Sputnik Monroe’s Main Event Win Over Jim Crow – Pt. 1

It’s hard to be humble when you’re 235 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal with a body that women love and men fear. – Sputnik Monroe

27-year-old Rock Monroe had just completed a long drive from Washington State to Mobile, Alabama. It was December of 1957 and he was in town to work for Buddy Fuller’s Gulf Coast Championship Wrestling, a promotion that, at this point in history, was only about a year and a half old. Somewhere in Mississippi, the exhausted wrestler had picked up a black man looking to hitch a ride in exchange for helping with the drive.

According to Gulf Coast wrestling historian, Mike Norris, “He offered the guy some money (to) help him drive so he could rest.”

Alabama would not desegregate for another four and a half years, meaning Monroe’s arrival to the wrestling show, side-by-side with his new friend wasn’t met with many happy faces. Said Norris, “Monroe heard the crowd grumbling about him being with a black man, so he grabbed (the man) and kissed him on the cheek.” Other stories have him kissing the man on the mouth. Either way, the reaction he received changed wrestling history.

A woman within earshot of the wrestling heel began slinging a variety of insults at the pair, cursing them and carrying on. Eventually, she ran out of obvious insults, piling on with, “you’re a damn Sputnik”. Though mild by today’s standards (and equally corny), the U.S. was knee-deep in a Cold War with the Soviet Union. In this era of post-McCarthyism, “Sputnik” was akin to calling someone a communist, and with the “better dead than red” ethos very much in full practice stateside, this was potentially dangerous rhetoric, particularly in the Deep South.

After spending more than a decade as a journeyman pro wrestler, Monroe smelled money.

Diamond Ring And Cadillac Man

Embracing his new name, Monroe crafted a public persona that infuriated conservative whites. After his move to Memphis in early ‘59, it was not uncommon to find the cocky Monroe in a variety of “blacks only” bars, dressed to the nines, mingling and handing out free tickets to patrons. Often draped in a long purple robe and carrying a diamond tipped cane, the “diamond ring and Cadillac man”, was living his life to the fullest. 

His attire, coupled with a not-before-seen flamboyance in that part of the country, also made him a target of police. Monroe’s look (jet black hair with a dyed white streak parting the middle of his head, made him an instantly recognizable figure and he was arrested a variety of times on ridiculous charges. Monroe usually lost the case against him, paid whatever fine was levied against him and went right back to thumbing his nose at the status quo.

One arrest in particular saw Monroe charged with “mopery” for hanging out in a black-owned bar. To represent him in the case, Monroe hired a black attorney, Russell B. Sugarmon Jr., setting off a firestorm among the more close minded citizens of Memphis. This was the first time a black man represented a white man in a Memphis court. Ultimately, Sputnik was fined $25 by the presiding judge, but his stance was clear: no one was going to dictate to the wrestler how or with whom he should spend his time.

The heel’s heat-seeking ways knew no limits. Former NWA Heavyweight Champion, Dory Funk Jr. recounts a particularly hilarious tale:

“Sputnik Monroe was dressed to the hilt, black suit, white shirt, and red tie. Around his waist was the Southern States Heavyweight Wrestling Championship Belt. Sputnik had won the belt the night before in a 16 man tournament in Memphis, Tennessee. Now he was celebrating with his friend, fellow wrestler Greg Peterson. He’d had a few drinks and was at the Memphis state fair looking for attention and notoriety the best way he knew how. Sputnik was looking for a fight.

He headed straight for the booth featuring TV tough guy Gene Barry who at the time was playing the part of Bat Masterson. When Sputnik got there, he tried his best to get close to the TV star, but there were bodyguards and security all over the place. There was no way he would have a shot at Gene Barry.

Sputnik was juiced up and wanted to fight somebody; that’s what he came here for. He looked around and found a cowboy and insulted him. The cowboy looked at Sputnik and said, “I know you, I watch you wrestle on TV all the time. I ain’t going to fight you.”

Not easily dissuaded, Sputnik insulted the cowboy’s wife. The cowboy still wouldn’t fight the great professional wrestler. He said, “You’re just trying to sucker me into trying you.”

Sputnik turned around and punched the cowboy’s horse in the nose. In a second, the cowboy was all over Sputnik and a hell of a fight broke out and was busted up by Memphis Police.

