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Original Date of Publication: March 29, 2007 |
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I
was conducting an on-camera interview with my long-time friend and
2007 WWE Hall of Fame inductee Nick Bockwinkle. We were discussing
the “good old days” of professional wrestling – specifically the
late 1970s and early 1980s. The wrestling business was very
different then than it is now. “When people would say, ‘Isn’t
wrestling fake?’” Nick admitted, “I would say, ‘Well, step right
up! I will give you a fake bodyslam. In fact, I’ll give you a
fifty-percent discount. Instead of slamming you from six feet, I’ll
only slam you from three feet.’ I would make a believer of them
real quickly. It was a brutal business.”
Before the wrestling business evolved (or "devolved," depending on
your point of view) into what it is today, we took our sport very
seriously, and we “protected the business.” If a “fan” said,
“You’re mother’s a prostitute and you’re a mistake,” (usually in
coarser language) we’d simply smile internally and respond with
something like, “Oh, my goodness. Now my secret is out. Oh, I
certainly hope you don’t let anyone else know.” Especially for us
“bad guy” wrestlers, receiving insults from the fans was a good
thing; it meant that we were doing our jobs well. However, when a
fan would say, “Wrestling’s fake,” we took it personally. “Oh
really?” we’d respond. “Want to
step into the ring and find out for sure?” Of course, most of the
fans would cower, but occasionally one would actually accept the
challenge. The professional, or course, would make short work of
the fan, taking just enough time to ensure a major attitude
adjustment was accomplished and the fan was hurt and humiliated.
Oftentimes the fan would have a broken bone and/or be bleeding by
the time he left the ring. It wasn’t uncommon for the “victim” to
need assistance to exit the arena. And, still, every once in a
while, some crazy fan would “challenge” a professional wrestler. I
don’t know of any wrestler who ever turned down a challenge from a
fan. No matter how good the fan thought he was – regardless of
whether he was a collegiate wrestling champion, Marine drill
instructor, or martial arts master – the professional wrestler made
an example of him in the ring.
Oftentimes when I wrestled, I would create such hostile feelings
(“heat”) that someone from the audience would approach the ring. On
dozens of occasions, I found myself holding open the ring ropes for
the threatening fan to enter. Most of those threatening people were
very large and just intoxicated enough to make them mean and
stupid. I would look directly into their eyes and say, “Come right
in. This ring is my home. This is my world. Once you step through
those ropes, you belong to me, and your stupid drunk friends will
have to carry you away.” Those sincere words were like a pitcher of
ice water thrown into the face of the misguided individual. He
would usually “get it” and quickly back down. When I was in the
ring, few people doubted the fact that I was in control. I’m proud
to say that I never seriously hurt a fan. I never broke a bone. I
felt as though I could “discipline” the “challenger” and make my
point without doing any serious or permanent damage. I seem to have
been the exception to the rule in the world-within-a-world of
professional wrestling.
Fans
were well-advised not to mess with any of the professional
wrestlers, especially someone like my extremely intelligent,
brilliantly talented, and very tough friend Nick Bockwinkle. “The
wrestling business was exciting,” Nick said as we continued our
televised interview. “It was colorful. The personalities were
outstanding. I thought it was just terrific. Yes, I hobble and
I’ve got two bad knees and a terrible ankle. But a lot of people
who didn’t do what I did, who didn’t have the fun and the travel and
everything that I had, they have bad knees and they have bad ankles,
too.” “And they don’t have the wonderful memories that you have,” I
added. “That’s true,” Nick said. “And,” I continued, “they were
not able to live that wonderful life that we lived.”
“Oh, there are times …” Nick continued, “If you get two or three of
us sitting together and we start telling stories, well, some of the
stories are just
so wild and off-the-wall. They’re not degenerate or bad or anything
of that nature; predominately they’re just off-the-wall and unusual
and different and not what mainstream America would ever have a
chance to do.” “What about writing a book?” I asked. “People say
that a lot to me: ‘You should write a book.’ I say, ‘Why don’t we
get about three or four of the guys together, we sit down together,
and we all four write the book at that moment?’ “Wow, that’s an
amazing idea!” I said with a slight look of astonishment on my face.
I had thought of the same scenario months ago. I was going to get
five or six of the guys together and work on what I knew would be an
amazing book. In fact, I had already begun a series of
conversations with “one of the guys” months earlier that was laying
the foundation for the book.
It
was amazing to hear Nick explain to me an idea that I already
thought was wonderful. “As the guys would talk,” Nick continued,
“all of the things would come out. Everybody remembers something a
little more than someone else does.” I nodded my head in
agreement. “That’s what’s so nice about the yearly Cauliflower
Alley Club events,” he continued. “You get to see a lot of the old
friends and conjure up all sorts of tons of old memories.” I was
inspired. I looked directly at Nick and enthusiastically suggested,
“Let’s get five or six of the guys together, record it, and write
that book!” Nick smiled. “It would be good!” he said. “Oh,” I
interjected, “It would be very, very good!”
The idea began to gel in my head. “We’ll talk over the phone to
set things in motion,” I thought. “Then we’ll select a
location where we can all meet for a week or so. Maybe it
will be Vegas, maybe Hawaii. No matter where it is, it will be
great. We’ll professionally video and audiotape the entire event.
We’ll talk for hours, for days, and we’ll produce an outstanding
book on professional wrestling the way it used to be. We’ll come up
with a great title and a great subtitle – something
like
‘When Wrestling Was Real’ – and it will be six times better than a
book written by and based on the personal experiences of one
wrestler only.” At that moment something caught my eye. It was
our director of photography, Peter Redford, moving his index finger
in a circular motion. That was my sign to “wrap up the interview.”
I looked at Nick Bockwinkle, shook his hand, and said, “Nick, it is
such a pleasure seeing you again and such a pleasure knowing you.
You were such a tremendous asset to the wrestling business; I just
wanted to publically
say ‘Thank you!’” Nick knew I was totally sincere. He smiled and
said, “Thank you!” Until next week, keep those e-mails coming.
