Dusty: Reflections of Wrestling's American Dream

by Dusty Rhodes

  Ox Baker is another guy who comes to mind. Ox drew a lot of money in his day, and while he had a hard time walking and chewing gum at the same time, he did an interview that was phenomenal. He had that look and that conviction in his voice that whatever he said, you would believe. If he said he was gonna kick somebody’s ass, you believed somebody’s ass was gonna be kicked. Ox was also one of those guys who used the business to get into other things and even had a role in the John Carpenter movie Escape from New York, playing this wild, scary-looking fucker. But that was Ox; he was a scary-looking fucker just walking around the dressing room.

  Speaking of phenomenal interviews, arguably one of the greatest heel interviews I ever heard was from Curtis Iaukea, “King” Curtis. A lot of fans might say Ric Flair was the best, and I’m gonna get to Ric in a bit, but while he was good, I always thought he was repetitious in his interviews. Tully Blanchard was excellent in his own way because he spoke from the heart in that scary calm manner, kind of like that character out of Cape Fear. And Arn was good too, because when he did an interview, he always kept things in perspective. But Curtis was just unreal in that he said thought-provoking things and he was always a little different each time. Even years later when he did the thing on WCW playing Kevin Sullivan’s “father” and in that gruff, commanding voice would say, “Sullivan my son …” you just listened, because you knew he was going to say something powerful. He was just one of those guys who knew how to manipulate the audience with what he said, and his interviews were always spot on.

  Other guys who come to mind for giving great interviews or promos are “Playboy” Gary Hart and Sir Oliver Humperdink, who I will talk about a little later on in the book; Kevin Sullivan who, like Flair, I’ll get to in a bit; “Superstar” Billy Graham who I spoke about earlier and who was just unbelievable with the gift of gab—”I am so strong, they can smell me in the TV studio six blocks away!”—and Killer Karl Kox. Like Jos LeDuc, many people today wouldn’t know Karl from shit, but Triple K was just one of those guys who could bring it during an interview. Karl was unique in that he was like one of the first guys I can remember fucking with an announcer during an interview, like they were the only two people there and the audience was just eavesdropping in on their conversation or something; a style some guys in the WWF borrowed later on when working with Gene Okerlund. Karl also created the mythical “Alex” character, this unseen entity who would tell him what to do, thus putting into the audience’s mind that this guy was really off his fucking rocker, and we all know there ain’t anybody who’s more dangerous than some crazy bastard who talks to people who ain’t there. Years later when Rick Steiner was doing the “Varsity Club” gimmick in WCW, Sullivan suggested he borrow “Alex” to help him establish that he too was a little unbalanced. It worked.