According to Sputnik, the only reason (he) got a lick on him was because cowboy blind sided him and he didn’t expect it. Sputnik challenged him to come to the arena on Monday night and face him in the ring on TV. There, Sputnik could atone for his embarrassment. The cowboy’s answer came back. “I know Sputnik Monroe let me stay with him at the fair so he could sucker me into the ring in front of all the wrestling fans and humiliate me. No way, I am not going to get in the ring with Sputnik Monroe; he’s too tough for me.””

The Rise Of Sputnik

Sputnik’s attitude and flamboyance, coupled with his attitude towards the South’s Jim Crow laws, quickly turned him into the biggest heel in the territory to a large segment of the Memphis population. To another group, however, he became a hero.

Wrestling had been down in Memphis and segregation wasn’t helping the problem. The lower bowl of the Ellis Auditorium, the section deemed as “whites only”, was regularly empty. This didn’t improve much when Monroe arrived. The small area where blacks were allowed to sit, however, was always packed to capacity to see Sputnik do his thing. Understanding how ridiculous the segregation laws were (while also understanding how empty seats hurt his wallet), Monroe decided to do something about it. He started by bribing the ticket sellers to oversell the area of the upper bowl of the auditorium. They complied, selling close to a thousand extra seats to black fans.

Promoter Roy Welch was incensed, leading to Monroe upping the ante one more time. Staring down Welch, the police and the owners of the auditorium, Sputnik said he would not wrestler should the fans be forced to leave the show. “There were a couple of thousand blacks outside wanting in. So I told management I’d be cutting out if they don’t let in my black friends. I had the power because I’m selling out the place, the first guy that ever did, and they damn sure wanted the revenue.” Welch backed down (or was complicit, depending on who tells the tale). From there on out, Monroe would not wrestle on integrated shows. The result: the name Sputnik Monroe came to carry far more weight than simply that of a champion pro wrestler.

It wasn’t long before the white youth of Memphis embraced Sputnik as well. Said Monroe, “There was a group of wealthy white kids that dug me because I was a rebel. I’m saying what they wanted to say, only they were just too young or inexperienced or afraid to say it. You have a black maid raising your kids and she’s talking about me all of the time, so I may not be in the front living room, but I’m going in the back door of your goddamn house, feeding your kids on Monday morning and sending ’em to school. And meeting the bus when they come home. Pretty powerful thing.”

Memphis wrestling exploded. Shows that barely drew prior his arrival were now selling out. According to John Dougherty, a retired Memphis radio disc jockey, “When (Sputnik) came to Memphis, wrestling shows were averaging 300 people a night. By the time he started wrestling, 7,000 people were coming out to see him. He could’ve run for mayor and could’ve been elected. That’s how big he was in this town.”

Memphis sportscaster Johnny Black echoed the DJ, claiming, “If you would have had some kind of election about who was the best-known face in Memphis at that time – Sputnik, Elvis or the mayor – Sputnik would have been real close to Elvis.”

Thanks for reading Part 1 of a 2-part post on the legend of Sputnik Monroe. Tune in next Wednesday for the exciting conclusion, “same Bat-time, same Bat-channel”!

Memphis Wrestling History: Cards, Matches and Results 1970-1985

Rags, Paper and Pins: The Merchandising of Memphis Wrestling

Sputnik, Masked Men, & Midgets: The Early Days of Memphis Wrestling

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Called The “Jackie Robinson Of The Wrestling Industry”, Sweet Daddy Siki Broke Down Walls And Became A Star

Ahahaha! You shoulda seen what the Cuban Assassin and I did to Archie Gouldie and Steven Pettipas last week! We beat ’em up so bad! Now they have the nerve to wanna have a street fight? Well, I’m gonna tell you one thing, Archie Gouldie: the Cuban and I grew up on street fights! – Sweet Daddy Siki

On March 23rd, 1985, Memphis television was treated to a surprise appearance by a charismatic man known around the wrestling world as Sweet Daddy Siki. A week earlier, the dastardly Tux Newman had helped Randy Savage steal the AWA Southern Heavyweight Title from Jerry “The King” Lawler; Sweet Daddy was brought in by Newman to ensure Savage held on to the belt. But a funny thing happened on the way from Point A to Point B: Newman got on the mic and referred to Siki as his “boy”.

