Kori's Column
2/13/11
The Legacy of Gorgeous George
Long before there were loud, flamboyant, pretty boy characters like The Miz, Larry Zbyszko, Larry Sweeney, Shawn Michaels, Ric Flair and the late Rick Rude, there was Gorgeous George, a man who set the tone for outrageous characters, and inspired a nation.Born George Raymond Wagner on March 24, 1915 in Butte, Nebraska, George would move around a lot as a child, with his parents. Starting near a farm in Nebraska, he would travel to Waterloo, Iowa, Sioux City, and finally Houston, Texas by the young age of 7. He grew up in a tough neighborhood full of bullies and seedy townsfolk, but he was able to make friends, and as a boy, he would train at the YMCA & stage matches with his friends. In today’s world, this would be considered backyard wrestling, but this was a day and age in which nobody would think about it.
In 1929, a 14 year old George Wagner dropped out of high school and took on many odd jobs to support his family. A born wrestling prodigy, Wagner started wrestling at carnivals. His biggest paychecks were only ¢.35, just enough for half a sandwich at the local deli during the Great Depression. One of the top regional promoters, Morris Siegel, began booking the boy wonder all over the place. By the age of 17, Wagner was becoming a star. However, it wasn’t until 1938 that the 5’9, 215 pound star, won his first title, The Northwest Middleweight title, from Buck Lipscomb. On May 19, 1939 he would take the Pacific Coast Light Heavyweight Championship as well. Wagner was considered to be too small to be an imposing threat to any of the wrestlers he faced. Most people underestimated his prowess in the ring, and his wins were considered to be flukes. But Wagner never let it bother him, and he carried on.
Before the close of the 1930’s, Wagner met Betty Hanson and soon he would marry her, in the ring. The real in-ring ceremony brought a HUGE crowd, tons of publicity, and was such a hit that promoters through to today still copy the lush festivities every so often. Around the same time that Betty was getting used to having “Mrs.” precede her name, George would find himself a copy of the latest issue of Vanity Magazine. In this issue was an article about another wrestler named Lord Patrick Lansdowne, a flamboyantly robed wrestler who would have two females escort him to the ring. The proverbial light bulb went off in George’s head and he decided to re-invent himself in a flashy style.
How 'Gorgeous George' came about is a story with many variants but this is the most commonly accepted tale, as it’s been posted on several wrestling sites and Wikipedia:
“In Portland, Oregon, Elizabeth “Betty” née Hanson, George’s wife, told Dean Higginbotham, the nephew of Betty's sister Evangeline “Eva,” how George got the name 'Gorgeous George'. In the early 1940s, George had a wrestling match at the Portland Oregon Armory. As he walked down the aisle to the ring, there were two mature women on his right, two rows back from the ring. One of the women loudly exclaimed: “Oh, isn’t he gorgeous.” That word “gorgeous” struck George and he immediately felt he had found his new professional persona. He would be “Gorgeous George.” Elsie Hanson, Betty’s mother, was a skilled seamstress. George asked Elsie to make him some resplendent capes that would accentuate his new persona. George wore those capes in all his future matches.”
A legend was born. The glamorous “Gorgeous George” debuted in 1941 in Eugene, Oregon. Fans despised the pretty boy and were quick to root for his opponent. George soon found himself in Los Angeles, where promoter Johnny Doyle helped George fine tune his character. George grew his locks long, dyed them platinum blonde, placed spray-painted golden bobby pins in his hair (George pins as they were later called), and dubbed himself “The Human Orchid”. He would also be the world’s first wrestler to have his own entrance music, which was the tune “Pomp and Circumstance”, adopted by “Macho Man” Randy Savage several decades later. George would also bring a valet and would enter the ring with a lavishly decorated robe, complete with sequins. He had his own red carpet, rolled out by another valet, Jeffries, who would also adorn the ringside area with fresh rose petals, and would place a mirror in front of George so he could check himself. George often had a soft, purple light which shone over the ring, and though you can’t tell by the black & white footage, many of his robes were bright pink, though he had a robe for every color of the rainbow.
Another thing that would annoy fans sitting at ringside was Jeffries' insistence upon disinfecting George and everything at ringside with Chanel #5(Though later it was changed to Chanel #10. “Why be half safe?” mused the colorful heel). “Win if you can, lose if you must, but always CHEAT” was George’s motto, which he lived by to the extreme. George would always find a way to sneak in weapons of all kinds, long before it was considered the norm to fight in such an extreme way. Referees were often met with a loud, “GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF ME!!” from a frantic George every time a boot was patted.
George would wrestle and dance his way through fights, pissing off wrestlers and fans alike. Once television became the top medium for wrestling, George stole the spotlight. While fans would threaten and even try to attack George outside of the ring, the media moguls of the day were praising the loudmouthed heel and soon George was a superstar, with his image on the cover of every magazine in America. The more loud and obnoxious he was, the more Hollywood listened. By the time he had made his official televised debut on November 11, 1947, George had perfected his wrestling ability. He was not just a gimmicked sports-entertainer, he was also a gifted wrestler who was still picking up new moves in his prime. Over the next few years, George traveled to the original AWA, NWA and many other promotions, where he would wrestle such names as Lou Thez, Enrique Torres and George’s soon to be arch nemesis, 'Whipper' Billy Watson. Celebrity comedian Bob Hope even donated several designer chic robes to George as his star continued to rise. When wrestling was once again allowed at Madison Square Garden after a 12 year exile - one cold night on February 22, 1949 - George was the main star. Within a year’s time from that event, George’s star power garnered him an unheard of $100,000 a year salary. George was not just the world’s top heel, he was the best paid, most expensive wrestler in the world. No other wrestler at that time had ever made even a quarter of what George would make off of ONE show.
George’s personal life however, was not without it’s pitfalls. George & Betty would adopt two children and in 1946, George sired (actual birth name) Gorgeous George, Jr. with his longtime mistress, Victoria. George & Betty later divorced, and in 1951, he married his second wife, Ms. Cherie Dupré, who later bore him a son, Gary. George would also battle a drinking problem, but this was mostly kept out of the public’s eye. George would carry on an amazing career until March 12, 1959, where luck began to run out on the still highly acclaimed heel. For it was on this night that George would lose his locks in a hair Vs. hair match against longtime rival 'Whipper' Billy Watson. 20,000 wrestling fans eagerly showed up EARLY to the Toronto Maple Leaf Garden, many armed with cameras, giddy to see the world’s loudest heel obtain his comeuppance. George left the arena in tears, humbled and shamed as magazines began to put the match to print.
