When we all arrived at the hospital, a few family members were there as well. The one individual I was most excited to meet was none other than Stu Hart. Julie walked me over to Stu and introduced me as the fellow who flew on the plane with Dynamite. I extended my hand to shake his and said that it was an absolute pleasure to meet him. He shook my hand firmly, looked me in the eyes while still holding on to my hand, and said, “So, you work for Jack, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied respectfully.
“Are you a worker?” was his next question. For those not sure, he was asking if I was a wrestler.
“No, sir,” was my timid response.
Next, he would make me an offer that I didn’t expect. In the way that only Stu can say it, he continued, “Well, if you, ahhhh, decide that you ever want to train to become a worker, ahhhh, let me know. I’d be happy to train you, tiger.”
I could not believe my ears. The legendary Stu Hart offered to train me. How freaking cool was that? I thanked him and said that if I were to train to become a professional wrestler, he would be the first person I would want to train with.
Just to show you how much pull the Hart family has in Calgary, we were only there for maybe 20 minutes before Dynamite was admitted to a private room. That’s when his wife, Michelle, came out and said that Dynamite wanted to see me. On my way to the room, I kept wondering why he wanted to see me. I entered the room. After asking him how he was doing, he said as good as can be expected, considering the pain. He thanked me for travelling with him and asked Michelle to bring him his leather jacket. He reached in the pocket, pulled something out, and called me over to the bed. He told me to stick out my hand. He extended his and placed some money in mine. I really felt uncomfortable taking it and told him so. He said that I better take it or he’d kick my ass — maybe not that day but one day. He then said, “Please take it and buy your girl something nice for Christmas.”
When I said I didn’t have a girlfriend at that time his reply was then to buy my mom something nice. So I just put it in my pocket without looking to see how much it was and thanked him. There was no need for him to do that; I was being paid for the trip. When I told him, he said that it didn’t matter and to consider it a bonus. Just then Julie came in, said she was leaving, and that she could give me a ride back to the airport. I accepted the offer for the lift. I thanked Dynamite and Michelle for their generous gift, said goodbye to Stu, who reiterated his offer to train me, and left the hospital. Julie Hart was extremely nice to me and asked if I was hungry. She said she could stop if I wanted food. I lied and told her that I was not hungry — she was already going out of her way for me. She dropped me off at the airport and thanked me for helping them out. I said it was no problem and thanked her for the ride. She smiled and said it was no trouble at all. She drove off and I went inside to kill some time before my flight.
When I reached in my pocket, I remembered that Dynamite had given me some money. I pulled it out to see how much it was. He gave me $200! To me that was a large sum of money. I’ll never forget his generosity. This trip also opened my eyes to the real dangers that pro wrestlers face every time they step into a ring. They put their bodies on the line for our entertainment. I always respected the wrestlers for that; however, on this day I gained a much deeper respect for their sacrifices.
Everything was going very well for me and I was extremely happy with my involvement in the WWF thus far. The year was coming to an end and I had no idea what 1987 had in store for me. That was until legendary WWE Hall of Famer Pat Patterson had a suggestion for Jack Tunney. Pat mentioned to Jack that the company was not happy with the referees the various athletic commissions assigned to the WWF events. They were looking to have their own full-time referees who worked specifically for the WWF. Pat thought that I would be a good candidate to fill one of those slots as I was already at the events setting up the ring. He figured, why not have me referee some matches as well? Jack contemplated the idea before replying to Pat that he didn’t think the time was right to “smarten the kid up.” Pat looked at Jack in disbelief, then said, “The kid has been working here for a year. All the boys know him. He’s been in the locker room. What do you mean smarten the kid up? I think the kid knows by now the business is a work.”
The funny thing about that conversation was that I was within earshot of the entire exchange. Pat even looked over at me, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. I wasn’t laughing. I was really upset. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and in my mind it had been taken away before it was even offered. Pat came over to me and said, “Don’t worry, Jimmy, he’ll come around. Leave it to me.”
