by Dusty Rhodes
It wasn’t until 1980 or so that I actually got a chance to see “The American Dream” live. He was working with the Florida promotion and they had decided to run a few shows in San Francisco. Rhodes had a U.S. title shot against Dick Slater. I was there and he won the U.S. title that night! Watching the “Bionic Elbow” live was like nothing I had ever seen. I had been to the Cow Palace many times to see Pat Patterson and Ray Stevens, but this was like a rock concert … it was an event … this was Dusty Rhodes in my city! It didn’t get any better than that!
In 1984 Oakland cable systems finally got TBS and World Championship Wrestling, this was right around the time before Starrcade ‘84, which unfortunately was before pay-per-view so I didn’t get to see it. But I was riveted at 3:05 every Saturday afternoon until January 1986 when I left for college. But all those Saturdays had so many memories: Rhodes unveiling his “Gorilla,” “The Midnight Rider,” battles with Ric Flair and the Four Horsemen, teaming with Magnum T.A. and in later years forming the “Superpowers” with Nikita Koloff and being in six-man tag-team matches with the Road Warriors.
In 1989 or so I was at a friend’s house who had a big satellite dish and he wanted to show me the WWF show from Boston on NESN (New England Sports Network), and there he was in the WWF! I knew that he hadn’t been on TBS in a while and now he was there. That was during the time that WWF was in their “marketing to nine-year-olds” phase, so as a rule I would never watch, but that all changed with the arrival of Dusty.
I got such a kick out the vignettes of Rhodes as “the Common Man,” especially the one where he played a gas station attendant and asked the timeless question, “Ever seen a dipstick before, baby?”
I have followed Rhodes’s career back to WCW, ECW, and now NWATNA. There are so many more memories of watching and reading about him that I could probably fill a book myself, but to the man known as “The American Dream,” I just want to say thanks for helping me become the man that I am today.
9. Ron Heim. Honolulu, Hawaii
I consider myself to be Dusty Rhodes’s biggest fan because we go way back. From those humble days in Hollywood, Florida, to the present day in Honolulu, Hawaii, Dusty has been a hero, an entertainer and as I have come to look back, a teacher. This essay has allowed me to reflect on over 30 years of “The American Dream.”
I am looking at these words on a color monitor but I think about the black and white television set on Saturday mornings in Hollywood, Florida. We were too young to learn much from Dusty Rhodes back then except how to deliver the “Bionic Elbow” on our couches [and each other] and to talk with that southern drawl. We all tried to be like Dusty using his words and mannerisms, but as I got older, those words began to have meaning, and “The American Dream” became more than entertainment, it became lessons of life.
The entertainment turned into teaching when I entered high school. I first learned that I was different and not accepted by other people because of my social background. My father worked two jobs to support us, but I was on a subsidized lunch program. When I pulled out that card to pay, people would make fun of me. I resented my parents for the shame it caused me. Now it was one of the best motivators of my life. Another lesson I learned was when I joined the wrestling team. I was still watching Dusty each weekend and I thought that with my confidence and charisma, I would become a champion. I was wrong, and learned about it quick. It took talent, which took dedication, discipline and focus. I learned the hard way, but I learned.
One of the biggest lessons Dusty taught me came later in my life as I live so far from my parents and have become someone they are proud of. Like I said, my dad worked two jobs to support us and he gave his all for his family. As I sat down to write this, I began to think of the times my dad took us all to see Dusty wrestling at the Hollywood Sportatorium or the Miami Beach Convention Center. I remember my mom crying when Dusty got hit from behind and knocked out and I remember how our energy was drained and we all lost our voices after the matches. We always went to see Dusty. It was exciting, fun and pure energy. Today though, I see a lesson of how my father must have been so tired from working and still managed to take us to the matches. I don’t think he loved wrestling as much as we did. He loved to see us love something like wrestling and “The American Dream.”
In the ‘80s we got a color television with cable! Dusty was still in Florida, but he was on the move too, in Georgia. It was also time for me to move on if I was going to be “The American Dream.” The U.S. Army was my ticket to “The American Dream.” It became the “ring” in which I would win many championships. It no longer mattered who you were, or how much money you came from. Everything started out equal and you moved up only with talent, drive and focus. Combined with the charisma I learned from those Saturday mornings in Hollywood, Florida, it was easy and fun. I went from buck private to a commissioned officer in three years and along the way picked up medals with the words “the best” on them. Those were my championship belts.
I took on all challenges, was never afraid of losing and always gaining more confidence. While in the Army, I was stationed in Hawaii and I didn’t get to watch wrestling. One time though, in the mid-eighties, Dusty came to visit and I saw him at Aloha Stadium. Just like the old days, I was seated far from the ring, but I could tell that when Dusty was going to drop the elbow, he would pause, look straight at me for just a brief second until I yelled, “Go get him, Dust” and then lay it on. I bet lots of people felt Dusty was looking right at them as well, but I knew it was me.
Here I am today, retired from the Army, but still in Hawaii. After getting out, I had to start from the bottom again, but I had good practice by that point. Right now I think of what’s valuable to me. Maybe it’s this $750,000 house, or the membership in the private club I belong to, or the private school my son goes to. Nope. I still love my truck, I still rock to the Allman Brothers and I still pour Sonny’s Barbecue Sauce on my ribs. I am who I was and always will be. I’m proud of that fact, that’s my tradition, and I learned that from Dusty Rhodes and that black and white television.
My son is three and his environment in Hawaii is much different than mine was in Hollywood. I try to give him the best and things I never had. I already see from his school there are the same kinds of people who didn’t accept me because of how I paid for my lunch. He’ll be okay because he has my spirit and pride. He will know where he came from and to value his tradition. He may not be the “Son of a Plumber,” but he is the “Grandson of a Corrections Officer.” My son and I still watch Dusty’s matches on DVD, just him and me. He is too young to understand any lessons, so it is just pure entertainment. He takes off his shirt, yells “My Bidness” and jumps on the couch with his “Ebb-low.”
Over 30 years and 6,000 miles later, Dusty is still entertaining me and I hope helping me teach my son a lesson about “The American Dream.”
Thanks and Aloha Big Dust!
8. Tyre Davis. Phoenix, Arizona
If you polled wrestling fans with the question, “Who is the greatest of all time?” it would be interesting to see that those who “looked the part” would usually be the first names mentioned. Those raised in the era of ruggedness would point out Harley Race, while those in the era of style, it was Ric Flair. For unabridged charisma you loved Hulk Hogan and when it came to attitude, the name “Stone Cold” Steve Austin would easily top the list.
However, there is one man who transcended it all. One man exhibited ruggedness, style, charisma and attitude in its purest form. That man was Virgil Runnels. That man was Dusty Rhodes!
For today’s generation Dusty wouldn’t be what one visualizes as an athlete, but the greatness of Big Dust was that he turned something so vague and so intangible as “The American Dream” into something you could easily latch onto. In a sport and art form where authenticity is always questioned, Dusty Rhodes was the one guy you ALWAYS believed in. With that unforgettable drawl and cadence of a Baptist preacher, “The American Dream” took his opponents not only to school,
but to church as well. Dusty was the “feel good” wrestler of his and future eras to come.
Dusty could not only talk the talk, but in the ring he consistently walked the walk. When the term great worker is thrown around, for me, two things come to mind: a performer who has the ability to tell an awesome story with ANYONE in the ring; and someone who could draw the big crowds and the big money. While he may never be given credit, based on that criteria, Dusty is one of the greatest workers of all time. As much as their own abilities made the Horsemen legends, it was Dusty Rhodes who made them deities. Dusty could tell a story with Flair, Arn, Tully, Windham, Luger and if given the chance would have made a monster out of Sid. Dusty told great stories with each of them and consequently sold out, sold out and sold out.
Why am I a Dusty Rhodes fan? It’s simple. Out of all the wrestlers I’ve seen in 20 years, Dusty is the one I could most relate to. It wasn’t because he was big and bad or the “Bull of the Woods.” It wasn’t because of his genius or his talent or his magnetism. It’s not for being a successful businessman or a three-time NWA World Champion. It’s because Dusty taught us all, taught me how make reality out of a dream!
7. Craig Whyel. Belle Vernon, Pennsylvania
When the renowned Studio Wrestling out of Pittsburgh bit the dust in the early seventies after several incarnations, we wrestling fans in Southwestern Pennsylvania were bummed. No Internet. No cable TV. The five VHF stations we received contained no wrestling whatsoever.
When my brother and I got our first twelve-inch black and white TV for Christmas, we found a new wonder to television: UHF stations. After nearly electrocuting myself trying to attach a World War II era set of rabbit ears atop the set, we found that we could pick up other stations. At one point, we were up to a whopping eleven stations. One night, while maneuvering the rabbit ears about with an effort equal to a Tae Bo workout, my brother stopped me in my tracks with a magic word: Wrestling.
I had stumbled onto a station, I think out of Parma or somewhere in Ohio that was carrying some sort of promotion. It seemed that there was a great amount of guys coming out of Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Cleveland, Detroit, and beyond [before the great monopoly, there seemed to be a great amount of talent exchanged between the territories that brought in fresh faces].
The show would fade in and out with the persistent UHF snow being a constant nuisance.
I had a brainstorm. If I opened up the front window and sat the TV into the window sill and reached those damned rabbit ears out of the window, I could keep the show on fairly intact, and I’m glad I did, because one night I got to see a young stud from Texas [through what I believe was the Detroit promotion] wrestle. I remember hearing the name “Dusty” and I didn’t catch the last name but that certainly would come in time. Regardless, he was an instant favorite in my book.
I don’t remember who he wrestled, because the bitter Pittsburgh evening was kicking up a nasty wind through the window so much so that I had to wrap myself in a blanket. Anyhow, this guy from Texas, a big dude with a thick build entered the ring wearing a tie die shirt, a cap we called a “pimp hat” that covered an Afro hairdo, and carried a cowbell. When he got down to business between the ropes, I saw that he was without the great muscle-head physiques that we were used to seeing out of Pittsburgh. It didn’t matter. He was as slick as a puma, he hit with power and when he dropped the “Bionic Elbow” on his opponent, the studio audience went nuts. I did too, but I kept it quiet because my parents were downstairs bellowing about someone letting in the cold air. [I lied, of course].
Eventually the TV died and I once again was without wrestling until the late 1970s when Dusty was making his way through the WWWF and a monster riff with “Superstar” Billy Graham. I got to see him in glorious color and was never disappointed. Always fun. Always entertaining.
I wish I had a better tale about getting out of my sick bed and riding hundreds of miles in a blinding storm just to shake hands with him as he made his way to the ring, but I don’t. There’s no tear-jerking inspirational homily about meeting him in person and tell what a great guy he was. [Maybe someday I’ll get a chance].
There’s just me, with a blanket wrapped around skinny shoulders, sticking my little black and white TV out of the upstairs bedroom window of our family house, freezing my ass off just to get a chance to see Big Dusty.
It was worth every shivering second of it.
I lied to my folks, raised the heating bill and nearly fell out of the window a few times trying to get it right. Now, almost thirty years later, I can tell you without hesitation that I would do it all again in a heartbeat just for the chance to see Dusty Rhodes wrestle.
I love you, Dusty. Thanks for the great memories.
6. Randy Bodell. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Dusty Rhodes’s larger than life yet “common man” persona had a direct impact on the culturing and development of my own personal growth as a human being.
As a child from an average middle class family, my parents always somehow managed to squeak out a week’s summer vacation. In the midto late ‘70s one of our weeks was in Miami, Florida. Already a wrestling fan and avid reader of wrestling magazines, the legend that was evolving—Dusty Rhodes—was of great anticipation to possibly witnessing him in action on this particular vacation.
While staying at the Dunes Hotel on Miami Beach and reading the Miami Herald, the ad was there in black and white. Luck had it. We were in town the perfect time when Dusty was wrestling. I was so excited, my father took me and I was a hooked Dusty fanatic.
The Dusty charisma and persona was such a strong influence on me that after that vacation, I urged my parents to vacation every summer in Miami so I could at least catch Dusty once a year in person! My family may have liked Florida for other reasons as well, but I like to think that the return trips—ten years in a row —were in part due to my urgings to go back to see Dusty wrestle and perform.
At the same time I was in my adolescence, growing up in the inner city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with the diverseness of ethnicity, races, religions, etc. I found communicating, connecting, and cultivating relationships with other kids was very important to getting along in life. Through Dusty’s mannerisms, witticisms, and general communication, I found myself emulating and embodying many of those same characteristics. I was able to get along with the black kid, the Puerto Rican kid, the German kid, the super-smart kid, the not-so-smart kid— as a Jewish kid. Dusty gave me that.
My father is most definitely the strongest figure in my life for several reasons; far too deep to explore here. But Dusty Rhodes was a figure to relate to on several levels. My personality has roots of Rhodes. The clothing, the gift of gab, the “presence” of being somebody, all of which Dusty embodied took form in myself. Respect for others and treating everyone, as I wanted to be treated—with that sincere knowledge of good and bad, right and wrong, just and unjust—all have a base Dusty getting those attributes across from the TV and the arena to my life. For that I am forever grateful to Dusty Rhodes.
Besides starting to collect wrestling magazines that began in the ‘70s, so I could read and see more of Dusty while living in the northeast, I also purchased by mail from photographers who would shoot in Florida, as I would buy photos of Dusty as well. I loved the sport as a whole, but Dusty was definitely my favorite wrestler through the years.
To fast forward, I was fortunate enough to meet Dusty in 2003 on an independent show in the Pittsburgh area. Doing backstage work for a local show, I got to spend some time around Dusty. Although I didn’t show it in my outside demeanor, on the inside I was “marking out” big time. The man I literally grew with from my youth to being a 40-year-old was right there in living color, IF YOU WILL!
I didn’t have a long conversation with him, but I got a few items autographed, listened to a few stories, and came away with a genuine feeling that after all those years, Dusty truly was and is “The American Dream.”
Thank you, Dusty!
5. David Cottom Jr. Amb
ler, Pennsylvania
I first saw Dusty Rhodes on TV about 1975 or 1976. Since I lived in the Northeast [WWWF Philadelphia area], I had only seen Dusty Rhodes a couple of times before in the wrestling magazines of the time and briefly on Florida and Georgia wrestling shows of the ‘70s and ‘80s that I would see infrequently on Philly UHF channels or when I would visit my cousins down in Atlanta during the summer.
However, to a kid growing up during that time, Dusty looked and acted cool. No wrestler was even close to Dusty’s big-time Texas style; big stars on the wrestling boots, red, white and blue jacket and tights, bushy blonde hair, an Apple Jack hat and preaching about “the American Dream.” I loved hearing his “jive” talk and telling fans WHAT he was going to do an opponent, BEFORE a match, and then actually DOING IT during the match.
For those of us that were childhood wrestling fans back in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, Dusty Rhodes was Muhammad Ali, Evil Knievel and Bruce Lee all wrapped up into one. Dusty’s matches were classic “old school” and what pro wrestling should always be —two guys either settling a score or the stories of competition, the eternal quest for the championship. No matter what it was, Dusty Rhodes was the guy you needed to see get the best of Ric Flair or any of the major heels of the time. No one, as I remember, rooted for the “bad guy” when Dusty was in the ring.