Even as his time in the ring was drawing to a close, George carried on into the early 1960’s, wrestling a new crop of rookies. One such rookie, by the name of Bruno Sammartino, scored a well-loved victory over George. Later, George would lose his locks in a hair Vs. mask match against The Destroyer on November 7, 1962. Sadly, this would be George’s last match. That same year, George was diagnosed with a liver disorder brought about by drinking and some of the more risky moves George had done over the span of his career. Doctor’s prescription? Stop wrestling and slow down the drinking. Wagner had his own restaurant (Gorgeous George’s Ringside Restaurant) & turkey ranch, which cost him $250,000, but this & many other investments fell through and the once expensive wrestler was soon back down to the bare minimum of finances he had started with in his early teens.
On Christmas Eve, 1963, Gorgeous George suffered a heart attack. Two days later, he passed away, leaving behind an impressive legacy and four children who missed him greatly. George was only 48 years old. His children left a plaque by his grave which reads “Love to our Daddy, Gorgeous George”. Over the course of the next several years, many celebrities came out of the woodwork praising George for inspiring them. Such stars as James Brown, Muhammad Ali and Bob Dylan would all credit George’s flashy style for their own acts. Movies such as “The One and Only” were loosely based on his epic heeldom, and in 1951, Warner Brothers parodied him in the Bugs Bunny short “Bunny Hugged” as a tiny, blonde pretty boy who gets decimated by The Crusher.
In 2010, George’s first wife Betty inducted him into the WWE Hall Of Fame. Despite the divorce and all that had happened, it was clear that she still holds a huge spot in her heart for Mr. Wagner, and she spoke quite well of him. Though most of his matches have not been televised in 48 years, Gorgeous George’s image still lives on in many heels today, and certainly we have him to thank for the great lengths many wrestlers and their promotions go through to create the biggest and most memorable entrances possible. But few can outshine the Human Orchid, Gorgeous George.
Written on 3/2/10
Thank you Tommy Dreamer. ^_^ An Ode to the man from Yonkers.
Once upon a time, it was 1994. I was 7 years old and life was a daily nightmare. My dad moved me all over the East
Coast in pursuit of one piss-ass retail goal after another. Just one
measly year earlier, I was a happy Chicago girl who lived close to
family. But my dad was never happy in Chicagoland. Always wanted more. He worked retail for Lee-Wards, and in 1993 he was offered a
choice - stay in Chicago & be promoted next year, or move to Virginia & be promoted right now. He chose the latter, promising to move
us back in a year. All the while, he refused to let me live down how
expensive my brother & I were on him, how our clothes & our food put
such a damper on the family budget, and that if we didn’t exist, he
wouldn’t “have to” move the family out to Virginia.
I didn’t actually realize how much he was lying about our finances
until I was 18, when I learned that a majority of the cost of living was
NOT mine or my brother’s fault, but dad’s fault. Apparantly he had been
“entertaining” a string of other women behind Mama’s back, and had
tried to pawn the financial guilt off onto Orion and I. Nice going
there, pops! So I spent almost a year in the heavily-militarily based Virginia
Beach. My dad refused to let my mother homeschool me until I was 8, so I
went to a school out in Virginia Beach, which was filled with kids that
resented me. The children were jealous because I was the only little
girl, whose mother loved her enough to NOT force her into every
after-school program in existence, and the only girl who had BOTH
parents living with her full time. Everyone else had either one or both
parents working on a base somewhere. I was also picked on and teased
because I was the only mixed girl in class, and the smartest one. Not helping were my growth spurts. I was growing much faster than a
normal child, and my mom had me tested for gigantism. My tests always
came back negative, but I was growing at an alarming rate. (I reached my
adult height at age 12. At 5’4, my nickname at
school was “Gulliver”)
So here it was, the early Spring of 1994, I believe March. I was
pulled aside by a teacher from a class I never went to, on my way to
lunch. She pulled me into the teacher’s lounge and poked fun at me,
calling me a “freak” because I was a 7 year old and almost her size. I cried all the way home. My mom sat me in front of the TV, handed
me my favorite snack (cheese sandwich with Maggi) and we watched
wrestling together. Wrestling has a way of making everything
better. Initially that day, I watched WCW, then WWF right after, and I
saw other wrestlers like The Undertaker and Giant Gonzalez (El Gigante)
dealing with the same criticism I had faced in school. Seeing them cope
with being different made me feel better. But later that week, I would stumble upon something amazing.
I
don’t remember what channel this was, or even what time it was, but on a
fuzzy cable channel which NEVER came in clearly was an oddball
wrestling program called ECW. Mama and I sat closer to the TV, until we saw the picture clear up some. There in the ring, stood Tommy Dreamer. Sort
of lanky with a small frame, Dreamer looked more like the
average businessman next door than he did a wrestler. He wore
suspenders, had somewhat of a pretty boy image when not in regular
clothes, was poked fun at on a weekly basis, and at the time he was
involved with a program against Jimmy Snuka, whom had rediscovered a
love of the indy scene. Dreamer had trouble taking out the more experienced Jimmy Snuka, but
something about this underdog wrestler held my attention. I was
actually upset to see the show end, because now… I wanted more.
While all two
of my classmates who watched wrestling with their uncles were raving
about Shawn Michaels’s impending match against Razor Ramon, I couldn’t
stop wondering what would become of this new wrestler from Yonkers, New
York. I equally liked seeing Terry Funk, Sabu & Sandman, wrestlers who
really didn’t care what society thought of them, nor did they
appreciate the rules and standards for wrestling of the day. I didn’t really care that my classmates thought I was speaking
another language when I talked about these other wrestlers. By now, I
was getting used to being the outsider, and at least I could gloat that I
knew where the hell Yonkers is on a map, while the other kids all
thought that Yonkers was a brand of popcorn snack. It had been 9 months since I moved to Virginia by the time I had
seen Dreamer. I thought that in just 3 months, I would at last be able
to go home to Chicagoland. But life took an unplanned turn.
My
dad’s company got swallowed whole by Michael’s, and they opted to NOT
honor dad’s previous agreement. So in lieu of the agreement to go home,
Michaels gave my dad three options:
A. Move to New Jersey
B. Move to Long Island
C. Move to Buffalo, New York
D. You are fired.
Yeah.
