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BOOK DETAILS Paperback: 302 pages Dimensions: 6x9 Publisher: Crowbar Press Photos: 278 b&w Cover: Full color ISBN: 0-9745545-3-7 Item #: cbp03-jh Price: $19.95
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Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal After he recovered from the accident, Bucky came up with the brilliant idea of promoting semi-professional fights in the St. Joe area. He offered 25 dollars if you won and 15 dollars if you lost. I thought that was a great idea, so I entered and had about 20 professional fights in the area. It was called semi-pro, but there wasn’t a whole lot of finesse about what we were doing. We were just a bunch of kids beating the hell out of each other. What I didn’t know was that if you got paid for competing in any professional sports, then you were no longer eligible to compete in any amateur sport. My brother was in Canada during that time, but when he came home for a visit and heard about what I was doing, he blew his top. "You stupid, little bastard! Don’t you know what they’ll do if they find out you were out there gettin’ paid for that sh—? You’ll be kicked off the high school football team if anyone finds out. Don’t tell anyone about it. Keep it a secret and don’t do that again."
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal One day in the summer of 1956, we took the ring to Graceland College in Lamoni, Iowa. We set up the ring, worked out in it for a couple of hours, then went to the dressing room and took a shower. An old carny named Bob Craddock, who ran most of the spot shows for Gust, was promoting the show that night. Craddock always talked in carny. About 8:15 p.m., Craddock walked up to me and said, "Hey, Slick. You got your gear?" I always took my gear with me because I never knew when I would have an opportunity to work out with the guys. "Yeah, I’ve got it." "Well, get it on," he said. "We’re gettin’ your cherry tonight." One of the wrestlers didn’t show up, so I had to go out and wrestle Rip Hawk. That was how my first match came about.
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal There is no way that I could have prepared myself for the feeling that washed over me when we walked down the aisle. It wasn’t too bad at first because they had turned the house lights out and had the big spotlights shining on us. The rest of the building was in pitch blackness, so we couldn’t see anything until we got into the ring. I could see the people on the floor at the end of the aisles out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t see the interior structure of the building. When Larry and I climbed into the ring, the house lights were still down. The only lighting was the spotlight on the ring, so I still couldn’t see anything outside of the ring. Of course, the house lights stayed down while Rocca and Perez made their grand entrance to the ring. I didn’t see the people until they cut the spotlights and brought the house lights up. This is no exaggeration. I’m not just saying this. My jaw actually dropped and I stood there with my mouth open. I thought, "My God! I’ve never seen this many people in one place in my entire life." There were more than 20,000 people there that night, and if the Fire Marshal had let them pack more in, there would have been a lot more. To me, it looked like there were almost as many people in that building as there was in St. Joe, Missouri. I was absolutely awestruck. I stood there like a dope and gawked. I had been to professional baseball games when the Kansas City team was still called the Kansas City Athletics. They didn’t have that many people at the baseball games, and that was outdoors. Here I was, looking at over 20,000 people, on the inside of a building. It was unbelievable. From that point until the match was over, and I was back in the dressing room, I never gave my ankle another thought. It was such an adrenalin rush.
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal Dory had a body that looked like a sack of broken doorknobs. He had no hair on his head and he resembled a grizzled, broken-down, old cowboy. But he was a good worker who had great timing, personality, and a ring presence that won the hearts of the fans in west Texas. The fans in that part of the country just loved Dory. One of the principal reasons he was so popular is that he had joined up with the former Amarillo promoter, Cal Farley, to make the Boys Ranch in Amarillo a going concern. Dory always had a big, big civic presence in Amarillo. In addition to all of the above, Funk was as tough as nails. I saw him beat the hell out of more than one cowboy in the bars. Dory never sat down with me and talked wrestling, but I learned so much just by watching him. He never did anything fancy in the ring, and I don’t remember him ever throwing a flying drop kick, but he did a good bit of close wrestling. He wasn’t much for teaching, although I’m sure he spent a lot of time working with his kids, but he had flawless timing in the ring. The things he did in the ring were very convincing. Funk would sell in a manner that made his matches undeniably believable. He taught me that there’s a difference between selling and dying. Funk would sell and sell for his opponent, and yet he would never be completely dead. Just when you thought he was on death’s doorstep, he would throw a desperation punch, or he would double leg dive his opponent, just to show some sign of life, or work into the spot they were going to use for him to make his comeback. I can’t say enough that I learned an awful lot about timing from him.
