by Linda Hogan
Once Terry wrapped the movie in California, I was actually happy to go back home to Florida. Terry was training at his own gym again, and I was more at ease. It was time to just put all of those accusations and negative thoughts behind us. After spending so many Christmases with Terry on the road, now that we were all home together as a family I wanted to try to make the holidays special.
IN DECEMBER 1996, SANTA’S WORKSHOP IN FLORIDA WAS WORKING overtime! I was the busy little elf, wrapping gifts for the kids as well as shipping presents off to my family in California and Terry’s business associates, other friends, and family. Santa Hogan’s list of people to buy for—whether they were naughty or nice—was always huge, and it took a lot of planning and shopping by me. You can’t simply shop for those big wrestlers at Lord & Taylor’s. Not to mention, dressing up the house and planning our Christmas party. I decorated the tree with beautiful ornaments and enough lights to guide Santa’s sleigh. I also put up a separate tree for the kids filled with all the ornaments they made in school over the years. I enjoyed making it nice.
I always tried my best to make each holiday over the top because that was how it was for me growing up. Lots of food and fun! On the other hand, Terry never had elaborate Christmases during his childhood. Holiday traditions for him were on a much smaller scale because his family had struggled financially during the better part of his early life. His mother and father had a small home, and each year they would take out a tiny artificial Christmas tree from their closet and place it on the coffee table. It had a few little lights and ornaments and would be put away fully decorated for the next year. Terry wouldn’t receive much for Christmas when he was a kid, and I loved doing Christmas big because he loved it as much as the kids.
I know Terry’s parents were very poor and tried to do their best. That’s why I felt that part of my role as his wife was to show him how to celebrate Christmas. Terry had a chance to do it all over again and create holiday traditions with his own family. I even got him into singing Christmas carols around the piano, and, of course, Brooke the little singer led the way!
Right before the kids would go to sleep, I had Terry put on a Santa Claus outfit. Then I told him to go outside on the balcony and make noise to surprise the kids. I’d round up the kids and get their attention by calling out, “Look! Santa Claus is here!” Brooke and Nick were only six and eight years old, so it was huge for them. They’d run to the window and yell, “It’s Santa!” Then I’d take them back inside so Terry could sneak back in, change back into his robe, and join in all the excitement. Creating imaginary stuff for the kids to believe in was just as much fun for Terry and me as it was for them.
WITH ENORMOUS FAN RECOGNITION AND CONSTANT VISIBILITY, Terry continued to branch out into new marketing and licensing deals. People would ask him, “Don’t you get tired of all the fans bothering you?” Terry would respond, “No, I would get tired if they stopped bothering me.”
Back in 1994, Terry had inked a deal to be the face of a franchise of restaurants called Pastamania. The family restaurant chain was to open in shopping malls across the country, with the first being at the biggest—the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota.
Terry and I used to live in Minnesota when we were first married, so he was treated like a king in Bloomington. We flew there with the kids for the grand opening party, which was sort of a homecoming for us. We met with all of the executives and employees who were there working really hard to bring this project to fruition. The event was held in a banquet room at one of the city’s top hotels. Everywhere you turned you saw Hulk Hogan’s face: banners, posters, and T-shirts. Even cookies had his image on them. Our kids loved eating them, turning to me giggling and saying, “Look, I ate Daddy’s head.”
I was sitting alone near the snack table holding Nick while Terry made the rounds shaking hands, with Brooke proudly standing by his side the whole time. She’s always been Daddy’s little girl! While Terry continued his meet and greet, I noticed an older dark-haired woman standing nearby staring at me. Being the wife of Hulk Hogan I was used to people staring, but this seemed different to me. I shot a soft smile her way, hoping to break the awkward staring contest. It must have worked because the woman came over and introduced herself. Her name was Kate Kennedy, and she was the public relations person for Pastamania. Kennedy seemed overly interested in my personal life, asking a lot of questions, almost as if she was writing a book. How old are the kids? Where are you from? Where do you live? What is it like being married to the Hulk? She even asked about the construction of our new home. I was nice and tried to answer her, but I really felt she was getting too chummy and personal. After twenty minutes of being interviewed by her, I decided to politely excuse myself and end the conversation. Why was she asking so many questions about Terry and me? I wondered. I just chalked it up to her being excited to meet us since she was working on the Pastamania project, but I didn’t realize she would come back to wreak havoc on our lives a few years later. At the time, I was just happy that the opening seemed like a big success.
A FEW DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, THE DOORBELL RANG AT OUR home on Saint Andrews Drive in Florida. “I’ll get it,” I called out to our housekeeper, Patty (who had been with me since Brooke was four months old). I opened the door, and from the serious look on the man’s face in front of me I didn’t think he was a Christmas caroler. He was holding an envelope and asked if I was Terry Bollea. “No, that’s my husband,” I said. “He’s not here. Is there something I can give to him?” He refused and said he’d be back another time.
While it seemed a bit strange that he wouldn’t leave the envelope with me, I didn’t have much time to ponder it. Patty and I were busy preparing for my family’s arrival from California to spend the holidays with us. I was thrilled to finally have Christmas with my entire family present—the only present I really wanted. The man returned two more times, but Terry still wasn’t home. I started to wonder why he couldn’t give the envelope to me. What was I not supposed to know?
Well, the same deliveryman came back the day before Christmas with that same envelope. Terry had just gotten home from a road trip and answered the door himself. As the deliveryman drove away, I watched Terry from afar step outside onto the porch, open the envelope, read the letter, and put it back inside. He squeezed his forehead, came into the house, and immediately headed up to our bedroom. Why is Terry so upset? I wondered. What’s this all about? I had a lot of questions, and I wanted to know what it was about, but since Terry didn’t mention the paperwork—he always had a ton of contracts, agreements, and so on to look at—I decided not to either. I made the best of things and pushed forward with lots of holiday spirit. That night we left cookies and milk out for good ol’ Saint Nick, put the presents under the tree, and stuffed the stockings after the children went to bed. All the while, Terry was clearly not present mentally. We went to bed and didn’t have sex that night. I just assumed he was exhausted. Then again, setting up Christmas had taken its toll on me, too. I am one of those women who do too much. I’m like a camel: just load me up. I always try to accommodate everybody and everything. I hate telling people no. Linda was always the last person on my priority list. I would end up making excuses for two more decades, always thinking about my own needs last.
I didn’t sleep well that night. My head was spinning. Could Terry be cheating on me? Is that why he was acting like this? If Terry was having an affair, he was still very concerned about keeping his marriage together. With all of his sneaking around and making excuses and with me at home with the kids, I really had no idea what was going on with him on the road. Of course, his friends always acted as his liaisons. And then there were the excuses I made. Since he was world famous, I thought for sure that if he cheated, it would be in the newspaper or in a magazine or that it would get back to me somehow. However, the truth was that not a lot of people in the general public knew the Hulkster was married or had children. In those days, there were maybe two tabloid magazines and no camera phones or
Internet. Today, there are countless gossip magazines and websites, and, of course, TMZ and Radar Online.
When Terry did come home from the road, he always wanted sex the first day he was back. He liked me to give him oral. Or he liked to have quick sex. It was never an emotional lovey-dovey lovemaking session with candles and cuddling. No, it was more or less a quick fuck. As long as he’s happy and satisfied, I thought. I never thought there should be a side to sex that would make me happy, too. I just felt great that I was able to make him feel so great. But I remembered when Terry came home from the trip to Minnesota when he was inking the deal with the Mall of America, he went straight up to the bathroom and locked the door. He was edgy and cantankerous. He was not affectionate in the least. I could obviously tell he had something bigger on his mind, but I didn’t know what it was. Terry just made me think it was business and par for the course with wrestling. I had no idea what was really going on, so I just tried to stay out of his way. I tried not to think about the what-ifs, but since then I was always suspicious that something had happened back in Minnesota. I just had no proof and wanted to think positively. It was Christmas after all!
Christmas morning arrived and the kids were up bright and early. We all drank coffee as we watched Brooke and Nick rip into their gifts. All the while, Terry seemed out of it, distracted. He also appeared to be nervous around my parents.
After cleaning up the wrapping paper, my mom and I got busy in the kitchen preparing Christmas dinner. While the food was cooking, I went upstairs with Terry to take a twenty-minute nap. Christmas was exhausting! I tried to cuddle with him, but Terry was removed and distant—his mood becoming heavier than the eggnog. I kept thinking it was Terry being exhausted or nervous about my parents being there. He was removed mentally and emotionally, again just going through the motions.
THE NEXT MORNING, IT WAS MORE OF THE SAME. TERRY CAME home from the gym in a nasty mood and said he needed his space. I had had enough of his behavior. We began to argue and my mother intervened, trying to calm Terry down. It proved to be a mistake. He snapped, yelling back at her impatiently. He said he was sick of all of the bullshit and ordered my parents to leave.
Terry was a very scary sight when he was mad! My dad stayed quiet as he watched my mom pack their belongings into their suitcases. I couldn’t believe this. Terry just threw my parents out of my own home! My folks walked out the front door with no ride and me crying in the driveway, begging them not to go. They thought it was best if they headed home. A taxi arrived soon after, and just like that, Christmas was over.
For the life of me, I didn’t understand Terry’s anger, rage, and coldness. He took things too far. I stood in front of him demanding an answer. “What’s going on? What’s your problem?” I yelled. He had ruined the beautiful Christmas for all of us.
“You’re the problem,” he shot back. “You make me sick.”
He told me to sit down on the sofa in his office and listen to him. He told me not to move. I was scared of him because it was clear he was in a rage. Whether he was my husband or not, a three-hundred-twenty-five-pound wrestler is intimidating. He lit a big fat cigar and blew the smoke directly in my face for the next twenty minutes. I don’t remember what he was saying. I only recall trying to get up and him pushing me back down onto the sofa, blowing more smoke in my face and his eyes burning a hole in me. I would learn later that he was really just mad at himself, but taking it out on me. Control and losing control are equally bad. A little bit goes a long way.