Riiiiight. Now at the time, Long Island was a no-go because there was
an increase in crime there. I almost moved to Buffalo, but when my mom
placed a down payment on a trailer out there, she was sent her money
back because we weren’t the “right” people. I’m going to let you guess
what that meant. Dad getting fired (again) was clearly not an option, so
with heavy reluctance, we ventured to New Jersey. We made a trip out to Wayne, and from there, Mama handed over a first
month’s rent to a seedy person upstate. I thought we were
moving to a really nice place up there. Gorgeous scenery, cute
neighborhood, I didn’t feel too bad about the house. Mama, Papa, Orion and I went back to Virginia to pack everything up.
As Orion and I are waiving “bye-bye” to the truck with all my stuff on
board, Mama gets a phone call. The check was being mailed back.
Apperantly the home owner changed her mind on that “weird Mexican-looking lady” and her “odd children” moving into her pristine
neighborhood. I didn’t get it at first since Mama and I ARE NOT
HISPANIC!! So everything was emergency-thrown into storage, and we spent the next four months living in a hotel room. My
dad and I fought over the TV, the better bed and the better blankets
constantly. Not helping was his consistent flirting with the pool lady
or the endless stream of real estate agents who NEVER freaking helped
Mama - only sucked up more and more money. But late at night, dad would pass out, so Mama and I had rule over
the remote. I got to watch ECW, and up in Jersey it came in CLEAR.
This would be the year that I would decide once and
for all that ALL wrestlers must be black, because ECW (and a few of the
better WWF shows) only came on during black programming blocks. At 1 and 2
in the morning, I had my choice between Miss Black USA, ECW and What’s
Happening Now (An UBER militant show, with a dude who wore the biggest afro I’ve ever seen). I
lived vicariously through Tommy Dreamer, who was still very much an
underdog. Life just shit all over Dreamer, as he was thrown into fights
with Stevie Richards, Hack Meyers and Rockin’ Rebel. But he fought
through every obstacle imaginable. Watching Dreamer beat the odds every
week made me feel better.
August came mercifully, as a sweet angel named Bea found us an
apartment in Wharton. Almost two weeks after I moved in came the match
heard ‘round the world. August 13, 1994. ECW Hardcore Heaven. Sandman
and Tommy Dreamer locked up in a Singapore Cane Match. Sandman would go
on to win the fight, but what happened after the match was what would
change the world as I knew it. “August 13, 1994--Hardcore Heaven: The Sandman defeated Tommy Dreamer by DQ in a "Singapore Cane" match” is how some wrestling sites remember the night. But this was NO brief one liner incident.
The next day, Mama was reading the newspaper. “Outlandish! Grotesque! Dangerous!” screamed the morning newscaster as I was eating my morning bowl of
Malt-O-Meal Cocoa Roos. There were people on every channel discussing
the fight on every news station, including CNN. “What about the CHILDREE~EEEN who
may have been watching this fight at home? They may fling their
grandfather’s canes at each other, this is imitative behavior!!”
wailed an out-of-control analyst as she was waiving papers at a
“concerned adult” in a black suit. People were aghast, there was
screaming in the streets, schools were closed, busses rode on only half
their wheels, riots were organized in front of public places. It was
mass chaos everywhere I turned!! And all the while, my mother sat stone faced reading the newspaper
when suddenly, she leaned over and said, “Oh look, Princess! Tommy and
Sandman’s fight made the paper. And LOOK, they got such a nice shot of
him, right as Sandman struck him the third time. Awwww. ♥”
A few months passed by and I was regretting the move to Jersey.
Apparantly I was the only little girl in all of Wharton who loved wrestling, Power Rangers, cartoons, anime, reading buuks wifout da purdy
pitruez, and generally being good. I was the tallest girl,
the only mixed child in class, and I was correcting the teacher
constantly, which is a lot more embarrassing than it sounds. Needless to say, I got my ass beat every day. I suffered a
concussion, deep spinal bruising, and nearly lost a kidney in one fight.
I had a black eye and more bruises than I could count, and I spent more
time in the nurse’s office than I did in class. Making matters worse, everytime I would go shopping with Mama, we would get harassed. There were adults
~ people old enough to know better ~ strangers I didn’t even know,
ridiculing Mama because of the “more than size 6” frame she had at the
time, and picking on me because of my height. We both got harassed
because neither of us had a “Jersey” accent (one lady kept asking me if I
was from Canada) and I even dealt with people questioning Orion, who as
a baby had blonde curls & blue eyes, and thus didn’t look like me.
(Mixed kids change colors. FYI.) No matter where I went, I was treated less like a child and more like a monster.
So if there was ever a time that I needed an underdog hero to look to, this would have been it.
Watching ECW during my “medically induced vacations” made the
struggle seem less depressing. Raven and Dreamer were working a
storyline that really shone a light on my life at the time. Raven
portrayed the anger I had inside. Dressed like a grunge-era rebel, he
voiced all of the hurt I had in me. How society was a failure, how he
couldn’t find a place in the world, so he had to carve one out. How the
mainstream world as we knew it had no love for misfits and outcasts. He
dealt with all the same hatred I had, and he acted it all out. But across the ring was Tommy Dreamer. Even though Dreamer dealt
with the exact same crap as Raven, he viewed the struggle as a challenge
to overcome, not a reason to bemoan his fate. Every rejection from
mainstream society was just one more hurdle to jump, one more reason to
keep going. Dreamer’s message through his matches was that you could be a
screw up, you could be an outcast, but you could still be somebody. If
you were willing to fight for yourself, and anything you stand for, then
you can become a champion.
I sat wide-eyed, holding my Power Ranger plushies as they fought. I
wasn’t just watching a well-booked storyline, I was watching Raven and
Dreamer give me something I desperately needed; A voice. Now somewhere along 94 and 95 came the crossing of the paths. This is where the story takes a surprising turn. Mama used to order from different pizza places in the tri-state
area. One such place (though I can’t remember which) had an interesting
pizza boy. This dude always came to the house EARLY with our
food. He was never late and was very humble. Very polite, didn’t ask for
a tip, always had his face covered with a baseball cap with the brim
tipped down. Until one night….
