3-23-1973 Part Two

In the last column, I wrote about an eventful Friday night at the St. Joseph, Missouri city auditorium. It was a place that had graced more than its fair share of wrestling as well as top attractions to come to the area. Gust Karras, the promoter, dabbled in just about every type of event that could be promoted there, including country music stars from Nashville to the Harlem Globetrotters and everything between.

We in the wrestling business called the downtown auditorium "The Place That Could," meaning that it could make you or break you, both physically and mentally. The crowd expected the very best from you and rioted if they didn't get their own way. Of course, it was my own personal opinion that Gust Karras had his own special way of aggravating them to the point where they did a lot of fighting.

I had stood on the stage at the rear of the building and watched all the opening events leading up to the tag team match that could have been a main event in any arena nationwide. I watched the skills of Benny Ramirez as he battled the very agile Argentina Zuma. It was too bad that Zuma had the ability to dropkick and use flying head scissors the way he did, as it cost the man formerly known as "The Mummy" a loss in the match. Benny made up for the loss by sending the man from South America to the showers on a stretcher.

Mike George and Irish Mickey Doyle battled to a 30-minute draw, while Bob Brown and Rufus R. Jones were both unsuccessful in their attempts to beat each other and ended up in a draw also. It took a riot squad to separate the two at the dressing room entrances in the rear of the auditorium.

I went back to the private dressing room where Togo and Tokyo Joe were sitting in a pile of sweat from doing nearly an hour of warm-ups. I was wearing one of my favorite outfits, consisting of red silk slacks with a chartreuse shirt and a blue handmade tie, topped off by an orange jacket with the patch on the lapel pocket that said, "I AM LOVED." I no longer wore that awful Scottish Tam that I wore for nearly three years with Angus. I also was very patriotic, in that I wore my special made red, white and blue Dingo boots with the steel toes.

As we entered the arena floor, I was very confident that night that victory would be mine over Bob Geigel and Abe Jacob. Fans began to run toward us in an effort to get autographs and pictures, but I stopped that issue, as I never did ANYTHING for no pay. We went right to ringside, where Gust Karras and I got into a battle of sorts, calling each other many names. Karras usually tried to win out by bringing his goons off the timer’s table and putting them between us.

Tokyo Joe and the Great Togo entered the velvet covered ropes and began to stand in silent attention as the loudspeaker suddenly started to play the Japanese National Anthem. I had to pay the sound crew an extra $50 to get that done. Karras was beside himself and was starting to spit all over himself as the notes blared out. About halfway through, the sound crew cut the sound off and the announcer, Bill Kersten screamed out, "Ladies and Gentlemen ... Bob Geigel and Abe Jacob."

The top of the building nearly came off as the two hit the canvas and began to clean house. I called out in Japanese for Togo and Joe to retreat to the outside, where we could regroup. It was during that time that I reached into my front pocket, where I had some extra ceremonial salt packed in a plastic bag. I gave each of my guys a handful and told them to go back to the ring and even things out.

Of course, Kersten had to alert referee Moody about the salt, but, before he could do anything, Joe threw the salt into Geigel's face, causing temporary blindness. Abe Jacob had gotten the package away from Togo and threw it to the fans at ringside. As the match progressed, Abe Jacob showed the overflow crowd why he packed arenas throughout the Carolinas. He was one tough cookie when it came to using his fists.

I found out later in life that he was an excellent boxer in his native New Zealand and was nearly undefeated, except for one draw. Geigel, in the meantime, had gotten some help from the rescue squad stationed in the back of the building. They had flushed his eyes with a saline solution and got most of the salt out. He was one mad character when he got back to the ring. He wanted revenge and pleaded with the fans to urge Jacob to tag him in.

Togo had a vicious bear hug on Jacob and nearly had him submitting when a fan jumped in the ring and began to kick Togo in the ribs. Togo turned Jacob loose and chopped the fan in the chest and knocked him over the top rope on to the arena floor where he was subdued by the coffee drinking, donut eating police not doing their jobs. St. Joe's police force was very backward in security at events. They were very big fans themselves and often let fans get into the ring.