This type of behavior wasn’t rare. He had had outbursts like this in the past, and they were always scary. A steroid rage? Pain pills wearing off? A bad phone call? The kids acting up? Something I said? I never knew what would set him off, but it always seemed to be my fault. Once again, he was controlling me with his moods.
Nick woke up from his nap and began to cry. I begged Terry to let me check on Nick, but he refused. Nick cried for ten more minutes and Terry wouldn’t let me go to him. All of a sudden, Terry’s spell broke and he said, “Go get the kid and get out of my face.” I escaped, crying, my mind racing about what to do.
I got the children, put them into the minivan, and took off crying. I was afraid to go back home, but where could I go with two small kids? Then, a few hours later it was getting dark so I drove back to the house. Thank God his car wasn’t there. It was such a relief. Terry came in later that night as I pretended to be asleep, afraid of another confrontation. He never came to bed that night. I don’t know where he slept, but it wasn’t with me.
That next morning, Terry left for the gym before I awoke. I was making the kids breakfast when I heard the front door open. As I made the eggs I stayed quiet.
He entered the kitchen, leaned over, and kissed me. I was relieved that he wasn’t angry anymore. His new mood surprised me. He showered, came downstairs, and told me that we needed to talk.
“Okay, let’s go outside,” I said.
“No, let’s go to the beach house,” he suggested.
Terry asked Patty to watch the kids. The ride to the beach house was dead quiet in his Mercedes. We drove there fast, but it wasn’t as quick as the thoughts rushing through my head. What does he have to talk to me about? I wondered. What could make him so nasty to me? What could it be that is so important he needs to tell me about it at the beach house? Was it about our future? Was he going to tell me that he doesn’t love me? Does he want a divorce? Were those medical papers? Does he have cancer? Did he get fired? Did someone die?
I felt sick, weak, and scared. So scared.
Terry sat me down on the sofa at the beach house. This time he sat down right next to me. He began to discuss the turn of events on the road with Pastamania. He asked me if I remembered the dark-haired woman at the opening party. I told him yes. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I realized I could hardly breathe. Then he said that one night when he was in Minnesota, he went to his hotel room and the PR woman stopped by late at night with T-shirts to be presigned for the opening.
My heart was sick. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. I was speechless. I began crying and asking questions, trying to put the puzzle together in my mind. Terry was a married man, and you don’t just let a strange woman into your hotel room. Terry swore up and down that he did not sleep with her, but what he did admit doing was more than enough: he cheated on me, and this time it definitely wasn’t my imagination.
What was he thinking? Where was I? Did he call me that night? Did he wear his wedding ring? Did she know he was married? Who knew? The lies. The fights. The omissions of truth. Terry telling me that I was crazy all of the time. I felt like an ass.
My head reeled as I sat next to him on the sofa. He told me that he needed my support. All I could think about was all the women I had suspected he was with in the past.
Terry was an icon to children all over the world. There were billions of dollars involved with licensing and merchandising agreements. What would the public think of their hero now? After all, his motto was “Train, take your vitamins, and say your prayers.”
Terry was repenting, saying over and over again, “I really love you. I don’t want to ruin our family.”
He gave me every excuse in the book to get me to stay. I definitely held the cards.
I probably had more power than I thought during our marriage. It was just a situation where he was the kingpin in wrestling and our home. Our lives revolved around him—his job and his schedule. I thought I could get over it and be grateful that he was honest with me. That night in bed my mind started to turn as I began to put the pieces together. I wanted to make this thing go away and sweep it under the carpet, but I definitely had a few more questions that needed to be answered first. I was crushed. I was mad. I was scared, and I wanted to leave him.
The next morning I read him his rights, so to speak. “I hope you appreciate that I am staying married to you and not disrupting our family, because your whole world would cave in if I left.”
I was so mad that he could
put our family in this situation, and I still had so many unanswered questions, which only fueled my suspicions. Terry expected me to just go on, sing songs with the kids and make them more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But I was totally distraught. I felt like an empty shell, when he was the one who should have felt that way. My marriage was never the same after that. I felt like a hostage, afraid to do what my heart and my head wanted to do. I wanted to leave him, but I was too scared and too alone.
I told Terry I needed to go back home for a bit. I explained that I was not going to leave him or file for divorce. I just needed some time alone. He understood and was okay with it. I left for California the next day.
Picking Up the Pieces
There was so much I didn’t know about what had happened with Kate Kennedy, so much that Terry wouldn’t tell me. Terry said things had to be kept hush-hush and only discussed with the lawyers. I understood that things needed to be kept quiet, but I wondered if I could ever trust my husband again. And without trust, how strong can a marriage really be? I just wish Terry would’ve told me the complete truth back then. I felt sure that I knew only part of the story. Terry told me that the legal problem regarding Kate Kennedy’s charges had been going on behind the scenes for a while with the lawyers, and he almost had this problem “put to bed.” Interesting choice of words.