Also on the show was the Incredible Hulk Hogan, a 26-year-old Florida native in only his second year of pro wrestling. At 6-foot-8, Hogan was a true standout, beating Ted DiBiase with a bearhug in his Garden debut. He had superstar written all over him, and promoters could see the dollar signs. Competing in other regions as Terry “The Hulk” Boulder, he adopted the Hulk Hogan gimmick upon his arrival in the WWF in November 1979, where he worked as a heel with ultra-talented mouthpiece Fred Blassie as his manager. With his enormous strength and arrogance, Hogan proved his supremacy in TV handicap squash matches and remained undefeated on the circuit for months. His unconquerable persona worked well, and before departing the WWF in April 1981, only two wrestlers had gotten clean pinfall victories over him: Tony Atlas and Andre the Giant. The latter took a number of wins from Hogan, the most famous being their Shea Stadium battle on the undercard of the big Bruno Sammartino–Larry Zbyszko showdown on August 9, 1980, in front of 36,295 spectators.
Under the leadership of McMahon, the WWF maintained a high level of professionalism, and its success can be traced back to his excellent management style. In many respects, business was formulaic and, from a fan perspective, the booking was often predictable, but that didn’t mean it was any less exciting. McMahon loved to push larger-than-life heels, and as with Hogan, nearly every rulebreaker had a manager. Blassie, the Grand Wizard, and Captain Lou Albano were legendary as the vocal emissaries for growling roughnecks. The role of manager was crucial in the development of feuds, and their colorful antics were endlessly entertaining.
Sometimes just the astonished look on the face of the television host was enough to tell the story as Blassie or Albano ranted and raved. The use of a straight-laced interviewer and commentator was also mandatory for WWF broadcasts. In addition to showing a rational fear and shock when faced with the everyday outrageousness, the commentators were hyping the feuds, building up the wrestlers, and laying the groundwork for live events. During ordinary TV bouts, when a superstar faced off against an enhancement worker, the commentators usually gave a few compliments to the “jobber” early in the match, which served to further boost the superstar as they went on to an easy victory. On occasion, the enhancement talent would get in a little offense, and the commentators would light up with surprise, only to see the superstar quickly regain control of the match, hammer home his finisher, and end the bout.
The commentators, essentially, were storytellers as they described the action. They explained the observable and unobservable facets of the matches and displayed reverence to the extraordinary athletes. WWF telecasters spoke as if everything related to the promotion was bigger than life. Everything was a “spectacular,” crowds were always in a state of “pandemonium,” and arenas were constantly filled to “capacity.” The organization’s lead commentator, Vincent Kennedy McMahon, the son of the owner, was the undisputed champion of such declarations.
Noted for his “ultra-serious” TV presence by New Orleans Times-Picayune critic Bob Wisehart, McMahon was diametrically opposite to the character he would make famous on WWE television decades later.17 Profoundly knowledgeable and an expert at generating excitement, McMahon first joined his father’s WWWF (and its parent company, the Capitol Wrestling Corporation) in 1969, a year after graduating from East Carolina University with a business degree. He was eager to become a pro wrestler himself until his father steered him away from the idea.18 McMahon Sr. wanted his son to study accounting, but young Vincent jumped at the chance to help the promotion in any way he could.
Even though they had different middle names (the elder McMahon’s middle name was James), they were known as “Senior” and “Junior” in wrestling circles, and it was easy to differentiate the two that way.19 McMahon Jr. was hired as a WWF TV commentator in 1972, replacing Ray Morgan, and he also had a run as a promoter in Bangor, Maine. As a third-generation wrestling impresario, he had a lot to live up to, but he proved himself in his early endeavors. With his wife, Linda, as his most trusted partner and his father teaching him from the ground up, he was in an incredible position to establish a long-term career in pro wrestling.
As fans at the time could see, McMahon’s work as host and commentator of WWF’s Championship Wrestling TV program was instrumental in the advancement of many memorable angles and feuds. Originating from Philadelphia, and later Allentown beginning in 1978, Championship Wrestling was syndicated throughout the Northeast, including on the WWF flagship station, WOR-TV (channel 9) in New York City. WOR was an ideal outlet for the promotion, as it was also the home of the New York Mets, Rangers, and Knicks, opening the door for potential crossover sports fans. Ratings were strong on the network, even at the midnight hour on Sunday mornings, and both WWF officials and station management were pleased with the mutually beneficial relationship.