Mama had ordered pepperoni, mushroom and
I think sausage. She barely had enough time to get the money ready when
the guy showed up at the door, hot pizza in hand. So Mama went
downstairs to the door, still counting change. Mama opened the door, got the pizza and handed the man some money.
He tipped his hat and started counting. “Will that be all Ma’am?” Mama looked under the hat. “……….. Tommy? O_O Tommy….. Dreamer???” “Will that be all ma’am?” “You’re… Tommy Dreamer. You’re Tommy Dreamer!” “*oh shit* Um will that be all ma’am?” “Didn’t you fight Sandman not too long ago?” I came downstairs, wondering why it was suddenly freezing, and eager to help Mama bring in the food. “Hey
Mama! Didja need any-OHMAHGOD IT’S TOMMY DREAMER!!!” I stared up in awe
as Tommy was trying not to act like this was a big deal. Orion came downstairs. He was still in diapers and didn’t really
talk yet, but wanted to help out too. He grunted through his pacifier.
“Mmm Hmm Mmm mmm !!!! *Shock* Mmmm Mmmm Emmm Heemmm????” (Translation:
Do you need any...!!!! Tommy Dreamer???) As Orion and I freaked out, Tommy continued counting. Mama took a deep breath. “……. DUDE!! Awesome match.” Tommy
smiled. “Thanks.” He soon darted off into the night. I don’t even think
he had all of the money with him (Free Pizza ish good)! A few years later, Dreamer confirmed that he really was a pizza boy
back then on the “Rise & Fall Of ECW" set. Who knew that the first
wrestler I would meet came right to my door, and bearing good food on
top of that!
Summer of 1995, Mama was finally able to start homeschooling me. The
ridicule at school was now over, but at home it was just starting up
again. Dad and his branch of the family thought my mom was stupid for
homeschooling me, claiming that I was now “guaranteed” to never make
friends and to be a social outcast, because after all, school was there
to make friends, and little more.
REALLY??? :D
I
laugh at this memory, every time I think about the day I graduated high
school a year ahead of my peers, while I was doing pre-college work for
the hell of it. I also laugh because my cousins on my dad’s side only
have two friends a piece and can’t even maintain relationships with
each other, much less their former schoolmates. But still, any time my dad’s family picked on me for ONCE AGAIN
being the oddball, I took solace in knowing that there were other
misfits right in ECW, who thumbed their noses at the “norms” of society. I
would spend the next few years on the East Coast, with ECW being my
saving grace. Certainly watching people being bludgeoned with barbed
wire baseball bats took the edge off of my oncoming hormones, and it
made life more tolerable after hour-long arguments with my dad over
schooling and chores. In May of 1996, I moved to Reading, Pennsylvania,
into a W.A.S.P. infested country club. Oh way to go dad, you sure know
how to pick great living areas. NOT!! I had Neo-Nazis down the block, and W.A.S.P. elderly living across from me. Oddly
enough, the Neo-Nazis never caused me any trouble. Their worst crime?
Rollerblading and skateboarding at 2 in the morning. (Oh scary.) It was
their non-Nazi parents I had to worry about. Their parents would hack into the cable on certain days of the week
because they didn’t want ANYONE in their neighborhood watching “those”
kinds of programs. So there was no more B.E.T., no more Science Channel,
and almost nothing wrestling-related. Oh… at this point I was jonesin’ for WCW. Oh yes, it DID get this bad.
I’m sorry - I like football, I like hockey, but no other sport cuts it for me than wrestling. Mama
and I used to play different games with the TV set so we could hack
back wrestling. Mama even dug out the bunny ears, just so we could see
Dreamer fight Justin Credible. PPV channels back then did NOT go to a black screen the way they do
now if you couldn’t pay for something. Instead, they would let you hear
the audio, but the picture would be scrambled. So if you jumped up and
down hard enough, then left the remote TOTALLY alone for 20 minutes, you
could get the PPV in sorta clear. So I dealt with the purple, green and
static white scribbles and the blue and yellow skip patterns because,
dammit, Guilty As Charged was on and I was NOT going to miss Tommy
Dreamer and Justin Credible in a Stairway To Hell ladder match!
1999 came, and that May I finally moved back to Chicagoland. But by
this time, most of the family I had left behind and badly wanted to see
again….died. At the time, the few relatives I had left who lived in
Chicago full-time were elderly. Much of them have since passed since I
moved back, and they really didn’t remember me that well. The few who
are still alive have all moved away, so I came home to an empty town
pretty much. ECW was on TNN at the time, so I no longer had to worry about
jumping up and down to get a picture in. But grasping ECW again just
wasn’t so easy. Unbeknownst to me, TNN had started screwing
around on Paul Heyman’s boys by moving ECW all over the flippin’ place.
Most nights I could catch ECW at 1 in the morning, but as 2000 rolled
in, the tapings came sporadically in my area. Soon it was 1:00 am,
1:34, 2:17, even 3:45 in the morning before I could see ECW again. Me?
Sleep? Why should I? I really didn’t know what was going on. Wrestling sites back then
were such a joke, and rarely did they cover anything that wasn’t WWF or
WCW, and even then the “backstage news” was relegated to whatever
storylines were on TV that week, so I didn’t realize the problem until a
few ECW alumni started cropping up on Raw and Nitro.
Paul Heyman delivered one of the most startling and heart wrenching
shoots I’d ever heard one night. I sat up straight and paid attention. I had to resist throwing up. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
It was unconscionable what TNN had done and I hope Paul yelled, “I TOLD
YOU SO” at the Spike TV building the day WWE went crawling back to USA.
February 2001 came much too quickly. It had been a few weeks since I’d
last seen an ECW taping and now I was beside myself wondering what had
happened. Monday came, the day after No Way Out. My mom & I just
held each other sobbing as Paul Heyman walked to the announcer’s booth.
We both knew that if Paul was here, then ECW was done. Over the next few months, I saw many of the ECW wrestlers make their
way to the WWF. “Blue chippers”, I heard J.R. call them. “Now it’s their
time to play with the big boys!” he said boldly to Paul Heyman, just
before the InVasion angle started.