Making his way to the interview area where Lawler, Newman and Lance Russell were arguing, Sweet Daddy turned on Tux, admitting though it might cost him his run in Memphis, no man was gonna call him “boy”. A bemused Lawler rolled with the apparent adlib, saying he’d talk to promoter Eddie Marlin and smooth everything over. Siki destroyed a contract Newman waved in his face, sending the manager running, then hopped in the ring in his street clothes and made short work of Mr. X, winning the crowd over in under a minute. Just like that, Sweet Daddy Siki, as he had in every other territory he ever worked, got himself over in a very big way.

California Dreamin’

Sweet Daddy got his start in the wrestling business in 1955 between the ages of 15-17 years old, working in New Mexico after being trained in California by Ray Ortega and multi-time regional champion Sándor Szabó. Around this time, he supposedly spent some time in the military fighting in the Korean War (calling into question his actual date of birth). The Montgomery, Texas native made his first trip to Canada in December of ‘56, foreshadowing a permanent move to the country. Still going by his real name, Reggie Siki, he spent much of the next year and a half splitting time between the Vancouver and Oregon territories, feuding with Nick Kozak for several months.

Siki made his way back to California during the summer of 1958, attending college for a time and working for NWA Los Angeles (also called NWA Hollywood). Cal and Aileen Eaton (the mother of Gene and Mike LeBell) founded the promotion under the banner of the NWA, but split from the governing body once it was discovered Cal hadn’t paid any NWA member dues since 1955. Siki was the NWA International Television Champion at the time of the renaming, holding the title for a little over three months before dropping it to Mr. Moto at the Olympic Auditorium.

At this time, Siki struggled to make ends meet. He was working, sure, but often for little to no money. He has said it wasn’t uncommon to eat from dumpsters and sleep outside due to a lack of funds.

Sweet Daddy Is Born

Shortly after his stint in California, Siki returned to Canada, working for Eddie Quinn’s NWA Montreal for a few months. This is a particularly important time in his history as it was when Reggie Siki began going by the name Sweet Daddy, the name by which he would come to be known across the wrestling world.

After a five month stay in Columbus, Ohio with the Midwest Wrestling Association, which started at the beginning of 1960, Sweet Daddy took his show on the road. Using Toronto as his base, the city he calls home to this day, Siki spent the next 19 months working in several territories, including Chicago, New York and the Carolinas. Sweet Daddy became a main event player, engaging in short feuds with legendary figures like Giant Baba, Eddie Graham and Mark Lewin, but it was a run of matches against one of the greatest heavyweight champions of all time that would send his fame into the stratosphere.

The Nature Boy

By the summer of 1961, Sweet Daddy had already had several singles and tag matches with and against the NWA Worlds Heavyweight Champion “Nature Boy” Buddy Rogers. The two men had a special chemistry in the ring together and Rogers was keenly aware of this fact. Because of their in-ring spark (and each man’s drawing power), on July 15, 1961, it is believed Sweet Daddy Siki became the first black man to wrestle for the Worlds Title.

The match, however, was not without controversy. Hearing about the event, the Ku Klux Klan showed up to protest. Threats were made, but Buddy and Sweet Daddy were undeterred. It would not be Siki’s only run-in with the Klan either, as him being married to a white woman elicited multiple threats from the hate group throughout his storied career.

The match with the “Nature Boy” wasn’t a one-off. Between July and October, Siki would have three more championship matches against Rogers, and though he’d come up short on each occasion, Siki didn’t need a belt to make him look like a star. The man had become bigger than any championship he could win.

Coming Home

Sweet Daddy’s run with Rogers led him back to Texas for a string of matches throughout the state. On February 22nd, 1963, with his status as a main event wrestler now etched in stone, he defeated Rip Hawk in Houston for the NWA Texas Heavyweight Championship. The two men wrestled again two weeks later at the “World Famous” Sportatorium in Dallas, this time in a Two out of Three Falls Match. Again, Sweet Daddy came out on top. This set up a run with the strap that lasted the entirety of his time in Texas (a little over two months), dropping it to his sometime tag partner Sailor Art Thomas before returning to Canada in April (but not before wrestling a 90 minute draw in Dallas against Lou Thesz, then the NWA Worlds Heavyweight Champion).