WOR executives followed in the footsteps of Atlanta’s Superstation WTBS and began transmitting its broadcast feed nationally via satellite. By the end of the decade, WOR was featured on several hundred cable systems. In one flip of a switch, the WWF was being showcased all over the United States, reaching an entirely new audience and creating limitless possibilities for Vincent J. McMahon’s company. But for the National Wrestling Alliance, the advances in cable and satellite distribution were worrisome. Programs on WOR and WTBS, which broadcast Georgia Championship Wrestling, crossed territorial boundaries and heightened tensions not seen in wrestling circles since the 1950s.
Back then, the major networks, DuMont among them, created all manner of difficulty in professional wrestling when they telecast centrally based shows into out-of-town cities. Chicago, Dallas, and Hollywood were the main offenders, and it took a long time for paranoid promoters to settle their nerves. Agreements were made to highlight the stars of various territories on the network channels, and it was believed similar deals would be made with WWF and Georgia officials to pacify nervous NWA affiliates. The other concern of the Alliance, of course, was the threat of radical expansion, but since the WWF and Georgia were members of the union, it seemed unlikely. But things needed to be hashed out, and the annual NWA convention was the perfect place to address such grievances.
Taking cable television out of the equation for a moment, the wrestling world was already peacefully dealing with some overlap in local broadcasting in some parts of the country. For instance, Little Rock, a stronghold firmly in the grasp of promoter Leroy McGuirk of Tulsa, received telecasts from two outside territories, Memphis and Dallas. Caused by the natural reach of frequency waves and captured by fans with antennas, there was nothing McGuirk could do to block the programs in his region. And if local fans decided that World Class had a more entertaining product than he did, they could choose to watch the Dallas show instead of his. In effect, wrestling fans were better off because they had more options, but promoters were being thrust into a situation in which they had to strengthen their TV to remain competitive. By the end of 1981, McGuirk was also dealing with the arrival of Georgia and the WWF on cable.
As for the happenings in the ring, the NWA saw the world championship change hands four times in 1981. Harley Race, who was in the midst of his fifth reign, dropped the belt to popular Southern hero Tommy Rich in a shocker on April 27, 1981. A few days later, on May 1, Race regained the title, only to lose it again the following month to Dusty Rhodes. Finally, the strap went to the arrogant heel, “Nature Boy” Ric Flair, on September 17, 1981, in Kansas City. Flair, a protégé of Verne Gagne, became a star in the Mid-Atlantic region and bowled over the NWA board of directors with his combination of in-ring science and verbal skill. He was the total package, just the kind of guy the Alliance needed. As for the WWF, Bob Backlund continued his reign on top. Andre the Giant suffered a broken ankle during the spring, and promoters creatively blamed the injury on Killer Khan.20 Their feud lasted months, drawing well across the circuit, including a sellout at Madison Square Garden in August 1981.
WWF legend Bruno Sammartino wrestled what was billed as his �
�farewell appearance” on October 4, 1981. He defeated his old foe George “The Animal” Steele in less than seven minutes. Prior to the event, sportswriter Jerry Izenberg called Sammartino, “The Captain Marvel and the Cyrano de Bergerac of all that is pure in that peculiar world of good and evil.” Vincent J. McMahon added, “There has never been a greater fighter on the side of good.”21 The show also marked the organization’s debut at the Byrne Meadowlands Arena in East Rutherford, New Jersey, about a half-hour drive from New York City. It should be noted that Sammartino didn’t retire for good that night, and officially wrestled his final match six years later in 1987.
Vincent Kennedy McMahon, the voice of the WWF, was known for his enthusiasm and had proven his value as a commentator. But McMahon was an entrepreneur at heart, willing to take risks, and saw the wrestling landscape a lot differently than his father, his father’s peers, and the majority of fans. His experiences since moving up from North Carolina in 1969 encompassed everything from selling tickets to handling ring-announcing duties for his father’s telecasts. The lessons he learned were priceless, especially those in and around Capitol Wrestling’s home office, watching McMahon Sr. manage the day-to-day operations.
