by Art Davie
I did some digging on Rosier, and on paper, he looked to be the real deal. His stat sheet said he was 6-foot-4, 245 lb., with a 79-inch reach, and his WKA championship claims checked out. And I really liked Rosier, who seemed sweet and endearingly dopey. His only ask before signing the contract was that he would be allowed to bring his wife out to Denver with him, which was no problem for me. I just wasn’t sure, though, if Rosier really understood the no-holds-barred aspect of the tournament in which he was now set to fight. I marked him down as a goldfish, since he seemed to have no clue when it came to grappling.
Soon after Rosier, I got a call from Scott Bessac, who said that he fought out of a gym called the Lion’s Den, which I’d never heard of, but I thought had a great name. The Gracies often called the rear-naked choke the mata leão, which is Portuguese for lion killer. This would be an easy fight to sell.
But after a 15-minute conversation, Bessac said to me, “Mr. Davie, honestly, I don’t think I’m right for this event. The guy you want is the leader of the Lion’s Den—my instructor, Ken Shamrock.”
Bessac told me that Shamrock was a pro wrestler in Japan, who also did real fights, and was without a doubt, “the man.” I got Shamrock’s number from Bessac, and quickly started my research on the guy. I discovered that his real name was Ken Kilpatrick, and that he had been adopted by Bob Shamrock, who ran a group home for troubled boys.
After being a star high school football player in California, Shamrock became a pro wrestler—working small shows in the U.S. before moving on to Japan. He began to make a name for himself in that country’s Fujiwara Gumi promotion, which was part of the strong-style pro wrestling movement. As I understood it from my research at the Torrance Public Library, strong style was a form of pro wrestling, that while still predetermining the winners and losers, employed a rough and realistic looking approach.
Occasionally, strong style would cross over into the realm of real fights, either by accident or design. In 1992, Shamrock had easily defeated Don Nakaya Nielsen in Japan, submitting the kickboxer in less than one minute with a key lock. By most accounts, this mixed match fight was completely real, a shoot.
Shamrock was definitely making a name for himself on the Japanese fight scene, and when I got him on the phone, I knew immediately that Bessac was right. He seemed to be “the man.”
He told me that he had a fight coming up on September 21 in Urayasu, Japan against Masakatsu Funaki as part of the first event of Pancrase. I had already done my homework, and knew all about this start up, named in honor of ancient Pankration. From what I could tell, it looked to me like it was going to be the midpoint between strong-style pro wrestling and what we were going to do. As I understood it, Pancrase was going to have a number of fairly restrictive rules that I wouldn’t have ever considered, such as making closed fist punches, kicks to the head of a standing opponent and knees and stomps to the head of a grounded opponent all illegal.
Also, a fighter would be able to escape a submission hold by grabbing the ring ropes up to a set amount of times. And I kept hearing that there were definitely going to be works in Pancrase, often when a fight was going to feature one of the big Japanese stars. I confronted Shamrock on all of this, and he told me that what he was doing in Japan was “mostly real.” I then shot back that the World’s Best Fighter/War of the Worlds—whatever we were going to call ourselves—was going to be “all real,” and I asked him if he could handle it.
Here’s the War of the Worlds poster created by my friend, Mike Stanley. We were going for the classical look of Pankration with this sketch that I used to attract John Milius into joining us.
The World’s Best Fighter—this was the first working title for what became the Ultimate Fighting Championship
Here is the January 1993 letter from film legend John Milius agreeing to become our event’s creative director.
This is the letter from Semaphore Entertainment Group (SEG) that began the key relationship to launch the UFC. With SEG as our TV partner, our event would conquer PPV television.
Bob Meyrowitz, CEO of Semaphore Entertainment Group. “Meyro,” as his troops called him, was an experienced TV producer as well as a syndicator of radio content. He proved to be a tough adversary for me throughout the first Ultimate Fighting Championship.
Note the ticket/room packages and the pricing; it was designed to make it attractive to attend and we got a fair amount of Southern Californians to come. Where it says, “Special UFC packages” is the first time the UFC acronym was used instead of the Ultimate Fighting Championship.
