by Linda Hogan
Macho Man was in Minnesota with Terry and Kate Kennedy when all of this was going on between them. Here he was coming over to the house all that time, with me making dinner for him, and I knew nothing about what was happening.
I had a wood table in the house that Brooke had made a big ding in when she was a baby. I eventually let her carve her name next to it. Then it became what we called the “autograph table,” and visitors would carve their name into it. I remember one night when Terry and Macho Man drank six bottles of red wine and Macho Man carved into the table “Whatever it takes.” I never knew what that meant back then. I feel now that it had to do with the affair and interpret it as meaning, no matter how much you had to lie, how much money you had to pay . . . whatever it takes, brotha. Real macho, right? His other catchphrase was “I’m not talking.” I assumed it was interview lingo for their wrestling angles!
I was faced with a big decision. I could leave with my two kids and be in the right to do so. Or I could stay with Terry and try to love and trust him again. If I decided to stay, I honestly didn’t know how I was going to be a devoted wife again. I felt immense pressure to muster up the strength to find love and forgiveness in my heart. When I was angry, I told Terry that I felt like taking the kids, moving to Hawaii, and never seeing him again. And I meant it. But, given the circumstances, he needed my help because he was in a world of shit. He had a lot riding on his good name and image. Terry apologized, held me, and begged me to stay. He needed his wife to stand strongly by his side, and that’s what I did. But I lived in my own private hell, not being able to talk to anyone about it, afraid to ask a lawyer for advice for fear Terry would find out. I put on my happy face for everyone when the truth is I just wanted to cry without stopping.
Terry was trying hard to show me that he regretted what was happening. He changed his phone number. He went back to doing the little things like making me coffee in the morning and taking the kids to school. He even bought me a new car and jewelry. Guilt gifts! His tail was between his legs, and he was totally submissive. And he needed to be. He needed to be sorry and show that he was sorry. Terry wanted it to all to be water under the bridge, but I felt like I was drowning.
I knew I needed to offer him forgiveness, but it was tough. Sometimes I would wake up in the morning and I’d be making the kids breakfast, and he would walk downstairs nonchalantly and act as if everything was normal again. He expected me to make him breakfast, too, like old times. I would look at him and smile, make his breakfast, and act normal, but truthfully I didn’t give a shit if he starved to death. I was still so angry.
It took months to heal. I felt betrayed, ugly, empty, angry, and embarrassed. I didn’t want his penis inside of me. I didn’t trust him anymore. I didn’t care if I looked pretty. I didn’t care if he was okay, or if he was happy or sad. I hated myself now, and I hated him even more for doing this to me. To us. To our family. The trust was gone.
I hadn’t said anything, but I called my mom and dad for advice. I had to tell my folks. They reminded me that he was still the father of our children and that maybe I should give him a second chance. He seemed like he was genuinely sorry, still loved me, and wanted to make things right. If I decided to leave, they pointed out, life might not be better on the other side of the fence, mainly for our kids. My family encouraged me to work through this and try to be the bigger person—to take one for the team. Reluctantly, I tried.
I was married to Hulk Hogan. He was a superstar, and the outside pressure from people—the business, the fans, our friends—was undoubtedly immense. It wasn’t an excuse, but taking a moment to think about it made me realize that if the public knew the truth, it would be a domino effect: the crumbling of an empire. Plus, my kids were so young and innocent. I had to stay.
I realized that if I told Terry that I forgave him I needed to show it. I wanted no part in doing back to him what he had done to me. It would just put me in the same category he was in: the gutter! Instead, I got busy with life and moved on from the incident as best I could. I put all of my feelings out there knowing I could get hurt again. I gave Terry 100 percent of whatever I had left. It was day by day, minute by minute. I had relapses of anger, questions, and fears from having such low self-esteem, but I moved on.