Even though he was still relatively young, McMahon Jr. was a visionary when it came to professional wrestling. He shared that trait with his father to a certain degree, although their mental images of the business couldn’t have been more different. The elder McMahon used his great intellect to unify the entire northeastern territory under his WWWF banner, a tremendous achievement. But he refused to consider further expansion because it was against the gentleman’s agreement binding the sport’s promoters. The territories were set in stone, and there was no room for anyone to expand. McMahon didn’t want to rock the boat and sought to make the most of the region he controlled. His son was uniquely different in that respect.
McMahon Jr. saw the wrestling landscape as full of opportunity. Everything was ripe for the taking, including territories and talent. The Sherman Antitrust Act prevented any exclusivity, and the National Wrestling Alliance was bound to U.S. laws stemming from the 1956 Consent Decree. McMahon, who turned 36 in 1981, understood the bigger picture and the established protocols of the business. He knew his father respected the relationships between the WWF, NWA, and AWA, and, for the time being, he had to keep his dreams to himself.
Naturally, McMahon Jr. was also keen on the prospects of closed-circuit and cable television. During the 1970s, he worked behind the scenes on two high-profile events: Evel Knievel’s Snake River Canyon jump in 1974, and Muhammad Ali’s boxer-versus-wrestler bout against Antonio Inoki in 1976. McMahon coordinated closed-circuit venues for both occasions, learning a great deal about this additional source of revenue. And the exciting possibilities offered by cable TV were not lost on McMahon either. He could see how a far-reaching broadcast would give the WWF the opening it needed to broaden its promotional scope.
Sometime in 1982, McMahon Sr. broached the idea of selling the Capitol Wrestling Corporation and getting out of pro wrestling. His reasons are unknown, but it’s possible he wanted to live a quieter life with his wife, Juanita, far from the arenas he’d worked in for three decades. At 67 years old, he was a veteran of the squared circle. By selling off his shares, he could live the rest of his life free from wrestling’s everyday stresses. But the sale of Capitol Wrestling to an outsider potentially put McMahon Jr. out of a job, and ruined his grand plans for expansion. If his father was serious about selling, McMahon Jr. would be the man buying.
In addition to his responsibilities as the WWF’s lead commentator, McMahon had been proactive on his own. In 1979, his family moved to South Yarmouth, Massachusetts, approximately 75 miles from Boston, and he assumed the mortgage for the struggling Cape Cod Coliseum.22 He arranged a slew of events at the Coliseum, from hockey games to concerts. A few months later, on February 21, 1980, he incorporated his new company, Titan Sports, Inc., a domestic profit corporation, in Massachusetts with McMahon serving as president and treasurer.23 Titan Sports would remain a small outfit, made up of a handful of people, and Vince’s wife, Linda, was a significant factor in the company’s early success. Around the time McMahon Sr. brought up his possible retirement, McMahon Jr. and his wife began considering a buyout, and realized it was the gamble of a lifetime. For a visionary like McMahon, it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.
But, despite 10 years in the business, owning an arena, and having national name recognition, McMahon Jr. was not a rich man in 1982. In fact, he was scraping by, though in a better position than he had been six years earlier when he’d declared bankruptcy. It wasn’t like he could dip into his deep pockets and easily buy out the four shareholders of Capitol Wrestling. However, McMahon Jr. was determined to make the purchase a reality.
Of the four men holding interest in Capitol, Robert Marella, better known as wrestler Gorilla Monsoon, was the youngest at 45. Arnold Skaaland, another retired grappler, was 57, and longtime company secretary-treasurer Phil Zacko was in his 70s. Along with McMahon Sr., this quartet agreed to sell the company outright to Titan Sports, and a contract was drawn up by attorneys. The stipulations called for an initial liquidation of all of Capitol’s surplus funds.24 That meant Capitol would pay more than $640,000 to Marella, Zacko, and Skaaland for a combined 385 shares of their common stock, which would be turned over to Titan at the completion of the sale. Titan would pay $1 million to all four stockholders for the remaining 615 shares.