Here I am standing in front of the W.O.W. office in Torrance. This little cubbyhole was the birthplace of the UFC. You can tell how proud I am on this July afternoon.
Rorion and I explaining the rules (or lack thereof) at the fighter’s meeting on Thursday night. We have lost control of the meeting at that point and the room was bedlam.
This was taken at the UFC press conference on Thursday, November 11, 1993. From left to right, that’s Campbell McLaren of SEG, NFL legend Jim Brown and shootfighter Ken Shamrock.
Here is Bill “Superfoot” Wallace addressing reporters at the UFC press conference on Thursday, November 11, 1993. To his left is Hall of Fame football legend Jim Brown and to his right is Rorion Gracie, my partner in W.O.W. Promotions.
From left to right, that’s the Gracie family champion, Rickson Gracie, with the owner and CEO of Gold’s Gyms worldwide, Pete Grymkowski and Rickson’s wife, Kim. Taken right after the UFC press conference. Grymkowski was one of America’s leading bodybuilders when I got out of the Marines in 1970 and was regularly featured in Iron Man magazine. At 5-foot-10, he weighed about 230 lb. in contest condition.
That’s big Kevin Rosier on the left, commentator Bill “Superfoot” Wallace in the middle and Rosier’s manager, Charlie Anzalone, on the right. Taken right after the press conference, Rosier was probably ready for lunch. Anzalone was from Buffalo, Rosier’s hometown, and showed up to support his man. Charlie was somewhat of a legend as a disc jockey known in dance clubs from Buffalo to New York City as “Captain Disco.”
Sumo wrestler Teila Tuli kneeling with his brother and his two cousins behind him. They were four big, strong Hawaiians who loved to party.
Here is a sketch I did in June 1993 of the cage/ring which was just at the beginning of its development. My artistic abilities leave much to be desired.
The Cage of Death. This sketch was supplied to Rorion and me by a student at the Gracie Academy. The concept was a bit too complicated to be workable, but it showed the level of interest that our event was having with everyone.
Here is the octagon-shaped cage being set up for the first time. The date is November 11, 1993 and the place is McNichols Sports Arena.
That’s legendary boxing cut man Sam Solomon taping kickboxer Kevin Rosier’s fists. It was a thrill for my brother Matthew and me to get to know Sam. We couldn’t resist asking him which famous boxing matches were fixed, because he knew where all the skeletons were buried.
Here is the front cover of the Official Event Program Guide sold at McNichols Sports Arena. Note the price of $4, which was a lot in 1993.
This was a copy of a full-page ad I ran in martial arts magazines urging fans to watch our tournament. There were no photos to be had of mixed match fighting, but my partner Rorion Gracie owned a photo of two Brazilian vale tudo fighters and we used that as the central image for this ad and the UFC fight poster.
Here is the 425-lb. sumo wrestler, Teila Tuli with the referee Joao Alberto Barreto in the very first bout in UFC history on Friday, November 12, 1993.
Kickboxer Kevin Rosier and kickboxer Zane Frazier exchange punches in the second bout in UFC history.
Rosier stomps Frazier’s head twice to win the bloody bout. You can see the white towel that had been tossed into the cage to indicate that Frazier was done. It was a brutal punch-up that excited the live crowd, but was really more an artless Pier 6 brawl than a contest of two great martial artists.
&n
bsp; Jiu-Jitsu black belt Royce Gracie squares off against professional boxer, Art “King” Jimmerson in the third bout in UFC history. Jimmerson decided, at the last minute and unknown to me, to only wear one glove. It didn’t help him as Royce closed the distance and took him to the ground where Jimmerson was soon helpless. A big disappointment for me. I had hoped for a true battle royal between these two very different stylists.
Muscular Ken Shamrock, the shootfighter, grapples muscular kickboxer, Pat Smith on the mat. Smith’s lack of grappling skills quickly caught up with him and he got caught in a heel hook in one minute and 49 seconds.
Here is Royce Gracie at the moment of ultimate victory. Note the big check for $50,000 with my signature at the bottom. From left to right: me, Relson Gracie, Royce, his girlfriend Marianne and eldest brother, Rorion.
Royce Gracie, the light-heavyweight jiu-jitsu master, reigned supreme at the inaugural Ultimate Fighting Championship. Here he is with the gold medal that I had designed. A true champion.
Shamrock responded exactly how I was hoping, that he would absolutely be able to handle it, would win the $50,000 first prize, and would show the world what he could really do with his grappling and submissions.
How could I resist? He was built like a Greek God, at 6 feet, 215 lb., with a 47-inch chest, huge biceps, bulging muscles everywhere and with a model handsome face. He called himself a “shoot fighter” and he had that top-of-the-marquee name, Ken Wayne Shamrock. Not only was he a shark, he was a shark who might just be able to swallow Royce whole.
I knew that I needed at least one European stand-up fighter, to help give us some instant legitimacy and credibility. Unlike their U.S. kickboxing counterparts, who primarily focused their kicks above the waist, the top European guys employed the Asian style of attacking the entire body, with ferocious kicks to their opponent’s legs as a hallmark. I discovered that the Western epicenter of this fighting style was the Netherlands, and that there were two gyms in Amsterdam that had pioneered Muay Thai boxing in Europe—Thom Harinck’s Chakuriki Gym and Jan Plas’ Mejiro Gym. They threw knees, elbows, fists and feet, just like they did in Bangkok. It was pretty brutal stuff.
No inquiries were coming in from Amsterdam or anywhere in Europe, so I started making overseas calls. The star of the Plas gym was Ernesto Hoost, and I went after him hard from my big blue desk in Torrance. But Hoost wasn’t available, having already booked a fight in Japan doing kickboxing. To his credit, he was going to honor that commitment.
As an alternative, Plas offered me up a legitimate tough guy named Gerard Gordeau. In addition to being a bad ass in Muay Thai, Gordeau was also a world champion in Savate. He had the combat sports pedigree, having fought across Europe and in Japan. And the guy was built to knock people out at 6-foot-5 and 215 lb. with a lean, long, sinewy physique. Plas asked me if I minded that Gordeau’s second career was working as a leg breaker for the brothel and porn show owners in Amsterdam. Minded? I told him that was a huge bonus. Just like that, I figured I had another shark.
One of the first fighters that I reached out to was Benny “the Jet” Urquidez, thinking that he’d love the chance to settle the score in his long-standing feud with Rorion, this time by potentially getting a shot at his foe’s kid brother, Royce. I called “Blinky” Rodriguez, Benny “the Jet’s” brother-in-law, and asked him to see if he was interested. “Blinky” got back to me, and told me that Benny “the Jet” said, “I’m a professional fighter, and these guys are all amateurs. The Gracies are not in my class. I’ve already proven myself.”
I thought that Dennis Alexio would be a perfect fit. He was arguably one of the greatest kickboxers in the U.S., a serious martial artist, and an actor who had starred opposite Jean-Claude Van Damme in the 1989 film Kickboxer. When I got him on the phone in Hawaii, Alexio was quick and to the point, then hung up without saying goodbye. He shot me down immediately.
So did Bart Vale, a Japanese pro wrestling contemporary of Ken Shamrock’s in Fujiwara Gumi. Hailing from Miami, Vale was an impressive 6-foot-3, 250 lb., a black belt in Kenpo, and had fought in RINGS, a Japanese promotion that struck me as being a lot like Pancrase—maybe the fights were real, maybe not. But Vale told me “no” as well, just like Alexio, without a real explanation.
Then there was Peter Aerts, a tall, young Dutchman who was the World Muay Thai Association Heavyweight Champion, and fought out of Thom Harinck’s Chakuriki Gym, the rival gym of Jan Plas where Gordeau trained. I thought it would be perfect to have two devastating strikers go kick for kick and elbow for elbow in one of our fights. But Aerts passed as well. As successful as he was, we probably couldn’t have afforded him anyway. I realized more than ever that my job was to get the best of the best, provided they didn’t live in the financial stratosphere.
I always made it a point to keep Rorion updated at our weekly Friday meetings on what fighters I had signed or was pursuing. His attitude was always the same: “Whatever you think Arturo.”
Always, except when I mentioned the name Emin Boztepe. I first became aware of Boztepe a couple of years earlier, when Rorion had off-handedly told me about his encounter with the Turkish-born, California-based martial artist.
Boztepe had apparently been running his mouth about his unbeatable martial arts style, and the 300 street fights that he had won. Somehow Rorion heard about this, and offered to fight him in a full-on, and thus far mythical, Gracie Challenge—my $100,000 against your $100,000, winner take all.
According to Rorion, Boztepe declined, wound up getting an attorney involved, and threatened to sue for defamation of character or some such thing. So when I mentioned the idea of trying to recruit Boztepe for our tournament, Rorion laughed and reminded me of their nearly litigious past. I figured the guy wasn’t worth the trouble, and I was getting my fill of lawyers with David Meyrowitz, so I decided to drop my Boztepe idea right then and there.
Rorion did mention though, to my great surprise, that he had a lead on a fighter who I should check out. He’d been turned on to him through his working friendship with Frank Trejo, with whom Rorion had conducted joint grappling/striking seminars. Trejo taught the striking, and for good reason. He had a record of 21-1 as a pro kickboxer, and a martial arts background in both Shotokan and American Kenpo. Trejo thought that his guy, Zane Frazier, was just what we were looking for. The undefeated Superheavyweight Champion of the World Kickboxing Federation, Frazier looked like someone who could have a career as an action movie star, at 6-foot-6, 235 lb., with 19-inch biceps.
Best of all, Trejo said that he had witnessed Frazier beat the shit out of Frank Dux (of Bloodsport infamy) earlier that year at The Second Annual Draka Martial Arts Trade Show held at the Century City Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles. Apparently Dux came at Frazier, who responded by delivering several unanswered punches to the “undefeated Kumite champion,” and then throwing him over a table.
When Rorion told me about Frazier, I suddenly realized that I had actually met him in March, when I was Kathy Kidd’s guest at the United States Martial Arts Association trade show in Pasadena. Frazier had come up to me and gushed that he was the guy who had beaten up Frank Dux. I liked Frazier and decided, based on Trejo’s recommendation, to give him the “green light” right then and there.
I could tell straight away that he was very smart. But Frazier seemed too smart for his own good, asking me all sorts of questions about the other fighters who I was signing, the rules, the mile-high altitude in Denver, the equipment that they would be allowed to wear, and on and on. The guy was spooking himself before the fight. And the more he talked, the more I thought that he was moving from shark to goldfish.
At this point, I had six of the eight fighters I needed: Smith, Royce, Rosier, Shamrock, Gordeau and Frazier.
One afternoon, I got a call from a woman with a foreign accent.
“Master Ishii wants to meet with you and Master Gracie.”
I knew instantly that Master Ishii was Kazuyoshi Ishii of K-1, which was the fighting promotion that he launched
in Tokyo back in March. Ishii was a Kyokushin black belt turned highly successful businessman, who had billed his new promotion as something of a kickboxing, Muay Thai, and full-contact karate hybrid. I didn’t see them as our competition, as K-1 was strictly about striking—no grappling or ground fighting was allowed. But I also knew that they had already recruited some amazing stand-up fighters from Asia and Europe, many of whom I thought would be ideal for our tournament.
His assistant set an appointment for breakfast at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. There were rumors of Ishii’s “influential connections” in Japan, and I had no idea why he wanted to meet with us. But the invite was irresistible. Rorion and I strode into the hotel lobby, where another assistant immediately came over, and escorted us to Master Ishii’s table. In Japan his disciples all called him “Kancho,” and I made sure to refer to him that way. He smiled at the courtesy. We talked about the martial arts in Japan and America, and Ishii soon inquired about our upcoming event. Clearly, the word had gotten out in Japan. As Ishii spoke, I got the feeling that he looked upon us as little brothers, since, in his mind, Japan was the true home of martial arts. He was quick to point out that he believed stand-up fighting was far better entertainment that what we were planning.
