Scott Bowden presents Kentucky Fried Rasslin

Capping off the long, painful swerve that everyone but Vince McMahon apparently saw coming, Bret Hart revelaed on RAW last night that he staged a freak car accident, with help from the RAW cameramen and production team employed by the Chairman of the Board. It’s really a shame the Hart/McMahon program took this turn, which was fascinating initially because of its inherent realistic nature playing off the bitter feelings of both men that have been simmering for 13 years. Tricking heels into a match has been a staple of the business for years, and if executed correctly, can build the fans’ anticipation for when the bad guy finally receives his comeuppance. I’ve seen it used with mixed results in Memphis over the years. Often, in many Southern promotions, the local heel or manager would be tricked into signing a contract to wrestle a bear. (Dutch Mantell sheds some light on this inhumane practice in his entertaining book.)  Perhaps the most memorable such scenario was the ruse Jerry Lawler and Lance Russell pulled on Bill Dundee in November 1985 to goad the Superstar into one more Southern title defense before NWA champion Ric Flair returned to Memphis to face the region’s titlist–this was incredibly hokey, even by Memphis standards. (Apparently, some fans were fooled, as several mothers in Memphis flooded the WMC-TV studio switchboard complaining of the example Lawler had just set for the little Kingers.)

Bad casting: No way Hart should have touched McMahon until WrestleMania.

I like the idea of Mr. McMahon being afraid of Hart, showing a contrast to the bravado that he’s routinely displayed heading into high-profile matches over the years with Hulk Hogan and Ric Flair. It’s just the execution that was flawed here. Given the Hart family’s personal tragedies over the years, it would have been far more believable had Bret claimed to have experienced a gym accident or developed lingering complications from his stroke that would cause him to rescind his challenge to McMahon. Fans have largely been programmed to tune out backstage antics and accidents as “part of the show,” which hurt the effectiveness of the injury angle. The reveal last night was OK, though McMahon agreeing so passively to Stu’s induction into the HOF as part of the contract terms was too quickly glossed over my taste. I was also surprised that Hart physically assaulted McMahon, belting him with the cast twice before exiting to the cheers of the fans. However, I loved the smirk on Hart’s face when McMahon swiveled around to find the cast on and crutch on the desk, and the Hitman was strong on the mic after.

However, a better scenario might have been for one of McMahon’s henchmen from last week, (e.g., Jack Swagger), to hit the ring after the “cast-off” reveal only to be subdued by the

An Attitude Era Gone By: The Rattlesnake slithers back into the picture with the Chairman and the Hitman.

Hitman, who would proceed to ensnare the All-American American in the Sharpshooter as Vince scooted away in horror as the camera faded out. Again, it’s all bout whetting the fans’ appetite to see Hart get his hands on Vince , so the less actual physical interaction between the two until WrestleMania the better. Plus, it would remind older fans and help educate new ones of just had badass a finisher Bart Hart has in his repertoire.  

File under Bret Hart, Vince McMahon and Steve Austin.

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The Dutchman cometh: Finally, the official textbook for the University of Dutch is released.

Arguably the greatest athlete ever to come out of Oil Trough, Texas,  Dutch Mantell thrilled fans for years as the lone wolf of Memphis wrestling—an anti-hero more concerned with winning titles and kicking butts than kissing babies. Prof. Mantell has guided “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, The Undertaker, Kane and other students of the University of Dutch through the school of hard knocks on the road to success. Pick up his new book, The World According to Dutch, to find out what his graduates already know: the Dirty Dutchman is one of the shrewdest, sharpest minds in wrestling today.

I first met Dutch in 1989, my freshman year in college. He was booking Memphis, and had built an angle involving longtime African-American mid-carder King Cobra and Lawler, who was playing a racist heel. (Some would argue the role wasn’t a stretch for the King.) As the main event of the Christmas Chaos card at the Mid-South Coliseum, Cobra shocked Lawler and the approximately 3,000 fans in attendance by pinning the World Unified champion to win the title. As the crowd popped huge for the upset, Dutch walked out from the dressing-room area to observe his handiwork. My friend and I, two marks who thought we were smarter to the business than we really were, motioned Mantell to come over, and he obliged. I told him, “You booked a good angle!” Dutch kayfabed me, acting like he had no idea what the hell I was talking about. (In hindsight, I’m surprised he didn’t grab “shoo-baby,” his bullwhip.) 

I believe it was the following Monday night, on January 1, 1990, that a greenhorn from Texas, who been trained by ”Gentleman” Chris Adams, showed up at the Coliseum expecting to work that night. Apparently, he’d been given a start date by Jerry Jarrett, who somehow forgot to inform Dutch of this new member to the CWA roster. After introducing himself as Steve Williams, the young man didn’t exactly take kindly to it when Dutch told him to think of another name–and quick–to wrestle under: “Why the hell not? …It’s my real name!” In his new book, Dutch writes, “I informed Mr. Williams in my kindest, sweetest voice that he couldn’t be Steve Williams…for one f’n reason…because there’s already a Steve Williams in this business, as in  DR. DEATH STEVE WILLIAMS….and there can’t be two Steve Williams in the same f’n business at the same f’n time. That would be like having two Willie Nelsons.”

After Williams failed to come up with anything, Mantell christened him “Steve Austin.” And history was made. (The way I see it, Austin owes Dutch at least a million in cash in royalties.)

Better...stronger...faster: Steve Austin is unleashed.

In a sense, it’s only fitting that Mantell was so instrumental in hatching the Rattlesnake. Mantell originally wrestled under the name “Chris Gallagher” for Nashville promoter Nick Gulas. As Dutch tells it: “Chris Gallagher starved to death, so I buried him with a full funeral and then ‘Dutch Mantell’ was born.” I believe it was former wrestler Buddy Fuller who had the idea of the Dutch character, a rough-and-tumble, modern-day outlaw of sorts. Mantell certainly looked the part, with a dark mustache and beard—and even darker eyes. In many ways, Mantell, “the Dirty Dutchman,” as Memphis announcer Lance Russell often referred to him, developed a character that was ahead of its time. He set the standard for a worker like Austin, whose “Stone Cold” persona got over with fans initially as a tough-talking heel who gradually turned into an anti-establishment-type appreciated by the fans.   

Dutch’s initial turn from heel to babyface in Memphis was classic. Dastardly Japanese heels Mr. Onita and Masa Fuchi, managed by veteran Tojo Yamamoto, were running roughshod over the area in spring 1981, leaving a trail of bloody babyfaces (Eddie Gilbert, Ricky Morton, Steve Keirn, Dundee, the Dream Machine, etc.) in their wake. One heated Monday night, the foreign heels were ganging up on Dundee and the Dream when suddenly, and without advance warning of a turn, Dutch made the save.

In an emotional interview with Lance Russell the following Saturday, Dutch, a legit Vietnam veteran, spoke of serving his country. Mantell went on to explain that he saw the Japanese outnumbering two Americans. He then snapped when he noticed a little boy so shocked by the horror that the youngster dropped the American flag he had been waving in support of the babyfaces. When Dutch rushed the ring to attack Tojo, Onita and Fuchi, he was not merely making the save—he was defending the honor of the country. It’s easily one of the most memorable promos of the era…and that covers a hell of a lot of ground.

Even after turning babyface, Mantell was often the consummate “tweener,” all too willing to put aside friendships for a chance at a championship , which added a nice touch of realism to the otherwise nutty Memphis scene. This may not sound like anything groundbreaking today because we’ve all seen that scenario a million times now. But back in Memphis in the early ‘80s, the performers were almost always clearly defined as heels or babyfaces.

The dirtiest player in the game: Dutch poses with his two best friends in the Memphis territory.

While Dutch was usually a babyface, he’d turn ever so slightly to feud with established area heroes Jerry Lawler and Bill Dundee over the AWA Southern title and the NWA Mid-America title, respectively. Mantell’s blue-collar character often complained of being given the shaft by the establishment, in this case, the area promoters. Many hard-working fans in the South identified with that scenario, which is probably why Dutch was one the few wrestlers to feud with Lawler during the King’s prime babyface run and still receive plenty of cheers at the Coliseum. In particular, the three straight main events between the King and the Dutchman at the Coliseum in March 1982 were fantastic and have to be considered among Lawler’s best.

Years back, after I published a review of Lawler’s book, Dutch e-mailed me out of the blue. When I reminded him of our first encounter in ‘89, he shocked me by remembering it verbatim. He said he had even thought about that night several times since then and wondered just who the hell I was because “smart fans” who read the Wrestling Observer were rare in Memphis at that time. I think Dutch remembered me for the same reason he’s been so successful in the business: He pays attention; he notices things. He’s not too caught up in himself, or his character for that matter, to notice what’s going on around him. If those sound like qualities for a being a good booker, that’s because they are. And, as it turns out, the Dutchman’s a hell of good storyteller and author to boot. I hope to have an interview with Dutch down the road after I finish reading his book. Until then, check out his Web site, where you can check out a few free chapters online and order The World According to Dutch. Edited by Mark James (of the wonderful Memphis Wrestling History site) and Ric Gross, the book has 32 chapters covering 270-plus pages as well as dozens of never-before-seen photos—a virtual wrestling history lesson.