  “The greatest promo Dusty ever cut was for nobody. It’s 1986, Atlanta TV at the old studio, and another Midnight Express squash match— Bobby [Eaton] and Dennis [Condrey] against somebody, I can’t remember and this five foot six, 185 maybe, jacked-up little kid, going bald, and he came from Florida with these two big bodybuilders and he wanted to call himself Blue Thunder because he had these pretty blue tights. But Dusty saw him and said, ‘No, we’re gonna call him Wee Willie Wilkins.’ So he was hot already going into the fucking match. In the old Midnight Express job matches, they’d whack him, boom, boom, boom, toss him out on the floor. He jumps right back up, jumps up on the apron, jumps in over the top rope. He ain’t gonna sell shit and he’s a pretty good little worker, but he’s nobody. So he’s not selling … he’ll take the bump or whatever, but he’ll pop right back up and the other guy, blah, blah, blah. Well, finally they’re taking the finish on old Blue Thunder, Wee Willie … so powerslam, rocket launcher, boom, one, two, three … and Bobby and Dennis get up and as Bobby raises his hands, he’s got his back turned to the guy. The guy’s laying on his back and he lifts his leg, the only thing that moves on his body, and doesn’t even kick, just taps Eaton on the ass. Bobby turns around like ‘What the fuck?’ and working stomps the guy and then turns back around. The guy scoots over on his ass and sideways kind of kicks Bobby in the ass again. Well, I was starting to walk away and Dennis was too, and we turn around and saw this and Bobby went over and now Bobby and Dennis are starting to kick the shit out of the guy for real, they’re putting the boots to him. I can’t remember who his partner was, but he got so fucking freaked out he wanted to run, but ended up running toward Bobby and Bobby just pickled him right between the eyes. Now they’re kicking the shit out of Wee Willie and I’m coming back to the ring as I’m already on the floor. He’s rolling for the ropes as fast as he can and as he comes over that bottom rope, I see his leg and I fucking—whap!— knee-chop him with the edge of the tennis racket. He lands on the floor and scurries off. We’re like ‘What the fuck?’ so Bobby and Dennis are hot and we’re storming backstage. Meanwhile back in the control room, there’s J.J. (Dillon) sitting in front where he always did and Dusty sitting at the executive producer’s desk, and I think it was J.J. who asked, ‘What did he just do?’ and Dusty said, ‘I think he just kicked Bobby in the ass.’ When he did it again, now Dusty’s saying ‘What the fuck?’ and now he’s hot. So as we’re coming around to the dressing room, the guy is already back there and his two jacked-up bodybuilder friends have come along … we’re coming around the corner and Dusty’s in front of us. We’re going to get the guy but we slow up a little bit because Dusty walks up to them, doesn’t even look at the two jacked-up guys, looks down at the guy and has his finger pointed right at his nose, looking down at him going, ‘Motherfucker, you want to make a comeback on someone? Make a comeback on me! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get your fucking ass out of my building right now,’ and he kicked him and his friends out of the building. They grabbed their bags; they didn’t even stop to change, never to be seen again. But the guy thought he was going to get over on Atlanta TV and sure enough he did, because 18 years later he’s in Dusty Rhodes’ book as the biggest fucking asswipe in the history of the wrestling business!”

  —JIM CORNETTE

  Two guys people ask me about all the time are Bruiser Brody and Stan Hansen. Brody, known better to me as Frank Goodish, was someone I went to school with at West Texas State and I liked him before he got into the business … but I don’t know who broke him in. I have no clue how he got into the business and how he became this legendary cult guy. Aside from his runs in World Class for Fritz and the Kansas City territory for Bob Geigel, Frank was a big star in Japan and that was it. He was a big star there, but he really wasn’t a big star in the United States. Like I said he had a cult following of people and I liked the shit out of him when we were roommates in college, but it’s like when Stan—who I really liked too—went to Japan and I didn’t see him any more. Stan had a little run with WCW in the late ‘80s early ‘90s, but was most famous for his feud in New York with Bruno Sammartino in the early ‘70s when he supposedly broke Bruno’s neck. But that was really it with him. Fans here don’t know what happened to them, even though I know they were huge over there in Japan and that’s where they made their living. Stan probably could have been huge here too, because of the way he was, but he chose a different career path than say me or Terry Funk. As for Brody, I know promoters would say he was hard to handle, that he was this badass troublemaker or whatever, but he was always just my West Texas State football buddy … that’s the way I looked at it. No real thoughts or nothing. … I didn’t look at him with no prejudice or anything and I can’t put him in either DT time or YT time—”Dusty Time” or “Yellow Finger Time”—I don’t know which he’d belong in, but I do know in the end it was very disturbing to me what happened to him, being stabbed in the shower in Puerto Rico like that, because I really liked him outside the business. He was just one of the guys I didn’t pay a lot of attention to. Yeah, there were a few times I was too drawn up in being “The American Dream” Dusty Rhodes while he was over there in Japan and maybe I should have paid more
attention, I don’t know. I can’t put a finger on him, but there are a lot of people who were stars outside the U.S. I can’t put a finger on as to why they made it big there and not here.

  Two guys who were big stars here in the States, but most prominently, though, in the Northeast, were Pedro Morales and the man who I just mentioned, Bruno. Pedro and I got along great; I guess it was because I’ve always gotten along with Latinos from my upbringing and all. I always thought he was underrated as the WWWF champion, that he somehow was looked down upon by the fans, and that was wrong because he had some great runs there. He had the Puerto Rican fans on fire in New York. I guess the argument was outside of New York and maybe Philadelphia, that the Puerto Rican population wasn’t strong enough to support a minority champion. As for Bruno, the Italians in New York, Boston, Philly, loved him, and I wish I could say the same in that we got along great, but we didn’t.

  Before going to New York, Bruno was the one guy I really wanted to meet, because let’s face it, he owned the Garden. Madison Square Garden was his Yankee Stadium and he was Babe Ruth. Just like the Armory in Tampa was my Yankee Stadium and I was Ruth there, he was Ruth in the Garden. Bruno’s reputation preceded him and he had that aura about him that all the greats had. Well, since I really got to New York after his long run there was over, it came time for me to meet him, and at first everything was cool. But then I went with Pedro to this club in the City called The Savoy one night after the matches. Well, this crowd of people was around Bruno getting autographs, and when we pulled up in our limo, and I got out, the crowd ran, literally ran from Bruno to me, and I could tell he was pissed. He probably shouldn’t have been upset because the fans had probably gotten his autograph a hundred times, and I was the new kid on the block up there. But professional jealousy is pretty commonplace in sports and entertainment. If the roles were reversed, I probably would have been pissed, too. But that’s what happened and I can’t change that.

  Anyway, after that happened our relationship was a little strained. It was nothing like “fuck you” or anything, but you could tell there was some tension there. As a matter of fact, this one time Bill Apter wanted to take a picture of Bruno and me and neither one of us wanted to go to the other one to pose; sort of like playing this game of who’s gonna blink first. “If you want our picture, let him come here. …” I’m sure he said the same thing to Bill. But Apter finally got that photo he wanted. Bruno and I were passing each other in the hall and Willie said, “Can I get that photo now?” We stopped. We posed. He snapped the picture. I guess neither one of us blinked. What bullshit, huh?

  My favorite person of all-time in the business was Dick Murdoch. I know I’ve written a lot about him so far and probably said some of this already, but that’s okay, that’s why I dedicated this book to him. Like me, he was partly true, partly fiction. But one thing with him that was always true, when he wanted to wrestle, not Flair, not Ricky Steamboat, none of the so-called great professionals were better than Hoyt. He had the greatest timing ever in our business and had no equal when he was “on.” He was a lifetime partner and road companion, and then one day they said he died. I don’t know if that’s true, that’s why I did not go to his funeral. Like I said early on in the book, I hate funerals and I am not sure he’s dead. Terry Funk deep down is still pissed because I did not attend the festivities in Hoyt Richard Murdoch’s name. By not fucking attending, I could keep his phone number in my book and mind and dial it whenever I needed to talk to him. If he doesn’t answer, I just tell myself he isn’t home. Call you later, Hoyt! He would actually fart on the young performers today with all their stunts, with no story, no emotions, no real passion for our business; our business of pro wrestling. He would fart at the schools that say come and learn to wrestle, run by men who never drew a fucking dime in the business. It’s like you can’t sing the blues if you haven’t had them. He is pissing on them from wherever he is! I do love you, Hoyt!

  Another one of my favorite people is Terry Funk. I could write an entire book about Terry, but I guess he already wrote one himself and with the same damn publisher that I have. I know I probably wrote too much about him already in this book, but because we are still beating the shit out of each other on the Indy circuit, and him being 60 and me being five years younger than him, it is very hard to keep carrying him! I love his wife, Vicky, and deep down I love him. I enjoy being around him a lot! His matches against Shane Douglas, Sabu, and Mick Foley while he was in his 50s with ECW are classics. His acting in movies was almost as good as mine. He played Johnny the Thumper in Paradise Alley and had a role in Over the Top with Sylvester Stallone, while I played Deputy Johnny Morton in Paradise Park and also had roles in Gold Raiders and It’s My Turn among some others.

  Like I said before, I will not retire until he does. I looked up to him when I was at West Texas State. Throughout the years he played the game the way it was supposed to be played, and as the business changed, we had to change a little too, but the Indies gives us that opportunity to apply our trade. Terry and I are the last of a dying breed, truly the last of the outlaws, riding a long road, night to night, town to town, never knowing when the end will come.

  Then there’s the “King of the Ring” himself, Harley Race. To me Harley was the greatest NWA champion of all time, and we made a lot of money together, buddy. “Mad Dog” or Dog as I called him earlier, was also a tough son of a bitch in the ring. I remember one night at the Bayfront Center in St. Petersburg, Florida, standing in the middle of the ring. He noticed that I put an earring in my ear and he said, loud as fuck, “What kind of a man would put an earring in his ear?” and then tried his best to rip it out. Only my great speed kept him at bay! Great memories of hour-long matches and of course my favorite match with him at “Last Tango in Tampa.” He was a great champion when the NWA belt meant something.

  “It falls back to the charisma. He could take and back up 90 percent of what he said. Dusty was as good as anyone playing the role of Dusty Rhodes. With me, Dusty always kept his word. If a guy never lies to you, you don’t have a problem doing anything he may want to do in the ring. Our business worked off trust. Of all the thousands of matches we had, most of the stuff we did went 60 minutes. Dusty could go at a pretty damned good pace. You knew you could trust him. He was a guy who knew what he could do in the ring and would go to the peak of what he could do.”

  —HARLEY RACE

  Of course, there’s also the guy who many fans consider to be the greatest NWA champion of all time, Ric Flair. Now that’s one hell of a statement if they’ve seen guys like Lou Thesz, Buddy Rogers, Gene Kiniski, Dory Funk, Jr., Jack Brisco, and Terry Funk in their primes. From day one of our meeting, “The Nature Boy” had that outgoing, charismatic attitude. He looked up to Murdoch and me for some of the wrong reasons—beer and raising hell was I think what he looked up to, but in my case, I think that the swagger I had made him want to be like me. “Rambling” Ricky Rhodes. Like I mentioned earlier, “Be yourself. Be the first Ric Flair,” I said to him, and he did. Much is said about our relationship—partly true, partly fiction—but one thing is sure, in my mind the good outweighed the bad. Day after day, night after night, when you spend that much time with one very talented athlete such as Flair, you become very close; close enough to know how insecure he is, but he didn’t have to be, he was too talented. His lack of trust in me as his booker was really unjust. Even though I got some thick skin, it hurt me as all of his friends or so-called friends only told him what he wanted to hear. Only Arn I think, was really close to him, the rest were just hangers-on. It made him bitter about who and what brought him to the dance. Sometimes his shit was purely flimflam! Most of the time he blamed it on me. I was able to stand it then, and I can still handle it! I will not write about my parties with him, because anybody who really knows Ric has seen him naked; the matches with him, because we had so many good bouts, but only to say he was good. Not the best, but good. I’ll enjoy my good memories of us together, and if truth be told, I was his fucki
ng closest friend!

  There were some hot angles I did with Flair, but most of the really hot stuff was with all of the Four Horsemen as a whole, like the famous video we shot of them breaking my arm in the Jim Crockett Promotions parking lot in Charlotte. That was pretty brutal for back then, completely fucking violent and about as hardcore as you could get.

  But the one angle that everybody asks me about, even the guys on road, the wrestlers themselves—it ain’t my best matches with Flair, it ain’t the tag-team matches against Arn—the one thing everybody asks me about to this day is my feud with Tully Blanchard and the night Baby Doll, Nickla Roberts, brought out this envelope in the Greensboro Coliseum. Everybody asks, “What was in the envelope?”

  I’ll get to the envelope in a bit. The deal with Tully was that when I was booking, he was always my “go-to” feud. We knew that if business was down, he and I could always do something to lift business back up a little. I think the thing that made that feud so great was that the fans really saw our real personalities out there. It was as real as you could get. We didn’t necessarily like each other—we didn’t hate each other, either—but we respected the hell out of each other and we did business.

  “When I was a kid I’d watch TV and I thought Dusty Rhodes was a cool name. I appreciated a big guy who could work his ass off and go an hour Broadway [draw]. Dusty’s charisma was over the top. I remember a TV match with Dusty and Ronnie Garvin against Ric Flair and Arn Anderson with Baby Doll. It was a big influence. During the match Dusty reached over and kissed Baby Doll. I remember the way it lit up the crowd.”

  —”STONE COLD” STEVE AUSTIN

  Okay, the envelope …