Kansas City 2005 Part Three

This week, a boyhood idol of mine passed away. Czaya (pronounced Chai-ya) Bob Nandor, a Hungarian-born native, passed away at age 80 near Port Huron, Michigan. He headlined many cards that I attended at the old Flint Arena as a youth. RIP, Bob.--Percival

Meeting with Lord Littlebrook and renewing a brotherhood that has lasted over three decades was a big highlight of my trip to the Midwest. Leaving his huge home and returning to Rod Phillips’ home in Kansas City was a chore for me, as I never say GOODBYE to people that have touched my life. I just bid them "Until the next time" and leave a big hug and a handshake behind.

The fifty miles back to North Kansas City were filled with many thoughts and prayers as I looked out the windows of the rental car and stared at the roadsides going by. So many times, I had taken this road and carried the guys I managed to towns in the Midwest to battle their adversaries in arenas.

Arriving at Rod's, I quickly showered and got ready for the evening and going to BB's Barbeque again to listen to the blues to be played by the best in the business.

We arrived at 6 p.m. and were greeted again by Lindsay Shannon, the owner. He was cleaning and straightening the stage area up for Studebaker John from Chicago. John's resume reads as follows … this is from his website.

Studebaker John Grimaldi was born in an Italian-American section of Chicago and started playing harmonica at age 7. Under the spell of music he heard on Maxwell Street, Chicago's famed blues melting pot, Grimaldi began performing as Studebaker John and the Hawks in the '70s. The band name referenced the Studebaker Hawk, a car Grimaldi still owns today, and was also intended as a tribute to his friend, J.B. Hutto and the Hawks. John began playing guitar after a life-changing experience of seeing Hound Dog Taylor and the Houserockers perform. "‘Hound Dog’ started playing, hitting notes that sent chills up and down my spine. He was versatile and powerful and would play rhythm as well as leads. I left there knowing what I wanted to do. I had to play slide guitar."

At 8:15 p.m., following Terrence O'Malley on the Honky Tonk Piano, John entered the stage area to begin warming up his two guitars and his Chicago Harp (Harmonica with a microphone attached). One of the guitars resembled a dobro, but John's was only about two inches thick as opposed to the 5-6 inch style that is used by many country artists. Rod made mention to me that it was a Resophonic unit made by Tanglewood.

During the next 45 minutes, John and his drummer and bass player tuned and retuned their sounds until they were just perfect. John left the stage and quickly changed into a dark purple suit with a black shirt, and the outfit was topped by a black cap and offset by a pair of the brightest red shoes I had seen since the days I was involved in ringside antics.

The building was a complete sellout, and the crowd spilled onto the outside eating area. The stage lights went dark, and Lindsay grabbed the mike and gave a hearty welcome back to Studebaker John and the Hawks. I was told that he comes in three to four times a year and always has a standing room crowd.

Suddenly, I was mesmerized by the chrome facing on the slide dobro as sparks seemed to start flying off the strings with John hitting notes that I didn't know existed. John did a lot of music from his newest CD, called "Between Life and Death", which is available on his website, www.studebakerjohn.com. Songs like "This Road", "Crazy For Your Love", "If I Had A Nickel" and "Cold Chills".

They were doing a live DVD from the performance, and two cameramen followed and cut in very close to where I was sitting in the front row near John. They got a lot of emotion from John's fingers as he slid a metal guard up and down the strings and created some of the strangest noises I had ever heard from a string instrument.

I looked over to John's bass player and watched him as he followed the many chords that were being spent doing the songs. This guy resembled Sgt. Slaughter from a distance and had the biggest smile on his face. I knew that he loved what he was doing and that he was a complete professional.

The drummer, Willie, kept the crowd much in rhythm with his unorthodox style and superb beat. He made the skins of those drums and the cymbals ring out to his own style. When he played, the crowd was enthralled, and they picked up on every note he produced.

The first set ended at about 10:30, and they took a much-needed break to get close and personal with all the fans and offer the sale of CD’s. John kept looking at me sitting behind the line of folks as if he knew me from a prior life. I was not hard to spot in the overflow crowd, as I had on a favorite western shirt with an Indian design on it.

Finally, I had a chance to say hello to him and thank him for making my trip to Kansas City one that I will remember for a long time to come. I had told him that I used to manage Black Angus in the professional wrestling business, and he remarked that he had seen us many years ago in Wichita at the Century II Auditorium.

We chatted for a few minutes, and then they called him downstairs to view and give his okay to the DVD that was being made that night. I went to the drummer and bass player, we exchanged business cards, and I asked the bass player if he knew that he resembled Sgt. Slaughter. He began to laugh and said that he didn't have enough jawbone but that he had been told that many times before.

As it was nearing 11 p.m., John began another set on the stage of some of the older stuff he had produced in his early days in Chicago. At 12 midnight, Rod tapped me and said that he was having problems staying awake and that we needed to be on our way. I waved at John and gave him a thumbs-up for a great night of entertainment.

As the huge Impala Chevy of Rod's crept out of the driveway of BB's, I looked back and just silently thanked John for making my night. It wasn't long before we were back at Rod's home, and I was snuggled in my bed and catching up on my much needed sleep.

The following morning, I went to see if I could find out where "The Viking", Bob Morse, was buried at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas. It was a short 20-mile drive that would leave me with a few extra hours before my flight left back to Toledo that afternoon.

I headed north on I-435 and then onto 29 North again to Platte City, Missouri and then turned to the west about 10 more miles and crossed the winding Missouri river and came into the city of Leavenworth. Just to the right, past a few motels, was the military complex that houses the DB barracks of some of the most incorrigible people in the Army. It is here that they are rehabilitated and reformed and sometimes returned to service or given dishonorable discharges.

I was given a very big inspection at the gate by armed personnel and asked what my business was there. They gave me a clean go-ahead along with many cars going through the checkpoint, and I proceeded out Custer Blvd. to the national cemetery. Stopping at the information area, I found where my old nemesis was laid to rest. It wasn't very far away. All the headstones are the same height and color but thank someone for setting them in a numerical order and by rows, or it would have been more difficult to find.

I paused in silence and looked to each side of the Viking's grave. A private first class was to his left, and a Lieutenant Colonel was at his right. Viking was an S2 in the Army, and I am not really sure what that meant. I was told by one of the soldiers patrolling the area that every soldier buried here was given full military honors during their interment.

I glanced at my watch and knew that I was running very close and said my goodbyes to a good friend and saluted his headstone and left. The short drive back to Kansas City International Airport seemed too quick, as I was there in less than a half hour. I turned in my rental car and rode the limo back to the terminal to await my flight home.

I ALWAYS enjoy going away on a trip, and I enjoy the feeling of seeing old friends again, but I soon find myself getting teary-eyed returning home. I guess that I am just human..…

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