In 1951, my father and I left New York with Primo Carnera on a European tour. I was just seventeen. It took about three months. We went to six or seven different countries ... Rome, Naples, Austria. That was shortly after the war and cigarettes were hard to find. My dad was always a health addict, so he fussed at Carnera about smoking so much. Carnera smoked Pall Mall cigarettes. They were American cigarettes and were considered a luxury in Europe because the European cigarettes were horrible. He'd sit and smoke one after another. My dad kept complaining.
Finally, my dad says, "You know, you're supposed to be an athlete, but you're not anything. You couldn't last in the ring with me. The guys you work with have to carry you. Do you realize that I'm having to pay guys under the table to work with you?" (laughs) He was ribbing him. Primo jumps up and says, "Milo, you're lying!" My dad says, "You're supposed to be so strong! You're a weakling! If you were really so strong, and had a mind and the fortitude, you would open the window, open your bag, and throw those cigarettes out! You can't, though, because you're a pansy." Primo grabbed his suitcase and pulled out two full cartons of Pall Malls. He opened the window, then says, "I'll show you, you German son-of-a-bit–!" He threw them out ... and as soon as he let them go, his jaw dropped. He slapped his head and said, "You son-of-a-bit–!" He cussed my dad out.
My dad went into hysterics. (laughs) He got Primo so worked up that he lost it. The very next town we came to in Austria, he went out and bought some cigarettes. (laughs) He told me they were horrible. My father tells him, "Just think, Primo. Some farmer's going to drive by on his cart and think the heaven's opened up and dropped cigarettes down to him." (laughs) He just kept right on ribbing him.
We left Paris to wrestle in Bordeaux, France. Ironically enough, we stopped in the town where Primo was discovered. Not only had he been a weekend strongman and a carpenter when he lived there, but he was a handsome, 270-pound boy. We went to the carpenter shop where he had worked and they showed us a piece he had been working on when he left.
Primo had found someone to drive us to Bordeaux, so on the way, we come into this small French village. Primo yells, "Slow down! Stop! Back up and take a left." He gives the guy some more directions and says, "Pull up in front of that house." I said, "What are we doing?" He says, "Oh, an old girlfriend of mine. She's one beautiful, gorgeous lady!"
He gets out and walks up to the door, ringing the doorbell. This 345-pound lady comes out and screams, "Priiimmmo!" She gives him a big kiss and four or five barefoot kids come running out. Next, out comes her husband ... and he's heard this all his life ... "Primo this," "Primo that." He was about four-foot, nine, with a French cap on and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The husband is inside on the stoop ... she's two steps down on the ground ... and he's just about level with her. (laughs) Primo talked for a minute, then made a hasty retreat. (laughs)
The driver and I ribbed him all the way to Bordeaux. "Primo! That could have been your sweetheart for life ... and all those kids could have been yours!" (laughs) He kept telling us to shut up.