I watched McMahon strip down all the
greats in bizarre and stupid storylines. Raven, who used to be able to dress himself, was soon wearing gold
man-skirts and tagging along with Terri as they picked on Perry Saturn’s
emotions towards the ill-fated Moppy. The Dudley Boyz were now ripping
each other apart because someone told them that Spike needs to break
away from these bigger people. Lance Storm was barely able to keep a
spot in the WWF and, in under a year’s time, would be seen on camera as a
janitor. Justin Credible was deciding whether or not he liked holding
hands with X-Pac, Taz was now spelled with two “Z’s” and was reduced to
commentary status, Paul was stuck with J.R. behind the booth, and the
icing on this cyanide cake was Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley-Levesque
parading herself as the new “Princess” of ECW. Excuse me. I just had to resist the urge to jam ice cold razor blades into all of my finger and toenails at that last thought.
For
the next several years, I endured watching WWE make a mockery of the
original ECW, and no harder did they try then with Tommy Dreamer. Dreamer truly is the heart and soul of ECW. He fights for everything
they stood for. Honor, courage, perseverance, determination. He put up
with ridiculous storylines that most wrestlers would have quit over (*Ahem* Undertaker and the chewing tobacco). On top of the craptastic
storylines and the de-push after de-push after de-push came the
ignorant poo-flingers behind the desk. “Oh, the underdog Tommy Dreamer
just doesn’t have the body for the championship.” “Oh Dreamer doesn’t
have the look, oh Dreamer doesn’t have the size we need”. What the hell
was this, a wrestling -WAIT, “Sport’s Entertainment” - company, or a gigolo
pen? Right size, right look, HOW does that help a man beat The
Undertaker?
WWE Confidential would show a less than glamorous background when
in one episode, cameras showed Bubba Ray Dudley, Spike and Tommy piling
into a rental car too small for the Divas just to make it to a WWE show
on their own dime. The special showed the ECW
alumni eating lettuce and carrot sticks backstage, cramming into
teensy-tiny hotel rooms together, and trying to survive on LESS THAN
$100 a week. This was not a storyline. This was WWE’s second “reality” show. And the reality I saw looked very painful.
I
never stopped watching. Never stopped reading the behind the scenes
articles, such as the time Dreamer told a news agent that if Sabu was
leaving WWE, that he would soon follow, because WWE’s version of
December To Disappoint Disaster Disgust the ECW Alumni
Dismember went on to put a fowl taste in the mouths of the
wrestlers who actually spent the gas money to show up early for work
that day. WWE’s new version of ECW lasted an extra 3 years longer than I
thought it would. Once it became apparent that Paul as not going to be
in charge of the one hour weekly show, I knew the alumni were now easy
pickings. One by one, the ECW originals were wished all the best in their future endeavors, until at last there was only Dreamer. Dreamer
was allowed a short reign as ECW Champion, shortly after threatening to
quit. In the next few months, he just bided his time until he got tossed
into a “win or retire” storyline with a young, naive Zach Ryder.
What could have been a classy “book this man into retirement” angle turned into a nightmare for Zach. Yes,
Zach won over Dreamer. Yes, Zach had now retired Dreamer from WWE. But
now Zach has to endure wrestling in front of silent, no-pop crowds
until he either gets fired or can somehow overcome this. Zach got
screwed by WWE’s booking team who ignorantly thought that ousting the
heart of ECW would prove beneficial to the young Ryder, who was already
being punished enough with that silly assed outfit. Meanwhile, I don’t think Dreamer has ever been so happy. In the days following his release, Dreamer got himself a Twitter and bookings galore in the indy world.
January 23rd,
I got to see Dreamer live again at DragonGate’s Fearless. I came in
early enough to see Dreamer bringing his luggage into the Congress Theatre, and I even spotted him with Gabe during the early part of the
show. Before I knew it, Jon Moxley was acting a fool in front of Jimmy Jacobs, and Dreamer came out to beat Moxley. The fight went into the crowd, so naturally I ran over with my camera. Moxley’s
body goes “FLADUMP” onto some chairs, just as I’m racing over. I didn’t
actually see Moxley as I was trying to get a good snapshot of Dreamer. As I go for another shot, Dreamer puts an arm over me and says, “Don’t step on the body, okay sweetie?” So I look down. “Oh hey, there IS a body here. Smiles!” So Dreamer returns to whompin’ the crap out of Moxley. The fight goes right over to my mom and brother. Orion holds up a
folding chair, yelling “HIT HIM WITH THIS!!” Dreamer says “OKAY!!” *BAM* Moxley does the eyerolly thing. I
don’t know if Dreamer recognized Mama as the lady who couldn’t stop
raving about his fight with Sandman, and I’m sure he wouldn’t remember
Orion & I, but it was cool to see him again. No longer is Dreamer the
lanky, suspender wearing young boy I saw so many years ago. For now
Dreamer is a broad shouldered legend, finally able to follow the wind
and wrestle as himself.
So since I’m not sure if I’ll have the chance to say this in person, I’d like to say this here. Dreamer, if you’re reading this, I want to say thanks. Thank you, for giving me one hell of a fight, every time you enter a ring. Thank you for giving my family memories they won’t forget. And most of all thank you, for giving a little misfit child somebody to believe in.
I didn’t want to address this topic ; In fact, this is one of several things that have happened in the wrestling world that I’d like to pretend never existed, but somebody has to say something. During The Wrestling Roundtable’s 9th radio show, I heard host Eric Santamaria do something that VERY FEW people have had the balls to do over the last week. He stood up for Martha Hart.
7/7/10
In Defense Of Martha Hart
Over the last two weeks, a majority of the people I associate with have at least produced a polite “no comment,” which is totally understandable. However, there are other people whom I do not know who swear that they are wrestling fans and yet they bash this woman. Now I’ve grown sick of it. I’m tired of seeing this woman vilified as some sort of money-grubbing whore, when she has endured what NO woman should EVER have to deal with.
Now hear me out - it’s been documented in Bret Hart’s book and in several other books that Owen’s accident was the result of Vince McMahon’s negligence. It’s well known that Vince Russo came up with a good chunk of the stunt idea. All McMahon had to say was, “no." Those simple little letters would have saved Owen’s life, and the life of any other wrestler had this been addressed to them. Worst case scenario, Russo would have said, “Fine. Forget about it then," and he would have come up with another idea. It too would have been idiotic, but at the very least the Over The Edge PPV would have gone through just fine. Instead, McMahon said, “yes,” thus pulling the proverbial trigger. The stunt was loosely based off of Sting’s WCW entrance. The difference being that Sting only dropped between 35-50 feet. Still enough to kill a man, but even the less-than-brilliant intentions of WCW provided Sting with enough support that he is still here.
