Scott Bowden presents Kentucky Fried Rasslin

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.

Click on pen to

Thomas Edward Gilbert Jr. Aug. 14, 1961 - Feb. 18, 1995

It was 15 years ago that I received the phone call that Eddie Gilbert passed away. Hard to believe it’s been that long.

I recently asked longtime Memphis promoter Jerry Jarrett about Eddie and what his legacy might have been had he lived.

“Eddie was a second-generation wrestler, so I’d known him since he was literally a baby,” Jarrett said. “And he grew up a fan, and eventually he would write out cards when he was 12 years old when riding to Louisville or Nashville with his dad [Tommy Gilbert] and hand me his cards and say, ‘I don’t mean that you should do this, but I want you to tell me if it’s crazy.’ And so this kid has this passion for the business, not only in the ring but outside it. He also said to me, ‘I’m not very big. But do you think I could be a wrestler?’ I told him, ‘I think you could…I’m not very big, either.’ But I warned him that ‘You’re going to have to be better than the average.’ And of course, he turned out to be far better than the average. If Eddie hadn’t died, where would he be? There’s a very good chance that he’d booking for somebody and be very successful. He was really smart…he really studied the business. He knew this program, that program…who wrestled who and when.”

For more on Eddie Gilbert, click here.

Click on pen to

Part II of II

In 1993, my junior year at Memphis State University (now the University of Memphis), Lawler again recruited me for a referee spot with the USWA after I’d been hanging around the dressing conducting interviews for an article I was writing about Brian Christopher Lawler, the heir apparent to the Memphis rasslin’ throne. Like many a match at the Mid-South Coliseum, my all-access pass to research my article came with a stipulation: I could submit the piece for my Magazine Writing class … but it could never be published. (It wasn’t that I was hard up for material—the subject of the piece had to be a current MSU student, which Brian was, part time, when he wasn’t on the road wrestling.)

For a month or so, I conducted a series of interviews with the Lawlers and wrestling personalities like Jeff Jarrett and announcer Dave Brown. Jarrett and Brown weren’t much help, speaking to me in kayfabe (i.e., as if wrestling were real) and denying knowledge that Brian was Lawler’s son.

Jerry, on the other hand, was forthright and again seemed to take a liking to me, perhaps as Jackie Fargo had done with a certain young artist from MSU years back.

Weeks later, we read our work aloud to the class. The class sat there speechless when I was done. Finally, one guy asked, “OK. How the heck did you get them to talk about all this?” My coy reply: “I finagled my way backstage and just asked the right questions. And I was persistent.” Yep, I kayfabed that I had been involved with the business previously as a referee.

Turned out that my professor was married to a sportswriter at The Commercial Appeal, the Memphis daily newspaper. She pulled me aside after class, and told me not only that I’d received an A for my work, but also that her husband wanted to publish it in next Sunday’s paper. I told her I’d think about it.

That afternoon, I stopped by Lawler’s house to show him the article. He mostly sat there silently as he read the nine-page, 10-point-Helvetica-font-account of his oldest son’s life, which, like the review I wrote of his book years later, wasn’t always flattering. (The only time he voiced an opinion on the piece was when he read that “The combination of travel schedule and class schedule proved tougher than any opponent ever could be. Brian was forced to submit and quit college midway through this semester.” (My professor had put a question mark after “submit,” not recognizing rasslin’ terminology. Lawler found that amusing.) Once he was done, he quietly said, “Nice work. And you got an A.” On my way out, I muttered, “Yeah. Funny thing. She’s married to a guy at the CA. He wants to publish it.” As he closed the door on me, Lawler said, “Ha. That is funny. But then I’d have to fire you and then sue you. And her. And her husband.” (Memphis was still making an effort to kayfabe, although WWF and WCW had abandoned the practice years ago.) “Ha. Right. I was just kidding,” I lied.

