hot barn, working techniques over and over and over. While Gotch was twenty-five pounds heavier and stronger, Burns was slicker and more polished, particularly on the mat, where punishing bar arms and leg locks were employed.

They also travelled extensively, taking bouts whenever they could find worthy opposition. On January 5, 1902, Gotch defeated a rugged packing house worker named Scott Miller in Sioux City, Iowa. During the match, he used the stepover toehold, a move which would eventually become the most feared wrestling hold of all time, eclipsing even the stranglehold of Evan Lewis. While the stranglehold caused a foe to pass out, he would soon recover; those who were subjected to the full fury of the Gotch toehold often had trouble walking correctly for weeks afterwards.

(The Weekly Standard, October 4, 1999)

(http://www.weeklystandard.com/wrestling.html)

By Paul A. Cantor, University of Virginia

When the great Parisian Hegelian Alexandre Kojéve searched for an image of the end of history, he finally hit upon the Japanese tea ceremony. Coming from Brooklyn, I am a bit less sophisticated and turn to American professional wrestling instead. For wrestling has been as much a victim of the end of the Cold War as the military-industrial complex.

It is not just that the demise of the Soviet Union deprived wrestling of one set of particularly despicable villains. The end of the Cold War signaled the end of an era of nationalism that had dominated the American psyche for most of this century. Like much else in the United States, including the power and prestige of the federal government itself, wrestling had fed off this nationalism. It drew upon ethnic hostilities to fuel the frenzy of its crowds and give a larger meaning to the confrontations it staged.

The state of professional wrestling today thus provides clues as to what living at the end of history means. It suggests how a large segment of American society is trying to cope with the emotional letdown that followed upon the triumph of capitalism and liberal democracy. If the vast wrestling audience (some 35 million people tune in to cable programs each week) is a barometer of American culture, then the nation is in trouble. Indeed, the very idea of the nation-state has become problematic. For wrestling has been denationalizing itself over the past decade, replacing the principle of the nation with the principle of the tribe.

The erosion of national identity in wrestling reflects broader trends in American society. If one wants to see moral relativism and even nihilism at work in American culture, one need only tune in to the broadcasts of either of the two main wrestling organizations, Vince McMahon’s Worldwide Wrestling Federation and Ted Turner’s World Championship Wrestling. (It is no accident that one of the pillars of professional wrestling is Turner’s cable TV empire, which also brings us CNN, the anti-nation-state, global news channel.) Both the WWF and the WCW offer the spectacle of an America that has lost its sense of national purpose and turned inward, becoming wrapped up in manufactured psychological crises and toying with the possibility of substituting class warfare for international conflict. And yet we should remain open to the possibility that contemporary wrestling may have some positive aspects; for one thing, the decline of the old nationalism may be linked to a new kind of creative freedom.

The history of pro wrestling as we know it begins after World War II and is roughly contemporary-not coincidentally-with the rise of television. Wrestling provided relatively cheap and reliable programming and soon became a staple for fledgling television stations. By the 1950s-and well into the ‘60s and ‘70s-wrestling was filling the airwaves with ethnic stereotypes, playing off national hostilities that had been fired up by World War II and restoked during the Korean conflict. Wrestling villains-always the key to whatever drama the bouts have-were often defined by their national origin, which branded them as enemies of the American way of life.

Many of the villains were at first either German or Japanese, but as memories of World War II faded, pro wrestling turned increasingly to Cold War themes. I wish I had a ruble for every wrestling villain who was advertised as the "Russian Bear," but the greatest of all who bore that nickname was Ivan Koloff. Looking for all the world like Lenin pumped up on steroids, he eventually spawned a whole dynasty of villainous wrestling Koloffs. The fact that the most successful of them was named Nikita shows that it was actually Khrushchev and not Lenin or Stalin who provided the model for the Russian wrestling villain. Time and again the Russian wrestler’s pre-fight interview was a variation on "Ve vill bury you." Nikolai Volkoff used to infuriate American opponents and fans alike by waving a Soviet flag in the center of the ring and insisting on his right to sing the Soviet national anthem before his bout began.

To supplement its Russian villains, wrestling turned to the Arab Middle East, where a long tradition of ethnic stereotyping was readily available. During the years of tension between the United States and Iran, wrestling hit paydirt with a villain known as the Iron Sheik, who made no secret of his admiration for and close personal ties to the Ayatollah Khomeini. His pitched battles with the All-American GI, Sgt. Slaughter, became the stuff of wrestling legend. Not to be left behind by the march of history, during the Gulf War the Iron Sheik reinvented himself as Colonel Mustafa, and suddenly Americans had an Iraqi wrestler to hate.

The extent to which wrestling relied on national identity to manufacture its villains should not be overstated. Some of the greatest villains were home-grown, like Nature Boy Buddy Rogers, and some of the greatest heroes were foreign-born, like Bruno Sammartino. But although ethnic stereotyping was not essential to the emotional dynamics of wrestling, it did play a crucial role. That is why the end of the Cold War threatened to deliver a serious if not mortal blow to the whole enterprise. Suddenly audiences could not be counted upon to treat a given wrestler automatically as a villain simply because he was identified as a Russian. There was a brief, almost comic era of wrestling glasnost, during which the promoters tried to see if they could generate drama out of the shifting political allegiances of the Russian wrestlers. The extended Koloff family was riven by internal dissent, as some sided with Gorbachev and the reformers, while others remained hardliners and stuck by the old regime. But since Kremlinology has never been a popular spectator sport outside academia, the public quickly grew bored with trying to sort out the internal politics of the Koloff family, and it began to dawn on the wrestling moguls that the end of the Cold War was a threat to their franchise.

This problem was compounded by the fact that at roughly the same time as the Cold War was ending, ethnic stereotyping began to be anathematized. By the early ‘90s, the WWF even seemed to be testing whether it could capitalize on the new era of political correctness. With Russia and virtually every other country ruled out as a source of villains, Vince McMahon and his brain trust searched the globe to see if any ethnic group remained an acceptable object of hatred. The result was a new villain named Colonel DeBeers-a white, South African wrestler with an attitude, who spoke in favor of apartheid during interviews. One can almost hear the wheels grinding in McMahon’s head: "Russians may no longer be fair game, but no one will object to a little Boer-bashing." But wrestling fans did not take the bait. This was one of the few times the WWF misjudged its audience, proceeding as if its fans were sipping chardonnay and sampling brie instead of guzzling beer and munching on nachos. Colonel DeBeers was a flop as a villain and in some ways marked the end of a wrestling era-a last, desperate attempt to base physical conflict in the ring on political conflict outside it.

Wrestling promoters have always been concerned that theirs is not a team sport and thus threatens to lack that extra measure of fan commitment that group solidarity can extract. Exploiting nationalist feeling had been one way of turning wrestling into something more than single combat. Instead of rooting for the home team, fans viewing a Sgt. Slaughter/Iron Sheik bout got to root for America. Or rather, America became the home team.

But there was also a germ of a team concept in wrestling’s peculiar institution of the tag team-a bout in which two wrestlers pair up against a couple of opponents. And as ethnicity faded as a principle in wrestling, the WWF and the WCW began to expand tagteam partnerships into larger groupings that might best be described as extended families or tribes. The wrestlers in such tribes pool their resources to advance their careers, often illegally entering the ring to come to each other’s aid, softening up each other’s opponents for future matches, and generally creating trouble for any wrestler not within the tribe. These wrestling tribes adopt an outlaw pose within their larger leagues, refusing to conform to league rules and challenging the duly constituted wrestling authorities. The most famous of these groups is the New World Order (the nWo) within the WCW, which was headed by Hollywood Hulk Hogan and is constantly trying to outwit the league owners and take over the organization. It is surely one of the ironies of the end of history that in the aftermath of the Gulf War, that "vision thing" of George Bush’s has left no more lasting monument than the name of a group of renegade wrestlers.

Tribal organization gives wrestling something intermediate between national identity and a purely individual identity. Fans almost have the sense of rooting for teams, since the wrestling tribes often have their own logos, uniforms, slogans, theme songs, cheerleaders, and other badges of communal or team identity. The wrestling brain trusts create ongoing storylines involving the various tribes, so that the future of the whole league, perhaps its very ownership, can seem to depend on the outcome of a given bout.

Thus the newly created tribal identities in wrestling can serve as substitutes for the old national identities. But one thing is missing-any sense of stability, the reassuring feeling of continuity that used to be provided by ethnic stereotyping in wrestling. Once a Russian, always a Russian, and, until the era of glasnost, that also meant always a villain as well. National identity is not a matter of choice; one is born into it and stuck with it, unless one chooses to betray one’s national origins (at the height of the Koloff confusions, charges of "traitor" were routinely hurled back and forth in interviews). But in the world of wrestling today, which group a wrestler affiliates with appears to be a matter of personal choice (though in fact these "choices" are still scripted by the league). As it happens, the traditional national identities in wrestling were often made up. Both the "Manchurian" Gorilla Monsoon and the "Oklahoma Indian" Chief Jay Strongbow were in actuality Italian-Americans (Robert Marella and Joe Scarpa respectively), and the wrestler known as Nikolai Volkoff began his career as Bepo Mongol. In the contemporary era, though, wrestling virtually acknowledges that it is manufacturing its villains, and their roles are presented as a matter of personal choice rather than national destiny.

Thus pro wrestling takes its place along with the plays of Samuel Beckett and the buildings of Michael Graves as an example of the dominant cultural mode of our age, postmodernism. The characters in Beckett’s plays are not meant to represent real-live human beings, who might be said to lead an existence independent of the drama. Rather they are revealed to be fictions, consciously constructed characters who are themselves sometimes dimly aware that they are merely characters on stage. Graves’s buildings are not meant to be "true" in the way the triumphs of modernist architecture were. Abandoning the modernist dogma that form follows function, Graves returns to architectural decoration, reminding us that his buildings are after all human constructions and thereby "deconstructing" them before our eyes. Pro wrestling has similarly entered its postmodern phase, in which it deliberately subverts any claims to truth and naturalness it ever had. Of course, at least since the era of television, pro wrestling has always been entertainment rather than real sport. But for decades pro wrestling at least pretended it was real. It now admits its fictionality, and indeed, like most forms of postmodernism, revels in it.

But can we confidently say that wrestling simply mirrors broader movements in our culture and politics? It is difficult to look at developments in politics and culture today and not see them as in turn mirroring developments in wrestling. Was Hulk Hogan, who dominated the 1980s, perhaps our first taste of Bill Clinton? The Hulkster-who could never talk about anything but himself, his own career, and his standing with his Hulkamaniac fans-was the model of a roguish, narcissistic, utterly unprincipled performer. While changing his stance from moment to moment, he was never held accountable by his adoring public, to the point where he seems to have gotten away with anything. If postmodern wrestling was not a forerunner of postmodern politics, why is Jesse "The Body" Ventura now the governor of Minnesota?

When the villainy of wrestlers was rooted in their national identity, their evil was presented as inherent in their natures. Related to genuine political conflicts in the actual world, the evil of a Russian wrestler seemed real. But villainy has become something more fluid and elusive in the era of postmodern tribalism. Since the contemporary wrestler appears to choose his tribal affiliations, he also gets to choose whether to be a hero or a villain (again, these matters are carefully scripted by the WWF and the WCW authorities, but we are talking about how things are meant to appear to the wrestling public). The most striking characteristic of post-Cold War wrestling is the dizzying rapidity with which today’s wrestlers switch from hero to villain and back again. Wrestlers used to spend their whole careers defined as either good guys or bad guys. Now they alter their natures so often that it no longer makes sense to speak of them as natural heroes or villains in the first place. The contemporary wrestler exemplifies the thoroughly postmodern idea that human identity is purely a construction, a matter of choice, not nature.

With its underpinnings in traditional notions of morality, heroism, and patriotism eroded, wrestling has turned to new sources to hold the interest of its fans. Generally these sources have been found in the dramas of private life. Televised wrestling has always had much in common with soap operas. Fans identify heroes and villains and get wrapped up in ongoing struggles between them and especially the working out of longstanding and complex feuds. Throughout its history, pro wrestling has occasionally sought to involve fans in the private lives of its warriors. Once in a while a wrestler has gotten married in the ring to his female manager or valet. (More recently-reflecting a loosening of morality-female companions of wrestlers have been at stake in matches, with the winner claiming the right to take possession of his opponent’s woman.) Personal grudges have always been central to wrestling, but over the last decade they have gotten ever more personal, often involving family members who somehow get drawn into conflict inside or outside the ring.

In short, wrestling conflicts have come increasingly to resemble the appalling family feuds aired on The Jerry Springer Show. This is only fair, since Springer seems to have modeled his show on wrestling interviews. Wrestlers used to get angry with each other because one represented the Soviet Union and the other the United States, and the two ways of life were antithetical. Now when wrestlers scream at each other, dark domestic secrets are more likely to surface-sordid tales of adultery, sexual intrigue, and child abuse.

Here a wrestler with the evocative name of Kane is emblematic. Kane was introduced in the WWF as the counterpart of a well-established villain called the Undertaker, who often punishes his defeated opponents by stuffing them into coffins (a nasty case of adding interment to injury). Kane’s aptly named manager, Paul Bearer, soon revealed that Kane is in fact the Undertaker’s younger brother. Kane wears a mask to hide the frightening facial burns he suffered as a child in a fire set by his older brother, which killed their parents. Thus the stage is set for a series of epic battles between Kane and the Undertaker, as the younger brother seeks revenge against the older. Paul Bearer then reveals that Kane and the Undertaker are actually only half-brothers, and that he himself fathered the younger boy, though he neglected him for years and is only now acknowledging paternity. With its Kane storyline, the WWF crafted a myth for the ‘90s. All the elements are there: sibling rivalry, disputed parentage, child neglect and abuse, domestic violence, family revenge.

McMahon and his brain trust have once again proven that they have a finger on the pulse of America. In the wake of years of psychotherapy, Twinkie defenses, and the O.J. trial, they have reinvented the villain as himself a victim. No one ever felt a need to explain the evil of Russian wrestlers-they were presented as villainous by nature. But unlike his biblical counterpart, Kane is supplied with motivation for his evil, and therefore inevitably becomes a more sympathetic figure. After all, his problems started when he was just a little kid. Kane is in fact a huge man named Glen Jacobs: six-feet seven-inches tall and weighing 345 pounds. Yet when he climbs into the ring, he stands as the poster boy for the ‘90s-the victimized wrongdoer, the malefactor who would not be evil if only someone had loved him as a child.

The other victim of society now celebrated by pro wrestling is the poor, abused working man, symbolized by "Stone Cold" Steve Austin, currently enmeshed in a bitter feud with Vince McMahon and the entire power structure of the WWF. In his unceasing search for suitable villains, McMahon finally hit upon the most villainous person he could think of-himself. In the ultimate postmodern convolution, wrestling now focuses on itself as a business and makes its own corruption the central theme of its plots. McMahon has decided to build his storylines around ongoing labor-management disputes in the WWF. He is in constant public conflict with his wrestlers, trying to force them to do his bidding and above all to make his on-again, off-again champion Austin toe the corporate line.

In his quest to gain an edge on Turner’s WCW, McMahon realized he could tap into the resentment the average working man feels against his boss. McMahon is always threatening to downsize the WWF wrestling staff and has surrounded himself with corporate yes-men. Austin is his perfect working class opponent-a beer-drinkin’, foot-stompin’, truck-drivin’, hell-raisin’ Texas son-of-a-gun, always prepared to tell McMahon: "You can take this job and shove it." With this storyline, wrestling has completed its turn inward, moving from the Cold War to class war. Ironically, even at the height of the Cold War, wrestling never went after Russian communism with half the fervor it now devotes to pillorying American big business. If wrestling is any indication, the United States-deprived of any meaningful external enemy-seems to have nothing better to do than attack itself. Why not go after a bunch of tobacco companies, for example?

The McMahon-Austin feud proved to be so successful that Turner’s WCW soon began imitating it, using its chief executive, Eric Bischoff (a former wrestler himself) to play the role of corporate bad guy. Always one step ahead of his competition, McMahon went on to fuse the family soap opera aspect of wrestling with the class warfare element by involving his son, his daughter, and eventually even his wife in his corporate struggles. These storylines have become increasingly bizarre, with McMahon’s son Shane first seeming to betray him and then revealed to have been secretly acting on his behalf all along, and his daughter Stephanie set up for a kind of wrestling dynastic marriage and then kidnapped under weird circumstances. Who would have thought a century ago when wrestling began with a simple full nelson and a step-over toehold that it would eventually culminate in a proxy fight? But that is exactly what happened when McMahon’s wife and daughter shocked him by voting their shares in the WWF to make Austin CEO, thereby transforming the board meetings back in Connecticut beyond recognition. (Austin brought a case of beer to his first session as president.) No wonder McMahon is about to take his corporation public.

Every time I think wrestling has reached rock bottom, either the WWF or the WCW finds its way to a new moral depth. A recent plot line culminated in Austin holding a gun to McMahon’s head in the center of the ring, as the nattily attired owner/operator of the WWF appeared to wet himself in terror. When one looks at wrestling’s "progress" from the 1950s to the 1990s, one really has to be concerned about America’s future. If wrestling tells us anything about our country-and its widespread and sustained popularity suggests that it does-for the past three decades we have been watching a steady erosion of the country’s moral fiber, and America’s growing incapacity to offer functional models of heroism.

On the other hand, perhaps we should cease being moralistic for a moment, recognize that wrestling is only entertainment, and try to look beyond its admittedly grotesque antics. Though it is tempting to become nostalgic for the good old days of American patriotism in wrestling, let’s face it: The traditional national stereotypes did become tired, overused, and predictable. In that sense, the end of the Cold War actually proved to be liberating for wrestling, as one might hope it could be for all American society. What appeared to be a loss of ethnic stereotyping proved to be a gain in creative freedom, as wrestling was forced to scour popular culture to come up with alternatives to traditional villains. Wrestling may not be more moral these days, but it certainly is more interesting and inventive. This development suggests that maybe we all need to be thinking beyond the nation-state as our chief cultural unit.

After all, the nation-state has not always been the dominant form of cultural or even political organization. It is largely a development out of 16^th-century France, and has never as fully prevailed around the world as historians would have us think. There is no reason to believe that the nation-state as we know it is the perfect or even the best unit of political organization. When Aristotle made his famous statement usually translated as "man is a political animal," what he really was saying is that man is an animal whose nature it is to live in the polis-the Greek city conceived as the comprehensive human community, on a scale much smaller than a modern nation-state. Thus Aristotle would have said that the nation-state is an unnaturally large and even overblown form of community.

(Scripps Howard Service, Sept. 24, 1999)

By Alex Marvez

As a teenager in Sturgis, Mich., Rob Van Dam was closer to becoming the next Greg Louganis than a pro wrestling superstar.

Van Dam spent his summers on a diving board horsing around for whoever would watch. Those hours have paid dividends today, as Van Dam’s high-flying maneuvers have helped make him the top star in Extreme Championship Wrestling.

"I would go all day just showing off, trying to impress anybody who was watching," said Van Dam, a wrestling fan known by his real name (Rob Stazkowsky) in those days. "I would try to get further ahead than anybody else. I had never considered myself athletic, but if the top guy could do 1 ½ flips, I would do two flips. Pretty soon, I was doing stuff nobody had ever seen before."

The same could be said of Van Dam’s wrestling style, which incorporates his incredible flexibility with a willingness to sacrifice his body. One of Van Dam’s wildest moments—a flying in-air flip from the ring well into the crowd—is a staple in the ECW highlight package.

But unlike other performers with flashy moves and little charisma, Van Dam is just as popular for his in-ring persona and interviews. Van Dam spent four nondescript months with ECW in 1997 before match-maker Paul Heyman devised a feud against Sabu. Van Dam refused to shake Sabu’s hand after one of their legendary matches, leading the two to feud for respect and eventually team together.

During that time, Van Dam distinguished himself with hilarious ego-filled interviews that often made Sabu the butt of his jokes. Van Dam also began calling himself "Mr. Monday Night" after making an appearance on the World Wrestling Federation’s Monday Night Raw and getting wooed by World Championship Wrestling.

Van Dam decided to stay, which is good news for ECW considering how many other performers have chosen to leave for more lucrative gigs in the WWF and WCW.

"I prefer ECW’s style as far as the actual matches I’m capable of having," said Van Dam, who is currently ECW’s television champion. "I don’t think I’d have the same quality of matches if I worked anywhere else, and I’ve worked for pretty much everybody in this business."

After high school, Van Dam began training under The Original Sheik (Ed Farhat, Sabu’s real-life uncle) in Michigan and worked independent shows in the Rust Belt before landing a spot in the Memphis-based U.S.W.A. The payoffs in that promotion were so bad that he split a $28 hotel room with three other performers to "save enough money just to make it to the closest buffet."

Van Dam then bounced around independent promotions in the Carolinas, Georgia and Florida—working as a bouncer in Tampa to supplement the $35 per match he would receive from Orlando-based promoter Ron Slinker—before receiving what he thought was his big break from WCW in 1992.