Togo tagged in Tokyo Joe, who began to chop Abe into the ropes. Then, he grabbed Abe in the stomach region with a super claw hold that had been taught to him by Killer Kowalski. That hold had been barred in 46 states, but not in Missouri. Abe fought his way to Geigel twice. And, by Togo entering the ring and drawing the very gullible Moody to him, Moody did not see his tag, and he was forced out of the match.

Finally, at the 15-minute mark, Geigel tagged in and nearly took the heads off of Joe and Togo with closed fist punches. He even got me once and drove me to the arena floor. Someone had just thrown part of a hot dog and a drink on the spot where I landed and was I a mess … my entire suit needed cleaning. Geigel went for a series of body slams, and, during the third one, Joe grabbed him in a small package, and we won the match.

Geigel swore up and down that Joe had his trunks pulled up during the pin, but Moody never saw it, and it went in as a victory for us. I was happy to get back to the dressing room and quickly change outfits. I was scheduled to go with Roger Kirby to the ring for his match with Omar Atlas.

As I was changing, Kirby came to me and stated that the commissioner had come to him during the tag bout and told him that I had been barred from going to the ringside area that night. It was all I could do to hold my emotions back when the commissioner and Gust Karras stuck their faces in the door and told me that I had better leave the building.

I was very angered at Karras, as I knew that it was his political injection into the bout that caused me to be barred, not the fact that I had outsmarted him at ringside earlier. As I continued to change into my street clothes, I called Kirby to my side and asked him if he remembered the codes from the flashlight blinking that I had taught him a few years back.

I opened my briefcase and took out a five-cell flashlight and checked to see if it was working properly. It shone very bright on the walls of our dressing room. I was not going to the ringside, but I would be there in spirit or code.

The bell rang, and Moody stuck his head in the door and yelled, "Okay, Kirby, you’re on." I took that as a personal insult and was going to go and hit him over the head with the flashlight, but Roger told me not to waste my time on rednecks like him. Roger headed for the ring with the Central States belt worn proudly around his waist. As he entered the ropes, he looked back to the stage area, where I was standing behind the curtain. I raised the flashlight and gave it a few good clicks to let him know that I was there to support him.

Fans began to scream and protest to the referee that I had been barred from ringside and that I should leave the building. I had a valid license to do what I was doing on stage, and there was NOTHING that Moody could do. Omar Atlas began to cry to promoter Gust Karras, seated at the timekeeper’s table, complaining that me using a flashlight is an unfair advantage.

The match got underway and was scheduled for a two-hour time limit with no disqualification. Kirby simply outwrestled Atlas during the first five minutes of the battle, and, when Atlas did a reverse on a hammerlock, the crowd went wild. I clicked on the light four times, which meant that the hold could be reversed with a motion under his waist and than take a waist lock.

As I turned off the light, I felt two very huge hands grab the flashlight from my hands. It was Geigel, and he was still very angry with me for giving the salt to my guys. He punched me in the chest knocking me to the stage and then proceeded to pick me up and toss me into the band pit that was between the crowd and us. Togo and Tokyo Joe ran up on Geigel and forced him to let me go. I fell into the pit and knocked over chairs and music stands and microphones and everything that wasn't nailed down.

Kirby, in the meantime, had a top wristlock on Atlas and was torturing him towards submission. Atlas reversed the hold and took another hammerlock on Kirby, forcing him to the ropes. Kirby jumped from the ring and ran to the back of the arena where I was. He was fearful that Geigel had injured me beyond the ability to be at ringside. As I rose from the pile of wooden chairs and metal music stands, I assured Roger that I was okay and for him to return to the ring.

As I turned to the stage, Togo and Joe were holding Geigel by each arm and were kicking him in the legs with their bare feet. I returned to the stage and told them to let him loose, as we would be leaving the building. Before I did, I leveled the five-cell light across Geigel's chest and knocked him into the pit, where I had just come from. The impact was so hard that it knocked the end off the light, and batteries went flying everywhere.

I looked back at the ring, and Roger was just finishing up beating Atlas into a bloody mess and putting him into a full Boston Crab for the win. It took 12 uniformed officers to get us safely back to our cars parked some two blocks away at the Police station.

It was "JUST ANOTHER NIGHT IN ST. JOE."

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers
2004 CAC Honoree