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal Before I left Eddie’s office, he told me that I would be working in Atlanta as the Iron Russian. I talked to myself all the way up to Atlanta, trying to come up with some semblance of a Russian accent. My grandparents came to the United States from Russia, but I couldn’t speak a word of Russian. I didn’t know anything about the City Auditorium in Atlanta, and nobody had bothered to tell me anything. I didn’t know what door to use, where to park my car, or anything else, so I walked directly to the front entrance. That was my first mistake. In the old downtown City Auditorium, the wrestlers always entered through the back door. I walked into the Auditorium wearing a black mask that sported a small, red star in the center of the forehead. In my best Russian accent, I growled, "Vere ees dressink room?" The old man at the door looked at me like I was a nut and pointed towards the back. I had to walk all the way through the auditorium. Of course, those country boys taking tickets were like, "Guddam! Hooz this dum bastard here?" When I walked into the dressing room, I learned that the Atlanta office had changed the name they wanted me to use. Instead of the Iron Russian, they were going to call me the Assassin. The date was October 13, 1961. It was, without any doubt, the most important night of my career. It was the night the Assassin gimmick was born.
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal There were several combinations of Von Brauners in wrestling, but the team we worked with consisted of Jim Brawner and Doug Donovan. They were managed by Gentleman Saul Weingeroff. Doug and I had been friends since Amarillo, so up to that time, I had never had any problems with him. I liked both Doug and his brother, Red. Unfortunately, Jimmy and Saul were jealous of the Assassins and they let their feelings get in the way of doing business. They also kept Doug stirred up. Before we went to the ring, Ray (Gunkel) told us the match would have a one-hour time limit, and he wanted us to wrestle to a draw. The Von Brauners were really pissed because they wanted to beat us. Gunkel looked Brawner in the eye and said, "You guys ain’t beating them. If anybody gets beat, it’ll be you mother fu—ers." It was obvious from the moment we stepped into the ring that they had made the decision to manhandle us. When Brawner hit me, I gave him a shot to the stomach. It looked good, but it was a working punch. He came back with a stiff punch to my jaw and said, "Dammit! When I tell you to hit me, fu—ing hit me." He didn’t have to tell me again. I buried my fist so far into his solar plexus that I thought I could feel the ridges of his backbone. Brawner’s eyes bugged out and he went down, gasping for breath. He was selling, but this selling job wasn’t a work. He was struggling to get air to his lungs. I snatched him in a headlock and tagged out with Tom. As Tom got into the ring, Brawner jerked away from me and stood facing Tom in a fighting stance, like he was ready to shoot. When Tom closed in, Brawner shot in on him ...
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal A few weeks after we arrived in Charlotte, we made a deal with Crockett to bring Grizzly Smith and Luke Brown into the territory. I didn’t know it at the time, but Tom had to talk like a Dutch uncle to get them in there because Crockett hadn’t been too impressed with them when they were there before, and Crockett was very opposed to bringing them in. He didn’t want them back. His exact words were, "Aw! Those guys won’t draw a damn dime." Tom said, "Oh, yes, they will. You guys just didn’t know how to use ‘em right. Give us a chance with them. If you let us do things our way, they will draw." And that was true. When Griz and Luke wrestled in Charlotte before, the bookers didn’t know how to use them. They didn’t know how to utilize their gimmick. They didn’t know how to get them over. And the wrestlers didn’t know how to work with them. The problem was, the bookers were trying to take two giant men and make average workers out of them. They told them to work a regular match, just like the normal-sized workers. Griz and Luke were doing headlock takedowns, arm drags, and stepover toe holds. Luke could work that style, but Griz couldn’t. Their opponents did nothing to make Griz and Luke look outstanding. They were taking them off of their feet and doing all of the normal things that wrestlers do to their opponents. The way Tom and I worked with them was to make super-strong giants out of them. We never took them off their feet. Never! They didn’t punch anybody. They didn’t kick anybody. All they would do was manhandle their opponent. Since they were so tall, we could emphasize their size and strength by putting them with shorter guys. They could stand in the middle of the ring, put their left hand on their opponent’s head, and hold them at arms length. Their opponent could swing their fists at them and never touch them. When it was time for the finish, Griz would use the upside-down bearhug. Luke would hit the ropes and come down on top of them with a big splash. Crockett let us do it our way, and he told everybody else who worked with the Kentuckians: If they deviated from that formula, their ass was gone. Needless to say, nobody took them off their feet from the day they arrived in the territory.
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal When you left the gym, you had to walk along the back wall of the gym. It was like we were in a valley. The wall was on our right, and to our left was a grassy area that sloped upwards for about 20 yards, with a sidewalk at the top. Just as we reached the halfway point along the building, Tom looked up at the sidewalk and said, "Uh, oh." That was the only thing he said. When I looked at him and turned my head to follow his gaze, I saw what had to be at least a hundred people clustered on the sidewalk. I suddenly knew how General George Armstrong Custer felt when he was surrounded by the Indians. All of a sudden, the people started to chuck things at us — rocks, clumps of clay, and coins. I owned a 1962 Oldsmobile 98 at the time. Just as we slid into the car and shut the doors, a rock the size of a softball smashed through the window and landed in my lap. Shards of glass flew everywhere, including through the eyeholes of my mask. Fortunately, none of it got into my eyes. I turned the ignition key to start the engine and we drove away with the tires squealing. As we put some distance between ourselves and the crowd, we heard two loud pops. It wasn’t until later that we discovered two bullet holes in the trunk lid. It was then that we decided to tell Mr. Crockett that we wouldn’t be making any more of his spot shows. And that’s exactly what we did. We walked into the office the next day and told him, "Look, no more spot shows."
