Post by Stu-E Price on Jul 23, 2007 15:32:20 GMT -5
I see a lot of Owen in Smith. They have the same laugh lines, the same voice, the same cheeks and the same salty humor. I wonder how Owen's widow Martha, could not want her kids to see Smith when he and Owen are so much alike.
When Owen was tag-teaming with Davey and it was his turn to wait in the corner while Davey wrestled with say, the Smoking Guns, Billy and Bart, Owen would be shouting all kinds of foul things just to get Davey laughing.
He'd scream, "Scratch his box! Scratch his snatch!" Things like that. Well Davey would start chuckling and so would the Guns. They'd all be ordering Owen to stop it.
Owen was always up to something, either messing up his hair or spiking it up as high as he could. Sometimes he'd comb it straight down flat against his forehead before a TV taping. He was a great joker and a real showman.
In 1993, Christina Neal from the British magazine Gladiators, became a really good friend of mine. She started out as rock star journalist, writing profiles of bands like Oasis and The Verve. Then she became quite a wrestling fan and decided to do an article on Owen.
Owen set it up by phone from the States. He arranged to meet her at his hotel when he toured England. She came into his room at the appointed time and he emerged from the bathroom wearing a tee-shirt and trunks that bulged obscenely at the front. He had rolled up a big bath towel and shoved down his shorts.
It looked ridiculous, but he acted very nonchalant. Smiling and shaking hands he asked, "Okay what did you want to talk about?"
She thought, "Oh, my God, is he for real?" because she didn't know him. Owen had a gift for keeping a straight face, so he sat down cross-legged on the end of the bed and proceeded to answer her questions. When the interview was over he let her in on the apparent joke. She thought he was hilarious and they became good pals.
Smith got up to similar antics when he was in Germany in the late ’70s. All the wrestlers had to come down to the ring in parade fashion before the matches started so that the fans could see who was wrestling on the card that night. The wrestlers would come out one at a time to get introduced in their gear, then they’d wait in the ring until the last person arrived then leave the ring in the same order they had arrived.
Each night during this tournament, Smith would come out in a different outfit. One night, he did a mechanical robot walk, another night he came out with a towel stuffed down the front of his trunks. And one night he got bored and came up with a scheme that nearly got him kicked out of Germany.
The tournament was held in a big tent on the fairgrounds in Hanover and it was several weeks long. The pay was bad, but the upside was the experience gained and the opportunity to meet other wrestlers, which could lead to more work in other countries.
Smith had been growing a mustache, a bushy one. The last night of the tournament, he shaped it to look like Hitler's. He parted his hair over by his ear, and slicked it down with Vaseline and rubbed it with black shoe polish. He waited until mere moments before the marching music so nobody would stop him. Once in the ring, he raised his hand in a Heil Hitler salute and the entire arena, which had been buzzing with excitement over the impending match, went totally silent. Only the wrestlers were cracking up. The promoter was furious.
Owen's impressions were awesome. He could imitate my dad perfectly. Even Owen's best friends didn't recognize it was him on the phone if he didn't want them to.
In 1986, Owen was on the road with Mr. Hughes, a huge African American wrestler. Owen was in the hotel room when Mr. Hughes was unpacking his stuff. He noticed Hughes had lots of stolen hotel towels and ashtrays and soap in his suitcase. Later, when Owen was back in his own room he called Hughes.
"This is the hotel manager. It has come to our attention you are stealing things from our hotel."
"Uh no, I don't know what you mean," replied Mr. Hughes.
"Don't play coy with me sir." Owen scolded. "I happen to be aware you've taken towels, washcloths and even an ashtray! I am calling Mr. McMahon. I want you people out of my hotel. Now! Out! All of you!"
"Sir, sir..." Mr. Hughes stuttered. "I was planning to put it all back. I need the towels for work tonight. I wasn't planning to steal anything."
"You bunch of thieves," Owen ranted. "Pack your things, or I'm calling the police. I'm ordering you all out."
Mr. Hughes was really upset. He didn't want Vince to get word that he was causing all this trouble, but he had to get ready for the match that night. So he promised to meet the manager in his office first thing in the morning. Owen, playing the manager, reluctantly agreed.