Van Dam, who received his wrestling moniker because of an amazing facial resemblance to action star Jean-Claude Van Damme, was given a small push by WCW match-maker Bill Watts before embarking on a tour for All Japan Pro Wrestling. When he returned, Ole Anderson had replaced Watts and Van Dam was relegated to becoming a television loser.

Van Dam decided he had enough talent and television footage to gain work elsewhere, so he quit WCW and performed for AJPW and independent promotions until landing with ECW.

With ECW finally garnering national cable exposure on The Nashville Network with a weekly show at 8 p.m. (EDT) Fridays, Van Dam has become even important to the group now that Taz is leaving for the WWF and The Dudley Boys are already there.

"He is the foundation we can build on," Heyman said. "He’s the most remarkable performer in wrestling today. ... His moves are so spectacular and it’s the anti-hero thing of the late 1990s. People have just embraced him and made him our No. 1 star."
____________________________

(Miami Herald, Tuesday, Sept. 28, 1999)

Just when you thought the wrestling phenomenon hit its peak, a one-of-a-kind international wrestling extravaganza emerges to topple all takers.

Catch King Kong Bundy, Jake ‘The Snake’ Roberts, George ‘The Animal’ Steele, Jimmy ‘Superfly’ Snuka and many more live on pay-per-view, 8 p.m., Sun., Oct. 10 at Casino Magic in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi.

The Heroes of Wrestling, will rise to any challenge, presenting a squared circle slam down memory lane. The night includes an incredible collection of Hall of Fame wrestling superstars going toe-to-toe in non-stop action as legendary grudge matches will finally be settled once and for all.

The Heroes of Wrestling line-up includes:

King Kong Bundy: at 6’3" 450 lbs., this bald-headed beast of a man remains the master of the avalanche splash and has defeated almost every top star in wrestling today. The ring veteran continues to actively wreak havoc throughout the wrestling world.

Jimmy ‘Superfly’ Snuka: A Hall of Famer best known for his Superfly leap from the top of the rope, the 6’1" 255 lbs. Snuka is a former United States, Pacific Northwest, Hawaiian and NWA World Tag Team Champion. The Fiji Islands native was a competition cliff diver in Hawaii, and the country’s most popular wrestler before the emergence of Hulk Hogan. His nephew is current WWF star The Rock.

George ‘The Animal’ Steele: Legendary wrestler known for his unorthodox wrestling style, hairy back and green tongue. Steele loves to tear apart and eat the corner turnbuckle pads and rubs the stuffing from the pads in the eyes of his opponents. Also a member of the WWF Hall of Fame.

Jake ‘The Snake’ Roberts: One of the most well-known wrestlers of all time. This 6’5" 265 lbs. former North American Champion helped bring the WWF to its initial extreme popularity in the 80s. He is the Master and originator of the deadly wrestling maneuver the DDT, and is known for bringing a 12-foot python into the ring with him and laying it on his defeated opponent. Taught current ECW star Raven the DDT.

The Bushwackers: Luke and Butch, formerly the Bushwackers, are New Zealand natives who have competed and won tag team championships in 26 countries. These former WWF superstars are fan favorites, with children and parents alike, and continue to be one of the most popular attractions on the independent wrestling circuit. They live in Tampa, FL

Jim ‘The Anvil’ Neidhart: 6’2" 275 lbs. former track and football star at UCLA. Neidhart earned his nickname for the various shot-put records he held in high school and college. Former NFL Oakland Raider and Canadian Football League player, he is a member of the Legendary Hart Foundation. Former two-time WWF World Tag team Champion with brother-in-law Bret Hart, he currently wrestles in Canada for Stampede Wrestling and in the United States for Northeast Wrestling. The Anvil is known for his thunderous powerslam.

Greg ‘The Hammer’ Valentine: Known as the Hammer for his punishing elbow smashes to his opponents forehead, Valentine is also master of the figure-four-leglock submission hold. He wore gold his entire career with stints as WWF Intercontinental Champion, United States Heavyweight Champion (defeating Rowdy Roddy Piper), WWF World Tag Team Champion and multi-time NWA/WCW World Tag Team Champion. Former tag team partner of Ric Flair.

Tully Blanchard: Original member of the legendary Four Horsemen with Ole Anderson, Arn Anderson and Ric Flair, this former WWF/NWA/WCW World Tag Team Champion was one of the most hated wrestlers of the 1980’s, an arrogant "bad guy" wrestler who mixed brawling with unparalleled technical wrestling skill.

Sweet Stan Lane: The 6’ 1" 235 lbs. star was a protege of the legendary Ric Flair and one-half of the Fabulous Ones tag team with Steve Keirn in the early 80s. At that time, they were the most popular wrestlers throughout Tennessee and the entire Mid Southern area of the United States. He was also half of the Legendary Midnight Express tag team with current WCW wrestler Beautiful Bobby Eaton. The Midnight Express along with the Four Horsemen were known as two of the three top tag teams of the 80s.

Marty Jannetty: 5’11" 238 lbs., he was one-half of The Rockers tag team in the WWF with current WWF star Shawn Michaels. He’s a former AWA World Tag Team Champion with Michaels, former WWF Intercontinental Champion and WWF World Tag Team Champion. An extremely quick high flyer known for a variety of flying maneuvers, he defeated his former partner Shawn Michaels in one of the classic matches of all time for the WWF Intercontinental belt.

Sensational Sherri Martel: Formerly known as Sensational Sherri in the WWF, Martel is a successful wrestling manager who has guided such superstars as Shawn Michaels, Macho Man Randy Savage, The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase and Harlem Heat. The top woman wrestler in the United States since 1980, she is a former WWF and AWA World Woman’s Champion.

Also, the high-flying Too Cold Scorpio will battle young, indie wrestler The Latin Dragon Julio S. Fantastico. Stay tuned for more names. All the matches will be announced very soon. The cost is $19.95. Check your local cable operators to order.

(http://heroesofwrestling.com/index2.html)

On Sunday, October 10^th, 1999 the talk will finally be over!!! No longer will wrestling fans have to wonder who the greatest wrestlers of our generation are. On that day, fans all around the world will get to see their idols, their icons and their HEROES in action once again as THE HEROES OF WRESTLING PAY-PER-VIEW comes into homes all around the world at 8:00 P.M. EST The Heroes of Wrestling Pay-Per-View will be bringing all of the greatest wrestlers from the 20^th century together to decide who is the best of the best.

THE HEROES OF WRESTLING PAY-PER-VIEW will be coming to you live from the Casino Magic in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. If you live in the area and would like ticket information for this history making event click below!!!

FEATURING:

THE THOUSAND POUND WAR!!!
The Mighty Yokozuna
VS.
King Kong Bundy

Jim "The Anvil" Neidhart
VS.
Jake "The Snake" Roberts
With Revelations

ULTIMATE GRUDGE MATCH
Cowboy Bob Orton
VS.
Superfly Jimmy Snuka
With Capt. Lou Albano

Abdullah The Butcher
VS.
The One Man Gang

FOUR HORSEMEN VS. MIDNIGHT EXPRESS
Tully Blanchard
VS.
Sweet Stan Lane

Greg "The Hammer" Valentine
VS.
George "The Animal" Steele
With New Manager and Love Interest
Sensous Sherri Martel

Luke & Butch
(Formerly The Bushwackers)
VS.
Nikolai Volkoff & The Iron Sheik

Marty Jannetty & Fantastik Tommy Rogers
VS.
The Samoan Swat Team

Too Cold Scorpio
VS.
"The Latin Dragon" Julio Sanchez

PLUS Color Commentary by Dirty Dutch Mantell
AND A FEW SURPRISES!!!

----------------------

FOSSTONE Productions, Inc. founded in 1990, produces and syndicates more than 100 college, professional, and pay per view events a year for a wide range of outlets. Some of these outlets include HTS, Sunshine Network, America One Networks, Viewer’s Choice, and DIRECTV.

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Nikolai Volkoff, 6-4, 320 lbs.

Nikolai is a native of Moscow Russia. Former 2-Time WWF World Tag Team Champion with the Iron Sheik. Known for his lethal Russian Bearhug. This Powerhouse has bench pressed over 500 Lbs. Sings the Russian National Anthem in the ring before his matches to the dismay of the fans. Legendary feuds with the British Bulldogs and Ted Dibiase.

Sweet Stan Lane, 6-1, 235 lbs.

Lane was a protege of the legendary Ric Flair. One half of the Fabulous Ones tag team with Bobby Eaton (pictured right) in the early 80’s. At that time, they were the most popular wrestlers throughout the state of Tennessee and the entire Mid-Southern area of The United States. The Fabulous Ones along with the Four Horsemen were one of the top three tag teams of the 1980’s. Stan later became a commetator for the WWF.

Tully Blanchard, 6-2, 235 lbs.

Played Football at West Texas State. Original Member of the Four Horsemen along with Arn Anderson and Ric Flair. Won many singles titles in the NWA/WCW including the Television Title and the North American Title. Blanchard frequently teamed with Arn Anderson (pictured right) to form arguably the greatest tag team in pro-wrestling history. tully and arn held the NWA/WCW World Tag Team Title on two occassions and also won the WWF World Tag Team as The Brainbusters from Demolition under the guidance of Bobby "The Brain" Heenan. One of the most hated wrestlers of the 1980’s, Tully was an arrogant wrestler who mixed brawling with unparalleled technical wrestling skills. He has had legendary feuds with Dusty Rhodes, Nikita Koloff, Magnum T.A., Strike Force, Demolition and The Hart Foundation.

Sherri Martel

Also known as Sensational Sherri. Still competes as one of the top woman wrestlers and managers in the sport. Former AWA and WWF Women’s World Champion. Defeated and retired the legendary Fabulous Moolah for the WWF title and thoroughly trashed Madusa in the AWA. Sherri has managed the top wrestlers in the sport. Wrestlers who competed under her guidance include the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels, Ted Dibiase, Macho Man Randy Savage, Ric Flair and Harlem Heat.

Cowboy Bob Orton, 6-2, 240 lbs.

A second generation wrestler and master of the superplex. Former NWA/WCW world tag team champion along with a holder of various other champion ships during his career. Accompanied the team of Rowdy Roddy Piper and Paul Orndorf in their Wrestlemania I main event match vs. Hulk Hogan and Mr. T with his questionable broken arm. In the opposite corner was Orton’s arch nemesis Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka. Former bodyguard of Roddy Piper and the late Adorable Adrian Adonis. One of the most respected technical wrestlers of this generation.