McMahon’s company used a smaller harness, one barely able to lift a child, let alone a 200+ lbs. wrestler. Worse than that, Owen was hoisted up more than 75 feet. He would never have survived. Even if there was a cushion of some sort in the ring, Owen was walking to his death. Worse than that is the knowledge that Owen and I had one thing in common ; A fear of heights. It was something mentioned on a few Raw broadcasts that made me feel like less of a chicken, because I knew that there was someone stronger than me out there with the same fear. However, Owen’s fear meant that somebody had to have egged him on, or bullied him up to the ledge more than one time, if indeed this was a “practiced” stunt. It was something the wrestlers all knew, even ribbed him about, meaning that McMahon’s team knew about Owen’s fear before hand.
But what happened after that? You’ve all heard about the lawsuits, McMahon filming Owen’s funeral like it was some sort of storyline, and of course everything that happened to the remaining Hart wrestlers, but I’m not writing about that. Getting back to the topic at hand, I want you to think about the last 11 years through Martha’s eyes ; Every day, this woman wakes up, hoping that Owen will be there, but when she opens her eyes, he’s gone. And that’s a pain she has to deal with every single day.
I usually ignore feminists, because I do not feel that the vast majority of them ever truly support how I feel, but this is the ONE, rare instance where I can say that it sucks to be a female. When the boys chase after the circus that is WWE, the women who honestly love them FOR THEM and NOT the fantasy cash WWE pretends to pay the average wrestler, these rare female specimens are the LAST things anyone outside the ring wants to think about.
When Owen was alive, Martha had to deal with the WWF dragging him from place to place. He was a second generation wrestler, and Bret’s little brother. If you look through WWF/WWE’s own history, you’d see that the average little brother isn’t pushed any further than the IC belt. Owen was routinely pushed down on television, mocked by the commentary and any other mouthy so-n-so for that matter. It was clear that they would never book him for the belt, they just toyed with him. Martha put up with it. Mouthy fans at places like the supermarket would sound off about “Bret’s baby brother”. Martha put up with it. Owen was often dragged from Raw taping to house show, only getting to spend a little bit of time with the family he loved dearly. Martha put up with it.
But then May 23, 1999 came, and suddenly Owen was gone, his life extinguished in a supposed comedy stunt. It was stated in his will that in the event of his death, whatever likeness was left of him, be it VHS, T-Shirt or any other form of media, would belong to his estate. In this case, Martha. After WWF settled one lawsuit, and then got the courts to side with them on suit #2, they made Martha pay for the court costs, and then she was told essentially to put up with it. And anytime since then that she’s said even so much as BOO to McMahon, some mouthy WWE mark tells her to shut up. Just put up with it.
Should she? This is where I’d like to sit you WWE fans down and ask you a few questions : When one of you marks says “Martha’s trying to erase Owen from WWE history!!” I want you to think about this - Would you feel okay saying that in front of their kids? Would you like them to see you telling their mom to “Shut up” and “Put up with it” in regards to WWE using Owen’s image without her consent?
When you say that Martha’s “Just out for money,” and you speculate on where the money goes, I want you to think about a few things like, how much were her house bills? (Light, water, ect) How much are kids clothes for the next 11 years… without another source of income? How about medical care for the kids? How about school? This ain’t cheap you know. So how much does all of this cost when you’re a widowed mom? Do you still want to tell her “put up with it”?
How do you think Martha felt, the day she had to sit her kids down and explain to them that “Daddy’s never coming back” that “Daddy was killed for a PPV stunt”? Do you want her to “put up with it” here too? When Martha thinks of something fun, she turns around to tell Owen, and he’s gone. She realizes that there is NOTHING that can bring him back, are you gonna tell her to “put up with it”?
When her kids were little, and they used to try & pick out which cloud their Daddy might have been sitting on, do you still feel like Martha’s a money grubbing bitch who should keep her mouth shut? Should the kids have been told to “put up with it”? When her kids had nightmares and cried at night, realizing that Daddy can’t come get them, Daddy’s not here to tell stories or sing lullabies, would you really just look at their mother in the eye and tell her to “put up with it” one more time?
How about a few months ago, when the longest shot of Owen in the commercials for the Hart and Soul DVD set was Owen’s grave stone? When her kids saw that, on every single channel, multiple times a day, in their friends’ collections, in every magazine and even rotating on DVD players in ever media store they walk past every day, should you tell them to “put up with it”?
Oh sure, I bet you were all told the story that McMahon felt sympathy for what happened, and that he’s made peace with all the other Harts. But that doesn’t erase what happened. And if slandering Martha in the press, swearing that every 'T' was crossed, every 'I' dotted, but STILL using his likeness for t-shirts, DVDs, action figures & all this other stuff is how the WWE defense team plans to take Martha down to make her submit, then this case has already been decided ~ NAY ~ thrown in her favor, and I for one am not surprised.
There is NO person on this planet that EVER deserves what this woman has had to deal with over the last decade plus and not ONE person I would EVER wish this on. Yes, it’s been 11 years, but by NO means does that mean that this family has healed. Not by a long shot. You can’t get over your loved ones dying, you can’t get over not waking up with someone you love, you can’t get over not having a father.
But our society tells people like this to just “put up with it.” I don’t feel this lawsuit has diddly-shit to do with Linda’s campaign. It starts with the most recent DVD and goes backwards from there. Even if Linda was doing nothing more than bouncing on her head for a living, this lawsuit would still occur so long as footage of Owen is being used WITHOUT the legally stipulated funds or acknowledgments being sent forth.
I can’t vouch for Martha’s rocky relationship with the other Harts, but I can say that she is WELL within her rights to pursue this lawsuit to the fullest extent, if for nothing more than retribution. This suit can’t replace Owen, and she’s NOT so stupid as to think that, but maybe she can take from this a little piece of mind. And maybe it’s time that WE, and our so-called Universe “put up with it”.
2/22/10
If I close my eyes right this very moment and breathe in the ice cold February air encircling my front door, I
can taste three separate memories.
The first memory that springs to mind are the tears I cried the day Paul Heyman took the longest walk in history to the RAW commentary booth in February of 2001. I can still remember the pain in my stomach from how tightly my mother and I held each other, as we balled, knowing that the tiny little promotion from Pennsylvania, the hardcore company of oddballs and misfits that I loved so very much, was gone forever, it’s remains in the form of paperwork, sitting pretty on Vincent Kennedy McMahon’s desk.
