The Great Dane Part Two

Please remember Penny Banner in your prayers this week as she is going through a very tough week with health issues. She is a fantastic lady that has helped so many people in the wrestling business. Her smile and kind words are her trademark. We all love you, Penny and are pulling for you--Percival

(NOTE FROM ROB: Last week and this week, Percival is kind enough to allow a guest columnist to share with us one of his greatest pro wrestling memories. This story of The Great Dane is Part Two and was contributed by Paul Farber.)

John Dane was billed as the Great Dane and had come into the area a couple of years earlier, sporting bleached blond hair, black full length tights and black boots. Eventually, the hair went to its normal color of black. The Great Dane was a nasty, rotten villain, but he was one of the nicest guys in the world outside of the ring.

He would drift in and out of the area. I can still hear his introduction--"… And in this corner, weighing in at 220 pounds, from Copenhagen, Denmark, the Great Dane!" There would be an instant chorus of boos. I loved it. The Dane was good; he could wrestle as well as entertain the paying crowd. He could cause instant dislike for himself. He was a master of his trade.

I never saw him win a match. He would appear on television and would always lose. He would always appear in the areas or small towns in the opening bout or second up on the card. He would also, at different times, referee. I never saw him do an interview nor appear in a main event, unless he was the referee. But, besides all this, he could perform as well as anyone.

Never the big star, but always the good performer. In my eyes, he was a star; it took all kinds with specific roles to make a card successful. The part about Copenhagen, Denmark, I feel, was false. He probably never ever saw Copenhagen, or Europe, for that matter, but who cares; he was The Great Dane.

He had appeared in the Indianapolis area during the mid-60's. I believe I was told it was under the old Big Time Wrestling Promotion. John told me that he trained with Stu Hart in Calgary, and there was something we hear about today but I was hearing about Hart in the sixties. I remember John saying, "I would work in the daytime, and Stu would beat the @#$% out of me at night." He also told me that he once was wrestling in Georgia, and a riot broke out.

He was relieved to get to the back of the building, where two Deputy Sheriffs were standing. But, to his horror, one officer pulled his gun and put it to the Dane’s head and said, "Y'all move and I blow your @#$% head off." He froze in shock. They then ordered him to the dressing room and told him to get dressed and get out. He dressed as quickly as possible and was shown a side door, which he took, and then got to his car and fled. He laughed about this adventure but also didn't forget the grave danger he had been in.

John had now returned from the truck with some rubber cement. "I guess I will have to glue the seam." He applied the glue, and then he and I went over by the door while the glue dried. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He lit one up, inhaled, and then blew out the smoke. I watched as the smoke billowed out and upward, somewhat like fog.

I asked him, "Does smoking bother you in the ring?" "No," he replied. "I went off them for a couple months a winter or two ago when I was working out in California, and I could tell the difference. It's a bad habit, but I don't drink---don't enjoy it---so I guess I got to have at least one bad habit," he laughed. I told him he looked tired. "I am," he said, "I came down a couple days ago and have been on the go all the time.

“I live up in Northern Minnesota, got a small farm, not enough to really make a living off of, but we like it,” he said. "We just had a baby this winter; the baby was sick but doing OK now," he stated. "It must been tough being on the road and having a family," I said. "Yes," he said, "but you know there is nothing like doing what you like to do; I tell you, this business, it gets in your blood."

We talked for some time, and then, as the crowd started to come in, we shook hands and both said, "See you later." I went to get my ticket, and he went to adjust the mat and then headed for the locker room.

After the card was over, we were quickly ushered out of the building. I went to my car and headed for the local bar. There I sat, downing beer and re-running the events of the wrestling card around in my head. It was getting late when I left the bar. There was a chill in the air, and fog was setting in.

I got in my car and headed for home. My heroes were out there, heading to a new town and a new card for the next night. I looked at the fog floating around; it reminded me of the smoke from the Dane's cigarette, the way it floated around and away from me. Kind of like the Great Dane floating away.

I never saw John after that, nor have I talked to him. I enjoyed him, he was good, and, in my wrestling cloud, I think about him. John, has the good Lord taken you, or, if not, where are you? I will have to find out someday. Percival, for me and the Great Dane, that's the way it was back on that night in 1969.

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