The Samoan Swat Team, Fatu & Samu

Formerly the Headshrinkers in the WWF. These Samoan Savages are over 600 lbs of untamed terror. Competed in the WCW and are former WWF World Tag Champions. Guided to the titles by Capt. Lou Albano and Afa. Known for their aggressiveness aswell as their hard heads, Samoan Drop and Big Splash off the top rope. Major feud with Money Inc in the WWF.

Captain Lou Albano

Known as the manager of champions. Former WWF World Tag Team champion as a wrestler with Tony Altimore as the Sicilians in the 60’s. Known more for his managing then his own wrestling accomplishments. Led his man The Russian Bear Ivan Koloff to the old WWWF World Title by defeating the reigning champion for 7 ½ years, Bruno Sammartino. Managed the Magnificent Muraco and Greg Valentine to Intercontinental gold. His main claim to fame is that of a manager of WWF World Tag team champions. He managed 20 title winning teams during career. His teams sound like the who’s who of the great tag teams in history. They include British Bulldogs, Moondogs, Fuji and Saito, Samoans, Executioners, Blackjacks and list goes on and on. Managed and feuded violently with Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka. The two have since reconciled. Managed the Fabulous Moolah against Wendi Richter and her manager Cyndi Lauper in a feud that brought wrestling to the mainstream in the mid 80’s Lou is also a very accomplished actor starring in various movies and television shows. Wrote a very successful book with Bert Sugar that is on newsstands now called "The Idiots Guide To Professional Wrestling." A member of the WWF Hall of Fame.

Luke and Butch, The Bushwhackers

These men from down under are natives of New Zealand. They have competed and won tag team championships in 26 countries. Formerly known as the Sheepherders before joining the WWF as the Buschwhackers. These two wild men are fan favorites of children and parents alike. They have made appearances on Regis and Kathie Lee, various Nickelodeon children’s programs, "Family Matters," and many other TV programs throughout the world. Still one of the most popular attractions on the independent wrestling scene today.

Jimmy (Superfly) Snuka, 6-1, 255 lbs.

Snuka is best known for his superfly leap off of the top rope. Also known to do the same leap off of the top of 15-Foot high steel cages! Native of the Fiji Islands in the South Pacific. He is a former competition cliff diver in Hawaii. Former United States, Pacific Northwest, Hawaiian and NWA World Tag Team Champion and now a member of the WWF Hall of Fame. Managed by Capt. Lou Albano in the WWF. Snuka had legendary feuds with Bob Backlund, Ric Flair, Magnificent Muraco, Ray Stevens, Roddy Piper and Cowboy Bob Orton. Snuka is a big fan favorite who is always ready for a challenge. He was in the corner of Hulk Hogan and Mr. T in the main event of Wrestle Mania I. His nemesis, Cowboy Bob Orton, was in the opposing corner. Still competes actively on the Independent Scene.

The Iron Sheik

The Iron Sheik has an unparalleled wrestling record. A tehran, iran native, he was the former body guard for the Shah of Iran. A former Iranian army wrestling champion and a member of the Iranian Olympic Wrestling Team from 1968-1972. He Defeated WWF World Champion Bob Backlund on December 26. 1983 for the title. First man to dethrone Backlund who was an undefeated world champion for more than 5 ½ years. Lost the WWF Heavyweight Title to Hulk Hogan in 1984 and began Hulkamania. He is also a former 2-Time WWF World Tag Team Champion with Nikolai Volkoff. The Sheik is the Master of the Suplex and the dreaded Camel Clutch.

George (The Animal) Steele, 6-0, 300 lbs.

Legendary Wrestler known for his unorthodox wrestling style, hairy body, and gree tongue. Loves to eat and tear apart the corner turnbuckle pads in the ring and rubs the stuffing from the pads into the eyes of his opponents. Feuded with Randy Savage, The Iron Sheik, Bob Backlund and Bruno Sammartino. George is a member of the WWF Hall of Fame. He has heard the cheers and the jeers of the crowds while along the way becoming one of the biggest draws in wrestling history. He also appeared in various movies, television programs and commercials including a starring roll in the motion picture "Ed Wood."

Greg (The Hammer) Valentine

Known as "The Hammer" for his punishing elbow smashes to his opponents forehead. Perennial champion throughout his entire career. He is a former WWF World Tag Team Champion as a member of "The Dream Team" with his partner Brutus Beefcake. Also wore the gold as a former WWF Intercontinental Champion, NWA/WCW World Tag Team Champion with partner Ric Flair and NWA/WCW United States champion defeating Roddy Piper for the title. He was managed throughout much of his career by Jimmy Hart. The master of the Figure Four Leglock, Valentine is known for his feuds with Superfly Jimmy Snuka, Roddy Piper, Ronnie Garvin and Jake "The Snake" Roberts.

King Kong Bundy, 6-3, 450 lbs.

Nicknamed "The Walking Condominium." This veteran of the ring is still wrecking havoc throughout the world. In the last year alone, he has competed in Australia, Malaysia, The Phillippines, England, Nigeria and throughout Europe along with competing in many independent wrestling promotions in the United States. Bundy competed in WrestleMania I, defeating his opponent (S.D. Jones) in a record 9 seconds. He took on Hulk Hogan in the main event at WrestleMania II in a steel cage. Bundy has been managed by Jimmy Hart, Ted DiBiase and Bobby "The Brain" Heenan (pictured along with Governor Jesse Ventura). He has defeated many opponents with his dreaded Avalanche Splash.

Jake (The Snake) Roberts, 6-5, 285 lbs.

Former North American Champion. One of the most well known wrestlers in the world from the 1980’s to today. Master of the DDT, you never knew what the devious Roberts was thinking. He feuded with Andre the Giant, The Late Ravishing Rick Rude and The Honky Tonk Man in the WWF and Sting in the WCW. He is the master and the originator of the deadly wrestling manuever, The DDT. Known for bringing a 12-foot python to the ring and laying it on his defeated opponent.

The Former Yokozuna, 6-3, 600 lbs.

This former sumo wrestling champion is also a former 2 time WWF World Heavyweight Champion. He defeated wrestling legends Hulk Hogan and Bret "Hitman" Hart to win his world titles. He had some heroic feuds with the biggest names in wrestling such as Tatanka, Vader, Hulk Hogan, Bret Hart, The Undertaker, Lex Luger and more. He is also a former WWF Tag team champion along with his partner, the late Owen Hart suprising The Smoking Gunns at WrestleMania XI. He was managed by Jim Cornette and Mr. Fuji in the WWF. The man formerly known as Yokozuna is extremely agile for his tremendous size and is credited with ending Hulkamania in the WWF. He is a master of the belly to belly suplex and his famed bonzai butt drop from the second rope.

Jim (The Anvil) Neidhart, 6-2, 275 lbs.

(New York Times, January 26, 1974)

CADIZ, Ky., Jan. 25 -- Joseph A. Savoldi, who gained fame as a fullback on undefeated football teams at the University of Notre Dame in 1929 and 1930, died here yesterday after a long illness. He was 65 years old.

Jumping Joe Savoldi was an important part of two of the finest football teams ever coached by Knute Rockne. He was a fast and powerful runner known for his punishing play on offense. In 1930, he carried the ball 98 yards for a touchdown against Southern Methodist University, one of the longest scoring runs in Notre Dame history.

His collegiate career was ended, though, with three games left on the schedule in 1930. A city judge in South Bend, Ind., revealed that he had officiated at a ceremony in which Mr. Savoldi married Miss Audrey Koehler on April 3, 1929. The big fullback from Three Oaks, Mich., was forced to withdraw from Notre Dame.

He played the remainder of the 1930 football season as a professional with the Chicago Bears. Then he became a well-known professional wrestler during a 20-year career.

In 1962, 32 years after having left Notre Dame, he received a bachelor’s degree from Evansville College. For the last 11 years, he has been a science teacher in a high school. In 1963, he was honored in Evansville as the "Citizen of the Month" for work with youth groups.

Mr. Savoldi married three times. Survivors include his widow, Lois; a son, Joseph A. Savoldi 3d of Birmingham, Mich.; a sister and a brother.
__________________________

(Look Magazine, circa 1965)

By Myron Cope

Only a few months before, Cowboy Bill Watts had been one of the most beloved performers on the eastern professional wrestling "wheel." Now he was parking his car six blocks from the arena where he was to do battle, hoping that no one would identify him and slash his tires in his absence. "In Scranton I got three tires knifed," he said. "It’s hell on your insurance."

Just 26, boyishly handsome in his crewcut, Cowboy Bill had met and defeated scores of scowling, villainous opponents. He was one of the leading good guys on the circuit, and while legitimate athletes might dismiss his vocation as theater rather than sports, he found solace in his income. The year before, he had grossed almost $40,000 in a business that, by conservative estimates, takes in $20 million a year.

Despite his success, Cowboy Bill felt that his prospects as a good guy were limited. The current world heavyweight champion, or, at least, the one recognized as such by the eastern promoters, was a squat, hatched-nosed opera lover named Bruno Sammartino. Sammartino was firmly established as the leading paragon of humility and clean living, and the Cowboy knew that he could not hope to dent the affection in which the wrestling public held him. Nor could he hope to dethrone the champion, for promoters rarely match one good guy against another good guy.

He and Sammartino had been working together in a series of tag-team matches—bouts that pit two-man teams against each other. One night, with treacherous suddenness, the Cowboy had converted to a bad guy; in a televised match he abruptly turned on the champion, stamping on him and swearing at him. Then he had seized the microphone and shouted at the audience, "In my estimation you’re nothing but a bunch of pigs!"

Up and down the Eastern Seaboard wrestling fans had been stunned and angered by the Cowboy’s betrayal, and almost overnight he had become a box-office attraction second only to Sammartino himself. Fans spat at him, stoned him with chunks of ice and mailed him death threats. Old ladies jabbed him with hatpins. Old men burned their cigars into his flesh. "I’ve had some narrow escapes," said the Cowboy, "but if I don’t get a crowd reaction. I’m not going anywhere."

Now, on this Monday evening in Washington, the Cowboy stood on the threshold of fulfillment. He would wrestle seven times in six days (twice on Saturday), and the following Monday take on Sammartino himself—in Madison Square Garden.

The Cowboy’s opponent at the Washington Coliseum, a one-time ice plant in the city’s heavily Negro northeast section, would be Bobo Brazil, a black giant of 315 pounds. "Bobo’s a big favorite here," said the Cowboy, apprehensively pondering the reception he would get as a white Oklahoman in a Negro stronghold. Not match is dearer to the hearts of wrestling promoters than one that has overtones of ethnic warfare, and there is a fairly brisk demand for Negro wrestlers, virtually all of whom are good guys. Although promoters prefer their crowds intense, to employ Negroes as villains before white audiences would be to invite a lynching. In Canada, a nation less conscious of a distinction between races, a bleached-blond Negro named Sweet Daddy Siki is able to work as a villain, but when he crosses into the States he is transformed into a good guy.