Coming Home (Again)

Back in his adopted home of Toronto, Sweet Daddy planted his flag, spending much of the next two years in Canada, working for Stu Hart’s Big Time Wrestling (also called Wildcat Wrestling and Stampede Wrestling) and Frank Tunney’s Maple Leaf Wrestling. During this stretch, Sweet Daddy became the biggest name in Canada. Bleaching his hair, donning sunglasses and elaborate capes and robes, Siki turned himself into “the ladies’ pet and the men’s regret”. According to Rocky Johnson, Siki was “the guy you loved to hate. The Muhammad Ali of that era” of pro wrestling.

Yet another NWA Worlds Heavyweight Championship match took place for Siki during this era, when he battled Killer Kowalski in July of ‘64 in a Two out of Three Falls Match. Coming out on the losing end did nothing to cap his steam, however, as he remained a top draw throughout North America for the next several years, winning a handful of regional titles and feuding with the likes of Abdullah the Butcher, Bobo Brazil and Dave Ruhl. He even found time to record a couple of albums of country music hits and return to Stu Hart’s territory to wrestle a bear. The bear won both altercations.

Passing On His Knowledge

As Sweet Daddy got into his mid-forties, he began taking fewer and fewer bookings abroad, preferring to stay local and spend time singing with his country band and at his local karaoke bar. After a 2-month tour of Japan near the end of ’84, Sweet Daddy made his way to Memphis for his final big territory stay, his now infamous run in Jerry Jarrett’s CWA.

Back in Toronto, Siki had begun training new wrestlers as well. He opened a wrestling school with Canadian wrestling legend Johnny Powers called the Johnny Powers/Sweet Daddy Siki Academy of Professional Wrestling. Siki has quoted as saying, “We will teach you how to wrestle clean and we’ll teach you how to wrestle dirty”. One of his first students, Ron Hutchison, spent ’85-’86 as one of WWF’s main enhancement talents when the company ran shows in Canada. He wrestled matches against some of the biggest names of the era, including Bret Hart, Randy Savage, and “Mr. 1derful” Paul Orndorff.

With his in-ring career winding down, Siki partnered with Hutchison and opened another school called Sweet Daddy Siki and Ron Hutchison’s School of Wrestling. Even without the flashy robes and boisterous promos, he continued to give back to professional wrestling, having a hand in the training of WWE Hall of Famer Adam “Edge” Copeland. His work with Hutchison also led to the training of Christian, Trish Stratus, Gail Kim, Beth Phoenix, Traci Brooks and several others.

A Quiet (Unless He’s Singing) Legend

Sweet Daddy’s influence on the following generations cannot be overstated. His persona was everything guys like “Superstar” Billy Graham and Jesse “The Body” Ventura would emulate to becomes legends in their own right. Bret “Hitman” Hart has been open about his love and respect for “Mr. Irresistible”, saying, “When I was trying to find myself (as a wrestler), the first character I thought of was Sweet Daddy Siki.”

These days, the 80-year-old Siki is content to sing in his local karaoke bar and enjoy his “rocking years”. His bleached blonde hair remains, as do the massive shoulders for which he was famous. He’s a kind man, far more likely to give of himself than take from another, but make no mistake about it, a bigger-than-life heel remains inside of him. Throw one of his old capes around him or get him anywhere near a wrestling ring and Sweet Daddy is born again.

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Gino Hernandez’s Star Burned Bright, But His Vices Cost Him Everything

Chavo Guerrero, crying about how “I spent two years of my life away from my family to achieve winning this belt in Tokyo, Japan.” Well, Chavo, like the saying goes, “A fool loses tomorrow reachin’ back for yesterday”. So, Chavo, you’re an idiot and Paul Boesch, you’re an idiot for making me defend this title in a rematch! – Gino Hernandez

“Gorgeous” Gino Hernandez was everything a wrestling promoter could possibly want in ‘bad guy’. At 28 years old, he’d already spent close to a dozen years in professional wrestling, working in several territories as both a babyface and a heel. With “movie star” looks and charisma, coupled with a larger than personality and promos than were drenched in a brash cockiness, Gino had the look of the total package. What hid beneath the tanned exterior, however, was a man careening down a mountain at a million per hour with no control of the wheel.

I have previously mentioned that I grew up on World Class Championship Wrestling, the Dallas based promotion that harbored the legendary Von Erich family. Born in 1977, I came to know professional wrestling during a boom period for WCCW, witnessing, firsthand, the prime years of several legendary figures in Texas wrestling, including Kerry and Kevin Von Erich, The Fabulous Freebirds, “Iceman” King Parsons and the aforementioned Gino Hernandez.

I was jumping feet first into pro wrestling fandom round about the same time Gino was making his way back to WCCW from the Joe Blanchard-led Southwest Champion Wrestling out of San Antonio. Hernandez was was coming off main event runs in both San Antonio and Houston, including winning the Southwest Champion Wrestling tag team titles five times between 1981-’83 with another dastardly heel: future Four Horseman member Tully Blanchard. As “The Dynamic Duo”, Gino and Tully had bloody feuds with the likes of Dick Slater, Wahoo McDaniel, Junkyard Dog and Ken Lucas, and were the biggest draw in San Antonio.

The Neon Lights Of Dallas

When Gino resurfaced in WCCW in ‘84, he immediately made enemies of the crowd and resumed a feud with the Von Erichs that dated back to ‘78 when he warred with David Von Erich over the NWA Texas Heavyweight Championship. After David’s unfortunate death in Japan in February of ‘84, a tournament was held to crown a new heavyweight champion. Hernandez beat the “The Nature Boy” Ric Flair in the finals of the tournament, winning the championship and carrying it for 401 days. It was the 5th of his 6 reigns as Texas Heavyweight Champion.

During the last half of ‘84, he paired with Nickla Roberts (who not only had a childhood crush on Hernandez, but would go on to even greater fame as Baby Doll, the valet for his old tag partner, Tully Blanchard), the two got into a heated feud with Mike Von Erich and Sunshine, resulting in a series of mixed tag matches. This included a brawl between Gino, Nickla, Mike and Stella Mae French (with Sunshine in their corner) at WCCW’s first Wrestling Star Wars event at the Cotton Bowl on October 27th, 1984.

After dropping the heavyweight title to Brian Adias in September of ‘85., Gino concentrated on previously formed tag teams with both Jake “The Snake” Roberts and “Gentleman” Chris Adams. The three men also worked together in 6-man tag matches versus the Von Erichs, but it was the combination of Hernandez and Adams, the longtime popular babyface Brit turned superkicking bad guy, that truly captured the hate and vitriol of the Dallas crowds. Again using the name “The Dynamic Duo”, Gino fed off Adams, taking his cockiness to a whole new level. He and Adams (who previously had been embroiled in a hot feud with Kevin Von Erich) redoubled their efforts against the brothers, feuding with the family for the better part of 7 months.

The pair filmed interviews in custom suits, sitting in expensive sports cars and bragging about their extravagant lives. According to legendary manager “Playboy” Gary Hart, at least where Gino was concerned, it wasn’t an act: “Gino was the kind of guy that always drove the best cars, wore the best clothes, had the best watches and went with the best women”.

The Dynamic Duo’s time together culminated in a huge blow off at the Cotton Bowl, where they lost a Hair Match against Kerry and Kevin Von Erich. I still remember belly laughing at the sight of Hernandez being carried back into the ring to get his head shaved after he’d tried to escape. Shortly thereafter, the Dynamic Duo split, with Gino turning on Adams, ultimately blinding him with “Freebird hair cream”, a hair removal product used by “Freebird” Buddy Roberts in ‘83 during his feud with King Parsons.

Flying Too Close To The Sun

With Chris Adams a top babyface once again (and Hernandez as hot as ever as a heel), the stage was set for them to have a much needed big angle for WCCW. Business was down after David’s passing and the company needed a fresh, hot angle to goose the territory. Sadly, the feud never reached its apex. After missing a couple of house shows, several phone calls were placed to his apartment. On February 5th, 1986, after hearing nothing from Gino, booker David Manning sent World Class official Rick Hazzard to the wrestler’s apartment. After getting no answer at the door, Hazzard jumped a wall to look into a window on the bedroom side of the apartment. He saw a set of feet on the floor, peeking out from just beyond the bed. Calls were made and Hazzard, along with local law enforcement and Gino’s manager, Walter Aymen, entered the Highland Park apartment. Their worst fears became a reality; Gino Hernandez was dead. He was just 28 years old.

Initially, Hernandez’s death was treated as a homicide case. A loaded gun was found near Gino, but no drugs were found on site. Hazzard supposedly told Manning when he discovered Gino’s sugar bowl of cocaine, he flushed it before the police found it. Following the autopsy report, his death was ruled as an accidental cocaine overdose.

Telephone, Telegram, Tell-a-wrestler

In pro wrestling, however, nothing is cut and dry. Though it is true Gino’s issues with cocaine ultimately cost him his life, many within the industry weren’t convinced he’d overdosed. Kevin Von Erich has said Hernandez was convinced someone was trying to kill him, even going so far as to purchase a gun for protection. David Manning backs up Kevin’s claims, saying Gino told him he needed a gun because he was being followed.

“It wasn’t like it was a secret that Gino did drugs. From smokin’ dope to cocaine to uppers and downers; it was the ‘70s and ‘80s and we all did it (but) I never saw Gino Hernandez out of control on drugs,” said Bruce Prichard, who spent years with Gino working for Paul Boesch in Houston.

Gossip flew around with reckless abandon. One claim had Gino owing money on a gambling debt. Another rumor, and perhaps the most ridiculous, was that Chris Adams had killed Hernandez for blinding him. One rumor that seemingly had meat on the bone, however, was that Gino had gotten sideways with a Houston drug dealer. Gino’s mother, Patrice Aguirre, says she remembers when a man named John Royal came to her home and, in front of Gino’s sister said, “Gino owed me a lot of money, but don’t you worry about it. I’m gonna pay for his funeral.” Royal also spoke at Gino’s funeral, giving a eulogy Bruce Prichard has described as, “just weird”.

Furthering the suspicion of foul play, Gino’s apartment had a deadbolt on the front door which, according to Manning, Gary Hart and Aguirre, he always kept locked. Additionally, the coroner in charge of Gino’s autopsy reported the wrestler had five times the amount of cocaine in his system needed to kill him. The coroner’s report also stated Hernandez was Hispanic, morbidly obese and uncircumcised. None of these things were true. Aguirre and Gino’s ex-wife, Janice Bancroft, wondered if it was even Gino’s body the coroner had reviewed, ultimately deciding to not make waves out of fear for their families. Regardless, Aguirre maintains Hernandez’s death was no accidental overdose: “As a mother, I have a lot of questions that no one has ever answered for me.”

The Truth Will (Supposedly) Set You Free

John Royal, who in 2018 completed a 30 year sentence for drug trafficking disputes the claims he had anything to do with Hernandez’s murder, saying, “Gino didn’t owe me any money. I was with him until 1 o’clock in the morning the night he died. We were at a club and he was in a good mood, buying a lot of drinks and drinking a lot. I assume he was doing some drugs. Then he left with some airline stewardesses and that’s the last time I saw him alive.”

A fellow trafficker (who chose to remain anonymous) spoke to the creators of the show “Dark Side of the Ring” during the making of the documentary “The Mysterious Death of Gorgeous Gino”, stating he and Hernandez were part of a group of drug runners. Unfortunately, he said, he believes Gino’s own drinking and drug abuse got the best of him.

Fact is often stranger than fiction, but in this instance, odds are good Gino died exactly how the coroner said he died. Considering the times, it’s not all that shocking there are inaccuracies in the autopsy. Are Gino’s claims of being followed and of people wanting him dead legitimate? Perhaps, but it’s also just as likely he was suffering from cocaine psychosis and his paranoia stemmed from the increased drug abuse.

Are there plenty of unanswered questions? Of course, but one thing that isn’t up for questioning is Gino’s level of talent as a pro wrestler. In his short career, Hernandez main evented in Detroit, Houston, San Antonio, Japan and Dallas. Tully Blanchard has said he tried to get him to come to the Carolinas, where he undoubtedly would have found his way at or near the top of the card. He was just that good. As Gary Hart once said, “Gino was a lost soul, but was he was everything you could ever want (in a pro wrestler)”.

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The Night Skandor Akbar Made Me Rich

Sign the contract, put yourself in that squared circle and prepare to get mashed, mauled and maimed, because the General is coming to town with Devastation, Incorporated! – “General” Skandor Akbar

I was 12 years old the first and only time my dad took me to the “World Famous” Sportatorium in Dallas. After having seen the World Class Championship Wrestling shows on television for so many years, and having only been to one other live wrestling event, a WCCW show at my 3rd grade gym in 1985, the idea of seeing guys like Kerry & Kevin Von Erich and “Gentleman” Chris Adams live and in person had me more than a little fired up.