The next morning as the wrestlers were getting ready to board buses and taxis for the airport, Owen had a good laugh as he watched poor Mr. Hughes slink into the manager's office with two cups of coffee in hand. The manager must have wondered what in the heck Mr. Hughes was talking about.
Davey wrestled together with Owen as a tag team for 15 years, spending countless days on the road together. Most of the TV footage of Owen includes Davey with him horsing around. Owen would always encourage Davey to walk ahead, muscles bulging in a strongman pose, and then as Davey neared the ring, Owen would race in front and strike a pose of his own. They were inseparable.
In fact, the last conversation Owen and Davey had was in April 1999 a month before Owen died. Owen visited Davey at the Rockyview Hospital in Calgary. Even though Davey was affiliated with the WWF's rival, WCW, and Owen was a WWF star, they were determined to wrestle together again. Owen said he was working it out with Vince.
When they traveled together, Owen loved to pull the ribs on Davey because he would get so mad and yet would be unable to stop laughing. One time they boarded a flight back to Calgary after a show in Atlanta. Owen and Bret upgraded to first class, but Davey was late and got stuck in coach. That was really uncomfortable for such a big guy.
Owen and Bret got comfortable and Davey walked by. Owen whispered to Davey not to worry. He would help him move up front. But just before the plane took off, Owen called the male flight attendant over and confided in him that there was a passenger in coach who was a big wrestling fan.
"He follows us around. He really believes he's a wrestler and is always trying to act like he is one of us." Owen told the attendant that this guy would probably try to sneak into first class.
"I don't mind him coming up and saying hi, but can you make sure he takes his seat back in coach after a few minutes?”
The flight attendant said, "Sure, just give me a signal."
A little later Owen visited Davey at the back of the plane and told him he had it all set up for him to move up to first class. So Davey moved all his stuff to an empty seat in front of Owen and Bret. They chatted a while then Davey settled back for a nap. Owen gave the flight attendant the signal.
"Sir?" said the flight attendant as he leaned over Davey and shook him awake, "I think it's time for you to go and take your seat."
Davey opened one eye. "What are you talking about? I'm s'posed to be ’ere. I'm a wrestler. These are my brothers-in-law." He jerked his thumb back toward Owen and Bret.
The flight attendant looked over Davey's head to Owen who shook his head and circled his ear with a his forefinger indicating that Davey was crazy.
The flight attendant turned back to Davey, "Yes, okay sir, good enough. But you still need to take your seat."
Embarrassed, Davey stood up and gathered his things. As he passed them, Owen burst out laughing.
"Fuck you Owen! And you too Bret. Fuck the both of you." Davey blustered and stormed off down the aisle.
Ribs were pulled on Owen too, even ones that weren't too funny. Owen first got into wrestling in 1988. He never drank or took pills or any kind of drugs. He was on the road with Bret and Jim doing a coast-to-coast WWF tour. Owen was wrestling as the Blue Blazer. Bret and Jim were riding high as The Hart Foundation.
Owen was very conservative and careful with his money. He couldn't fathom going out to a bar and spending $50 to get drunk, then having to deal with a hangover the next day. But one match in Chicago was held on Jim's birthday, so Owen relented because he wanted to fit in with the guys who he respected so much. That night he accompanied Jim, Davey, Dynamite and Bret to a blues club.
Unfortunately for Owen, his compatriots had a hidden agenda. They had planned to get him wasted as part of his wrestling initiation.
When Owen wasn't looking they dropped halcion in his beer. Of course it didn't take very much to get him totally bombed. First, he began slurring his words. Then he fell down. He was stymied. What the heck was going on? He'd only had one beer. Owen said he didn't remember much after that. But the guys made fun of him for days, telling him he’d passed out and had to be carried out from the bar.
Owen got Bret back in 1995. He and Bret used to wrestle each other in the “Brother vs. Brother” feud set up for the WWF main event. Bret was the baby face and Owen—the jealous little brother – was the heel. One night Owen snuck into the ring before the show started and concealed a handful of sardines in the turnbuckle. Then in preparation for a quick exit after the show, he packed his bag and left it beside the door.