Cowboy Bill’s dressing room was already occupied by eight other villains; the good guys dress separately. While waiting for their matches to start, the bad guys slumped on benches, wearing only their undershorts, their bellies big and their mouths clenching cigars. A short man in a purple polo shirt that announced in gold letters, I AM RIGHT, stood in the center of the room, decrying the increasingly homicidal mood of the wrestling crowds.

"They see so damn many idiotic imbeciles picketing these days, that’s the trouble," he shouted. Fifty-five, his ears thick with cauliflower from his days as a wrestler, his name is Wild Red Berry, and he is said to have become a near-millionaire by shrewdly investing his ring earnings. He keeps his hand in the game by seconding Waldo Von Erich, a villain billed as the champion of Germany, and Gorilla Monsoon, allegedly a Manchurian emigrant.

"I read Spinoza and Kant," Berry went on. "We’re outspoken men but not raucous. We have to be fit for ourselves to know. I don’t want to walk out there and face the setting sun and hate myself for the things I’ve done."

"Knock it off," said one of the bad guys.

A mustachioed, walnut-colored Puerto Rican named Frank Martinez departed from the dressing room for the first bout, making his way up a ramp overhung by chicken wire, which intercepts thrown objects. A handful of "specials"—house cops—flanked Martinez. Although the crowd was 80 percent Negro and Martinez’ opponent was a fair-skinned Carolinian, his reputation as a villain canceled any possibility that his skin would win him sympathy.

Martinez, though destined to be pinned in a matter of 17 minutes, quickly goaded the crowd to life by lifting the Carolinian by his ears and dashing him to the canvas. En route back to his dressing room, he also threatened to punch a vituperative old lady in a purple print dress.

The Cowboy left for his match a short time later—the main event often takes place midway in the show, thus giving the principal villain a chance to escape the arena ahead of the crowd. Behind a flying wedge of 15 policemen, Watts plowed up the ramp toward the ring. On all sides the fans rose in waves, shaking their fists and railing at him with a wild-eyed savagery.

In addition to his black tights and black Western-style ring shoes, the Cowboy wore a boxer’s headgear for protection against Bobo Brazil’s favorite weapon—his "coconut butt." "Take it off, Bobo!" the fans shouted as the match got under way. Bobo butted the Cowboy high on his forehead, but the headgear absorbed the blow and the Cowboy stepped back and withered Bobo with a piteous smile. A toothless young white man charged out of the fifth row, fists clenched, but two cops intercepted him.

Up in the ring the Cowboy suddenly shoved Bobo’s head between the middle and top ropes, twisting a pretzel-like noose around Bobo’s neck. Bobo’s eyes bulged and his tongue hung out. Even though the referee freed him, the crowd was now convinced that Bobo’s only hope lay in divesting the Cowboy of his headgear. "Take it off, Bobo!" the fans pleaded.

Now, at close quarters, the Cowboy whispered a word or two into Bobo’s ear. (Skeptics might have concluded that Cowboy Bill was cueing Bobo, but the Cowboy assured me later that he was calling Bobo filthy names.) Running backward, the Cowboy flung himself against the ropes, then catapulted off them and crashed into Bobo, striking him to the floor with a forearm under the heart.

Tasting the kill, Cowboy Bill leaped high, bent on descending feet-first on Bobo’s chest. In the nick of time, Bobo rolled aside, and the Cowboy crashed clumsily to the canvas. At once Bobo was upon him, ripping off his headgear. A deafening roar of jubilation burst from the crowd.

The Cowboy scrambled to his feet. Bobo charged, and the dreaded coconut butt struck high on the left side of Cowboy Bill’s forehead. Blood spurted out and then poured in tributaries down the Cowboy’s face and over his chest. Suddenly he climbed out of the ring and, with a great arm-waving gesture of disdain for Bobo’s tactics, walked hurriedly up the aisle and through the ramp.

An hour later Cowboy Bill was sitting in a cocktail lounge, refreshing himself with six bottles of beer. Wearing a patch bandage on his head, he spoke of the advantages his career has brought him. He owns a one-third interest in a cattle ranch and is investing carefully in securities. He recently had taken an apartment with pool in Gloucester city, N.J., a town that is central to the wrestling cricuit and from which he was able to drive—in his $5,500 air-conditioned car—to most of his appearances in five hours or less. Best of all, his new career as a villain promised to be even more profitable.

"Look how well Buddy Rogers did," said the Cowboy. Rogers, a bad guy who reigned as champion before Sammartino, retired to a life of ease. "He wears a twelve-carat ring on his pinkie, and he went to his high-school principal at a class reunion and flicked the ash of his cigar and said, "Hey, daddy, I’m that dropout you said would never amount to anything."

Since the Roaring ‘20s, professional wrestling has flourished despite the practically unanimous opinion of sports authorities that all pro matches are theatrical frauds. Certainly it would be an easy matter to fix a wrestling bout, for dozens of the men who regularly wrestle one another work out of the same stable, controlled by a single promoter-manager. Professional gamblers will not bet a dime on a wrestling match. No enlightened sports fan would thrill to a finish in which Sammartino appears to collapse from exhaustion but by great good luck lands flat on his opponent, pinning him to save the day.

When asked if their bouts are fixed, wrestlers respond not with an answer but with another question: "Want to get in the ring with me and find out if I’m a fake?" Certainly there is no doubt that their business is punishing. Punches are pulled, but a good many—usually those thrown to the belly or high on the opponent’s back—land reasonably hard. Broken bones are common to the trade, for not even the most agile wrestler can break his falls night after night.

Despite all skeptics, the advent of television in 1947 multiplied fans at least a thousandfold, and created such outrageous caricatures as wrestlers in long blond hair, Indian headdresses, and fur capes. This mixture of showmanship and violence packed arenas as tightly in New York City as in Wichita Falls, Tex.

At the business end of the wrestling cornucopia stands a lanky, pink-faced man of 58 named Vince McMahon, president of Capitol Wrestling Corp., and booking agent for his stable of 40-odd wrestlers, including Cowboy Bill. From his headquarters in a cheaply furnished four-room hotel suite in Washington, McMahon controls the eastern "wheel"—the most prosperous of a handful of regional circuits across the country. He personally promotes shows in the Coliseum as well as weekly televised matches at studios in Pittsburgh, Baltimore and Washington; additionally, he services 80 clubs in 14 states and occasionally exports his boys to ports as distant as Tokyo.

McMahon deals strictly in "super heavyweights," explaining, "I believe the fan gets a bigger kick out of seeing a 300-pounder hit the canvas or go flying out of the ring." When building the cast for an evening’s entertainment, however, he calls on other promoters, each of whom may have his own specialty. There is, for instance, an office in Columbia, S.C., that supplies lady wrestlers and one in Detroit that ships midgets on order. While I was talking to McMahon, his assistant—the former "Jewish Champion," Herbie Freeman—covered a phone with his hands and asked, "You want to use two girls here on the third?"

"Yeh, OK," McMahon said. "I’ll use two girls and a girl referee."

"He’ll take three," Freeman told South Carolina. "No, he don’t need two more."

"Wait, Herbie. I’ll use five and make a tag-team match out of it."

"He’ll take the whole five," said Freeman.

However impersonal, McMahon is a cautious man who has nurtured his gold mine by methods that are in sharp contrast to those of, say, major-league baseball. He does not, for instance, give his big events on TV. Before the cameras, his big-name wrestlers grapple only with lesser performers. Most important, McMahon realizes that the bush leagues—the small-town clubs—are the lifeblood of his business.

"It’s our job to keep the promoters alive," he says. Toward that end, he usually leaves the local promoter with 40 to 50 percent of the receipts, paying the wrestlers himself. No matter how small the town, its promoter is shipped the best McMahon has to offer. Thus Cowboy Bill Watts, only 24 hours after earning $1,000 in Washington, would receive $50 in Harrisburg, Pa.

Harrisburg’s Zembo Temple was a far cry from Washington’s Coliseum. Cherry trees lined the walk leading into a terrazzo-floor lobby. Cowboy Bill changed clothes in a room appointed with bamboo chaise lounges and reminisced on his beginnings. His father is an Oklahoma City steel salesman, a good Presbyterian who years ago gave up his predinner highball lest it have a pernicious effect on his growing children. All the same, Bill impetuously married at 17, was divorced at 19 after fathering a son. Though given an athletic scholarship, he did not graduate from Oklahoma University. He is remembered there as a third-string football tackle and a fairly promising wrestling prospect who, mostly because of disciplinary probation, never saw varsity action. Cowboy Bill left Oklahoma, he says, because of "A love of wine, women and fights."

After a brief trial with the Houston Oilers football club, he obtained an introduction to an Indianapolis wrestling promoter, who put him to work. Wrestling for as little as $25, Big Bill Watts, as he then called himself, drifted to his native Southwest, where he quickly became a popular attraction. Wild Red Berry, he of the Spinoza-Kant leanings, spotted him and tipped off Vince McMahon, who fetched him east and renamed him Cowboy Bill. Now McMahon’s top villain, the Cowboy has earned as much as $4,000 in a single night. "Everything I do gets a crowd reaction," he said. "If I blow my nose, they howl, because I project. I make ‘em feel my loathing for them."

He climbed into the Harrisburg ring opposite his opponent, the "Irish champion" Don McClarity, who was busy signing autographs. One fan—a comely girl—approached the Cowboy’s corner for an autograph, but he tore up the paper she handed him, enraging the crowd. Scarcely had the bout begun when a sallow, sideburned young man, seated at ringside with his girlfriend, arose and challenged the Cowboy to a fistfight. The Cowboy stepped onto the apron of the ring, directly over the young man, and beckoned to him.

Screaming murderously, the young man elected to enter the ring at a point where two portly, smiling policemen conventiently intercepted him and ushered him back to his chair. "He wanted to be stopped," said the Cowboy later, after he had pinned the Irish champion. "A lot of them do that. If he had gotten into the ring, though, I’d have torn his eye out. Never give a mark an even brea, because they’ll never give you one. I’ve got eight stitches on my back where a guy slashed me with a filed-down iron comb."

Occasionally wrestlers will warm up for their match by offering to take on any man in the house; the spectator who comes forward officially becomes a mark. As a rule, he is a college wrestler or a practitioner of judo or karate and is certain he will expose the professional as a fraud. He is disappointed, painfully. He is intent upon displaying the special skills he has learned, whereas the pro instantly calls upon every cruel blow imaginable.

