The name of Bobby Shane was responsible for the biggest work ever played on me. It happened in 1975 and I was ready to inflict injury on the offender. Today, in hindsight, it was choreographed so well that we still roll on the floor in laughter when bringing it up at wrestling reunions.
I guess the work actually started in 1962. That was the year I first met a newcomer to the business named Bobby Shane. Prior to our introduction, I thought I was a wrestling freak. If there was information to be found about wrestling, regardless of how trivial, I had to know about it. Wrestling was my life, so in my mind, I had convinced myself that it was important to know useless facts like what was the name of the timekeeper for the matches in Kansas City, or what company printed tickets for the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles.
Then I met Bobby Shane ... and I discovered there was another wrestling zealot besides me. Bobby Shane not only knew the name of the timekeeper in Kansas City ... he knew his wife's name. He knew not only the printing company's name that printed wrestling ducats for Los Angeles, but he knew how the Olympic numbered their seats and assigned names for sections.
Well, I guess you could say, the two of us hit it off. We would go on the road together (he wrestled, I either sold programs or reffed), but during the countless hours of road boredom all we talked about was wrestling. Shane left the area after awhile, but we kept in touch almost daily. When he returned to this territory, (a little higher up on the card), we continued our relationship where we left off, and this mutual admiration for us two peas in a pod continued for the rest of his life.
He helped me more than I helped him, giving me ideas and finishes for the territory I ran in the 1970s. He even helped me with talent, sending in people like Ricky Gibson and Eric Pomery to spruce up some of our cards. On the other hand, I did as much for him as I could on the publicity end of the business. When I finally had a small voice in the office, I was able to utilize his talent to the fullest by keeping him on top when he appeared in this territory for the last time.
So you see, I made a lot of friends in wrestling, but Bobby Shane, I guess, was my closest friend. We all have a "best friend" and I guess Bobby was mine. After his death in a small plane crash, I felt like a piece of life had left me. I was devastated to say the least and still recall our journeys together in several territories.
But back to the work.
In 1975, our territory was so protective that we wouldn't even allow the media in the dressing room. Unless you were a professional wrestler, you couldn't enter the dressing room - no exceptions - ever. And then I get a phone call from a "wrestler" by the name of Carl Best. Although I had never heard of him, he managed to say the right thing during his phone call.
"... I'm from St. Louis and was a close friend of Bobby Shane. Bobby trained me how to wrestle and he even gave me some of his ring robes."
Well, I was getting ready to bring in a new face, so when he claimed to have been a protege of Bobby Shane, the soft spot in my heart opened up. I said I could use him and he could start on such-and-such a date in Seattle.
The day arrived sometime in early 1975. I was in the dressing room with the rest of the boys when in walks Carl Best. He actually looked like a stout Bobby Shane. Same facial and hair features; same boyish look; same walk ... and to butter the whole deal, he came in holding the ring robe I saw Bobby Shane wear at the Omni in Atlanta.
I thought to myself that I was going to use this boy good and give him all the push necessary to bring out his talent. He was in the opener against Goldie Rodgers, a Canadian who was a good solid worker and always added credibility to the card. Goldie, Carl Best, and the referee, Johnny Dupree had our little talk and I went on to other pre-match chores.
Right at eight o'clock, which was match time, Referee Dupree came up to me and said, "Have you seen the new kid's list?" I had no idea what list Johnny was referring to, so I glanced over to the new guy and saw him standing there wearing Bobby Shane's boots and a gold robe. He had a piece of paper in his hand that he was reading. "Whataya reading Carl?" I asked with authority. When he showed me, I needed smelling salts.
It was a list of four or five things to do that night and he told me he was having trouble memorizing them. I still have the list:
Step 1: Walk to ring.
Step 2: Yell at crowd.
Step 3: Get in ring and yell at crowd.
Step 4: Take off robe.
Step 5: Yell at referee.
By the way, "referee" is my spelling ... he had it misspelled.
It was only a feeling that a promoter could get ... there was a good house (not a sellout), but a good house out there, and you were sending out a complete mark, some guy who obviously has never ever been in a ring in his life ... you were sending him out and he was going to win.
I assumed he didn't speak carney (and, of course, was right), so as Goldie Rodgers and Johnny Dupree left the dressing room to answer the opening bell, we at the very last second were able to "adjust" the program. Goldie beat him by throwing him over the top rope and he was counted out. Admittedly, referee Johnny Dupree made a "fast" 20-count, but he didn't have to ... Carl Best was still lying on the floor outside the ring nursing a banged-up elbow and knee he suffered in his first (and last) high spot for several minutes after the match.
And as I told Eddie Sullivan at the last Seattle reunion when he, of course, brings it up to ridicule me, I just say, "Bobby Shane, I still love you."
