The Three Count

by Jimmy Korderas

  At most beer stores in Ontario you order at the counter and someone in the back cooler gets your beer for you and rolls it out on a conveyer where the customer picks up his order after paying. Tom was not only taking the orders at the cash register; he was also running to the back to get everyone’s orders as well, while one of his co-workers was handling all the empty bottle returns, which also had a long line. Frustrated and desperate, my friend asked me if I would give him a hand. I told him of course I would and went into the back cooler to get the orders he called out over the intercom. I was not familiar with the setup but caught on quickly. At first, Tom would not only shout out the orders, he would give me quick directions to where all the different brands of beer were stacked. It took us an hour and a half to get the line cleared but we got it done. It was closing time and the store was empty of patrons. Tom locked the doors and we sat down to take a breather. Running around the huge cooler full of beer, slinging cases out to the buying public, was quite frankly a pretty good workout.

  My friend, the other employee, and I sat in the lunch room and had a pop. Tom then asked me if I was interested in a part-time job with him at the Beer Store. Thinking about it for a few minutes, I told him that I was definitely interested. He told me he would run it by his manager the following Monday and let me know what he said. How cool was that? Not only potentially landing a job, but getting to work with my best friend. I couldn’t wait to hear back. I hadn’t given up on my wrestling dream, but I needed to do something in between wrestling bookings. This seemed like a good fit.

  After talking to his boss, Tom called me and told me to go in to meet the manager of that store. I did, and found he was a good guy; we got along very well right from the start. I explained to him about my other job with the WWF and he said he had no trouble at all scheduling me around my wrestling schedule. I was hopeful the situation with the WWF would be rectified. For the time being, I was content with how things were progressing. Thanks to my friend Tom, I had a second job that worked for me on all fronts.

  There was no shortage of memorable wrestling moments, even with my reduced schedule. Virtually every show I had the privilege to work provided moments that to this day remain special to me. One of the first cage matches I officiated involved “the Giant,” the one and only Andre the Giant. This match became particularly special because Andre showed how much he trusted me.

  The date was November 19, 1989, the place the venerable Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. The main event that evening: Intercontinental champion the Ultimate Warrior was putting his title on the line against WWE Hall of Famer Andre the Giant and yes, yours truly was assigned to man the cage door. This match had no referee inside the cage as the only way to win the match at that time was either exiting through the door or climbing over the top and having both feet hit the arena floor.

  Things didn’t get off to a good start for me. I walked out to the big blue cage — remember the one with the steel blue squares? — did a quick walk around to check the structure, and positioned myself at the door. Andre was the first to make his entrance. He came out, walked around the cage as well, and then began stalling, not wanting to enter the cage. I tried my best to convince him to climb the steps and get in the ring. At first he just laughed and then he started to get agitated. He yelled something to me, in French mind you, so I did not understand what it was he bellowed. Just then, he grabbed the cage door with his left hand and flung it wide open, hitting me in the noggin. As I lay there holding my aching head, the Giant laughed out loud and entered the ring.

  The Ultimate Warrior entered the arena next. After a few laps around the ring, stopping occasionally to shake the cage, he helped me to my feet. He jumped into the cage, I closed the door, and the match was under way. It was what you’d expect from these two legends. Andre dominated most of the time with the Warrior getting in limited offence. Andre even gave the Warrior one of the earliest versions of the “Stinkface.” He had the Ultimate One seated in the corner by the door and placed his rather large posterior directly into his face. That’s when things got ugly. I heard the Warrior screaming for Andre to stop. A few seconds later, I realized why. The Giant thought it would be funny to just let it rip right then and there, if you get my drift. I got the drift and it was one of the nastiest things I had ever smelled. Andre as usual laughed his butt off. Andre was notorious for dropping “bombs” in the ring, and I don’t mean punches or elbows. I don’t know what Giants eat and really didn’t want to find out.