I wish I could remember the exact date of the show but I do remember it was in 1989, very likely right before WCCW folded and was sold off to Jerry Jarrett and the USWA Promotion. I’d always been a huge Mid-South and World Class fan, always preferred the stiffer wrestling style to the more ‘Hollywood’ style the WWF was doing at that time, and I’d been pushing for my dad to take me to a show for years.

Walking up to the Sportatorium from the parking lot was eye-opening, to say the least, as it was nothing like how it was depicted on television. Located in the heart of Dallas, off Industrial Blvd., the legendary sports arena had fallen into a state of disrepair, a fact that did not go unnoticed by any of our travelling party. Once inside, our group, consisting of myself, my dad and a couple of his buddies (one of whom was former Texas Rangers catcher Geno Petralli) picked up a few beverages and some popcorn and took our seats about halfway up the bleachers. We also grabbed some french fries while at the concession stand, a particularly funny truth considering years later it was said that once the Sportatorium was closed and the fryers were finally emptied out, several rats were found stuck to the bottom, hidden from view by years of old, unchanged cooking oil. Regardless, those were tasty fries, and hey, I’m likely impervious to rabies!

Heatseekers In The Stands

As the matches got up and running, my dad and his buddies decided to cheer for all the heels, a decision that did not go over particularly well with the hardcore “rasslin’” fans in attendance. While I only recall a few of the wrestlers on the bill that night, I can remember quite clearly the old man sitting in front of us exclaiming, “You boys are booin’ the wrong guys. That can get you hurt around here.” This was real life to those fans; they were not playing around.

Some time passed, with all of us having a good go of it, laughing and booing and messing around with some of the other folks around us, most of whom actually proved to be good sports about the whole thing. Then Skandor Akbar walked to the ring, leading his stable, Devastation Inc.

Perhaps it was his gimmick that so incited the old school fans (and/or his penchant for throwing fireballs in the face of babyface wrestlers). Maybe it was little more than all those years he’d spent on the other side of the ring from “our boys”, The Von Erichs. Whatever it was, he was as hated as hated could be with the Dallas crowd. They legitimately despised him and he played it for all it was worth. As he stalked a path back and forth at ringside, chomping away on one of his cigars, the crowd took on an entirely different energy. It was at this moment that one of my dad’s buddies, himself a stogie chewer, said to me, “I’ll give you $50 if you’ll walk down there and hand that guy one of my cigars.” $50 was a weekend of mowing lawns in the hot Texas summer. He’d barely finished his sentence before I was on my way down the bleachers, cigar in hand.

That Was A Lot Of Food!

If you’ve never seen the layout around the ring of the old Sportatorium, there were no big, fancy barricades like what you might see at a WWE show; just a single piece of rope, strung up to separate the crowd from the wrestlers. So, I’m there by the rope trying my best to get Akbar’s attention, but of course, he’s paying me no mind because everyone else is yelling at him too. As the match continued on, Akbar began to pace back and forth, finally spotting me as he turned to say something to the crowd. When my eyes met his I held the cigar out and yelled, “It’s for you, take it.“ In one motion, he tossed away his old cigar, grabbed the one in my hand, bit a piece off the end and popped it in his mouth, before turning back around to yell at the referee in the ring.

I stood there for a moment, still shocked he’d actually taken the cigar, then turned to look up at my dad and his friends. What I saw, however, was not their smiling faces. Instead, I locked in on a very angry crowd, and they were all looking right back at me. A trickle of boos became a wave, which made me laugh, nervously. After a moment, thinking the worst had passed, I went to take a step back up the bleachers to my seat, only to find that step met with a beer shower, followed by the contents of what felt like the entire Sportatorium concession stand area. I was being pelted from all sides and I was honestly loving every second of it. There I was, a 12 year old kid, and for one night only, I had become the biggest heel in that wonderfully dilapidated old arena.

After a few seconds, the food throwing subsided and I made my way back up the bleachers to my dad and his friends. They all had a good laugh. The old man sitting in front of us had a nice laugh at my expense as well. The matches from that night have long since faded from my mind, a byproduct of time (and way too many “late nights”), but that moment with “The General” and the subsequent food bath I received for my treachery remains as fresh as any memory I hold dear.

That $50 spent pretty well, too.

Kerry Von Erich Texas Tornado T-shirt

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