A few weeks later, Jack approached me and asked me if I would be interested in becoming a referee. I quickly answered him with an enthusiastic yes. At the same time, I thought, How could he not know that I heard his whole conversation with Pat Patterson about my becoming a referee? I was only a few feet away from them when they were discussing it. No way was I going to question it; this was the chance I had been waiting for.
At that time, the referees in the World Wrestling Federation wore a uniform similar to that of professional boxing officials. The standard garb was black pants, black wrestling boots or sneakers, a light blue dress shirt, and a black bow tie. Jack told me to go out and purchase the necessary attire and to carry it with me at all times because you never knew when I would be pressed into action. I guess the first question I should have asked him was who was going to train me and show me the ropes as far as learning to become a pro wrestling referee. I suppose I was just so excited to start that I didn’t think at that time to find out. Nevertheless, I went out the next day and bought everything I needed to be a WWF referee. Maybe I should have thought ahead and bought more than one pair of black pants and one powder blue shirt but I will get to that in just a little bit. I had my uniform, carried it to every event where I was setting up the ring, and waited to be trained for my reffing debut. This is when things got interesting.
Chapter 3
Finally
It has been said many times that when you are anticipating something, no matter what it may be, the waiting is the hardest part. Let me tell you, whoever came up with that cliché was dead right. Here I was, travelling from show to show, continuing with my duties on the ring crew and carrying my newly acquired referee gear in my bag while I waited to begin my referee training. When was I going to be taught how to referee a wrestling match? Who was going to be the one to train me? This was not happening fast enough as far as I was concerned. To this day I think back to that moment and wonder why I didn’t approach any of the other officials or even Pat Patterson himself and ask them for some advice or help. I wanted to start yesterday but I couldn’t bring myself to “bother” anyone. Still very anxious to get this thing going, I decided that I would exercise patience and my chance would come. Not soon enough of course.
I do not remember the exact day, but it was in February 1987 and the WWF had an event in Newmarket, Ontario, less than an hour’s drive north of Toronto. As usual, I brought my officiating gear with me to the show, not expecting to put it to use. John Bonello and I set up the ring early that afternoon. Like we had many times before, once we were done with the setup, we had our little match that we had worked out. It was just another day at the office for us. We got a quick bite to eat and returned to the venue waiting for the rest of the guys to show up. Every WWF/E event has what was referred to in those days as a road agent. The job of a road agent is to act as a liaison between the wrestlers and higher-level management. They gave instructions and guidance to the talent about what management wanted to happen in the matches on each and every live event. They were in charge of all aspects of the show. On this night, former wrestler Tony Garea was acting as road agent and the lead or head agent was WWF Hall of Famer Chief Jay Strongbow.
Chief, as we all called him, was a unique individual to say the least. He had a good sense of humour and was well known by those in t
he industry as being, shall we say, very thrifty. Chief didn’t like to waste money. Not only his own; he didn’t like spending the company’s money very much either. Another thing that Chief was famous for was giving nicknames to everyone. Wrestlers and crew alike found themselves being given one of his original monikers. For example, Tony Chimel was given the nickname Chimmy Cham; John D’Amico was John Brown and I became Jimmy Jam. We all kind of felt that if Chief christened you with one of his tags, you were “over” with him.
When Chief had settled in and dropped off his Halliburton briefcase in the locker room, I bumped into him in the hallway. After we exchanged greetings and pleasantries, he asked me a question I was not prepared for: “So, Mr. Jimmy Jam, I understand that you are going to be refereeing for us.”
“Yes, Chief. That’s what I was told,” I replied.
“Do you have your ref gear with you here today?” he continued.
I answered, “Yes, Chief. I always bring my ref gear with me. I was told to never forget it and to bring it with me to every show whether I am reffing or not.”
Chief smiled, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Well, go get your stuff because you’re working tonight.”