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Reach out and stun someone: Memphis wrestling alumni Steve Austin (with WCW TV title) and Paul E. Dangerously (with world's first cell phone), shortly after "Stunning" Steve's Tennessee stint.

 

It’s laughable in hindsight, really. As a referee for Monday night wrestling at the Mid-South Coliseum on March 9, 1991, I had just approached rookie “Stunning” Steve Austin (Williams) to give him the working handshake (soft grip), saying, “Thanks, brother.” This was the tacit post-match custom practiced by most of the boys when they believed things had gone well moments ago in the ring. I then walked across the dressing-room area at the Coliseum to offer my hand to Austin’s opponent, Jeff Jarrett, who had gone over (won) in a great match to become the new Southern heavyweight champion. Jarrett was talking with Jerry Lawler, who asked how the match had gone, apparently curious about Austin’s ability. The young Jarrett’s reply: “Pretty good. I’ll say this for that guy [Austin]—at least he listens.” Little did Jeff or I realize that Austin had followed me and was standing nearby, overhearing Jarrett’s somewhat backhanded compliment. Awkward silence.

Funny how years later, in 1999, when Austin, who had become the biggest star in the business in the WWF, was approached by Creative about working a feud with Double J (Jarrett’s country-singer gimmick in those days)—and this time refused to listen. The Rattlesnake nixed the idea, claiming that the fans wouldn’t buy a feud between Stone Cold and Double J since they didn’t perceive Jarrett to be in his league. Austin had that kind stroke (no pun intended) to dictate his programs. It’s true—Jarrett wasn’t on the same level as Austin, but he was certainly capable of having great matches with the right opponent. With the proper scenario, Austin perhaps could have helped elevate Jarrett to main-event status in WWF. But Austin claimed that he didn’t like Jarrett’s work, e.g., that he didn’t run the ropes hard enough. Austin also supposedly loves telling a story from those days in Memphis, when he was a flat-broke rookie fresh off the turnip truck from Texas. After receiving a Jarrett Promotions check that was less than he expected, a stunned Steve sat there looking at it grimly when promoter Jerry Jarrett’s oldest son walked by, smacked Austin on the back and crowed in front of the other boys, “Staring at it won’t make it any bigger!” Austin never forgot the slight.

When I knew Austin, the only cash he could count on with certainty was the $40 payoff that Eddie Marlin or Mr. Guy Coffee would drop off in those tiny white envelopes at the end of the night. I was young, but I was already taking notes for a book (Web site? What’s a Web site?) I planned to write about the business one day.

I remember thinking that Austin was a good worker but an even better guy—and in Memphis at that time, it was hard to say which quality made a bigger impression on me. During my time in the business, the three nicest guys I met were Mick Foley, The Rock and Austin—all three would go on to reach WWF stardom rivaling that of the the old-school Hogan, who to this day is still a master manipulator who’s always working an angle.

SIDENOTE SLAM: That’s not an indictment against old-school wrestling or wrestlers; however, the distorted take on reality that some of the boys from the 1970s and 1980s had was annoying and downright disconcerting.

A couple of years before his debut in Memphis, Steve Williams was trained in his native Texas by the late “Gentleman” (scoundrel) Chris Adams. Upon arriving at the Mid-South Coliseum, he was forced to change from Williams to the surname “Austin” by fellow Lone Star State-native Dutch Mantel (arguably the best athlete ever to come out of Oil Trough, Texas), who was booking the Memphis territory at the time. Mantel, citing the notoriety of Dr. Death Steve Williams back then, ordered Steve to come up with a new name; when he drew a blank, Mantel deemed him “Steve Austin” since the greenhorn grew up near Austin, in Victoria, Texas. Like Austin, I didn’t care for the name at the time, as during childhood, I was a huge mark (fan) for that other famous Steve Austin, the Six-Million Dollar Man.

Ironically enough, in 1997, fellow Jim-Ross-buddy Dr. Death Williams was set for a big push in a program against Austin in the WWF; however, the good doctor was knocked out by Bart Gunn in the ill-advised series of shoot boxing matches on RAW. Turned out to be the death-knell for Dr. Death’s career in the states.