"Karate and judo are a lot of overrated bunk," said the Cowboy. "So what if a guy can break a board in half? That board isn’t hitting back."

After wrestling in a TV show in Washington Thursday, he went to appear at an ice arena in Brick Town, N.J., on Friday, and then flew to Pittsburgh, where he would wrestle twice on Saturday—at a TV studio at six o’clock and a few hours later at a racetrack. Some 50 fans, carrying lunches, waited five and a half hours under a blazing sun to be admitted to the studio. Most of them were women, many wearing their stockings rolled below their knees. They scrambled into the studio, pouncing on the front-row seats, and when they saw Cowboy Bill pass throught the studio they greeted him profanely and obscenely with the sort of language used during race riots.

From the TV studio, Cowboy Bill proceeded to a nearby harness track, where a ring was pitched at the foot of the grandstands. There a tieless, bespectacled man in his 30s turned to me and said, "A lot of this stuff is fake, you know."

"Then why do you come?" I asked.

"Oh, it’s not ALL faked. These fellows just put a little color into it, but they get hurt, all right."

Suddenly my astute neighbor was on his feet shouting epithets. Waldo von Erich, Red Berry’s German protege, had entered the ring to oppose a pudgy wrestler named Chief White Owl—a classic morality match pitting Nazism against the original American. "Swine hunt!" bellowed by neighbor, striving to make himself understood to the Hun in perfect Warner Brothers German. "Pig! Filthy German!" Then, turning to me again, he advised, "He’s not a man, he’s a pig." When the Cowboy entered the ring, a paper cup—packed tightly with ice—flew from the upper grandstand and struck him hard on the top of his head, and a number of fans opened fire on him with wire staples shot from rubber bands.

One the whole, though, Cowboy Bill emerged from Pittsburgh in fairly good shape, his features marred only by a bandage covering the wound which had been opened in Washington by Bobo Brazil’s coconut butt. Curiously, not opponent had leaped to exploit so obvious a target. Good guys are strong on charity.

Now the Cowboy moved on to New York for his showdown match with the prima good guy, Bruno Sammartino. Unlike the Cowboy, who had been willing to switch images for a better dollar, Sammartino possessed a wistful reverence for the sport he had learned as a boy in Italy. "The fans here in this country, they criticize the gimmicks, but they buy it," he sighed.

"A man named George Wagner was one of the best wrestlers to ever come out of this country—he had everything—but he was nothing," Bruno said. "So he bleached his hair and changed his name to Gorgeous George, and they paid a fortune to see him. The others saw his success and they did the same, and it ridiculed the whole game."

As champion for more than two years, Bruno has earned close to $200,000 annually. (He is not, by the way, the only world champion in America, for at last word Lou Thesz was recognized as champ by midwest promoters and others, and Pedro Morales, whose Mexican blood makes him big in Southern California, reigned in the West.) "Now, I am getting tired of it," Bruno said. "I’ve had my jaw broken and my wrist broken and I’ve had my nose broken ten, eleven times and cannot breathe out of it. But it’s so hard to get out when you’re at the peak making money."

The Cowboy, meanwhile, had gone into New York declaiming that it was time wrestling had a champion capable of speaking good English. For weeks he had been hurling insults at Bruno, warming New York’s Italian population to a nice ticket-buying temperature. Finally, with the moment of truth at hand, he donned a royal-blue Stetson and set off from his hotel to the Garden, followed by a band of children shouting. "You stink, Watts!"

In contrast, only adulation fell on Bruno Sammartino’s large ears as he climbed into the ring wearing his bejeweled championship belt. After representatives of the International Bruno Sammartino Fan Club had come forward to present Bruno with a trophy for "ability, determination and fair play," the ring announcer bellowed that victory would be awarded the first contestant to pin his man twice. The formalities over, Cowboy Bill promptly doubled up Bruno with a rabbit punch and downed him with a kick in the belly.

While Bruno lay helpless, the Cowboy repeatedly leaped into the air and stamped on him with his right foot. Each time, the Cowboy’s left foot hit the canvas first, breaking the impact of his descent, and his right foot landed flat-soled on Bruno’s ample belly. The crowd responded as if Bruno were being torn apart by mad dogs. Six cops moved swiftly to eject a trio of ground-floor spectators for hurling missiles at the Cowboy. The Cowboy went on to batter Bruno from ringpost to ringpost and win the first fall easily.

Bruno, though, coming out for the second session on wobbly legs, summoned fresh strength from a reservoir of outraged anger and fell upon the Cowboy, fists flailing. Bruno then flung him to the canvas and quickly pinned him. Inexplicably, the Cowboy remained on the canvas, writhing in a compulsion of pain, and could not answer the bell for the third ession. The crowd thundered jubilantly as the referee held Bruno’s arm aloft in victory. Then Bruno, good guy that he is, went to the Cowboy’s aid. "Don’t do it, Bruno," the crowd pleaded, wise to the Cowboy’s ways.

Sure enough, the Cowboy lashed up with a forearm to Bruno’s groin. While the referee restrained Bruno, the Cowboy allowed a police escort to whisk him to his dressing room.

Though he had not dethroned Bruno, Cowboy Bill did not appear entirely crushed when I saw him an hour later with a blonde in the hotel cocktail lounge. There would be rematches with Bruno shortly (all of which the Cowboy lost), and then exotic trips to San Francisco and Japan to tap fresh box offices. Meanwhile, he remained matchless in his arrogance.

"How’d you do tonight, fella?" asked a man passing the Cowboy’s table.

By J Michael Kenyon

In June, 1996, while on a business and research trip to Evansville, Ind., I found myself immersed in microfilm copies of the old Evansville Press for the month of October, 1915. I was in search of articles concerning the historic Joe Stecher-Ed (Strangler) Lewis title bout held in that city that long-ago autumn. I read all the stories, made copies of them for my wrestling research archives and then went back to a downtown hotel where, on a whim, I decided to begin sharing the fruits of some 40 years’ worth of tracking down the history of professional wrestling. So, I typed up the results of that day’s research and, on June 23, 1996, posted the first edition of what was then called, simply, The WAWLI (Wrestling As We Liked It) Papers to the rec.sports.pro-wrestling Usenet list. With that, like topsy, WAWLI began to grow into the worldwide free mailing list that I have maintained to this day and intend to continue for the indefinite future. The idea, as always, was to encourage others to take an interest in wrestling history—especially those halcyon days when the game was far different than that product which is, almost nightly, exhibited nationally via cable TV.

The original WAWLIs were numbered differently in those days, bearing both volume and issue numbers. After moving on to "Volume 3," I decided to simplify the system and just number them consecutively. Of late, just for the fun of it, I’ve begun labeling them "The New WAWLI Papers," if only because the current editions are more recent than the "old" ones.

And now, as the 600^th issue of WAWLI nears, it seems appropriate to reprint some of the very early pieces which appeared during that summer of 1996, more than three years ago. In due time, for those who came in late, I also will be publishing a complete index of ALL articles that have been reprinted in the entirety of the WAWLI Papers series. A good many of the early editions, of course, have been compiled and published, in book form, by the industrious Scott Teal of Tennessee, and may be purchased by dialing up Scott’s web site at the following URL:

http://www.teal.org/wht/index.html

JOE STECHER WINNER OF THE MATCH

(Evansville Press, October 21, 1915)

(Originally appeared in The WAWLI Papers, Vol. 1, No. 1 June 23, 1996)

Joe Stecher, who wrestled Ed Lewis at the Wells-Bijou Theater Wednesday night, is still the undefeated champion heavyweight wrestler of the world. Fans were disappointed because they did not get to see Stecher apply his deadly scissors hold and because Lewis would not take the role of aggressor.

In the two hours and three minutes of wrestling, Lewis did not give Stecher an opportunity to put his famous scissors hold on him. Lewis wrestled on the defensive. Apparently, he was afraid to try offensive work.

The end came when, after the two hours and three minutes, Stecher—mad because Lewis would not mix—began rushing the Kentuckian fiercely and drove him over the ropes, Lewis falling and striking his head on the rim of a chair seat. He did not rise. His managed said he was injured. Dr. Phil Warter, who was the first physician to reach his side, said he was not injured much. Later Drs. Greenleaf and Louis Fritsch made the same statement.

Lewis was taken to his dressing room. Physicians examined him and said he was not injured to any extent. Later Lewis was taken to the Walker hospital. Dr. Will Davidson, who worked with Lewis during the night, said Thursday morning that Lewis was injured in the groin.

Referee Bert Sisson gave Stecher the first fall and announced that unless Lewis came back into the ring within 15 minutes that Stecher would be awarded the second fall. During the wait Mayor Bosse took the opportunity to get into the limelight and announced from the stage that, in view of the doctors’ finding, he saw no reason why Lewis should not come back and finish the match.

Bosse, who had seven passes to the match, and who had General Manager Blinn of the Public Utilities Co. in his party, made a speech from the stage when Lewis was carried out. Throughout the match Bosse managed to be a counter-attraction by his actions in the box.

Had Lewis come back there could have been no doubt of the outcome. Sooner or later Stecher would have gotten his deadly hold on him. With that Lewis might have been injured for life. Only last week Stecher got it on Paul Sass, French wrestler, in seven minutes and left him bleeding from the ears, nose and mouth. Several wrestlers have been ruptured by Stecher with that hold.

Lewis went on the mat to wrestle on the defensive. For the two hours and three minutes he put up a wonderful exhibition of defensive work. He was able to do just what he had planned. He did not please the fans. They wanted to see him mix in with the champion. Even Stecher’s manager, at the end of one hour and 60 minutes, asked Referee Sisson to force Lewis to wrestle and not run. Lewis’ manager replied that the floor was roped and that it was Stecher’s task to throw Lewis. Not once did Stecher get behind the Kentuckian. Lewis, however, got Stecher on the mat and on top of him three times but confined his efforts to keeping away from Stecher’s toe hook, which is always the first stage of his famous scissors hold.

Lewis was behind Stecher four times. Stecher admitted that Lewis was the hardest man to get behind he had ever met. Stecher has no other hold which he uses successfully. He has won practically every match with his scissors hold which must be made from behind.

In staying with Stecher over two hours, Lewis did what he went on the mat to do. Stecher defeated Cutler, the world’s champion, in 27 minutes. No other man within the last two years has stayed on the mat with Stecher as long as has Lewis. George Turner stayed with him three hours to a draw two years ago.