The second memory that I recall is that of the thick smoke I smelled from the machine behind the curtain, the
day of my very first Ring of Honor show, February 26th, 2005. I can remember the exact spot on the barricade where I slapped my hand as Homicide walked to the ring with Julius Smokes trailing behind him, barking like a dog. I can even recall the feeling of my eyes widening, as I first took a gander at Homicide’s opponent for that evening. A cocky, bald-headed lil’ wrestler by the name of Bryan Danielson, who was standing on the ramp as though he owned the place.
The third thing, which currently sits upon my brow like a little gremlin of malice, is the memory of last Tuesday’s WWECW.
From the moment of conception for McMahon’s watered down ECW, I knew the result would be disastrous.
Still, the show lasted almost four years(June 13, 2006 – February 16, 2010), which is about three more than I gave it credit for.
Watching WWECW end was much akin to watching McMahon re-bury the casket of an old corpse. It was less the end of a television show, as it was more the end of WWE kicking around the ashes of the original ECW. No longer was the memory of said company to be drug through the mud, nor to be trounced upon by random
clowns whom had never actually experienced the original Extreme. A sobering thought, almost like the relief
one experiences when, at last, there is closure.
So Tuesday night, I taped the final episode. The only match announced in the pre-show commercial was then WWECW champion Christian vs. Ezekiel Jackson, so I thought that this would be the only thing that would
stick out in my mind about this taping. The last true ECW alumni had already quit many weeks prior, and there was no implication that McMahon would have given the green light to any fancy video packages, special
“guest stars” or even a finished card. In fact, nothing appeared to be very special about this taping, and certainly none of the people on screen at the arena were acting as though this was a big deal. So again I believed that Christian’s title defense would be the only thing I could take away from this cold, February night, but just after the opening contest came the announcement that for the remainder of the night, Byron Saxton and
Josh Mathews would be announcing details on WWE NXT.
The NXT format is similar to WWF Tough Enough and Spike TV’s Pros vs. Joes. Every week, a “mentor” (In the form of an established WWE Superstar) will train a “rookie” (In the form of FCW talent.) to become a
“true” WWE Superstar. Eventually, the “rookies” will face off against each other, with the winner heading to either Raw or SmackDown. Slowly, one at a time for the rest of the hour, they aired the mug shots of the eight mentors and their new protégés. As each man’s face hit the screen, I was overcome by a waive of pity. Through the magic of YouTube, I have watched each of the following wrestlers come up:
Justin Gabriel (formerly Justin Angel and PJ Black, former model, FWA and WWP standout and son of “The Pink Panther” Paul Lloyd Sr.)
Heath Slater (NWA Wildside competitor)
Skip Sheffield (Formerly Ryan Reeves, OVW wrestler and Tough Enough 4 finalist)
Wade Barrett (Formerly Stu Bennett/Sanders of NWA Hammerlock Wrestling, student of Al Snow and Jon Richie)
Darren Young (Formerly IWF and ECWA’s “Frederick Of Hollywood” Fred Sampson, #317 in PWI’s 500 of 2008)
David Otunga (Student of Norman Smiley and Tom Prichard, formerly “Punk” on I love New York 2)
Michael Tarver (Formerly Tyrone Evans of Pro Wrestling Xpress, who celebrated his 5th year as a wrestler on February 19th.)
I’ve seen them all fight not only in FCW but in many other companies as well, so it should go without saying
that the eight “rookies” need about as much training as I need an earring through my toe.
While watching ECW, I felt a drop in my stomach, and an eerie chill down my spine. The very same feeling I had just before Takeshi Morishima knocked out Bryan Danielson in their Chicago PPV fight September 15th, 2007. The same chill I experienced the day Pelle Primeau suffered his accident against Delirious in the summer of 2008, and the same creepy feeling I had just six days after my 11th birthday on November 9th, 1997, one
hour before the infamous Screwjob.
I tried to ignore this familiar feeling, hoping to God that this drop in my stomach was just hunger, or perhaps
the chill down my spine was just a sign that I needed a sweater. But alas, my fear was realized, as the mug shot
of Daniel Bryan hit the screen.
The American Dragon ~ Bryan Danielson, a man who was taught how to wrestle 10 years ago by William
Regal and the Shawn Michaels Academy. The man who escaped a cage ~ ASLEEP ~ against Samoa Joe in a
Ring of Honor title defense December 8, 2006 in Chicago Ridge. One of two ROH champions responsible for unleashing unto the world Alex Payne. One of the founding fathers of Ring of Honor, national star on ROH’s HDNet Monday night program, the same man who used to look out for me and forbid me to “play with KENTA-san” because I’m not “that” kind of girl. The very man whose facial hair and eyebrows had been compromised by the WWE style crew, Daniel Bryan had now been reduced to the status of “rookie”.
Bryan’s demotion came only after he had wrestled his third known match for FCW, and his fourth match
overall since WWE had signed him back in August of 2009. I hadn’t yet forgotten the look on referee Rod Vista’s face when he had counted to four as Bryan sat atop Kaval (Low-Ki) in a move for FCW show #71,
when suddenly both the crowd AND Kaval yelled “He has until 5 Referee!!” Nor had I even finished
processing the fact that after 6 straight months of precious NOTHING that a potential spot on WWE NXT was the only thing WWE Creative could come up with for Bryan. But before I had the chance to even process this, I saw his new “mentor” on the opposite side of the screen… Mike “The Miz” Mizanin.
Miz, a man with less than 6 years of training under his belt who probably would never have gotten a call back after his dismissal from Tough Enough 4 had it not been for his role on The Real World: New York, was now
set to retrain Bryan Danielson, and teach him how to be a “REAL star," a point driven home less than 48 hours later when on his WWE Universe blog Miz referred to The American Dragon as “ordinary and bland”.
The final thing I would take away from the last WWECW program would not be Christian’s loss to Ezekiel Jackson, who would go on to enjoy a 2:36 ECW title reign as the WWE Copyright card aired, nor would it be Caylen Croft and Trent Beretta vs. Goldust and Yoshi Tatsu, but instead the last image stuck in my head from
the final WWECW taping would be that of the bright colors and stars that flew around my head as I fell backwards out of my chair, during the conniption fit I was having at trying to process the fate of the FCW refugees.