The “Stunning” moniker was typical for the time—a lot of the boys (against better judgment) went with the narcissistic (not a Lex Luger reference, although it fits in a sense ‘cause that gimmick sucked, too) heel thing. But back in the early 1990s, I was wondering how far that gimmick would take Austin, especially with that thinning hair of his (which would turn out to be a benefit years later when he became the goateed-, rednecked-hellraiser Stone Cold).

The first time I met Austin, we were going over the finish to a squash match at the WMC-TV studio on Union Avenue in Memphis, where many a future WWF champ (Hogan, The Iron Sheik, Randy Savage, The Undertaker, Mankind, The Rock) had cut their teeth and foreheads in learning the ring ropes of the business. I had gotten my break only two months earlier as a ref when I approached Austin in glib fashion to ask the finish to his match: “OK, what are you doing?” He looked at me like he was slightly offended that I didn’t introduce myself properly. Austin smiled incredulously, gave me the working handshake and asked, “Oh, I’m sorry, who are you?”—perhaps an indictment on my age. (I was only 19 when I started, prompting Jim Cornette to once declare on the air, “This referee reminds me of Beaver Cleaver!”) I apologized, introduced myself to Austin as the ref, and he replied, “OK. Nice to meet you. Here’s what I am thinking we’ll do….” I felt like a jackass for not showing him the proper respect. Austin, however, was cool about it; he just seemed to have the attitude of, “Hey, we’re going to be working together. Introduce yourself.”

Again, I’m reminded of when I met Foley: He had just settled into the Mankind gimmick—and I was coming into my own as a heel manager—when he was sent to Memphis as part of the USWA/WWF working relationship. After the TV taping, Brian Lawler approached me and says, “Hey. Guess what? You’re driving Cactus to Nashville tonight.” I had the feeling that Brian (or his pal Tony Williams) had agreed to drive the WWF star to the town and were now looking for an out so they could ride together without Cactus. Didn’t matter to me—I jumped at the chance.

I picked up Foley later that afternoon at one of the seediest—but cheapest—hotels in Memphis. (For area natives, think of the flea trap across from the Summer Twin Drive-In on Summer Avenue. Yeah…ewww.) Foley answers the door, smiles at me and waves me in despite being on the phone with his wife. Over the next minute or so, he tells her he loves her three times before hanging up. You have to understand what a rarity that is in the business. When we get in my car (the much-ballyhooed “candy-apple red sports car” I often bragged about on the air), the first thing Foley tells me is, “I loved your interview today with Brandon Baxter. That was so great.” I was floored. Although I had already figured out that the boys were ribbing me when they fucked with me about my interviews, praise for a young man in the biz was nonexistent in Memphis. Instead, you were worked with criticism in an effort to keep you in line.

Austin admits today that he often lived off raw potatoes during his early career in Dallas and Memphis. I recall that he was wearing the same set of clothes every time I saw him: tan cotton jacket, white T-shirt, khaki-colored pants and white high-top tennis shoes. With his blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.

On that Monday night in March 1991 in Memphis, when he dropped the Southern title to Jarrett, I was very aware of how great the match was that was unfolding right in front of me. I had grown up watching some of the game’s best feud over the Southern title: Lawler, Mantel, Savage, Eddie Gilbert, Nick Bockwinkel, Terry Taylor, etc., and this reminded me of those bouts. During the Jarrett vs. Austin match, the crowd popped for everything (a rarity at that point in Memphis), including the bump I took when Jarrett body-pressed Austin right into me, knocking me senseless a la longtime official Jerry Calhoun. Justice prevailed in the end, with Jarrett getting the three count. Luckily for him, I recovered just in time to see him pinning Austin’s shoulders to the mat. That was to be the first and last time Jarrett would get the best of Austin.

In a business riddled with successful guys who will work you without even realizing it, I’m looking forward to once again seeing Austin, who will be inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame by Vince McMahon the night before WrestleMania 25 in Houston. Quite a homecoming for the man who grew up watching the Von Erichs, the Freebirds and Ric Flair on World Class Championship Wrestling. Over the years, it’s pleased me to see guys like Austin, Foley and Rock succeed … which may not have been possible if the WWF old guard hadn’t bolted for Atlanta years back. Like Foley and Rock, Austin is living proof that you don’t have to be a rattlesnake in the grass to make it to the top in the wrestling business. But it sure doesn’t hurt to be the toughest SOB ever to lace up a pair of boots.

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