I never really knew the real circumstances surrounding the Kate Kennedy accusations and Terry certainly wasn’t telling me the whole truth. From what I gathered, Kennedy had filed a claim for sexual battery and Terry needed to fight these charges in court and in the media. Unless I stood proudly beside him, he would lose both battles. He might as well have been a politician, because I was playing the politician’s wife. Who knows how many hundreds of thousands of dollars we spent on attorney fees getting Terry out of that mess? A confidentiality agreement was entered into. How could he do this to us?
I wondered if Terry really had wanted me to stay or if he just really needed me to stay.
I was horribly depressed. I felt so lonely. Because he was famous, I couldn’t tell anyone about it. If I went to friends or a psychologist, word could get out and it could be the end for him, professionally. I was trapped. It was horrible. Even though I spoke to my family in absolute confidence, they were three thousand miles away. Everybody I had to deal with on a daily basis was in Florida. Not being able to tell anyone how I felt was so difficult. When the housekeeper would show up in the morning with her bright sunny smile, I would begin to cry. I eventually opened up to her. I couldn’t hide it anymore.
It took me weeks, if not months, to smile again. It was hard to put on a brave face for my children. They would make cute little jokes and hug me and ask, “What’s wrong, Mommy?” The pureness of them and the abrasiveness of my own private life made me just want to cry. I started doubting everything. Every word he said. Every excuse he made. Every place he said he was. Every place he said he was going to go to. Pretty soon my marriage was like a piece of paper with a few pinholes in it. Then the pinholes became tears, shreds, and big gaping holes, and after a while it was just completely torn apart. I had to hold it together, for my family and for my husband’s career.
Chapter Seven
Guilty Pleasures
CALIFORNIA OR FLORIDA—THAT WAS AN ONGOING debate in our marriage. As much as I missed having my family around and raising our children with my family in their lives, I honored the commitment I made with Terry and we stayed in Florida.
In 1992, we had been searching for a bigger house and finally fell in love with one on Willadel Drive in Belleair. It was an old Spanish-style mansion from the early 1900s, positioned right on the water. Legend has it that the home once belonged to an old mafioso who became extremely wealthy from bootlegging. He had a boat basin right on the property and a seaplane would fly in to drop off the moonshine, which was then sold to the historic hotel nearby. Although it was a magnificent piece of property, the home needed to be remodeled in a big way. The contractors told us that the concrete walls were eighteen inches thick, so the remodeling would be extremely costly. They suggested bulldozing it and starting over from scratch. Terry and I agreed. The lot cost $2 million and we would embark on spending another $7 million to build our dream home. There was no “dream a little dream” when I was married to Terry . . . we always dreamed big.
Years before, I had seen an unusual house on Lake Arrowhead in California. A wealthy shipping magnate had a chateau in France moved to California, and it was breathtaking. I remember saying to myself that if I ever got a chance to build a home, I would want one like that.
Well, I had my chance.
Terry loved the idea of having his own gym, a boat dock, and a big office, and he pretty much let me do anything I wanted. I made a trip to France along with my mom, Brooke, and an import tile expert from the States named François. We located unique tile and stone from four-hundred-year-old castles that had been demolished. I had the authentic tiles from those structures shipped in a container to Miami and then on a truck to Clearwater. I wanted the house to look like it had been th
ere for two hundred years, with everything authentic and original. It was actually cheaper than buying the reproduction tiles from Chicago, which would not have given me the same antique look. I also got antiques from Paris flea markets and dishes from quaint French towns. I threw myself into the building of the house. I needed something to do for myself to take my mind off the past.
The Willadel estate we were hoping to build took a year of planning and two and a half years of construction. I was at the construction site, checking closely that everything was running smoothly. Every day, I would drop the kids off at school and then go directly to the site. Later, I would pick Brooke and Nick up and bring them to the new house. If they had homework, I’d let them do it in the construction trailer while I oversaw the crew. My presence at the construction site caused a lot of tension between Terry and me. He expected me to be home promptly with the children after school and wanted me to stay there. A nanny would have been a big help, but I liked the kids with me and they liked to be with me. I loved taking care of my kids. At the construction site there were a lot of guys with their shirts off. Big deal! I wasn’t looking, nor did I care. Terry was constantly around actresses and beautiful models in his line of work and I just had to deal with that. I’m pretty sure he didn’t like it when the shoe—rather, the construction boot—was on the other foot.
When the house was completed, it had everything we needed. A home gym and glass-enclosed spa, not to mention the views as we were right on the water. I absolutely adored the big kitchen and dining room, where I looked forward to having our friends over for dinner.
It was a magnificent French manor house—a one-of-a-kind place that I put my heart and soul into. In the end, we had built the ultimate showplace for the ultimate showman in wrestling. Looking back, I think the house may have been the biggest guilt gift ever.
Terry needed to get knee surgery, so he scheduled time off from work for the first time in years. While recovering in Florida, he took this opportunity to spend more time with the kids. Prior to this, I had done everything for the kids on my own. All of a sudden Terry was at home and eager to try to chip away at some of the duties that were a part of my regular daily schedule. The home had long been my domain, and this took some getting used to; it would be like me jumping into the wrestling ring and being his tag team partner. Quite honestly, at first it was hard having Terry around all the time after he was never home. He was so close to losing us that maybe he realized you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone!
Although I know Terry adored the kids and loved spending time with them, I also felt he wanted to prove to me after the Kate Kennedy situation that something like that would never happen again in our marriage. He didn’t want to just tell me he was sorry, he wanted to show me how he was a changed man and how much he loved me. For my fortieth birthday he bought me a beautiful black convertible Rolls. He got the family our own private jet. Terry bought me a new wedding ring because the stone had fallen out of mine. He also had my name tattooed on his finger. Terry was really trying to make things right with me again and put our life together back in the positive direction it once was. I would have liked to have been more appreciative, but after everything that happened, it was just difficult to be my old self again. It was less about punishing him, and more about staying true to my feelings at the time. He was the one who messed up, and I wasn’t going to pretend just for his sake.
Terry wanted to take all of us on a family trip to Carmel, California. We took our private plane to California, picking up my mom, sister, and brother in Los Angeles. We had a couple of really nice days walking around Carmel taking part in wine tastings and enjoying the weather. On Saturday afternoon, my mother told me to get ready because we had a very special dinner to attend. I wore a beautiful blouse with a cream-colored skirt. A bunch of flowers were delivered to our hotel room, which included a wreath for my head and a corsage. I was baffled. I was curious and didn’t understand what was going on. My mom told me, “Terry wants to remarry you.” Wow, I felt stupid that I didn’t put two and two together. It was our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Again, Terry wanted to make it right with me, and renewing our vows seemed like the next step in reestablishing us as husband and wife. He was clearly pulling out all the stops and not only wanted to apologize privately, but he was doing it publicly in front of my family as well. I appreciated it.
Just like he always stepped up in the ring, he was trying to step up in our marriage.
A Cup of Crazy
Terry enjoyed acting in film and television, but wrestling was in his blood. He loved the sport. He enjoyed the art of the deal. To him, wrestling was his family—his home away from home. Even though it was physically hard on his body, I think he began to miss the wrestling life.
Terry eventually went into business with the World Championship Wrestling organization (WCW), which was owned by Ted Turner. They decided to take the ultimate hero and make him the ultimate villain. Hulk Hogan as a villain? I couldn’t imagine it. Hulk Hogan became Hollywood Hulk Hogan. People loved to hate him now but still tuned in to the show.
Terry turning into a bad guy reverberated back into our real life. People would hiss at him in public and they didn’t want his autograph anymore. Fans would approach him and say things like, “Why did you turn bad? Our grandson was your biggest fan.” Kids would go up to Brooke and Nick at school and ask them, “What happened to your dad? Why is he like that?” Even though Hulk Hogan being a villain was a great business move, I think that it began to bother Terry emotionally. He loved being loved and didn’t really like how the fans perceived him now as a bad guy. This new persona was kind of a mental trip for him.
With the success of the WCW, Terry was back again on the road in full swing. It was funny that I had just gotten used to him being around the house all the time, and now he was never home. Terry was on the same hectic schedule as he was in the old days. However, unlike the old days, the kids were older now. I began to feel bored at home alone all day long. I needed a purpose other than taking the kids to school, going to Target, and then picking them up when the bell rang at two thirty. I decided to open my own business, a small used furniture store that offered gourmet coffee and homemade muffins. I named it the French Hen.
I leased an old three-bedroom house that had once been an antique shop. I redid the place and used some of the leftover tile and sinks that were ripped out of our house on Willadel Drive. I filled the store with all of the random antiques I had in my old house and applied for a food and beverage permit. The place was taking shape. Business was booming! The line of customers who wanted to have a cup of gourmet coffee and an oversized muffin while browsing in my little store went out the door. I had a few bistro tables on a patio, and soft music played throughout. Eventually, I installed a full kitchen and offered lunch. I was trying to bring a little twist of L.A. chic to Florida—the type of trendy places you see on Melrose and Robertson boulevards there. And, of course, the food had to be good, too! Florida’s cuisine was boring and not the healthiest. It’s tough to keep a bikini bod on fried gator and fritter tails, right? I decided to offer some healthier choices for the locals. We served croissants and chicken walnut pineapple salad, among other healthy dishes. Also, there was fresh fruit offered on the plates instead of fries. Everything was freshly baked and prepared. Most of my customers were women, and I did a great lunch business. As the business grew, I was often asked why my restaurant wasn’t open for dinner. So a few months later I decided to give it a try at night. Although we did gangbusters for lunch, dinner was not as busy and I eventually ended up closing my little business due to the financial strain. On top of that, I was emotionally drained from what was about to come.
One day when I was working at the restaurant, the manager came into my office and handed over a postcard addressed to me. Written in English, it was from a woman who lived in the Netherlands and said she was a flight attendant. It was not a friendly postcard. This woman wrote a graphic and obscene message that sh
ocked the hell out of me! She wrote that I didn’t know her but that she knew my husband and they had been lovers. She wrote that they saw each other whenever they could and even named a date that they were together in Canada. She also wrote that she “loved his cock,” among other vulgarities and details about their sexual life. She informed me that she would see him again and there was nothing I could do about it. All this was written in plain view on the back of the postcard.
As soon as I was done reading it, my knees got weak and I crumpled to the floor. Andrea and Jenny, two of my employees, came to my side. I let them read the card. It was so shocking and hurtful after everything I had been through with Terry. I sobbed uncontrollably. It was hard for me to believe that all the time that I was working to reestablish our relationship that this kind of thing was going on behind my back. When I got home, I showed the postcard to Terry. He read it and started laughing. “You really believe this? This is some crazed fan,” he said.
Whether I believed him—or I just wanted to believe him—I felt a little better after we had spoken. For the next two years straight, I would receive a postcard a week from this woman. She would continue to tell me where she and Terry hooked up and how she couldn’t wait to see him again. She said that they were in love and there was nothing I could do about it and told me how much she disliked me. After close to a hundred postcards, I wondered why they were still coming. I told Terry that I was sick and tired of it. It was embarrassing because the manager of the restaurant handled all the mail at work and I’m sure he read every postcard. The woman talked about things in our house that were dead-on. She talked about events and dates when she met him on the road that were actually right!
Eventually, one day, I was handed a package at the restaurant. I received an audiocassette in the mail from the Cup of Crazy in the Netherlands. I reluctantly pressed Play. The woman told me—in a heavy accent—that she was tired of writing and decided to tell me how she felt. She went on to explain that she loved my husband and wanted to be alone with him. She said that he complains about me all the time to her. Then she said that she wanted to cut my face and burn down my house because she didn’t like my decorating. She didn’t like me being in the way of her relationship with Terry. She ended the tape by saying that she was nine months’ pregnant with Terry’s child! Oh my God, that was it! I didn’t believe Terry anymore. None of it.