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal The Vancouver territory wasn’t doing all that well. Sandor Kovacs was Fenton’s booker, but he couldn’t book the library. Tom and I would go to Fenton with ideas and scenarios that the Assassins could do with different guys, but he wasn’t interested in taking our suggestions. He wouldn’t listen. It all came to a head when I went to Fenton’s office one Monday afternoon to pick up my mail. While I was there, I said, "Rod, tonight would be a good opportunity to shoot an angle for next week in Vancouver with us against Don Leo Jonathan and Don McClarity." Fenton stood in front of me with that big cigar stuck in that little face and said, "Nah, we can’t shoot anything tonight. We got the damn Academy Awards being shown on TV next week. Next week’s house will be the sh—s. We don’t never draw nothin’ on that night. There isn’t any sense in shooting any angles or doing anything important when people won’t be watching our show." "Now wait a minute," I interjected. "This week’s house was the sh—s. Are you saying it’s gonna get worse than this?" Before he could answer, I plowed on. "If you’re bucking the Academy Awards, don’t you think that would be the reason for us to shoot something hotter than normal? We need to give the people something that will make them forget the Academy Awards and come see our product." When he stood his ground, we had some heated words. He got really pissed because I had pinned his ass to the wall. He said, "Well, by God, you guys aren’t as fu—ing great as you think you are. In fact, you’re the sh—s!" I responded in kind by telling him that he sucked as a promoter. "If you aren’t going to utilize us to our potential, then there’s no sense in us wasting our time here. We’d rather be in a territory where they appreciate our talent and will give us an opportunity to make some money. Since we’re the sh—s, and we can easily be replaced, then you shouldn’t have any problem replacing us by tomorrow." "What do you mean by that?" he asked. "Under the circumstances, I think the best thing for us is that I give you our two-week notice." He got mad and said, "You don’t even have to give me that. You can give me your notice right now." I said, "Fine. I’d love to leave right now. Consider this to be our last fu—ing night." I went back to the dressing room and told Tom what had happened. "I just gave Fenton our notice."
Copyright © Joe Hamilton and Scott Teal I didn’t go to Ray’s funeral. Tom and I took good care of our gimmick and we would have been spotted. I would have stood out like a sore thumb. Beyond that, I didn’t want to be labeled as one of the hypocrites. An hour or so after Ray’s funeral was over, Tom called to let me know who was there. His first words were, "The vultures are beginning to descend on the carcass." On the afternoon of the funeral, Buddy Fuller, Eddie Graham, Lester Welch, and Paul Jones were in Ray’s office, plotting their plan of action. The following day, they closed down Ray’s company, ABC Booking, and started a new company, Mid-South Sports, Inc. The four of them had majority control and ignored the fact that Ann, as Ray’s survivor, owned Ray’s percentage points. In fact, they neglected to put those percentage points into the new corporation. When Ann walked into the office, Lester Welch was sitting in Ray’s chair with his feet on Ray’s desk, and the partners were sitting around laughing and carrying on. They told Ann that they were going to run the company and that she didn’t have a thing to worry about. In their words, "You can go home, tend to your children, and we’ll send you a check each week for your percentage." They never offered to buy her out or suggested any other deal. It was a power-play and a conspiracy to rob her of what was rightfully hers. The promoters all had their personal "bag men" who would skim money off the top in the box office. The bag men went to the towns and collected the money from the box office, but skimmed off a percentage of the proceeds for the promoter before reporting it to the commission. Ann knew that by the time the partners got through with the count, whether it was in the box office or in the wrestling office, there wouldn’t be anything left for her. Charlie Harben, who worked in the office, had been the "bag man" for Ray Gunkel for years. Charlie took it upon himself to stand near the door of the City Auditorium one night and use a clicker to count the number of people coming in. The next morning, when he read the report of the box office take, he discovered that they had skimmed nearly two grand. When Charlie told Ann about it, it led to a confrontation between Ann and the partners. Ann knew that Buddy Fuller, Eddie Graham, Lester Welch, Paul Jones, and even Fred Ward, all hated Ray Gunkel. When I say hated, I mean it was a real, passionate feeling. They weren’t going to do anything to support Ray’s family. In other words, even though they were all in business together, when he died, they weren’t going to recognize any member of his family as being a part of it. They were going to take it all. To put it in as few words as possible, what they wanted to do was push Ann Gunkel out and steal the territory. If anybody says anything different, they’re either a liar or they don’t know what they’re talking about. I was there and I know what was going on. I didn’t trust them, either. I knew many of the boys that they had dealings with, and I knew how the partners had screwed them over. I had experienced it first hand in 1959. Buddy Fuller enticed me to come into Memphis by promising me the moon, but when I got there, the sun was already up.
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