When his match with Bret was nearing the finish, Owen passed by the turnbuckle and secretly scooped up the sardines. Then he slammed Bret and put him in a camel clutch, as they had previously agreed. This placed Bret flat on his stomach with Owen squatting on the small of Bret's back. Owen grabbed Bret under the chin and pulled his head. But this time he stuck his fingers inside Bret's mouth as if to pull his cheeks apart.
Bret wondered what Owen was doing when an odd salty taste filled his mouth. Then Owen clamped Bret's mouth shut with both hands. Bret continued to try to be professional and sell the hold while puzzling over what was in his mouth. His eyes widened as he realized it wasn't just the taste of Owen's sweaty fingers on his tongue, it was a mouthful of raw fish!
Owen refused to let go. Bret bucked like a bronco throwing Owen to the mat. Spitting and choking, he put Owen in a particularly rough Sharpshooter, his signature move. Owen tapped out, jumped up and ran through the curtain past Davey and a group of agents who were all wiping tears from their eyes after watching what Owen had done. Bret was hot on Owen's heels screaming at him about his unprofessional behavior, which made everyone laugh even harder.
Even Dad wasn't exempt from Owen's phone shenanigans. Twelve years ago when Dad was in his 70s and still a strong athlete, he, Bret and Jade, Bret's daughter, were at Wrestlemania. They were watching the show from a suite when the phone rang. Bret picked it up. It was for my dad.
The guy on the other line said he was Reg Parks, a retired wrestler and long-time friend of my dad's. Reg was into jogging and light weight training. Puzzled over why he would need to speak to my dad right then, Bret handed him the phone.
Bret watched as Dad nodded and chuckled into the phone. “Hiya, Reg. Ah yeah, I'm here with Bret watching the show. What can I do for you?"
Suddenly my dad frowned and said, "What's that Reg? What are you saying?"
My dad got madder and madder until he was yelling into the phone. “I'm a what? Oh really!" Then he stood up.
"If you really think you can take me, Reg, we should just go down in the lobby right gaddamned now and we'll just see!"
Then the caller said something and my dad slammed the phone down on the cradle and sat down.
"That little bastard Owen got me again," he muttered.
When Owen was tag-teaming with Davey and it was his turn to wait in the corner while Davey wrestled with say, the Smoking Guns, Billy and Bart, Owen would be shouting all kinds of foul things just to get Davey laughing.
He'd scream, "Scratch his box! Scratch his snatch!" Things like that. Well Davey would start chuckling and so would the Guns. They'd all be ordering Owen to stop it.
Owen was always up to something, either messing up his hair or spiking it up as high as he could. Sometimes he'd comb it straight down flat against his forehead before a TV taping. He was a great joker and a real showman.
In 1993, Christina Neal from the British magazine Gladiators, became a really good friend of mine. She started out as rock star journalist, writing profiles of bands like Oasis and The Verve. Then she became quite a wrestling fan and decided to do an article on Owen.
Owen set it up by phone from the States. He arranged to meet her at his hotel when he toured England. She came into his room at the appointed time and he emerged from the bathroom wearing a tee-shirt and trunks that bulged obscenely at the front. He had rolled up a big bath towel and shoved down his shorts.
It looked ridiculous, but he acted very nonchalant. Smiling and shaking hands he asked, "Okay what did you want to talk about?"
She thought, "Oh, my God, is he for real?" because she didn't know him. Owen had a gift for keeping a straight face, so he sat down cross-legged on the end of the bed and proceeded to answer her questions. When the interview was over he let her in on the apparent joke. She thought he was hilarious and they became good pals.
Smith got up to similar antics when he was in Germany in the late ’70s. All the wrestlers had to come down to the ring in parade fashion before the matches started so that the fans could see who was wrestling on the card that night. The wrestlers would come out one at a time to get introduced in their gear, then they’d wait in the ring until the last person arrived then leave the ring in the same order they had arrived.
Each night during this tournament, Smith would come out in a different outfit. One night, he did a mechanical robot walk, another night he came out with a towel stuffed down the front of his trunks. And one night he got bored and came up with a scheme that nearly got him kicked out of Germany.