Before Lewis went on the mat he got a telegram from Cutler which advised him to stay on his feet and break quick. He did this. The fans did not like his style of wrestling. They yelled for him to wrestle and not run. But (Billy) Sandow, his manager, instructed him by signals to wear Stecher out by letting the champion do the offensive work.

When the end came it was evident that Stecher was determined to force Lewis to wrestle vigorously. Had Stecher got the scissors hold in the mood he had then, Lewis would have suffered. His manager realized this.

"Our game was to stay with Stecher and let him do all the aggressive work," said Sandow, Lewis’ manager, Thursday. "This Stecher is deadly. Lewis did not get in there and let Stecher get this scissors just to let the fans see it done. That might have meant the end of Lewis’ wrestling career. Our game was to wear Stecher out. That is the way Gotch got the championship from Hackenschmidt.

"Any wrestler will tell you that a man who can wrestle defensively successfully is as scientific as the man who rushes his opponent, though the fans do not like a defensive wrestler. They want spectacular work. We did not care to sacrifice Lewis merely to make a show."

The match was perhaps too scientific for the Evansville fans who have been witnessing exhibitions of the second-raters, and have never before seen a "blood" match.

The match might be compared to a ball game in which there was no hitting and consequently no scoring for 17 innings.

After the match Mayor Bosse and Chief of Police Ed Schmitt took the receipts, and Thursday Bosse said that he was going to give a part of the receipts to charity because he thought the match was not on the square. He said he would let the wrestlers have what they would get if regular prices had been charged.

Mayor Bosse, Sheriff Habbe and Joe Stecher between them received four anonymous messages preceding the wrestling match. Two were by telephone and two by telegraph. An unknown man, signing himself R.M. Kerr, wired Mayor Bosse and Sheriff Habbe from Indianapolis, saying: "Stop fake wrestling match tonight." Upon inquiry of manager Eckler of the local Western Union office, the Indianapolis W.U. manager said that his telegram, printed with a lead pencil and with the signature likewise printed, was handed in over the counter of the Indianapolis main office and paid for in cash. The same mysterious Indianapolis person called Mayor Bosse up by phone.

A man who did not give his name called Joe Stecher up, by phone from Cincinnati. "You will be double-crossed, watch out," said the strange voice. Before the match Stecher and his brother voiced their fears to Referee Sisson. The referee told Stecher that he need not be afraid of getting any raw deal in Evansville. The conduct of the referee in over-stepping the rules and giving Stecher two falls when he was entitled to but one showed how groundless was the fear of a bad deal raised in Stecher’s mind by the anonymous telephone call.

To Promoter Barton, after the match, Stecher said: "Lewis is the best man I ever met. He is stronger than I am and we might have gone on for an hour more before I got him. He is the fastest big man I ever saw."

The first Gotch-Hackenschmidt match in Chicago was won by Gotch by the use of the identical tactics pursued by Lewis last night. Hackenschmidt chased Gotch all over the ring for almost two hours and then quit. "You can have it, Mr. Gotch," he said, and walked out of the ring. Last night when Lewis run for two hours, Stecher became only the more desperate in his desire to get Lewis to the mat where he could pin him.

CIRCUSES AND KINGS

(Canadian Forum, August, 1950)

(Originally appeared in The WAWLI Papers, Vol. 1, No. 14, August 28, 1996)

By D.M. Fisher

Several years ago Time magazine hinted that the large crowds drawn by wrestling in Toronto reflected the gullibility of the citizens. Now, with the surge of television, wrestling has come to the fore in the States; the top men are national figures, and the critics and publicists are debunking or glorifying the show. This is one matter where Canada has kept pace with America. We have the chance, even in the smaller towns, of seeing wrestling, and the attendance has risen until it probably stands behind only hockey and baseball as an athletic draw. No populated area fails to support the grapplers; Toronto, Montreal, and Hamilton turn out supporters enough to gross nearly a million and a half dollars a year. What does wrestling offer for the husky admission it charges?

The meaning of sport as a fair contest does not apply to wrestling; it is entertainment, generally of high calibre in execution, with features of the circus and the drama added to its athletic elements. The basic parts of an exhibition are two opponents, one referee, and the crowd. Color is supplied by the beautiful robes of the wrestlers, their wonderful or grotesque bodies, and the carnival informality of the show. Four or five matches make up the card, but many variations are common. The winner is usually pre-determined, but it is not a "fix" in the gambling sense. Team tag-fights, two against one, man against alligator, mud-floored rings, or the cockpit effect gained by a chicken-wire enclosure, keep the orthodox from becoming stale. Thought title matches are held, they signify little since each area has its "world champion" and, in Canada, its "British Empire champion." Because they advertise, promoters are given good coverage from local papers (and with a straight face), but there is little inter-city or international publicity on a press-service scale. This frees a man in a main event in Toronto on Thursday for a preliminary match in Buffalo on Friday. (It is disconcerting to find the invincible hero in Toronto being featured as a cad in the Montreal press.)

Despite this lack of geographic integration where rating or morality is concerned, the reciprocity of the different promotional centres is a marvel. There is a reptitive, rise, decline, and fall of wrestlers so geared that the public in each area has an ever-changing troupe to watch. A wrestler will usually draw well in his home town, but long jaunts on circuits, perhaps in Missouri, Texas, or in the Maritimes space out such appearances.

Canada is turning out many of its own entertainers although their names generally lack the phonetic lilt of the importations. Mike Sharpe, Al Korman, Yvon Robert, or Pat Flanagan are Canadian leaders who sound dull beside the Warren Bockwinkles, Suni War Clouds, or Gorgeous Georges from the south.

Instructions about his next match often come to the wrestler by phone and rarely, unless the publicists have been creating a "natural" rivalry, does he know whom he is to fight. Much leeway is left the contestants and the referee whnever the bout is not part of a build-up sequence. They know how much time to allow before the finish and the scope of their play is sensitive to the crowd’s reaction.

That is, inattention comes when too much applying for breaking of holds is presented so, sensing this, something sensational like tossing each other out of the ring is resorted to. Normally, action see-saws to a climax that may rest on the virtue versus evil theme, on a quirk of the referee, or upon an accidental slip or skid. A favorite ending is Prometheanlike: some daring manoeuvre backfires and the fall is lost with explosive suddenness, leaving a "Well! You never know" hush upon the audience.

Most matches pit good against evil and as a rule justice does not triumph. But it will. Rematches go on until the routine becomes jaded; then right prevails. The most entertaining match to the sensitive fan is the first contest between two wrestlers who hitherto have borne the true-blue stamp. Action will be very fast, ostentatiously clean, and may continue so to the end. This is rare. More likely, one man displays a character flaw. Chances for perfidy prove too tempting; then, as his baser nature revealed, the crowd takes up the chant against him. The spectators do not split into two factions behind either fighter. They await the cue of one’s fall from grace. (Of course, there may be the odd agitator perverse enough to applaud roguery.) The character of the contestants fixed, the hero is, of course, justified in using any means to gain his ends, but often he will give the rascal another chance and extend the open hand of forgiveness. If the handshake is accepted, the crowd becomes uneasy, for past performances have indicated that reform is never lasting.

The spectator’s participation is not unlike the chorus in Greek drama, explaining and warning. In combat there are a number of conventions which theoretically must be upheld: when action comes to the ring border where either wrestler touches the ropes, they must break openly, as boxers from a clinch, and begin anew; strangle-holds, eye-gouging, punching, or the use of abrasive materials such as adhesive tape or peanuts, are technically forbidden. However, the referees as a group are typically ineffectual, a failing which the villain does not hesitate to exploit shamelessly. Thus the responsibility devolves upon the crowd, to call the arbiter to his duty, to warn the hero and to shame the villain. There is a quality, not unlike the responses in a prayer-meeting, appealing but dignified, which inhere in the cries of "Rope!", "Peanut!", etc., that rise from the crowd. In most matches, the opportunity arises for the hero to apply a hold whereby every rock of his body stretches the villain in a rack. The measured roar of "Hip. . .Hip. . ." that this occasions is in the spirit of the regatta. This eultant note has a rival in pure feeling when shrill despair settles in after the hero is beaten. The villain crows, defies the crowd, and often beats a coward’s retreat under the fire of fists, fingernails, parasols, or burning cigarettes with which the fans assault him. Then, a hush of respect comes as the hero is solicitously helped away. A curious note about the mob scene around the villain is that the women show far more courage than the men.

Less than half the actual fighting time is spent at grips. A goodly bit passes in appeals to the referee and the crowd, and much to pacing and circling with gestures and grimaces of pain, wrath, or steely determination. The latter is the perquisite of the hero, and the villain’s counter is the skulk or leer of menace. Naturally, there is a great range in ability of expression but a similarity in technique. For example, all good fellows must simulate blindness since, sooner or later, the villain rubs a peanut or a thumb into his eyes. Every Toronto fan knows that their nonpareil, Whipper Billy Watson, is literally blind in one eye. This intensifies the pathos of poor Whipper, staggering around the ring, groping at his face, while the dastard blandly assures the referee he has no peanut hidden in his trunks. The crowd knows better; sympathy and love for justice weld in a mighty current of feeling.

Other heroes can hardly match Watson in this specialty, but many, because of greater purity of feature and physique, are better in limning the role of righteous indignation. At present a new hero, Timothy Geohagen, is rising on the Toronto scene. Tim is young, blond, and handsome. His special characteristic is mighty strength, his special hold the "Irish Sleeper," and his dramatic forte the pure rage of the righteous. When Tim gets his Irish up, when his patience is gone, his clear skin pinks, his arms writhe, and he vibrates from the floor in anger. The crowd approves, the villain shows yellow and hides behind the referee who wags a finger at Tim. Tim brushes this obstacle aside and metes out justice. (It is hard to imagine a clearer show of the cliches of histrionics than those in Tim’s bout, providing he is given a villain of merit.)

Often one finds former boxing "greats" such as Jack Dempsey, Jack Sharkey, or Max Baer headlined as referees. The idea is that they are impartial and able because of the supposed power in their fists to keep the villain in line. This myth is rooted in the "knock-out" punch and it promotes bizarre situations. Once a feud between Watson and a huge Pole, Wladislaw Talun, had grown so bitter that only a strong referee seemed to promise order and a decision. Jack Sharkey was brought in, and early in the bout he had to remonstrate with Talun for underhand tactics. Failing to impress the Pole verbally, Sharkey cocked his fist. Talun’s reaction was swift; he cowered, fawned, and then carried on fairly, long enough for Watson to down him cleanly. The paradox here is the appearance of Talun and Sharkey. The ex-boxer is grey and paunchy, a flabby two-hundred pounder; Talun is at least six-foot-eight, weighs over three hundred and fifty, and ripples with muscle.

