Dear Readers,
This column is not meant to be sacrilegious. It is simply a way for me to present my memories of the wrestling business in a humorous fashion. I hope you enjoy it.
--Tinker Todd
Greetings, dear Reader. I am writing to let you in on the many secrets of the wrestling world. I have many stories that have never been told, and I will share them with you, dear Reader ... things that are unknown to the fans and the wrestlers themselves. Like the Mafia and the Masons, the wrestling business has many dark secrets. I will tell you of secret rites, secret signs, secret words, and many other mysteries.
Since stating my plans to do this, I have received many threats by phone and letter, but I will go ahead and reveal these things to you. When I was approached by Scott Teal to write these missives, I told him, "Scotty, you know that I cannot lie. It is impossible. Many years ago, I took the wrestler's oath." Scott took this upon himself and said, "St. Tinker, go ahead. Please reveal all about professional wrestling."
First, dear Reader, permit me to introduce myself. For twenty-seven years, I was known as Tinker Todd, Ray St. Clair, Oliver Winrush, and many other names. I used these names to keep ahead of the income tax man. Despite all my precautions, I was finally caught. I was sent before the tribunal in Charlotte, where I presented my case with tears in my eyes. All of the tax collectors who were present took up a collection for me and sent me on my way. I'd like to thank the many tax collectors who hounded me and the many promoters I personally knew who gave me such a glorious life.
I was known by my opponents for my gentleness, who held their arms above their head as I proudly pressed my shoulders to the canvas. If I threw a punch to their face, they would return it fifteen-fold, which I gladly accepted. I was known for not ever bringing a sweat to my opponent's body. I was generous. I would never ask promoters for gold or silver, but copper. I didn't work in the big cities, but brought joy to the multitudes in small towns, and villages in the hills, that were ignored by other wrestlers.
You, dear Reader, may wonder why I was so good and pious. The secret is out. I belonged to a secret church within the wrestling world known as the Brothers of Pain and Suffering. Little of us is known amongst other wrestlers. We have taken a vow of pain, suffering and poverty. I still continue at this late age. Daily, I go into the streets of Mooresville and sell blessings to the people. Five dollars a blessing, or four for fifteen dollars. I will not accept checks.
Today, in the late years of my life, I live in Mooresville, North Carolina. Each morning, with the help of my two grandsons, my wife will lift me out of the bed and take me to the toilet, where I sit each morning with head bowed, meditating and giving thanks to the many promoters who have led me to this glorious life. I am then picked up and taken to my wheelchair, where I am fed from a can. After I swallow my pain pills, I am wheeled forward to the town of Mooresville, where I spend many happy hours with old, retired wrestlers in the soup kitchen. We delight in the many hours spent talking about our past glories. I especially like Monday, when they serve chicken soup. I am loved by these men, who know me as Daniel the Beloved. The stories I tell them bring tears to their eyes. Many of them come to the kitchen with their scrapbooks under their arms, filled with memories of their past glories. We study them daily.
One Sunday morning, about two o'clock, a voice came to me out of the darkness. It was my guardian angel, Bruce. I hadn't seen him in many years. I thought he'd come to take me home, but it wasn't to be. I said, "Oh, Bruce. Such a long time." And he replied, "Daniel, beloved. You have done well to have suffered much pain, sorrow and poverty. But now, my son. There's one more thing before I take you. You have been approached by Scott Teal. He wants you to write a few chapters. This thou shall do. As no lie has passed thy lips in the forty years since you have taken the vow, you must tell him the truth about the organization of professional wrestling. You must tell the truth about the organizations and the secret signs. Do not hold anything back. If you do these things, in a short time, I will take you to your reward. But for now, I will leave you on this planet, to tell your story as a television preacher would." Tears filled my eyes and I said, "Thank you, Bruce." And he vanished.
So dear Readers. Let us go back about forty years, to an afternoon when I was walking on top of a beautiful mountain in North Carolina. That was the first time I met Bruce, my guardian angel. He stood before me, dressed in purple, adorned with gold rings, long hair decked with flowers, and ballet slippers on his feet. He looked at me and said, "Daniel, beloved!" I threw myself down and asked, "Who are you?" He said, "I am thy guardian angel ... Bruce. Daniel, if you follow my advice for the next twenty years, your reward will be great." I said, "I will do anything." He said, "You will become a professional wrestler and go forth to the East, to the Kingdom of Tennessee. There you will dwell among the tribe called Rednecks, and you will suffer much amongst those good people and starve for forty years. But, it will prepare you for things to come. From this day on, you will go forth and be known throughout the land as Daniel the Beloved." He spoke a few words more, then he was gone.
