In issue #35 of "Whatever Happened to ...?", you took somebody that we were all familiar with (Mario Galento) and got stories and opinions from several of the boys who knew him. The stories about Killer Karl Kox were so good. I got to know Karl so well when we were tag team partners in Amarillo, and as I read the interview, it was as if he was talking to me. He was always so funny! The story about the rib he pulled on Bob Armstrong had me laughing so hard that I was in tears. There weren't too many times that anyone was able to pull a rib on me, but Killer Karl Kox was always number one when it came to ribbing someone. Let me tell you what Kox did to me in Amarillo.
In the Amarillo territory, we used to drive to Abilene on Monday, then on to Odessa after the matches, which is about 140 miles. In between Abilene and Andrews, you would see hundreds of rabbits on the side of the road. The highway is warmed by the sun all day, so they come out in the winter to sit sleeping with their noses just touching the pavement.
The rib started one night, after I had about five or six beers, when Kox asked me, "Do you want to join the club?" I bit. I said, "What club?" He said, "Well, you have to kick a rabbit." "How do you do that?" He then laid the rules out. Remember now, there's no one on the highway and no houses for miles. This is flatland in the middle of nowhere with these rabbits lined up, sleeping. He gets you to sit on the right hand fender, straddling the headlight, while he drives with the right tire on the grass. He'd drive five or ten miles an hour, then ten feet or so before we saw a rabbit, he jams on the brakes, which flings me off in a running motion. The object was to kick the rabbit. I think I made twenty attempts, but with all the beer in me, I don't think I connected more than twice, just clipping the tops of the rabbits' ears.
I was very proud of myself, so when I got to the matches in Odessa the next night, one of the Perez brothers was in the dressing room. I told him, "Hey, I joined the club." He says, "What club?" I said, "Kick the rabbit club." I had to explain to them while they all went into conniption fits. Kox told me later on that I was actually the first one to join the club. For the next few weeks, I tried to get the new guys to join the club, but no one ever did. I must say that Killer Karl Kox has one on me, because I was always a ribber and he pulled a first-class one on me ... kicking the rabbits in the Amarillo territory.
Karl told me he had so much dissension that people just feared him. While driving home from a match one night, he saw a Highway Patrolman standing over two suspects with a shotgun. They had their hands behind their head. Kox pulls over, walks back, and the policeman asks, "Are you an American citizen?" Kox says, "Yes, I am." The cop deputizes him and tells him to watch the two fugitives while he radios in for backup. While Kox stood over these two guys, one of them lifted his head and peeked back at him. The guy said, "Oh, my God! It's Killer Karl Kox."
He was so feared in Texas that even the fugitives were scared of him.
In the mid-50s, I wrestled as Dickie Gunkel in the Georgia territory. The first time I wrestled Freddie Blassie was in Griffin, Georgia. He was the Southern champion, but this was going to be a non-title match. There was probably nine hundred fans there. The Atlanta promoter, Paul Jones, was there to get a feel for this new combination of Gunkel versus Blassie, with the possibility of taking it to the City Auditorium in Atlanta. I knew this, so I was trying to think of an idea that would excite the fans. As I walked into the arena, a little girl gave me some bubble gum. I don't chew gum, but I didn't want to let her down, so that night I did.
Ten minutes before my match with Blassie, I bit down on the gum and broke a gold cap off a large tooth in my mouth. I was really hot. I thought, "There goes four hundred dollars." Then it came to me. Just before I left for the ring, I replaced the cap. Blassie was already in the ring, standing in the middle. I slowly walked up to him, like the boxers do ... Don Carson style.
By the time our faces were six inches apart, I yelled loud enough for everyone to hear ... "You don't have any guts if you don't hit me in my mouth, you yellow dog!" Blassie let loose with a haymaker. Following my plan, I rolled out of the ring, walked up to an elderly lady, and asked her for a mirror from her purse. The crowd became silent as I held the mirror up. I withdrew the cap, and showed it to the crowd.
All of a sudden, everyone in the house knew the pain I was under. The fans felt for me. They applauded, then cheered as I held the tooth in the air. I turned slowly to face Blassie. With the roar of the crowd as loud as it was, no one could hear Blassie but me as he yelled, "You SOB! You're trying to get me killed!"
As we locked up in the ring, Blassie could feel the white heat radiating from the crowd. He wisely decided to just leave the ring. I learned much from Freddie Blassie. I also learned something new in wrestling.
The AT show stories are fascinating. Steve (Gob) used to stand in the audience and hold a camera, like he was just taking pictures. Steve had a great looking body. The owner would get up on the grandstand and say, "I'll take any ten people and let the audience choose who you want me to wrestle." He'd get ten guys up there and line them up on the stage. He'd walk down the line and hold his hand over each guys head, while the people would cheer for who they wanted. The one that got the most cheers would be the one he'd have to wrestle. When he got to Steve, who was fourth or fifth in line, he would go by real quick. Everyone would start screaming, "Hey, wait a minute! Wait a minute!" Of course, they all wanted Steve because he looked so darn good. The owner would reluctantly agree and then they worked the thing.