To most people, all these wrestlers are big, but the size range is broad—a small man is from two hundred and twenty to two hundred and forty pounds in weight, while the giants range to four hundred pounds plus. The bigger men tend to be the villains. This supports the proverb "the bigger they come the harder they fall." About fifty years ago Bob Fitzsimmons coined this phrase, just before his fight for the heavyweight crown with the giant Jim Jeffries. Fitz was crushed by Jeffries, but his words are the prop for the multitude who resent superior stature; thus the wrestling addict has the vicarious thrill of the human dreadnought’s fall.

One of the two groups of people whom wrestling infuriates are the sport purists who feel it as a satire on genuine competition. The other critics are the calamity howlers or disillusioned do-gooders. A sample of the latter was offered some years ago by Alan Sullivan. Writing in Maclean’s he rued wrestling’s appeal in Toronto: "Is the public appetite of this city so jaded, surfeited, dissipated, so lacking in what one may call ‘tone’ that the sensory receiving apparatus of eight thousand Torontonians demands the floodlit brutalities by mountainous grapplers . . ."

The brutalities are exaggerated. When giants begin somersaulting and leaping at lightning speed, there is a chance they may be hurt, but if it were brutal the men could not sustain their three to five matches a week schedule. An elbow-smash, a kick in the face, or a bite in the leg does seem rugged, but the recipients live to fight next day simply because their simulation is unbelievably good. The crowd’s savor for the rough stuff intrigues the analysts who deal in psychological jargon. Mob hysteria, persecution mania, blood lust, and sexual sublimation have been put forward. The fact that women form a large part of the attendance disturbs many. To those who suggest that they are attracted by the exposition of virile bodies, one could point out that many wrestlers are very ugly and malformed. One entertaining theory is that men readily take their women to contests where gambling is not a factor. Certainly, it’s hard to imagine even the staunchest fan wagering on wrestling. But then, this does not account for the ladies leading the chorus as they do.

Those who see the wrestling of today as another symbol of social decadence, might try attending some bouts in a relaxed state of mind, or if they are blessed with a TV set, watching it in their parlor. If they can’t get delight from listening and watching the people around them, there are always marvels of muscle to admire and acrobatics in a grand manner. Besides, the orgy of disbelief at other people’s tastes can bolster one’s more cultured ego.

Historians place wrestling as the second oldest sport of all. For those who never sw the sport when it was the focal point of people who were sure of its validity as a contest, it is hard to imagine this past. Books tell us that Henry VIII once tried a fall with Francis, King of France, at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Perhaps the pageant of today is a reversion to such a show. If nothing else, it reveals that Canadians, or at least many of them, are not so staid in expressing their emotions as we’ve been led to believe. _____________________________

The New WAWLI Papers
(Wrestling As We Liked It)
Edited by J Michael Kenyon

Issue Number 595
Sunday, October 3, 1999
____________________________

IN THIS ISSUE: ANOTHER WAWLI REPRINT, THIS ONE FROM MACLEAN’S MAGAZINE, 1931
____________________________

The WAWLI Papers are periodically sent to a free-of-charge mailing list. To subscribe, at no cost, send an e-mail message to fallguys-request@lists.best.com and place the lower-case word "subscribe" in the body of the message. To unsubscribe, do the same thing, except for placing the lower-case word "unsubscribe" in the body of the message.
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Submissions of articles concerning "Wrestling As We Liked It" are heartily invited. Please send to:

J Michael Kenyon
4739 University Way NE #1150
Seattle WA 98105

oldfallguy@home.com or oldfallguy@aol.com
__________________________________

PFEFER MEMORABILIA SOLD FOR $5,000?

A few days ago, E-Bay had an auction the following:

"This is perhaps the most extensive collection of wrestling memorabilia known to us. It all comes from the lifetime accumulation of the famous wrestling promoter Jack Pfefer. The collection consists of nearly ONE THOUSAND 8x10 studio type photos of 269 wrestlers from the late 1930’s through the mid 1960’s. Just to name a few: Gorgeous George, Antonio the Italian Giant, The Brown Bomber, The Red Headed Atomic Twins and hundreds more. There are tons of smaller photos as well. 269 large manila envelopes containig over thirty years of personal correspondence, souvenir programs, news photos, press kits, lobby cards, and vintage wrestling posters. This lot even includes Mr Pfefer’s personal addres book with hundreds or wrestlers phone numbers and business cards. I know it has already been stated but this is an INCREDIBLE collection. This lot has never been offered for sale before. If you live in or it is possible for you to visit New England, it is a must see. I will be shooting more photos of this collection, so e-mail if you are seriously interested. Please e-mail with questions before bidding as we want who ever bids to be satisfied. Thanks and don’t miss this oppurtunity. Good bidding."

If I read the E-Bay page correctly, this material—which was apparently brokered through a shop in Providence, R.I.—was bid for, and sold, for $5,000 to the holder of the following e-mail address (not a WAWLI subscriber, as best I can tell):

assassin1@webtv.net

(ED. NOTE—With the milestone 600^th issue of The WAWLI Papers coming up, a few of the very early submissions in this series are being reprinted, largely for the benefit of latecomers to the mailing list.)

MAT MONEY

(MacLean’s Magazine, Oct. 15, 1931)

(Originally appeared in The WAWLI Papers, Volume 1, Number 18, September 5, 1996)

by H.H. Roxborough

Ages ago, historians tell us, the largest of animals roamed across Canadian plains and left their footprints in the sands of time.

True, they have long been consigned to glass cases in museums; but today their human counterparts, the 225-pound mastodonic specimens of the human family, like the mammoths of old, are snorting, writhing, puffing and stamping their courses along the canvas-covered, manila-bound wrestling rings of the broad Dominion.

The arrival of these heavyweight wrestlers was almost as unexpected as would be the restoration of those prehistoric animal giants, for both were considered to have passed forever from human sight. True, the grapplers were popular a quarter century back. The names of Hackenschmidt, Gotch and Zbyszko meant something and their appearances in a ring attracted thousands, but with their decline the sport rapidly rolled downhill. The leading wrestlers forsook championship bouts and began barnstorming the countryside, ballyhooing challenges to "all comers."

The "comers" were usually men of their own camps who were planted in the audience and who, with considerable assumed bravado, accepted the defi, entered the ring and went through the motions of wrestling.

Occasionally a sum of money was offered to anyone who could "stay" for an arranged time without being thrown, and when an honest stranger did offer himself he was handicapped with a referee friendly to the barnstormer and a timekeeper who often prolonged the limit so that the challenger might be securely pinned. Naturally, the game could not live long in such an unhealthy atmosphere; and so from barnstorming to circuses to burlesque shows, and finally out of the sporting picture altogether, the "rasslers" travelled from opulence to oblivion.

Then something happened. A little over two years ago a tall, athletic-appearing, pleasant-spoken sportsman arrived in Toronto and registered under the awe-inspiring Russian name of Ivan Mickailoff. Ivan was not an impostor. He had been an officer in the famous Cossacks, an intelligence commissioner in the Allied armies, a university graduate and a point gatherer for Russia in the Olympic wrestling championship of 1908. Mr. Mickailoff furthermore had an attractive personality and appeared quite sane. But when he approached sports editors and told them his Canadian mission was to revive wrestling, and even to make money out of it, they greeted him with shaking heads and expressions of sympathy.

Those experienced judges of sports taste informed the prospective promoter that he hadn’t a "Chinaman’s chance" of making good; that former wrestling conditions had been so unsavory that even the recollection induced nausea; that wrestling even at its best wasn’t much to look at, and, besides, boxing had such a "foothold" that a "toe hold" wouldn’t attract enough people to pay for the resin.

The Russian visitor listened, but he was too big to be moved by the sound of voices. He merely shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and began preparing for his first show.

Wrestlers had been procured, paid advertising had announced the time and place, and eventually "came the night." The bright lights illuminated the duck-covered platform, the contestants for the great inauguration were "on the job." Every preliminary requirement had been met. The arena was sufficiently large to house ten thousand paying guests, and the metropolitan area of Toronto is population by nearly a million inhabitants. But, alas, only 300 curious folks strolled past the ticket taker, and fully half of them had complimentary tickets for which they hadn’t paid even the amusement tax.

Dick Cossack Mickailoff roll himself up in his canvas flooring and quietly steal away? Did he call upon his sports advisers and tell them they were right? He did not. He didn’t even wince. He was accustomed to hard rides, and the writers didn’t hesitate to give him one. Like the heroes of old, the promoter sailed on. Steadily the printed opposition increased in vigor and word power; but week after week the wrestling bouts continued until the pass holders became regular customers. Those who had come to scoff remained to praise.

Eventually, after the promoter had gone "into the red" for $20,000, the increased interest brought the principal rolling home. And how the industry has thrived! Mr. Mickailoff gave a glimpse of its growth when he informed the writer that for arena rental alone he has expended over $50,000 in little more than two years.

But that is the situation in only one section of the country. Within the past year most of the larger Canadian cities have been visited by the exponents of "pitch and toss," while in Quebec, Montreal, Hamilton, Ottawa, Toronto, Windsor and Vancouver, the grapplers have appeared nearly every week even through the summer’s heat. In most of these centres there have been many occasions when capacity crowds have attended. Not only has boxing been forced to recognize the drawing power of the mat men, but wherever wrestlers have staked a claim, gold has been revealed in paying quantities.

What forces compelled wrestling to leap into such national popularity? How has this fan approval been maintained? Is it just a passing fancy or will it continue for many years?

Remember, wrestling is not a modern game. It is possibly the world’s oldest sport. More than twenty-six centuries ago the Grecian youths were matching grappling skill at ancient Olympia. Arm locks, half nelsons, toe holds, were familiar terms to our grandfathers. Every age, every people, seem to have accepted wrestling in some form.

Not only did promoters have to overcome this old-age handicap, but they also had to combat the antipathies aroused by the evil practices of a former wrestling generation. The game has made good because the organizing was sound and the matching skillful; because the athletes and managers sacredly kept promises, and principally because showmanship has been added in large doses to wrestling ability.

It is often supposed, but not generally known, that the wrestlers do not travel "on their own" but are formed into schools, trusts, combines, or whatever similar name you choose to give them. This control is beneficial to discipline. The directors know their men, they are acquainted with comparative weights, strength and skill; and when two wrestlers climb into the ring the fans are assured that there is a close approach to equality in the performers.

This control also ensures that the wrestler must give value. Lack of discipline killed the old game, but today if the athlete is incompetent, if he does not fulfill his enga