When I gave the article to Brian, he disappeared for a while at the Mid-South Coliseum to read it. He never mentioned it again. But his future wife, Dava, later told me that she loved it. I think Jerry and Brian both were taken aback by how spot-on I had been. To be thorough, I’d interviewed Lawler’s first wife, Kay, who told me that Brian only got into the business to hopefully earn his dad’s attention, despite the fact that for years he vowed to never follow in Jerry’s footsteps. But then, Brian never was the type to put anyone over. Even if he really wanted to.

Jump to one hot Memphis night in May of 1994: the main event is Jerry Lawler and Jeff Jarrett vs. the Dream Machine and Gilbert. At the time, Jarrett is in his first WWF run as “Double J,” so the crowd is up to nearly 2,000. Because my girlfriend and some of my buddies are in the audience, I ask Gilbert to involve me in the finish in some controversial way. What he comes up with exceeds 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 safety, my girlfriend makes a beeline for my car and ducks down in the backseat. I tell my friends to make a run for it and meet me at Huey’s Midtown, a burger/beer joint nearby. 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–and I’m not about to let go of it.

video management, video solution, video streaming

Finally, safe within the confines of a booth, we celebrate my newfound heeldom over burgers, French fries and pitches of Killian’s Red. And, as is custom at Huey’s, we torpedo a few toothpicks through our straws into the ceiling after a few drinks. I am the new heel manager in Memphis.

Little did I realize at the time, this was probably the happiest I’d ever be in the business.

When I arrive at the WMC-TV studios for my first heel promo, Lawler and Gilbert instruct me to play an apologetic babyface until Lance gives me the mandate from promoter Eddie Marlin that I’m suspended. I’m then supposed to protest, and Gilbert will come out and argue with Lance as I’m pushed to the background. I’m told that the plan is for me to be a heel for a week or two before Gilbert and the heels double-cross me, and I’ll return later as a babyface ref. Realizing that this might be my only chance to cut the heel promo of my dreams, one that I had practiced in front of a mirror several times as a kid growing up, I decide to play a heel from the start of my interview with Lance. Figuring it’s live TV, what can they do?

Instead of apologizing—as I was told to do backstage by Lawler just moments ago—I begin a diatribe about how the so-called King has shoved me around for too long and that during the match, I merely stomped him like “the cockroach that he is.” Lawler was watching on the monitor during my promo and leered at Kevin Lawler, asking, “What in the hell is he doing?” I go on to accuse Lance of leaving years back not to go to WCW, but to run Lawler’s fan club full time. I end the interview by proclaiming Gilbert “my new best friend.”

After the show goes to a break, I nervously walk through the backstage curtain. Lawler waves me over and says, “That was good. Real good. But next time, do what we tell you to do.” My live-TV gamble works: The plans to turn me back to a ref are dropped, and I become the top heel manager in Memphis for the next couple of years.

In closing, I’d like to mention Brian Hildebrand. Years ago, Gilbert introduced me to Brian, who was in town for a wrestling fans convention. Like Eddie, Brian had been a huge fan for years and had a real passion for the business. According to Eddie, Brian had done some work on the indie circuit but “had never caught a break.” (After hearing that, I remember feeling embarrassed that I had lucked into my spot — but maybe that was Eddie’s point.) That same week after he introduced us, Eddie even used Brian in an angle on Memphis TV, seemingly embarrassing the “fan from the audience” by slapping him around. Due to his persistence, Brian eventually did some work as a heel manager in Memphis under his moniker “Dr. Mark Curtis” and later became a respected (at least backstage among the boys) ref for WCW. Brian died of stomach cancer nearly four years after Eddie died of heart failure in Puerto Rico.

Perhaps Chris Jericho said it best, using the boys’ vernacular when speaking of Brian: “He was also the toughest man I’ve ever met. He never complained about his disease, never put it over, never sold it.”

To this day, even though I probably don’t even voice it to my friends as we’re watching the latest WWE offering on PPV, I’m noticing the refs and what they do, or more specifically, what they don’t do.

Like most longtime refs, Brian earned his stripes. And respect from the boys. In what can be a thankless business, I think most of us are thankful we knew him at all.

Click on pen to