I was in shock. I thought, How am I going to ref tonight when I haven’t had any training to become a referee? I mentioned that to him and his response was classic Chief. He again looked me right in the eyes, leaned closer, and said, “Does that mean you don’t want to ref?”
“No! No! No!” was my quick answer. “Of course I want to referee tonight. I was just saying . . .” Before I could finish my sentence, he told me to go get my stuff and that I would be working one match on the show. The match I was assigned to ref involved S.D. “Special Delivery” Jones versus the Red Demon, who was Jose Luis Rivera wearing a red mask. Before informing them that I was officiating their match, I sought out some help. That help came from Billy “Red” Lyons and referee Terry Yorkston. They both took the time to give me a crash course in pro wrestling refereeing 101. They gave me the rundown on the basics, told me not to worry too much, and re-enforced that everything would be just fine. I know I heard everything they told me but because I was so nervous about my first match, I couldn’t remember much of what they explained to me. I thanked them both and proceeded down the hall.
Next order of business was to tell S.D. that I was reffing his match. I wasn’t too sure how he would react to the news but it was now my job to find out what was happening in the match. That much I did know. S.D. was really a good guy and we had become pretty good friends, which helped calm me down for a little while at least. He gave me a brief summary of what he had planned but the most important thing he told me was to listen to him during the match and it would all work out just fine. Rivera was there in the locker room while I was talking to S.D. and just reiterated what S.D. had said. I thanked them both and went to put my referee gear on for my first match.
There were two matches on before mine so I figured the best course of action would be to watch the refs in those matches and keep mental notes. Red stood with me while I watched the matches and pointed out a few things that would be helpful to me. That’s the kind of guy Red was: one of the nicest men you could ever meet. At the end of the second match, it was time for me to make my way to the ring. I was later told that from the way I was walking to the ring, you would have thought I was heading to the electric chair. Finally, I got to the ring and climbed the steps to enter. The only thing going through my mind was, Please don’t trip going through the ropes! I didn’t trip but I was already beginning to sweat. The thing about those powder blue shirts we all used to wear was that they absolutely showed when one is perspiring and I was pitting bad.
As the two combatants made their way to the ring, another thought entered my already frazzled mind. What the hell was the finish of the match? I completely drew a blank on all the stuff S.D. had told me. Thinking fast, as I performed the pre-match check of the wrestlers for any foreign objects, I whispered to S.D. that I had forgotten the finish and pretty much everything else. He calmly told me not to worry and to stay close to him and listen to what he told me to do. Sounded simple enough — only one little problem, though: how was I supposed to stay close to him without making it look like I’m staying close to him? This might sound confusing but I didn’t want it to appear obvious that I was being instructed on what to do during the entire match. There was no time to dwell on it, so I signalled for the bell and the match was underway.
Even though I knew I was moving around the ring as if I were auditioning for the role of zombie in Night of the Living Dead, I followed S.D.’s instructions to the letter. Everything he told me to do, I did. Then they added a little wrinkle I was not expecting at all. Since Rivera was wrestling under a mask and working as a heel, they decided to introduce the dreaded foreign object. Here’s how it played out. S.D. was selling and told me to stay with him and not look at Rivera for a few seconds. I did just that and as I backed off and gave him some space, Rivera gave him a head butt. S.D. sold it like he had been hit with a club. As green as I was, I had seen this scenario many times in the past. My instincts told me to go to S.D. and check on him, all the while keeping my back to Rivera. S.D. told me to go check Rivera’s mask for an object. I did, found nothing, and returned to S.D. to inform him that all was well and that there was no object. Of course, while my back was turned, Rivera slipped the object back into his mask and gave S.D. another head butt, which he sold big time once again. We repeated this two or three more times, all the while never finding out what the dastardly Red Demon had done. In the end S.D. overcame the odds and won the match. I felt relieved — I had gotten through my first match. The feedback from the other referees and the guys in the match was encouraging but I knew I had so much more to learn and work on.