The initial payment was for $230,736, while $769,264 was broken into three parts, paid on October 1, 1982, February 1, 1983, and June 1, 1983. Of that $1 million, $822,132 was going to McMahon Sr. himself, the company’s largest stockholder with 500 shares. Imbedded within the contract were a number of conditions, including specific items protecting Capitol’s outgoing shareholders. If Titan defaulted on any payment, all shares would return to McMahon, Marella, Zacko, and Skaaland, and the group would keep any money paid to date. Gathered together for a secret meeting on June 5, 1982, these individuals shook hands and affixed their signatures to the contract. Capitol Wrestling was now the property of Titan Sports, and Vincent Kennedy McMahon was the new head of the World Wrestling Federation.
Without kayfabe-defying websites to break the news, the sale, essentially, went unreported, and it was business as usual across the board. For McMahon Jr., there was a new burden, and that was coming up with a significant amount of cash before June 1983. The entire deal hinged on his ability to make good. At the same time, he was considering bringing in outside talent and the feasibility of expansion. The ball was rolling, and McMahon was looking at an uphill fight. The WWF was charted on a new course, and its future was in the hands of an enthusiastic and enterprising new skipper.
Chapter Three
The Beginning of the End
In the two decades following the establishment of the National Wrestling Alliance, the territorial map cordoning off specific regions for promoters didn’t change all that much. If there was a modification, it tended to be more of a reorganization stemming from a change in ownership, which happened from time to time. Some promoters dropped out of the picture because of old age and retirement, while others passed away, leaving their heirs with the burden of selling out or trying to sustain business without them. Hugh Nichols, an ex–wrestling champion and NWA representative in Hollywood and San Diego, California, was one of the first major affiliates to meet a sudden demise. On December 15, 1956, he committed suicide at age 58 in his Southern California home, reportedly despondent about declining business. The following year, on July 1, veteran Max Clayton of Omaha died at age 61, and another big hole in the wrestling world was created.
Both Hollywood and San Diego were quickly absorbed by Cal Eaton, who already operated a territory in Los Angeles. Clayton’s promotion was annexed by his protégé, Joe Dusek, a native Omahan, and it became a valuable stop for the AWA. During the 1960s, Paul Bowser of Boston, Bill Lewis of Richmond, Morris
Sigel in Houston, and Karl Sarpolis of Amarillo each passed away while still in charge of their respective locales and were succeeded by competent replacements, keeping the territorial system within balance. Eaton himself died on January 10, 1966, at age 57, and his promotion was taken over by his wife, Aileen Eaton, and his stepson, Mike LeBell. Seven years later, on April 1, 1973, “Big” Jim Crockett Sr., the beloved promoter of the Mid-Atlantic states, died of a heart attack. His wife, Elizabeth, and four children continued the business and the territory was never in real danger of failing.
The same was true following a host of retirements. Cowboy Luttrall, manager of the Tampa franchise and ruler of most of the Sunshine State since 1949, walked away from the business in 1970. His interest was sold to his right-hand man Eddie Graham, another top-notch leader. Things were handled in much the same way in Tulsa and Buffalo. However, Pinkie George in Des Moines, Orville Brown in Kansas City, and Harry Light in Detroit suffered a different fate. These men were among the earliest members of the NWA, but were supplanted by aggressive, politically strong opponents.25 Unable to fend off their rivals, they quietly retired, but the territories themselves remained unfazed by the changes.
Interestingly, as various promotions were changing management during this time frame, a number of former grapplers stepped up to become regional administrators. As mentioned, Joe Dusek and Eddie Graham took hold of Omaha and Tampa, respectively, and both had been mentored by the men previously in charge. Leroy McGuirk in Tulsa, Fritz Von Erich in Dallas, and Dory Funk Sr. in Amarillo were also students of both promotions and booking prior to owning their individual territories. The smart and indisputably tough Ray Gunkel had the privilege of working side by side with longtime promoter Paul Jones, another ex-wrestler, and the two combined their knowledge to create a top-notch product in Atlanta. Roy Shire enjoyed a lengthy pro career before settling in as a promoter in San Francisco. His efforts, though, were in direct opposition to the local veteran operator, Joe Malcewicz, and within a short time, Shire took over all of northern California.
Death of the Territories Page 3