The tournament was held in a big tent on the fairgrounds in Hanover and it was several weeks long. The pay was bad, but the upside was the experience gained and the opportunity to meet other wrestlers, which could lead to more work in other countries.
Smith had been growing a mustache, a bushy one. The last night of the tournament, he shaped it to look like Hitler's. He parted his hair over by his ear, and slicked it down with Vaseline and rubbed it with black shoe polish. He waited until mere moments before the marching music so nobody would stop him. Once in the ring, he raised his hand in a Heil Hitler salute and the entire arena, which had been buzzing with excitement over the impending match, went totally silent. Only the wrestlers were cracking up. The promoter was furious.
Owen's impressions were awesome. He could imitate my dad perfectly. Even Owen's best friends didn't recognize it was him on the phone if he didn't want them to.
In 1986, Owen was on the road with Mr. Hughes, a huge African American wrestler. Owen was in the hotel room when Mr. Hughes was unpacking his stuff. He noticed Hughes had lots of stolen hotel towels and ashtrays and soap in his suitcase. Later, when Owen was back in his own room he called Hughes.
"This is the hotel manager. It has come to our attention you are stealing things from our hotel."
"Uh no, I don't know what you mean," replied Mr. Hughes.
"Don't play coy with me sir." Owen scolded. "I happen to be aware you've taken towels, washcloths and even an ashtray! I am calling Mr. McMahon. I want you people out of my hotel. Now! Out! All of you!"
"Sir, sir..." Mr. Hughes stuttered. "I was planning to put it all back. I need the towels for work tonight. I wasn't planning to steal anything."
"You bunch of thieves," Owen ranted. "Pack your things, or I'm calling the police. I'm ordering you all out."
Mr. Hughes was really upset. He didn't want Vince to get word that he was causing all this trouble, but he had to get ready for the match that night. So he promised to meet the manager in his office first thing in the morning. Owen, playing the manager, reluctantly agreed.
The next morning as the wrestlers were getting ready to board buses and taxis for the airport, Owen had a good laugh as he watched poor Mr. Hughes slink into the manager's office with two cups of coffee in hand. The manager must have wondered what in the heck Mr. Hughes was talking about.
Davey wrestled together with Owen as a tag team for 15 years, spending countless days on the road together. Most of the TV footage of Owen includes Davey with him horsing around. Owen would always encourage Davey to walk ahead, muscles bulging in a strongman pose, and then as Davey neared the ring, Owen would race in front and strike a pose of his own. They were inseparable.
In fact, the last conversation Owen and Davey had was in April 1999 a month before Owen died. Owen visited Davey at the Rockyview Hospital in Calgary. Even though Davey was affiliated with the WWF's rival, WCW, and Owen was a WWF star, they were determined to wrestle together again. Owen said he was working it out with Vince.
When they traveled together, Owen loved to pull the ribs on Davey because he would get so mad and yet would be unable to stop laughing. One time they boarded a flight back to Calgary after a show in Atlanta. Owen and Bret upgraded to first class, but Davey was late and got stuck in coach. That was really uncomfortable for such a big guy.
Owen and Bret got comfortable and Davey walked by. Owen whispered to Davey not to worry. He would help him move up front. But just before the plane took off, Owen called the male flight attendant over and confided in him that there was a passenger in coach who was a big wrestling fan.
"He follows us around. He really believes he's a wrestler and is always trying to act like he is one of us." Owen told the attendant that this guy would probably try to sneak into first class.
"I don't mind him coming up and saying hi, but can you make sure he takes his seat back in coach after a few minutes?”
The flight attendant said, "Sure, just give me a signal."
A little later Owen visited Davey at the back of the plane and told him he had it all set up for him to move up to first class. So Davey moved all his stuff to an empty seat in front of Owen and Bret. They chatted a while then Davey settled back for a nap. Owen gave the flight attendant the signal.
"Sir?" said the flight attendant as he leaned over Davey and shook him awake, "I think it's time for you to go and take your seat."
Davey opened one eye. "What are you talking about? I'm s'posed to be ’ere. I'm a wrestler. These are my brothers-in-law." He jerked his thumb back toward Owen and Bret.
