Excerpts from St Louis Snapshots

Following are a few excerpts from some of my favorite chapters:


BIRTH OF A RASSLIN' FAN

It is quite possible my first exposure to the realm of grunts and groans was provided by my grandmother Gail, the Lillian Carter of our family nut farm. Her particular twist on watching "rasslin" would have shocked Rod Serling: she would turn on Wrestling at the Chase on Sunday morning, turn down the TV volume and watch Harley Race, Pat O'Connor, Dick "The Bruiser" and Gene Kiniski beat each other to a pulp while listening to the broadcast of the religious services at Grace United Methodist Church on her transistor radio!

I know some churches hit it pretty hard but this tops even snake passing!


TOUGH ENOUGH

When the talk turns to intestinal fortitude, one match comes to mind. The night was March 6, 1981. One of the main events pitted Missouri State Champion Ted DiBiase against challenger "Big John" Studd.

The match was proceeding as expected when Studd whipped DiBiase into the corner turnbuckles. Ever the showman, Ted leaped in the air and, as his back hit the corner, snapped the upper half of his body backwards. He was too enthusiastic.

His head made a direct impact with the top of the ringpost. He fell back into the ring and dropped to his knees. Suddenly, a shocking wave of crimson flowed down over his face onto the mat. This was no slice with a razor blade, no powder from a capsule. He had sustained an enormous gash on his scalp. Studd wasted no time in kicking him out to the floor to give him a chance to recover. Ted told me Studd wanted to end the match right there but DiBiase refused.

Ted was on the floor over five minutes, trying to collect himself. Then, as though it was just another rally from behind, Ted climbed back into the ring and wrestled nearly 10 more minutes! He eventually won the bout with his figure four leglock.


HELLO KIEL......AND GOODBYE

On March 15, 1974, armed with my very first Kiel press pass, I strolled majestically (as much as possible for an overweight teenager) down to the ring and set up shop for the night's action.

My editors had been particularly interested in the closing tag bout between Pat O'Connor and Dick "The Bruiser" versus the unlikely duo of Harley Race and Terry Funk. Since Race had lifted the World crown from Terry's brother, this combination seemed a bit odd. And I had a lot of trouble getting anything usable, as Funk and Race simply would not stand together. I did get a shot of them after the bout but they looked more like opponents than partners.

I sold photos from four of the bouts....the editors were ecstatic....I was euphoric and certain I had arrived. As my wife would say today, I thought I was all that and a bag of potato chips.

In the rush of enthusiasm and cloud of ignorance in which I operated that night, I had unwittingly burned my bridge while I was standing on it. Without thought to the consequences and so full of myself it was alarming, I started acting like a horse's patoot. On several occasions I stood to get a better picture and blocked the view of paying customers in the process. Understandably, they were not altogether pleased and shouted at me to sit down. I responded by turning to them and yelling at them to shut up. Any hoped-for career in diplomacy probably went down the drain right then and there.

Even worse, to attract one of the wrestler's attention, I slammed my hand several times on the mat--while the match was in progress. To say the least, the St. Louis Wrestling Club wanted nothing more to do with me and wasted no time in communicating this to the New York magazine office. To my astonishment, I was out of a job before the aroma of my first paycheck had dissipated!


BOB BACKLUND

Bob Backlund, "The Princeton Powerhouse" as Larry Matysik called him, became a very good friend during his initial run. He was the first grappler I spent quality time with away from the Kiel.

The man was always in phenomenal condition and he worked hard at maintaining it. The most enduring pain I ever suffered in connection with professional wrestling was thanks to Bob. The local Y.M.C.A. was located downtown, not far from the Warwick. One Saturday, Bob took me with him as he headed for a workout.

Although I was reasonably agile for my size, the truth is I was a fat kid and in lousy shape. What in the name of David Pearlstone made me think I could keep up with Bob?

Bob's favorite exercise routine involved jumping deep knee bends and a deck of cards. He would squat to his ankles, then jump up and backwards to his feet, then forward and back down to his ankles. This constituted one knee bend. He hauled out his cards and placed them face down on a nearby table. He turned over the top card. If it was a three, he would do three knee bends. If it was a seven, he performed a like number of bends. A face card meant ten jumps and an ace called for 11. He would proceed through the deck in this fashion. This means that, assuming one bypasses the jokers, he did 380 knee bends per session.

Like a complete fool, I decided to do the routine with him. I don't remember how long I lasted but he wasn't impressed! Had I been playing poker, I would have drawn my usual threes, fours and sixes. I never saw a hand like this at the gaming table--replete with Kings, Queens and Jacks. When he turned over the third consecutive Ace, I wimped out.

But the memory stayed with me. I was so thoroughly stove up the next day I could barely walk. I remember it well because my stepfather chose that day to commission a family portrait. For years, I passed that picture on the wall, considered my expression of repressed agony, and remembered. I saw Bob execute this ritual many more times through the years but I never again chose to accompany him.


DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY

I will admit it--I was scared to death of Dick "The Bruiser." I had read too many press clippings about his destroying bars, pummeling civilians and thrashing photographers. I always gave him a wide berth until that fateful night when he became Missouri State Champion for the first time.

It was July 14, 1978. Dick Murdoch was defending his championship against Bruiser. The crowd, only 6,728, expected yet another disqualification. Only 9:10 into the match Bruiser pinned Murdoch with an atomic drop and stomach claw. All the blood drained from my face as I realized what was next.