With my first match out of the way, I couldn’t wait to get back in the ring. Not only that, I couldn’t wait to make my Maple Leaf Gardens debut. After all, the Gardens was the Mecca of Canadian wrestling, not to mention hockey. How much better does it get than to referee for the World Wrestling Federation in the same arena that your favourite NHL team plays in? Not to mention that Toronto is where I was born and raised, which would make it that much more of a special event for me. A few months had passed and still my anticipation was building. During those months, I had the opportunity to continue to learn my craft at spot shows, shows the WWF held in smaller towns and venues. I wasn’t complaining, mind you, but I was still waiting impatiently to get to ref a big show. Then, I got the call.
It was May 17, 1987. The moment had arrived. I was assigned two matches on a WWF card at a Maple Leaf Gardens event. The first was Johnny K-9 versus Sam Houston. K-9 was a local wrestler from Hamilton while Houston was the younger half-brother of Jake “The Snake” Roberts. The second match I was to work was Outback Jack taking on Frenchy Martin. All the matches at Maple Leaf Gardens were taped for television at that time. So not only was this my MLG debut, it was my first time refereeing a match for TV. At ringside doing commentary for the matches were legends and Hall of Famers Gorilla Monsoon and Bobby “The Brain” Heenan. I can’t say enough about those two gentlemen. Gorilla had a big heart and truly loved the business while Bobby was legitimately one of the funniest men I have ever met. Heenan was a really nice guy as well and he and Gorilla working together was pure magic.
What a feeling it was climbing the steps and walking to the ring along the entrance ramp that I had sat next to as a fan for so many years. At that time, I believe that Maple Leaf Gardens was the only arena in North America to have this unique setup. For years I had followed my idols as they made their way to the ring on the very same platform that I was now using. Johnny K-9 was next to enter the ring. He was not well received by the fans as they booed him loudly. The jeers turned to cheers as Sam Houston made his entrance, doing a little Texas Two Step as his music played. The introductions were made and the match was on, but little did I know that my long-anticipated MLG debu
t would be met with embarrassment.
As nervous as I was, I had a few months’ worth of matches under my belt so I was gaining a bit of confidence — but not overconfidence. I just wanted to look like I belonged in the ring and not to seem out of place. The match itself was going smoothly until something happened that caught me by surprise. There was a pin attempt and, as any good referee would do, I dove to the canvas to make a count. That’s when the unthinkable occurred: I experienced a wardrobe malfunction. The back of my pants split. Not just a small split, but a rather large gaping one. It began from the middle of my crotch, down near the taint, and ran all the way up the back of my pants to the belt loops. There is one little thing you learn once something like this happens: you learn to wear black undergarments or tights under your referee pants just in case of such an emergency. That day, I was wearing blue underwear, and not dark blue unfortunately, and it probably looked like a blue light flashing from the back of my pants. I could hear people laughing, but I chose just to ignore it and continue with my in-ring duties. I glanced over to the announcers’ table at ringside where I saw Heenan in stitches while Gorilla just shook his head in disbelief.
Mercifully, the match ended soon after but the damage to my ego had been done. The other lesson I learned that evening was to carry a back-up pair of pants. Unfortunately, I had only one pair of ref pants with me. Who would have thought that I would need another pair? Obviously, you live and learn. But I had one more match to referee that evening. Where was I going to get another pair of black or even dark pants on a Sunday night in downtown Toronto? Thankfully, veteran referees Terry Yorkston and John Bonello offered me their spare pants. At that time, my waist size was 29 inches. Terry’s pants were most likely closer to a size 38 and John’s were too short. I ended up wearing Terry’s pants. They were extremely big on me, but what choice did I have? The show must go on. Looking like a child in his father’s pants, I made my way out for my second match. Other than the fact that I looked a little like a clown, the match went off without a hitch.
The Three Count Page 3