The flight attendant looked over Davey's head to Owen who shook his head and circled his ear with a his forefinger indicating that Davey was crazy.
The flight attendant turned back to Davey, "Yes, okay sir, good enough. But you still need to take your seat."
Embarrassed, Davey stood up and gathered his things. As he passed them, Owen burst out laughing.
"Fuck you Owen! And you too Bret. Fuck the both of you." Davey blustered and stormed off down the aisle.
Ribs were pulled on Owen too, even ones that weren't too funny. Owen first got into wrestling in 1988. He never drank or took pills or any kind of drugs. He was on the road with Bret and Jim doing a coast-to-coast WWF tour. Owen was wrestling as the Blue Blazer. Bret and Jim were riding high as The Hart Foundation.
Owen was very conservative and careful with his money. He couldn't fathom going out to a bar and spending $50 to get drunk, then having to deal with a hangover the next day. But one match in Chicago was held on Jim's birthday, so Owen relented because he wanted to fit in with the guys who he respected so much. That night he accompanied Jim, Davey, Dynamite and Bret to a blues club.
Unfortunately for Owen, his compatriots had a hidden agenda. They had planned to get him wasted as part of his wrestling initiation.
When Owen wasn't looking they dropped halcion in his beer. Of course it didn't take very much to get him totally bombed. First, he began slurring his words. Then he fell down. He was stymied. What the heck was going on? He'd only had one beer. Owen said he didn't remember much after that. But the guys made fun of him for days, telling him he’d passed out and had to be carried out from the bar.
Owen got Bret back in 1995. He and Bret used to wrestle each other in the “Brother vs. Brother” feud set up for the WWF main event. Bret was the baby face and Owen—the jealous little brother – was the heel. One night Owen snuck into the ring before the show started and concealed a handful of sardines in the turnbuckle. Then in preparation for a quick exit after the show, he packed his bag and left it beside the door.
When his match with Bret was nearing the finish, Owen passed by the turnbuckle and secretly scooped up the sardines. Then he slammed Bret and put him in a camel clutch, as they had previously agreed. This placed Bret flat on his stomach with Owen squatting on the small of Bret's back. Owen grabbed Bret under the chin and pulled his head. But this time he stuck his fingers inside Bret's mouth as if to pull his cheeks apart.
Bret wondered what Owen was doing when an odd salty taste filled his mouth. Then Owen clamped Bret's mouth shut with both hands. Bret continued to try to be professional and sell the hold while puzzling over what was in his mouth. His eyes widened as he realized it wasn't just the taste of Owen's sweaty fingers on his tongue, it was a mouthful of raw fish!
Owen refused to let go. Bret bucked like a bronco throwing Owen to the mat. Spitting and choking, he put Owen in a particularly rough Sharpshooter, his signature move. Owen tapped out, jumped up and ran through the curtain past Davey and a group of agents who were all wiping tears from their eyes after watching what Owen had done. Bret was hot on Owen's heels screaming at him about his unprofessional behavior, which made everyone laugh even harder.
Even Dad wasn't exempt from Owen's phone shenanigans. Twelve years ago when Dad was in his 70s and still a strong athlete, he, Bret and Jade, Bret's daughter, were at Wrestlemania. They were watching the show from a suite when the phone rang. Bret picked it up. It was for my dad.
The guy on the other line said he was Reg Parks, a retired wrestler and long-time friend of my dad's. Reg was into jogging and light weight training. Puzzled over why he would need to speak to my dad right then, Bret handed him the phone.
Bret watched as Dad nodded and chuckled into the phone. “Hiya, Reg. Ah yeah, I'm here with Bret watching the show. What can I do for you?"
Suddenly my dad frowned and said, "What's that Reg? What are you saying?"
My dad got madder and madder until he was yelling into the phone. “I'm a what? Oh really!" Then he stood up.
"If you really think you can take me, Reg, we should just go down in the lobby right gaddamned now and we'll just see!"
Then the caller said something and my dad slammed the phone down on the cradle and sat down.
"That little bastard Owen got me again," he muttered.