I would need a photo of the new champion with his belt. As I proceeded to the back, I offered farewells to my friends along the way, fearful, that the next time I saw them, I would be taking meals through a vein after having my camera surgically removed from my hindquarters. But I was determined to try.

When Bruiser came through, as my legs were quaking like Jello on a jackhammer, I asked him to pause for a photo. To my amazement he stopped, put the title belt around his waist, parked himself in front of a pair of trash cans and posed. I rushed to record my pictures, even brazenly scurrying to whisk the cans out from behind him for the third and final attempt.


FROM HERO TO ZERO

(Pat O'Connor) always seemed to be booked in places which insured his continued popularity. He did lengthy stints as a tag partner with black stars Rufus R. Jones and Bobo Brazil. He came out on top in a couple of wrestle royals, including one heavily trumpeted as the largest ever. He also conveniently scored deciding falls in a bunch of tag bouts in front of several big houses.

And in his "retirement match" on January 1, 1982, even The Checkerdome custodians knew going in he would beat Bob Sweetan. Pat used his sleeper hold to down the burly Louisianian.

He was supposed to retire as a wrestler and take over the promoter's job. Of course, he retired only in the eyes of St. Louis fans - he stayed active elsewhere. And this led to a bad situation for me. The Boy Scout troop I worked with in Jacksonville contracted with Bob Geigel's office to stage a spot show in my home town as a fundraiser. And what main event did we get? Roger Kirby vs. Pat O'Connor for the Central States title! This was August 7, 1982, eight months AFTER he had "retired." They should have listened to me when I told them this was all wrong--St. Louis wrestling was by far the most watched in our town. At that time, the Kansas City tapes played at midnight on Saturdays.

We had a really lousy crowd, made only $200.00 and all the locals were irked at me. Irritating me even further, they used the same finish to the O'Connor-Kirby bout I had seen on television in 1973!


FLASH FORWARD

(Dick) Murdoch was cheating, as usual, in this case grabbing the ropes for extra leverage. Every time the referee looked, Dick released the strand. I was sitting about three feet away with my camera pointed at him when a strange look crossed his face. When next he leaned down to grab the ropes, he whispered very softly, "Flash me."

I was taken back, having never before been asked to be involved. I assumed, correctly I think, he was not asking me to disrobe at ringside. So I stuck my camera under the ropes and right into his face and fired. He reacted like he'd been shot, released Funk, rolled out of the ring and made a funny bit out of trying to find me while he was blinded. Of course, on the odd chance I'd been mistaken, I pulled a Marlon Perkins maneuver--"While Jim stalks the raging rhinoceros, I move my raft downstream!" I got my ample backside out of there!


BEHIND THE STAGE DOOR

I often walked to the Kiel with Larry Matysik as he left Sam Muchnick's office in the Warwick Hotel. He would always enter the stage door while I would use one of the public entrances. One afternoon, he motioned for me to go through the stage entrance with him. The guard at the door passed us through (after carefully perusing my press ticket). Larry led me up some stairs, down a hallway and around a corner to a set of stairs leading up. He told me this was as far as I could go as the dressing rooms were on the next floor.

I began charting the territory. To the right of the stairs was a short hallway with two small rooms at the end, one on either side. A large number of my posed photographs taken through the years were shot against the blank wall at the end of this hallway. I often used one of those rooms as a place to recharge my flash unit before the main event. One night, I barged in on Betty Niccoli who had converted that area into her dressing room. Needless to say, I did not get any pictures of her--posed or otherwise!

Across the hall from the dressing room stairway was the entrance to the backstage area for the Opera House. Many, many nights as a wrestling show was being promoted, another production would be going on in the Opera House. Occasionally, talent and crew from these shows would wander over to our side and check out the wrestling. The most famous person I met in this manner was pop star Eddie Money who was both a wrestling enthusiast and, in my opinion, reeked of marijuana. My favorite Opera House offering was a staging of the play Annie which is still my favorite musical. I got to meet the gal playing the title role and the woman portraying Miss Hannigan. Animal lover that I am, I was disappointed I never got to shake paws with the dog!

To the left of the dressing room stairs was a doorway to a small room. I ventured into this room and walked through a short hallway on the far side. I stepped through the door at the end of the hallway and emerged in the Kiel arena--through that same door I so often had wondered about. There was a brief stir of interest among the fans who had already gathered but they soon realized I was no one of importance and went back to reading their programs and trying to flag down beer vendors.

I found additional places to pose wrestlers including the Opera House stage (when not in use, of course), the big hallway out near the public sector and one flight down in an area not being used. I remember asking Rufus R. Jones to stop for some photos but having to relocate because a couple of fellows were on the Opera House stage singing to 3500 empty seats. My recollection is the "quality" of their sound was such that the room might have been packed when they started. All I know for sure is Rufus beat a hasty retreat!


A MORNING WITH SAM MUCHNICK

I confess I would be far less nervous meeting the Pope than I was Sam Muchnick. The fact I was a wrestling enthusiast and not Catholic plays heavily into that assumption.

On October 19, 1979, Sam granted my request to spend the morning in his office and photograph him in his natural habitat. I have no idea why he agreed to this visit - he certainly did not require any publicity. Everyone who was anyone knew who Sam Muchnick was and the impact he had made on his profession.

If wrestling history was a tangible thing, something that could be entered, that is precisely what I felt I was doing as I stepped into his office at 9:55 a.m. He was pleased I was punctual. He then took me on a tour of his souvenirs and mementoes which spanned his (at that time) 47 years in the business. To say I was awestruck is an understatement indeed.