The Missouri Mauler was real macho. He borderlined on a severe redneck-type guy. He couldn’t stand gays and he couldn’t stand foolishness. He was all business. A big man, about 6-foot, 4, 325 pounds. He was a tough guy, too.
He hated flying every day, so Terry Garvin zeroed in on him with all kinds of ribs. One night, we’d been out partying and we had to leave the next morning about six o’clock to catch the plane to the next town. Garvin waited outside the Mauler’s room until he heard the Mauler snoring, then banged on the door and started kicking it. "Come on, Larry. Let’s go. The cab’s waiting. If we miss this damn flight, we don’t get to the next town. Come on, come on! Let’s go, Mauler." Bang, bang, bang!! He’s kickin’ the door. Mauler got so damn mad that he jumped up, grabbed his clothes, grabbed his bag, put his shoes on, and his underwear ... and goes out in his underwear and undershirt. He runs down the hall. "All right! You want to go, you crazy, damned poofter bastard? Let’s go!" We’re watching from upstairs on the second floor. Mauler runs out in the middle of the street with his bag and those shorts on ... and there’s no cab, no nothing.
Mauler had a party one time in Sydney and he started talking about blacks. He said, "You know, we caught a no-good, dirty black bast–d that raped a girl. First, we plucked his eyes out, then we cut his ears off, then we hung him." Terry Garvin says, "Well, you know what I think? Anybody that would do something like that is a bunch of damned, no-good rednecks." Now, you had to order your sandwiches early because the kitchen closed at ten o’clock. Mauler ordered a bunch of guacamole ... twelve of ‘em. It took us three hours to get those sandwiches. We were starving. When they finally came up, (Mauler) was mad. He was so infuriatred at Garvin that he says, "Well, I’d rather be a red neck than a damned queer!" He picked the whole stack of sandwiches up and threw it at Terry. The sandwiches stuck on the wall. It looked like a Picasso painting. What made it funny was there were no more sandwiches. You couldn’t call down. The kitchen was closed. It screwed up the whole party. And the Australians didn’t make sandwiches like they do here, where they have a lot of meat. It’s like one slice in each. When we got the platter, it was huge, and there was several of us waiting to eat. We were starving. Mauler started picking the sandwiches up and peeling the bread back, putting all the meat on one piece of bread.
The Mauler was sitting at the airport and had his newspaper in front of him. He says to me, "If you don’t keep that poofter away from me, I’m gonna kill the bast–d." Him and (Steve) Rackman both are gonna kill him. I said, "Terry, you’ve gotta cool it because you’re driving both these guys nuts." He says, "Alright! The rib’s off. If they don’t want to talk to me anymore, the hell with ‘em. I ain’t talkin’ to them. You go tell them not to talk to me." Here I go, telling Mauler. "Alright. Don’t talk to Garvin. He’s not gonna talk to you guys. Just business only." "Okay, that’s fine." The Mauler goes back to reading his newspaper and Terry gets on his hands and knees. He crawls around to where Mauler’s sitting and lights the bottom of the newspaper. (laughs) Can you imagine this in Melbourne Airport?
Terry Garvin did something one time that put me in shock, and I seen Terry do everything. This waiter that we knew named John ... he was a gay guy. There was like a bunch of couches and tables in the lobby. They ordered a bunch of drinks and stuff and he (the waiter) came off that elevator with his hands like this, with his hands turned up (at shoulder level) holding two trays full of drinks. Terry goes over, unzips John’s pants, and takes his doucher out. (laughs) The guy couldn’t do anything. People are coming off the elevators and he’s standing there ... (laughs)
One time in Tasmania, a guy was finishing a table. He was a mason, like an artist. He’d step back and look at it. We’re about six stories up. He’d look at it from all angles. Finally, he went inside and came back out with five people ... business people with suits on. While he showed ‘em this table, Garvin takes three towels, wet ‘em, wadded them up, and threw them right in the middle of that table. Concrete dust flew all over the place.
There was an old-time English actor named Robert Morley. A very distinguished actor. When we stayed in Melbourne, he was in a play down the street. Garvin found out he was only two doors down from him. He’d wait until Morley got in there, the same way he did with Mauler. When Morley started snoring, Terry would damn near kick that door down. WHAM, WHAM!!! Morley had a long gown on and a stocking cap. Terry would run three doors down, cut out the lights, and peep through the crack of his door. Morley would run out and he’d see Terry. "I know you, you poofter bast–d. You bloody fool!" He would see him in the lobby and Terry would swish by. Morley would glare at him. Oh, he hated Terry! (laughs) He told me one time, "You know? The guy’s mental. He’s really mentally ill."
