***

A match had just ended and my dad disappeared into the bowels of the ancient arena, back to where the wrestlers’ walk to the ring began. He was checking on something. He soon snuck his head out and waved for me to come over. He was with another man, the local person he knew that was involved with the WWF.

That local person was a doctor, George Zahorian, a name that might ring a bell for wrestling fans. He turned to me and asked the question any ten-year-old would want to hear, “Would you like to meet some of the wrestlers?” I squeaked out an excited yes. The doctor told us to follow him.

As we walked down the dingy corridor towards an anonymous wooden door I bristled with anticipation. Outside the door, propped against the wall’s corner stood a dirty Iranian flag. “That’s the Iron Shiek’s flag,” I thought, “this is it!”

When Dr. Zahorian opened the door I snuck a peak inside to see Jimmy Snuka in his trunks playing a card game against “Dr. D” David Schultz and Don Muraco. Don Muraco! Weren’t they mortal enemies! My world view had suddenly changed.

The first wrestler that the doctor brought out was Mr. Fuji. He asked my dad what he did and replied, “My brother is an attorney too back in Hawaii. That’s where I’m from.” Mr. Fuji wasn’t from Japan? Double gasp. We talked for a few minutes, telling us about his life and family. I couldn’t believe how nice and kind this evil, evil, man was? Hadn’t he just thrown salt in someone’s eyes?

Three more wrestlers came out to meet us: Tony Atlas, “Dr. D” David Schultz, and Muraco. They all were so sweet and so caring and so nice, especially Dr. D who, just a few months later, would attack a 20/20 reporter and get thrown out of the WWF. No. That wasn’t the Dr. D I met. I knew him as a great, giant guy who asked about my little league team and wanted to know how school was going.

My dad and I returned to Hersheypark Arena the next month when the WWF returned with an even bigger lineup but it wasn’t the same. More people were there, we didn’t go backstage, and the magic had disappeared just a little bit. These guys weren’t superheros, they were laborers with a difficult, painful jobs and good hearts. Their foreheads were full of scars, their arms and legs were full of canvas burns, they walked with limps, and they looked tired. From afar their costumes were beautiful and glamorous but up close they were torn, battered from overuse, and on their last legs.

I could never see them again with the same pre-event idolatry. My innocence was gone. They were human beings like me and my dad; they weren’t superheroes and they weren’t invincible. That second set of matches would be our last. We didn’t even return when Saturday Night’s Main Event was filmed there; we even missed a live Piper’s Pit!

I’m still a little sad that I never got to meet Superfly Snuka but that doesn’t stop my fond nostalgia and just because I saw what’s behind the curtain hasn’t spoiled my love for pro wrestling.

Pro wrestling is still fun and entertaining and exciting but it will never be as wonderful as it was before Hersheypark when I watched Jimmy Snuka jump from the top of a 15-foot steel cage and Superfly Smash Don Muraco. Nothing will ever top that.

Post from: EveryJoe

The WWF is Coming to Town (Part Two)

***

The WWF was coming to my hometown. For the first time ever. September 28, 1984. Hershey, Pa. I was ten. My dad had two tickets. We were going! The very idea of seeing my newly realized heroes was too much to handle. The same heroes I watched with baited breath on every Saturday morning on local channels. The same heroes that would come together in mega events in gigantic arenas in huge cities every blue moon that were showcased on bigger cable stations like the PRISM network. Events that would seem so elaborate and so wonderful and so overwhelming to a wide-eyed ten year old.

What I knew was that many of these stars were coming to my small town. To perform in a drafty airplane hangar-like place known as Hersheypark Arena. A place built in 1936 and untouched since, a place where I had seen already dozens of ice hockey games, a place that I couldn’t imagine being transformed from a cold, glimmering palace of ice to a rugged grappling arena for my heroes.

My dad told me he knew a local person involved in the WWF. He had done some work from him and he had said that Hershey was scheduled to be a B-level spot on the wrestling circuit. A place just below the Madison Square Garden and Philadelphia Spectrum events where belt holders appeared and (gasp) might even fight someone good!

What this meant to a ten-year-old was that the best wrestler of them all, the high-flying death defying Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka was going to be at that September 24 show in all his leopard-print wrestling trunk-wearing glory. The same Jimmy Snuka who could fly from the top of a 15-foot steel cage and not only survive but land on his hated rival Don Muraco. The same Jimmy Snuka who should have been Intercontinental Champion. This boy was overjoyed.

We entered the arena on the mezzanine level. The ice was gone and where center ice had been now stood a ring and above it hung a large unfurled WWF banner. Hundreds of chairs surrounded the ring forming strict parallel rows. We were in Row 10. I was mesmerized. I rushed down to the seating area and made a bee-line to the ring itself. I pounded my fist on the canvas hoping to hear the reverb from the microphones surely poised underneath. Sadly there was no echo yet.

We took our seats while a steady if not unspectacular crowd moved into their seats. Pro wrestling’s popularity was muted. There was no merchandising, no cardboard signs, no intro songs, no video monitors, no commerce, and no national television show. Heck, there hadn’t even been a Wrestlemania yet. The atmosphere was very gritty and still very much underground. Wrestling was for us. We understood how much fun it was; the mainstream public didn’t. We loved it that way.

When the bouts started the arena was still only about half full, about 4,000 strong. Unfortunately the tallest two members of the 4,000 were in front of us…and they liked to stand. Since we were on the floor level the seats had no tiering. We were situated diagonal to the ring so it was a little hard to see. This ten-year-old was disappointed but determined to peer through any obstructions.

Click to continue reading. In Part Two it gets much, much, better.

Photo of Hersheypark Arena Interior Source: Wendy Frey via Wikipedia

Post from: EveryJoe

The WWF is Coming to Town (Part One)