Malcolm Monroe Part Two

My thanks again to Supermouth Dave Burzynski for writing such a wonderful story about Malcolm Monroe. Here's Part Two. I should be back with you next week. ... Percival

As we left you last week...

His unique way of getting back at me was to leap out of the ring, leaving his opponent irate and the referee intent on him getting back into the ring. He would pace in anger, keeping a straight face, longing for some type of sympathy from the crowd which never seemed to come his way. With the fans throwing numerous catcalls in his direction, knowing full well he had them in the palm of his hands with his illegal stall tactic, he would make a beeline in my direction, arms extended, looking for huge hug of confidence. When we met and clenched, much to the non-delight of the crowd, he proceeded to give me one major cheeky embrace. Yes sir, both hands planted firmly on my skinny behind, squeezing each cheek as if they were a roll of Charmin. It was hard to tell the difference between the crowd’s taunts and their simultaneous laughter. He would then point to one of the ugliest patrons in the crowd, first a woman, then a man, and say they were just jealous. All the while, he was pushing me in their direction, giving them the opportunity of their own pooper pinch as well. They were usually no takers, but it was great fun and always got a great crowd pop in the process.

If being with him ringside was a treat, being with him cutting promos was ecstasy. Our on-camera work was a thing of beauty. Though I did all the talking, his facial expressions and gestures were priceless pictures of non-verbal prose, ones that would have me nearly in tears. Our work was once recognized by the promoters of The Premier Center, a suburban Detroit concert venue that had the likes of Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and Malcolm’s wrestling shows. We were asked to cut a 30-second promotional commercial for their theater. I still enjoy watching my 27 seconds of verbal advertisement, yet it was Malcolm’s three seconds at the very end that made the spot a local television favorite.

Outside the ring, he was just as mischievous. One night in particular, I had brought to the matches my newest girlfriend, one who had no clue as to what I did for a living, or who was ever exposed to the pleasures of professional wrestling. I told Malcolm of her presence and how happy I was with her in my life. Having to sit alone in an arena full of rabid wrestling fans, then through numerous matches before our main event battle, it was a few hours before I was able to get a reaction from her as to what she has witnessed. And it was one I will never forget.

After our match against Bobo Brazil, I was always one to sit around the dressing room, analyze our bout, shoot the breeze with the boys, and take my good old time getting showered and dressed, waiting for the fans to have ample time to leave the arena, allowing me a safe exit after the show. Malcolm was just the opposite: disrobe, shower, dress and leave ASAP.

It was about shower time for me; as Malcolm left the dressing room, outside its doors I heard a loud scream. I figured he had just scared some female with his ogre like features, but, boy, was I wrong. A little while later, when I came out the door, my girlfriend stood standing there with a piercing look that cut through me like a hot knife through butter. What had I done wrong? What happened was this.

When Malcolm left the dressing room, there was a cute girl standing there who had asked him if I was nearly ready. He figured, this had to be my new girl. His welcome greeting to her was to put one hand on her shoulder, the other on her crotch area, and he proceeded to lift her over his head like a barbell, doing a few bench presses and a few how-de-do’s to boot. He put her down, said it was nice to have met you, that I shouldn’t be too much longer, and left the building. When I came out, she accused me of putting him up to what he had just done. I had no clue as to what had transpired, other than who may have screamed a few minutes before. I had to do a lot of talking to get myself out of that unique situation, one I’m not sure she believes to this day. Happily to say, it worked out in my favor as she is my beautiful wife of 17 years, Janet.

A few years later, when our core talent and their marketability started to wane, Malcolm began a new promotion, calling it Insane Championship Wrestling. It had a totally different style for its time, very hard core and risk taking, more along the lines of a pre-ECW. It was then that Malcolm decided it was time for him to hang up his tights as an in-ring performer and transfer his focus to helping others develop their craft. Many young talents went on to achieve fame in the business under his guidance, such as Rob Van Dam, Insane Clown Posse, Edge, Christian, Rhyno, Joe E Legend and Johnny Swinger.

Though he assisted them in training, he allowed them to perfect their own in ring presence. His main help came through frequent bookings in front of packed houses, giving each of them the vehicle to ride their own road to success. To this day, his sons carry on that flag in his honor. His eldest son, an independent star known as DBA and his Chris, a hell raising manager known as The Fly, continue to promote and perform at indy shows around the Detroit area.

Having retired from active managing in the early 90's, I kept in contact with Malcolm on a regular basis. Never had he given me an indication that anything other than good things were happening in his life. On June 7, 2004, I was saddened to hear of the passing of my good friend and partner. He had succumbed to a number of internal health related issues that he kept to himself. I made it a point to attend his funeral service, where many of the stars he helped along the way gathered to pay tribute. This in stark contrast to the funeral I attended only a few years prior for The Sheik, which no one, and I repeat, no one, from the wrestling business attended. How utterly disgusting since The Sheik, as did Malcolm, helped so many workers in the business, even those who didn’t work for him. Ask Harley Race and Bobby Heenan, they’ll testify to that. Though it was a sad day for us all, those who came helped solidify the spirit of Malcolm Monroe to Hall of Fame status.

For those who never had the unique opportunity to witness his character in the ring, you missed a fantastic performer. If you never were inflicted with his presence as a human being, you missed out on a great friend. For his 30 years of contribution to the sport of professional wrestling, he may never enter its sacred garden of its Hall of Fame, but his memory will live on larger than life to those he profoundly touched.

Rest in Peace, my brother.

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers