Scott Bowden presents Kentucky Fried Rasslin

When Eddie Gilbert asked then 21-year-old Kevin Lawler in 1993 if he’d like to join him in Philadelphia as his assistant booker for a fairly new promotion called Eastern Championship Wrestling (ECW), the would-be Memphis rasslin’ prince jumped at the chance.

For years, the youngest Lawler son had tried to no avail to further himself in the Memphis-based USWA promotion on which his father, Jerry, and brother, Brian, had applied a double chokehold.

“Eddie told me I’d be helping him book this small company in Philadelphia, in addition to doing things I was already doing in Memphis like refereeing and promoting towns,” Kevin says. “He said this Eastern Championship Wrestling had a lot of potential and that he wanted to bring the Memphis style to Philadelphia. I was excited.”

Hardcore King: Eddie Gilbert brings the Memphis brand of mayhem to Philadelphia.

It’s no wonder that Eddie and Kevin clicked. Both creative individuals grew up around the business, with both of their fathers for years being two of the biggest wrestling stars in the area. While he admired his father tremendously, Eddie idolized Kevin’s dad, envisioning the day that he took over as the cocky King of Memphis. Like Eddie, Kevin felt a place of influence in the wrestling business was his birthright–he wanted to be a booker more than anything. When Eddie and Kevin realized their dreams were derailed in part by the presence of Jeff Jarrett and Brian Lawler–and also because of their own borderline shady doings–they set out together for a clean slate in ECW, hoping that the roles denied them in Memphis would be theirs in Philadelphia.

After Memphis promoter Jerry Jarrett, who supported Kevin’s move, broke the news to the King during a Saturday-morning TV taping at the WMC-TV5 Studios, Lawler was waiting to pull the strap down when his youngest walked in the door of the community center in Jonesboro, Ark., to ref that evening’s matches.

“In front of all the boys, my dad basically told me that if me being a booker involved getting as far away from Memphis as possible, then he was all for it,” Kevin says. “Basically, I think my dad for years didn’t want Brian or me or any of his friends becoming successful in the business without his help. I think that’s why acted like he never thought much of Eddie, because he knew that Eddie had achieved success and could do again independent of his help.”

In hindsight, though, Kevin views his dad’s initial reaction to his departure as a heel-like bluff. Appropriately enough, Kevin left for Philly on a Monday night after stopping by the Mid-South Coliseum to say goodbye to the boys.

“Back away from everyone else, my dad pulled me aside, gave me $1,000 and told me to be careful and to call him as soon as I got there,” Kevin says.

Kevin had a rude awakening upon arriving in Philly. Upon meeting Tod Gordon, owner of ECW, Kevin quickly figured out the scenario.

“Tod owned a jewelry store in Philadelphia, and he was your typical mark with money who wanted to be in the wrestling business,” he says. “After a few weeks, I could see that Eddie viewed this as just another payday, a company to run into the ground and suck dry, while stroking his ego for the short-term.”

Under Gordon, the company mostly used local wrestlers, including J.T. Smith, an employee at his jewelry store. Eddie used his connections– and Gordon’s money–to bring in established (i.e., older) stars, ostensibly to give the promotion credibility. He booked guys he’d worked with during his first stint in the WWF (Don Muraco and Jimmy Snuka) and legends he’d always admired (Terry Funk and Stan Hansen).

Trouble was, Eddie wasn’t using the older guys to put over and create new stars; he was keeping the old wrestlers on top.

“Basically, I think it was Eddie’s attempt to get himself over with these older guys,” Kevin says. “Eddie wasn’t interested in creating new stars like he’d done before with Bill Watts because he didn’t have a game plan. And it was evident he didn’t want my help with booking decisions.”

Kevin was relegated to helping edit the TV shows and refereeing, along with running Eddie’s errands and screening his phone calls.

“I hate to say it, but he was pretty paranoid at that point,” he says. “He’d never answer the door, and our apartment was always so dark– the blinds and shades were always drawn. He’d lock himself in his room for hours and wouldn’t answer when I’d knock. He always made me answer the phone; it was weird.

“Eddie used to have a stooge named John in Memphis, who accompanied him from town to town. I had a sick feeling that he picked me to serve John’s role in Philadelphia.”

Kevin’s spirits were lifted momentarily when he was turned heel during a match between Eddie and Terry Funk, giving Hot Stuff the win. It was then explained on TV that mild-mannered referee Kevin Christian was in reality Freddie Gilbert, Eddie’s long-lost sibling. Kevin even grew a beard to look more like his “big brother.” (Funny to see Kevin in the above clip mimmic his dad’s cocky facial expressions, much like Eddie had mastered.) Kevin, who later formed a bond with forgotten Funk brother Jimmy Jack, appeared to be stepping into my Cole Haan shoes as the latest-referee-turned-heel under Hot Stuff’s tutelage.

Kevin was fairly happy in his new role, and even grew fond of ECW’s Viking Hall, which was a far cry from the Mid-South Coliseum he practically grew up around.

“Viking Hall is located in a rough part of town, down near the docks, but it was actually a very cool facility,” he says. “People used to make jokes about it being a bingo hall, but it actually fit the promotion very well.”

Around this time, Eddie brought in Paul Heyman, who was working under the name Paul E. Dangerously (as opposed to his old Memphis moniker: Paul E. Dangerly). Although they’d turned around the Continental territory together years earlier, Gilbert and Heyman had a tumultuous relationship. Kevin believes it was because Eddie didn’t always appreciate the young manager’s ideas.

“Paul had a vision that no one else did about what ECW could be,” he explains.

Heyman eventually caught Gordon’s ear, explaining that he needed to create new stars and build up ECW as a rebellious faction that could be a serious thorn in the sides of the WWF and WCW. He advised him to drop the “Eastern” from ECW in favor of “Extreme” to better represent what the company now stood for: the anti-WWF.

“Paul had Tod convinced that, hey, this could really work. Paul was a visionary. He told me at the time that he had recently tried to develop a wrestling promotion with the Crocketts that would stand out because it would the only group broadcast in high definition. When I asked about what ‘high definition’ meant, he said it was the next great big thing in television. I guess he was a little ahead of his time with that one.”

Not everyone was convinced of Heyman’s genius. When Gordon broke the news of Heyman’s takeover as booker to the crew, after what would turn out to be both Eddie’s and Kevin’s last show with the group, Doug Gilbert (Eddie’s legit younger brother) destroyed the catering area with a baseball bat and then stormed off.

Heyman’s success in molding new stars was evident early on. He convinced the Sandman to change his surfer-boy image into the beer-swilling brute gimmick that “Stone Cold” Steve Austin would riff on years later.

“Sandman was hilarious when he had the surfer gimmick,” Kevin says. “He always put this self-tanning lotion on, but he’d do it unevenly and sometimes when wearing his wrestling boots. He’d get undressed later and he’d be about five different shades of orange and pink, with the bottom part of his legs and his feet completely white. After seeing what the gimmick evolved into, it’s hard to imagine him that way.”

The new Sandman quickly turned into one of ECW’s hottest acts, eventually feuding with Raven, another character strongly influenced by Heyman, a program that resulted in some of most personal wrestling angles of all time. No wonder Philly fans it ate up.

While countless wrestling promotions for years tried in vain to imitate Vince McMahon’s WWF, Paul Heyman in the mid-’90s was doing everything he could to distinguish his promotion from the former Fed. For example, despite the fact that Viking Hall (the famed “ECW Arena”) had a sophisticated lighting system, Heyman insisted on keeping ECW’s presentation as gritty as possible–the wrestling equivalent to the rough-cut 16 mm footage that is the original “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

“I was shocked that Viking Hall had all these great things you could do with the lights,” recalls Freddie, er, uh, Kevin. “I remember playing around with all that stuff when I first got there, but Eddie [Gilbert] didn’t want to bother with it. When Paul started taking over and having influence, I mentioned the things I could do with the wrestlers’ entrances. He said something like, ‘Nah, it won’t be as good as WWF, so why go there?’”

Although Heyman for the most part reportedly hated working in Memphis in 1987–a Yankee in King’s Lawler’s court–his ECW “hardcore” style was reminiscent of some the Tennessee territory’s grittier moments, such as the infamous Tupelo, Mississippi, concession-stand brawl, and the Jerry Lawler vs. Terry Funk feud. Hell, on April 27, 1987, rookie manager Heyman helped orchestrate more heat in night than Verne Gagne’s AWA did all year. (Granted, that’s not saying too much, with “Cool” Curt Hennig and Greg Gagne on top.) Along with his cronies Austin Idol and Tommy Rich, Heyman (then known as “Paul E. Dangerly) conspired to cut the royal locks of Lawler in one of the most memorable moments in Memphis history. (To make matters worse, in the pre-match hype, Las Vegas-native Idol had promised to refund every audience member’s price of admission should he lose as well as have his own precious bleached-blonde locks snipped. Since the very idea of Lawler losing a hair match at that time was about as unfathomable as Rich winning the NWA World title for a second time, more than 9,000 Memphis fans plucked down their blue-collar cash thinking the Women’s Pet had made a wager he’d soon regret.

Little did the unsuspecting Memphis fans in attendance that night realize that Idol, much the house in Vegas, usually wins when the stakes are high–the ultimate sucker’s bet.

In many ways, Gordon’s wild-card bet on Heyman paid off–though some of the former Philly boys, even to this day, might cringe at the mere mention of ECW payoffs.

Solid if not spectacular SummerSlam yesterday, highlighted by a classic, brutal World title match between Randy Orton and Christian. The main event didn’t click with me because of the finish, which I thought hurt an otherwise good bout. Still, Kevin Nash’s reappearance costing Punk the title was memorable as was Del Rio’s delayed coronation; however, I have to question the direction at the moment. Trying to keep an open mind, but the whole championship scenario of Cena to Punk to Undisputed showdown to Punk to Del Rio was far too rushed and Sunday’s finish reeked of TNA overbooking. For my real-time comments during the show, scroll down the Tweets section to the right-hand side of this page or click here.

Also, I hate to mention this as an afterthought, but yesterday would have been Eddie Gilbert’s 50th birthday. In honor of the man who would have been king of memphis, check out the following tribute. Thanks for the memories, Eddie. We’ll never forget you.

Got your back, Hot Stuff: In a nefarious plot, Eddie Gilbert and I conspired to defeat Jerry Lawler on Memorial Day 1994.

Sixteen years ago, on Memorial Day 1994, “Hot Stuff” Eddie Gilbert wrestled his last match at the Memphis Mid-South Coliseum, going out a winner with a victory over rival and former childhood idol Jerry Lawler–and saving my neck in the process. The bout was set up the week before during a main event of Lawler and Jeff Jarrett vs. the Dream Machine and Gilbert. Because my girlfriend and some of my buddies were in the audience that night, I asked Gilbert to involve me in the finish in some controversial way. Almost immediately, he broke into a devilish grin and said, “Let me think of something.” What he came up with exceeded my expectations.

Frank Morrell, the assigned ref for the bout, is bumped (knocked senseless), which is my cue to get ready. After Lawler piledrives Gilbert, I make my move down to ringside. I begin to count three as Lawler covers a prone Gilbert. Instead, I rise up and deliver a stiff shot to Lawler’s neck with my Doc Marten boot. I place Gilbert on top and register a quick three count. Lawler and I butt heads afterward, which ends with me shoving Lawler on his ass and running for my life. Stunned and suddenly fearing for her life, my girlfriend makes a beeline for my car and ducks down in the backseat. Fans pelt my car with debris as we leave the parking lot. I love every minute of it–my childhood dream has become a reality–all thanks to Eddie.

I regret that Eddie and I didn’t have more time to work together. Two weeks after my heel turn, on May 27, 1994, Eddie and I conducted only our second promo together, building up his match with Lawler on Memorial Day at the Coliseum. As a stipulation of the bout, I would be forced into the ring with Lawler for five minutes should he defeat Hot Stuff. The previous Saturday, during a TV main event between Lawler and Gilbert, I had thrown powder into the King’s eyes right after his introduction, enabling “my new best friend” to steal the win in about six seconds. The King was hot on my trail.

During our promo two days before our Memorial Day showdown (billed as “D-Day for Bowden”), Lance played it up as if I were at death’s door, insinuating I wouldn’t survive the encounter if Jerry Lawler got his hands on me, which I shrugged off with a line I had lifted from Apter-mag heel columnist Dan Shocket, “The only reason Lawler’s not over the hill is because he never climbed it in the first place.” I didn’t realize then how sensitive Lawler was about his age—I’m sure he winced backstage at that one. But the worst was yet to come.

Prior to the interview, Eddie had confided in me backstage that he was livid his bout with Lawler wasn’t the main event. As part of their working relationship with the WWF, Bam Bam Bigelow was heading back in to team with the Dream Machine to work with Jerry and Brian in the last match. Eddie felt he should be in the tag main event with Bigelow—not wrestling a singles bout with Lawler, especially since Lawler wasn’t putting up the Unified World title. Gilbert desperately wanted that strap back so he could “get his heat back.”

Perhaps the most agonizing part for Gilbert in May 1994: Lawler was showing no signs of slowing down, or abdicating the Memphis Rasslin’ throne any time soon. And to make matters worse, Lawler’s kingdom had expanded to the WWF, where he was firmly entrenched not only as a heel color commentator alongside Vince McMahon but also a wrestler fresh off a high-profile feud with Bret Hart and still receiving nice PPV paydays.

So as I stood by Gilbert’s side on May 27, he was a powder keg waiting to explode—and on live TV, no less. In a classic example of art imitating life, he questioned why Jerry Lawler wasn’t putting the title up and that he was sick of Brian Christopher being “Lawler’s handpicked successor.” He also bemoaned the backstage politics and that he wouldn’t be around much longer, comparing himself to Emmit Smith, the Dallas Cowboys’ franchise player who sat out the first two games of the 1993 NFL season until he got a new contract. I was thinking to myself, “Oh, shit. This is a shoot. Lawler’s gonna kill us when we get backstage.” I just knew any minute that Gilbert was going to reveal that Brian was Jerry’s son, which was already one of the worst-kept secrets in town, but he didn’t. Gilbert was dressed to wrestle in the show later, but instead he made a beeline for the exit, leaving me to explain things to Lawler. With a concerned look on his face, Lawler asked me, “You think that was a shoot?” Gulp. I muttered, “I…I think so.” Then Lawler asked me if I thought Eddie would show up Monday night for the match. To that one, I had no answer. Gilbert probably didn’t even know—it all depended on how he felt 48 hours later.

Hours before the show Monday, Lawler called me to ask if I’d heard from Gilbert. After I explained that I hadn’t, Lawler asked if I could round up the crutches, leg brace and wheelchair he’d seen me use in an outlaw-show performance on one of Brian’s videotapes. Lawler was hatching a contingency plan in case Gilbert didn’t make it. In the event of the no-show, the Dream Machine would wheel me down to ringside, and I’d claim that Eddie and I were seriously injured in a car accident when a drunkard–most likely a Memphis wrestling fan–ran my car off the road. Alas, Gilbert did arrive at the building shortly before the 8 o’clock bell time, so instead Eddie wheeled me down wearing a neckbrace and delivered the spiel as Lance held the microphone. Eddie turned things over to me, and as I noted the cruel irony of being stuck in a wheelchair along with all the war veterans on Memorial Day, Hot Stuff sneaked up behind the preoccupied Lawler and attacked him to start the match. The scenario was illogical since Lawler had pulled nearly the exact same attack months earlier on Bret at SummerSlam ’93.

During the bout, Gilbert kept feeding Lawler to me, unselfishly putting even more heat on his young, cocky manager. At different points, I ran over Lawler in the wheelchair, gouged his eyes and choked him. And the ref, Lawler’s other son, Kevin Christian Lawler, never saw a damned thing. After the patented Lawler ref bump out of a headlock, I made my move out of the wheelchair. I stood on the ring apron, and tossed my thick, heavy leg brace to Eddie, who clotheslined Lawler with it, seemingly knocking him out for the pin.

Little did we all know that was to be Eddie’s last match ever in Memphis. Days later, Gilbert walked out on the promotion and Jerry Lawler; less than nine months later, he was found dead in a Puerto Rico hotel room…gone but never forgotten.