Malcolm Monroe

As this is posted, I am in Las Vegas for the 44th CAC Reunion and to gather with my "Other Family" again. I want to thank my Supermouth Brother Dave Burzynski for stepping up to the plate for me with a beautiful story about a great man that has gone to the big ring in the Heavens, Malcolm Monroe. See you back in a couple of weeks ... Percival

For every wrestler who is fortunate enough to go on to legend status in the sport of professional wrestling, there are literally hundreds of others who toil, bleed, sweat, ache, and claw there way as virtual unknowns in the business. Rare among those is someone who goes on to achieve main event success, be it on a local basis, yet is remembered more for his acts of kindness in helping others who would have had no foreseeable chance of gaining superstar status in pro wrestling. That man was my friend and partner, Malcolm Monroe.

Born Malcolm Vernell Oatneal, he came into this world on November 22, 1951 in the city of Detroit, Michigan. He grew up, as we all did in this area, watching Big Time Wrestling and its endless list of Hall of Fame greats, including The Sheik, Bobo Brazil, Dick the Bruiser, Fritz Von Erich, Larry Chene and Ricky Cortez, among others. I first remember meeting Malcolm when I was writing The Body Press program and photographer for The Sheik’s BTW promotion. He was working as an usher for Cobo Arena where his eyes were more apt to be glued to the action at ringside. We talked often, became good friends, and fantasized aloud how we pictured ourselves if we ever were given the chance to perform in that very ring.

With his bulk size of 300 pounds, it was an easy decision for him to follow his passion in wanting to become a professional wrestler. After months of training at Lou Klein’s Gym in Allen Park, MI, it was not long before he realized his dream was about to come true. He fondly remembered his debut appearance, going against George "The Animal" Steele. Dressed in black tights, huge furry boots, and a large white bear skin with the emblem "No Money" on it’s reverse side, he dubbed himself "Sweet Daddy" Malcolm Monroe and his legacy was about to begin.

Good friend and wrestling enthusiast Dr. Eric Goldenberg would have to be given credit for the "No Money" moniker. While still in training, and moonlighting on his ushering duties, the three of us were watching a match featuring "Big Money" Hank James, managed by Dr. Jerry Graham. Eric looked at Hank James, then in turn at Malcolm and said, "When you become a wrestler, you could be known as ‘No Money’ Malcolm Monroe." We had a good laugh about it at the time, but, in turn, the nickname stuck, and Malcolm used it for the thought provoking gimmick that it was.

He, along with a host of other guys in the area who never got the push to success, lingered for years in opening bout matches, doing the required job here and there, making little or no money, with no future advancement on the horizon. In the mid-70's, with territories falling faster than Richard Nixon’s credibility, there was virtually no place for Malcolm to go to hone his craft. Wanting to stay close to home and his family, he worked an everyday job to support his two passions: family and wrestling.

After the collapse of the NWA and Big Time Wrestling, with only WWF and WCW making infrequent stops in the Motor City, Malcolm found his true calling as a promoter. He began running local independent shows around the Detroit area, satisfying wrestling starved fans that came out in droves to watch their favorites of years past. His first promotion, Midwest Championship Wrestling, quickly caught on with fans for its exciting shows, featuring great talent such as The Sheik, Bobo Brazil, Luis Martinez, The Kangaroos and many more, all at affordable ticket prices. It was at this time that I received a call from Malcolm, asking if I would be interested in joining his group. I jumped at the chance.

I did so because Malcolm was always a great character to be around. He had an infectious booming laugh, a childlike personality of always wanting to have fun, and a high squeaky voice that never seemed to fit his 300-pound frame. I always referred to him as a Hulk Hogan type of wrestler--not a lot of pure wrestling talent, but loads of charisma, a solid gimmick, and a huge believable in ring presence. Not only did he want me to join his promotion, he wanted to spotlight me as his manager. I took on the challenge, and in the process, changed his image. We dyed Malcolm’s hair blond, gave him the nickname "Heavy Metal", which reflected my image and that of the musical trend of the 80's rock stardom of the time. Imagine the sight of a huge 300-pound African American male, blond hair, big furry boots, awkwardly playing the part of a black rocker who had no clue as to the style of the music, the odd look of its musical performers, or even the huge following MTV and its fans had towards wrestling. It ended up being the most fun I ever had in the business.

Of all the great talent that I had the fortune to manage in wrestling, Malcolm was without a doubt the most fun to work with. During a match, when it looked as though I would be giving him some dastardly advice to use against his opponent, in actuality, I would be whispering in his ear some off base, off color, out of place nonsense that would have him pacing in the ring, pent up in laughter. Not wanting to burst out laughing and killing any ongoing heat we had going with the crowd, he soldiered on, all the while looking for sweet revenge.

To be continued....

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers