The Three Count

by Jimmy Korderas

  It was now showtime. The pay-per-view was running smoothly with nothing out of the ordinary going on. The IC title match was approaching. Right before that match was a Hardcore Title match with Al Snow defending the title against Hardcore Holly. After the match ended, I made my way to the ring and began helping the crew remove some of the debris left in the ring after the hardcore match. On the video screen, they were playing a pre-taped interview Kevin Kelly had conducted with the Blue Blazer. I was now in the ring holding the top rope with my left hand while kicking pieces of broken table out of the ring, slowly moving towards one of the corners. I had my head down as I was doing this and heard someone yelling something at me. I didn’t pay much attention to it as I assumed it was coming from the crowd. Just then, I felt something hit me in the head while at the same time the top rope was pulled out of my hand, snapped back, and jammed the fingers in my left hand. Almost simultaneously, I heard a loud bang in the ring. My first reaction was to duck and cover my head. Then I thought, Holy shit, the top rope broke while at the exact same time, some idiot fan threw something at me. I really didn’t know what the hell was happening. It felt like ten things were happening all at once. As I looked around, I saw the top rope intact. What I was stunned to see though was Owen Hart lying in the corner of the ring, flat on his back. My first reaction was to run over and call to him. I repeatedly called his name and got no response whatsoever. Looking at his face, even through the mask, his eyes were wide open, but you could tell that something was drastically wrong. I started to panic, ran over to the timekeeper, Mark Yeaton, and began screaming for help. Panic turned to fear as I waited for help to show up. It seemed to take forever although it was probably just a few seconds for EMTs to arrive. As the medical staff began what I can only assume was checking for vital signs and so forth, it finally dawned on me what must have happened. The only explanation was that Owen had fallen. I knew just by the way they were frantically working on him that the situation was not very good at all. One thing I did notice as they worked feverishly on my fallen friend was that there was a baseball-sized wound on Owen’s left forearm. It almost appeared as if the flesh had been removed with an ice cream scooper. The odd thing about it was that the wound was not bleeding. There was very little blood around the damaged arm. Again after what seemed like an eternity, they placed him on a stretcher to take him to a waiting ambulance. I picked up his Blue Blazer cape and followed them to the back. I don’t know what made me pick it up. I suppose it was a reflex. As they wheeled Owen through the backstage area, there was a broad range of emotions — some were crying, others were praying, but most definitely all were very concerned and confused. I stood outside dismayed as they loaded him in the back of the ambulance and watched them drive away. One of the production people gave me a cigarette to smoke with the hope that it might settle me down. I was shaking uncontrollably as I puffed away on the cigarette. I was an emotional wreck. Just then I was approached by John D’Amico, one of the production managers for WWF. He insisted I go to the hospital to get checked out. I told him I didn’t need to go and didn’t understand why they were insisting I go. He then explained that it was a company policy and for precautionary reasons I had to go. I left the pay-per-view for the hospital where they checked out my head and neck as well as my hand. Everything turned out to be fine with me physically.

  While I was sitting in the examining room waiting to be discharged, still in my ref clothes, someone — I think it was one of the nurses — asked if I was with the wrestler who was brought in to Emergency. I responded yes, and asked how he was. That is when they told me that Owen did not make it. Owen Hart had passed away. It is hard to explain the emotions that I was experiencing right there and then: sadness, shock, disbelief, as well as what seemed like hundreds of other thoughts. The first thing I did after somewhat collecting myself was to call my fiancée, Audra, to let her know what had happened and for her to call my family and to let them know that I was all right. That is when it really sunk in and I broke down on the phone. Audra was able to somewhat calm me down. I didn’t want to hang up the phone. She understood I had to go but before I said goodnight, I told her that I loved her very much; then I hung up the phone. After being discharged, I walked into the waiting room; there was John D’Amico. John stayed and waited for me at the hospital and was a great comfort to me in a very difficult time. He drove me back to the arena to pick up my clothes. After that, I don’t recall anything else that occurred that night. I honestly do not remember travelling to St. Louis for Monday Night Raw. I don’t remember flying, driving, or anything — all I know is that I somehow got there still feeling the emotional effect of this night.

  Walking into the arena in St. Louis, I had mixed emotions. I didn’t really know if I wanted to be there after what had happened. I was also conflicted about whether or not we should proceed with the show. Either way, I eventually felt I needed to be with my road family, the guys and girls I travel and work with weekly. The first person I ran into was the Undertaker. He asked me if I was all right and if I needed anything. I told him that under the circumstances I was doing about as good as can be expected, and he replied that if I needed anything to let him know. What a great guy he was and still is to this day. I thanked him and immediately after ran into Triple H. He pretty much echoed what the Undertaker had said and also mentioned that if I needed anything to let him know. That is when I made my way into the production office, where Vice President of Event Operation Steve Taylor was. He immediately came over to me and with tears in his eyes gave me a big hug and said that he was glad I was all right. Neither of us could control our emotions. He also stated that if I needed anything to let him know. Mark Yeaton, Tony Chimel, and the rest of the production office staff reflected on how much time we really spend together and what we actually mean to one another. Jim Ross was the next person I saw, and he immediately wanted to know if I was okay and whether or not I needed to take some time off. After all, he was the head of Talent Relations at the time. I told him thank you but I think it would be best if I didn’t take time off. He said it was entirely up to me and if I thought I needed to, to let him know. I know it is very much a cliché to say that the WWF was like one big family. That day in St. Louis, it was never more evident to me that we were a family, a family trying to cope with a terrible tragedy.

  Here is where things got a little more intense for me. I was sitting talking to Jerry “The King” Lawler, and he informed me of something that really hit me very hard. He told me that he had actually witnessed the last 15 or so feet of Owen’s fall and that his immediate thought was, “Oh my god, he is going to land on the ref.” He then told me that it was Owen’s hand or foot that had hit me in the head. I don’t remember which, as I was dumbfounded by what I had just heard. He also said that if I had been standing one foot closer to that corner I was moving towards, Owen would have landed right on top of me. I was blown away by what I had just heard. This new information put me in kind of a daze for the rest of the day.

  Later that afternoon, Vince McMahon held a meeting with everyone. You could see he was visibly shaken. In true Mr. McMahon fashion, though, he put on a brave face and proceeded to address everyone who was there that day. Talent, crew, office staff, anyone who was a part of the WWF family was at the meeting. With incredible sorrow in his voice he told us all that we were going ahead with the show tonight and that it would be a tribute show in honour of Owen Hart. While attempting to keep his emotions in check, Vince said that Owen would have insisted that the show go on. Never before have I, or possibly anyone else outside his family, observed him in this state. Mr. McMahon said that no one was being pressured to wrestle on the show; it was all up to them. Storylines were going to take a back seat for the evening. Vince also informed everyone that they were setting up a special room for anyone who wanted to go in and leave a video tribute to Owen, which would not only be aired that night but would also be sent to his family. It was impossible to air everyone’s tribute on TV as not on
ly wrestlers but officials and the entire crew were given the opportunity to send their condolences to the Hart family. I took advantage of that and expressed my condolences to the Hart family as did everyone else. To this day I can’t bring myself to sit and watch the Monday Night Raw tribute show for Owen, which I still have on tape. It is just something I couldn’t bring myself to do. Maybe after writing about this chapter in my life, I will be able to bring myself to sit down and finally watch it.

  The funeral for Owen Hart was held in his hometown of Calgary, Alberta, Canada. The entire WWF roster and most of the crew were in attendance, all at the expense of the company. I believe that everyone would have attended regardless of whether or not the company paid for the travel out there or not. That is how much everyone thought of and loved Owen Hart. What was incredible to see was that it seemed like the entire city of Calgary was in mourning. The local and national news in Canada were covering the funeral as if it were for a head of state. To us, though, Owen was more important than any head of state. It just goes to show everyone how much Owen was loved not only by his own family, but how deeply he touched all who knew him personally, at work or through their televisions. He was a true inspiration on how one should conduct themselves not only in their professional lives, but also how we should conduct ourselves in our personal life and show respect to everyone.

  I really thought that writing about my friend would allow me to open up more and come to grips with the emotional and mental trauma I went through after that day in Kansas City. Instead, it brought those old feelings back and made it more difficult to express my thoughts. I did my best to convey to you those feelings. I believed I had moved on. I guess the wounds heal but the scars still run deep. It will be something I will deal with for the rest of my days. I’m fine with that because I had the privilege to have known this fine young man.

  Owen Hart touched the lives of everyone he came in contact with. I felt honoured, humbled, and extremely lucky not only to have known and worked with Owen, but also to have considered him a friend. Of my friend I can only say this: I miss you very much and think about you often. And to be totally honest, when I do think about some of the things you have pulled over the years, even through the sadness it always makes me smile. Thank you, my friend, for all the memories, your friendship, and for making me smile still to this day. God bless Owen Hart.

  Chapter 12

  More Travel Woes

  If you constantly have to travel as part of your work, whether by land, sea, or air, you invariably will have both good and bad days trying to get to a destination. When I hear my friends from outside the wrestling business or anyone else talk about their terrible travel experiences, 99 times out of 100, I believe my tales of travel woes have them beat. To tell you the truth, there has been more than one occasion where I thought, “This is it. We’re going down.” Some of you may think I am exaggerating. I wish I were, but I have witnesses. The first near-death experience I would like to share with you I have named “The Real Flight from Hell.” It was not the other “Flight from Hell” that was widely reported on and blown out of proportion by many Internet wrestling sites. Rather, this flight almost left those of us on board scattered across Siberia.

  Before I get into the details of the flight I’m referring to, let me give you a quick rundown of the more famous plane ride that was the talk of the wrestling world. The reason I said that everything was blown out of proportion was because I personally did not witness anything I would consider too crazy. Yes, as reported, Curt Hennig did try to take down Brock Lesnar and yes, they did brush up against the emergency exit door, but they didn’t hit the door as hard as some claimed. I was sitting with a few guys playing cards right near the emergency exit door and saw the whole thing. There was no way that door was going to open just by bumping into it. We didn’t know this at the time so everyone reacted quickly to break things up, fearing that the door might accidentally open.

  With that minor skirmish settled, the other happenings on the flight were mostly out of my view. The stories began making the rounds after we landed at Bradley Airport in Hartford, Connecticut. The serenading, wooooing, hair cutting, and whatever else were things I didn’t want to know about. Jack Doan, Chad Patton, “The Coach” Jonathan Coachman, played cards pretty much the entire flight and kept out of trouble. Was there some rowdiness on the plane? Sure! Did things get a little out of hand? Maybe a little. Was anyone hurt during the festivities? Not really (that I know of). The only casualties were a certain clump of hair and some hurt feelings. Other than that, whatever else occurred is all hearsay to me. I can speak only to what I saw and that was not a whole heck of a lot.

  Back to the flight I was referring to: the Real Flight from Hell. We began this overseas trip by boarding a different charter plane than the ones we were accustomed to. The WWE has used everything from 757s to sports charters where all the seats are business class to regional jets for shorter trips. For longer hauls, though, they usually request a larger aircraft. The plane we were flying on this trip was an older model Boeing 727-100. I do not claim to be an expert on airplanes but as soon as we boarded, I could tell that this one was somewhat primitive by today’s standards. Okay, maybe not primitive but definitely not a newer jet. The pilots greeted us as we got on the plane, which was nice but raised a few eyebrows. Let’s just say that the two men piloting the aircraft were very very experienced. Fine, they looked like really old guys. I nicknamed them Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau. The stars of Grumpy Old Men were flying our plane. Little did I know at the time but that extra experience would actually come in handy later on.

  The crew had settled in for the first leg of our trip to Southeast Asia. There was one catch to having chartered this older airplane; we needed to make more frequent fuel stops than we normally would on a newer or bigger plane. The first stop was on the west coast — either Seattle or Portland, I don’t remember which. From there we made a second refuel stop in Anchorage, Alaska. We spent the night in Anchorage because by law, the pilots can only fly for a certain number of hours before taking a mandatory rest period. The next morning, we re-boarded the plane and took off to our next pit stop, to once again refuel in Petropavlovsk, Russia. The airport in Petropavlovsk was not very big and, from what we were told, it was mainly used by the Russian military. As we made our approach to this remote area on a peninsula located on the coast of the Bering Sea, the mood on the plane began to change. We have all had to deal with turbulence on many flights in the past, but this time it was different. We were informed over the P.A. system to take our seats and fasten our seatbelts tightly. We were already seated because the plane had begun to shake. The shaking got progressively worse as we attempted to land. I say attempted to land because our first try had to be aborted and the pilots took us back up in the air to circle and try again. We were landing in a blizzard and, by all accounts, the pilots could not make out where the runway was, causing them to abort the landing and make a steep climb.

  You could see fear begin to creep into the faces of the superstars on board as we tried to land for a second time. The shaking got worse as the plane was bouncing left, right, up, and down. I don’t know how to explain this but the plane was also twisting. What I mean is the right side wing would dip down low while the left side wing would go high up. Then it would be the reverse. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was terrified, I would have vomited. Coming in for landing attempt number two, wind shears and whiteout conditions made it impossible to land for a second time, and we again had to abort the landing and pull up.

  Now panic was beginning to take over. There was no screaming or yelling. There was an eerie silence on board. Sitting near the back of the plane, I could hear the flight attendants crying. I don’t blame them one bit because I couldn’t help thinking that we were not going to make it and that we would all perish, in Russia of all places. I thought about my wife and my family. I honestly believed we weren’t going to see our loved ones again and I began to pr
ay. I do not think I was the only one praying as we tried for the third time to get the plane safely on the ground. The next effort to get us down fared no better than the previous tries. The plane continued to shake violently as everyone held onto the armrests with white-knuckled fingers. The seat back of the chair Big Show was sitting in broke and he fell into Brian Hebner’s lap. Despite his calls for help, he was ignored by all. With the third landing attempt aborted, the pilots now had no other option but to get us down on the next try because we were dangerously low on fuel. One way or another, they were going to land the plane. This was going to be the final approach.

  It was more of the same. As we got closer to the ground, the pilots fought the wind shears and extreme turbulence amazingly well. We heard the landing gear and braced for the worst. The plane was coming in at a 45-degree angle to the runway. In what seemed like a split second before we hit the ground, the pilots righted the plane and we touched down. You could feel the whole plane shimmy and slide as the pilots applied the brakes. As we began slowing down there was a sense that everything was going to be all right, but we felt we weren’t out of the woods just yet. Once the aircraft came to a full stop, there was no cheering. Instead everyone very nearly had tears of joy. We then taxied to the refuelling station and the Russians refuelled the plane.