WWE NXT would probably not have garnered as much ire out of me if the “rookies” really were rookies. If the cast consisted of average men with little to no training to their names, I would have easily written this off as yet another incarnation of the Diva Search and moved on. But to have these eight independent wrestlers reduced to the status of rookie with the very implication that their entire careers up to this point no longer amount to anything is nothing short of a slap in the face. It’s a slap to the eight men involved, their trainers, their
opponents, former tag team partners, their fans, and dare I say the world of professional wrestling on a whole.
It’s WWE, or rather Vincent Kennedy McMahon, informing the viewing audience that WWE is the “only” company out there. It’s McMahon’s way of illustrating the myth that whatever you do in any other company
but WWE, is a waste of time. And sadly, I can already hear the keyboards clicking over at the Pro Wrestling Illustrated office as the columnists begin nipping off a “kudos to you for finally getting a WWE booking”
article about the eight men.
The two biggest mouthpieces to vouch for McMahon’s sentiment appear to be Miz (or perhaps his ghostwriter) and Good Ol’ JR. Mizanin’s lack of respect for indy buffs was showcased boisterously with the statement:
“They think that if a guy can main event in front of a hundred people at a bingo hall, then he's ready to main event at Wrestlemania. Just because fans on the Internet say you’re ready doesn't mean you really are. Just because a fat guy with no teeth who sits in the front row, buys your T-shirt and says you're the king of wrestling, doesn't mean you really are.”
A sentiment Miz emphasized at Sunday’s Elimination Chamber, when he insisted that the “King of the Indies” Daniel Bryan still would not have what it takes to be anything more than (as Miz put it) “A dork in line at a Star Wars convention”, unless by “some miracle” he could force the boy to (Miz states: And he BETTER) listen to every word out of “the awesome one’s” mouth. A statement with a similar feeling was made by Jim Ross over the weekend, when he quipped on his blog:
"There are several young grapplers with potential but now is the time for them to step up and play with the big boys."
This was the exact same statement Jim Ross made when the original ECW folded in 2001, and the-then WWF scooped up the likes of Tommy Dreamer, Rob Van Dam and the rest of the misfit crew I had mentioned earlier.
In fact, on every occasion that WWE has taken in a new wrestler from an independent company, Jim Ross blogs “Now that the young and talented blue chipper (wrestler name here) has made it to Raw/SmackDown, he will have the chance to step up and play with the big boys.” The statement is just as faithful as the now standard
“We wish (wrestler name here) all the best in his future endeavors.”
As a lifelong fan of independent wrestling, I find everything about NXT purely insulting. Just what prey tell
does McMahon have to gain by demoting a top athlete in this fashion? Was the WWF more profitable
somehow when The Honky Tonk Man was demoted from “Indy slugger” to “Novelty Jobber”? Did WWE become a stock holder’s best friend when Colt Cabana, Ring of Honor sensation, was shipped to the ring after two years in development as a jobber named Scotty Goldman? My mother once told me that you can’t build yourself up by pushing someone else down, yet McMahon has tried to prove the old saying wrong with every wrestler he drags in.
Equally insulting to fans of the eight men is the knowledge that when season one of NXT wraps up in a number of weeks that the Tough Enough statistic of employment will have set in. When Tough Enough and the Diva Search were on the air respectively, the employment statistic was so very precise, you could have set your watch to it. 8-13 people are chosen. (In this case, 8.) Of the 8 newbies, two will remain employed and on screen for
the rest of the year, regardless of winners and losers. 4 will be wished the best in their future endeavors, someplace during the contest. The remaining two will flounder in developmental. One will be fired early on,
the other will be told every day that “creative doesn’t have anything” for him until either he debuts on the low cards of SmackDown, or is released. In two years’ time, WWE will call him back(We meet again Mr.
Sheffield.). Of the two who made it to television, the one who “won” the competition will be released within
two years after a demotion storyline with HHH, Shawn Michaels, Mark Henry, a random mid-carder, OR if
they REALLY hate him, The Undertaker. (Have you seen Maven lately? How about Daniel Puder? Think about it.) The one who “lost” the contest but was kept on anyway because McMahon liked him a little bit in the legs area will have a job on screen for the next 6-8 years. (Miz iz safe)
Quite possibly, the only man to survive the WWE reality show employment statistic is John Morrison, and
only because he fought the company tooth and nail for his “rock star” spot. How long do you think Ms. Layla has? If I were these two, I’d start sending out resumes now so that when the axe falls, there will be a spot
waiting for me on the indy circuit.
So in effect, the eight “rookies” can look forward to WWE dragging them from show to show like so many circus animals, placing them into innocuous reality show situations by which they will test the boys’ social
limit for one another(I’m waiting for the first pre-challenge brawl) before silently killing each man’s
momentum until one by one they fall backwards into the waiting arms of those of us who still carry the proverbial torch for the indies. One can but hope that there is not yet a rookie pad set up in a mountainous
region of Las Vegas, where the boys will have to share a few bunk beds ala their Tough Enough predecessors
and their UFC Ultimate Fighter rivals.
McMahon is trying to tell us that he is Supreme Overlord over all things wrestling and he will use WWE NXT
to drive the point home through the dissection of the legacy that exists for each new Rookie. At best, the show might stand to last two seasons with ire and resentment still building within the fans, as each new Rookie is brought to his knees by the WWE developmental system. The one thing going for McMahon is that there will
be people watching. I cannot lie and say that NXT is set to be a total failure ratings-wise, as there is already a large group of fans anticipating the show’s debut Tuesday night, with many more curious viewers who may be watching WWE television for the first time on the 23rd. In an ironic twist, the very people who despise Vincent Kennedy McMahon the most will be watching each episode without fail until the show’s end. This is not so much a testament to WWE’s strong marketing strategy as it is a testament to the “Internet Wrestling Fanbase” carefully watching the madman who is holding their beloved indy boys hostage.
One other thing going for NXT at the moment is that neither Simon Cowell nor Tyra Banks have yet signed on
to be judges for the series. However, with the continuation of the Raw Guest Hosts, it seems to be just a matter
of time before the NXT models are swamped with Hollywood’s celebrity camera hogs.
Time will tell how NXT fairs, but at the moment it seems apparent that these eight men have been set up to be dropped. Classic Vinnie at work.