  Now back to the match. The battle continued. As Andre once again gained the upper hand, he began crawling on all fours to make his way to the door. As I opened the door for him to exit, I couldn’t help but remember what happened before the match had begun, how this giant of a man got a thrill from knocking little Jimmy on his ass. As he stuck his head and shoulder out of the cage on his way out, I reared back and slammed the cage door on him. Yes! I slammed a cage door on Andre the Giant and the crowd went banana! (Yes, no S. That is how Pat Patterson would say it.) Just as that occurred, the Ultimate Warrior recovered from his beating and scaled the cage, climbing over the top and jumping down to the arena floor. I called for the bell, raised Warrior’s hand, and ran to the dressing room.

  When I got to the back, the only thing going through my mind was whether or not I had slammed the door too hard on the Giant. Everyone was back from ringside and relaxing in the locker rooms. I approached Andre and shook his hand, as is the custom, and asked if everything was okay with the match. I kept thinking that maybe I had swung the door too hard or maybe not hard enough. I just hoped that it looked fine. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “Perfect, Boss. Thank you.” I was both relieved and ecstatic. Not only was one of the greatest WWF superstars of all time pleased with the match, he called me Boss. That was a sign. If Andre liked someone, he would call him Boss. I thanked him again; after all, having Andre’s approval meant the world to me. I then went to thank the Warrior as well. All was good in my world that night. I was grinning from ear to ear. I had just helped the Intercontinental champion defeat a giant and had had my first brush with the 15 minutes of fame we all hope to get at least once in our lives. Not to mention, getting called Boss by the Boss! This match was taped but never televised, so somewhere in the archives of the WWE vault, this classic encounter still lives. Maybe one day, it will see the light of day.

  After the show ended, Tim White, a longtime referee and a very good friend of Andre’s, pulled me aside to have a chat. He said that Andre was very happy with how the match had turned out. He also said that if I wasn’t doing anything after the show, Andre would like to buy me a drink back at the hotel. I was overwhelmed. I accepted the invite. After all, who would not want to have a drink with a true legend of the squared circle? I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I had heard some stories about how much beer or wine Andre could consume in one sitting. I had seen him in a bar or two before, but had never sat to drink with him and witness how much he drank. I was about to find out.

  I met Andre and Tim at the hotel bar where they invited me to have a seat with them. Andre didn’t like sitting at a table unless he was playing cards, so he usually sat at one end of the bar on a stool. He asked me what I was drinking. I told him a beer would be fine and he ordered me three. Before I could finish the third beer, two more found their way in front of me. Next thing I knew, I was more than a little tipsy. There was no way I could drive the 20 minutes home that night in my condition but I also didn’t want to spring for the cost of a hotel room. Thanking Andre and Tim for their hospitality I told them I had to go and went to the lobby to collect myself.

  As luck would have it, I didn’t have to drive home or pay for a hotel room. Jack Tunney always had a complimentary suite in the hotel where the boys stayed because he booked 10 to 15 rooms for them at a group rate and the hotel threw in the suite at no extra charge. Jack would have a few cases of beer and some cold cuts for sandwiches and invited the crew up to drink and sho
ot the bull there. His logic was if the boys drank in a private setting, they would not get in any trouble in the bar. The party broke up early and Jack, noticing my inebriated condition, offered me the suite to sleep it off. At first I felt guilty accepting, but he insisted so I agreed. It was a very nice thing Jack did for me that night.

  It wasn’t the only time Jack bailed me out of an Andre drinkfest. On another occasion, before another Maple Leaf Gardens event, Jack once again handed me the keys to his Cadillac Fleetwood. He told me to pick up Andre and Danny Davis at the airport Marriott. Danny was filling in for Tim White on this trip. Gladly, I took the keys and was off to pick them up. I arrived at the Marriott and called up to Andre’s room to let him know I was there. There was no answer in his room so I tried Danny’s room. He said he would be down in a bit and to check the bar for the big man. Just as Danny suggested, there was Andre, sitting on a couch with two “friends” and his gear bag. I walked over to where they were sitting, and when Andre spotted me he bellowed, “Hey, Boss. Come on, sit down, have a drink.”

  I really wasn’t sure how to answer him. When “the Boss” offered you a drink, he considered it an insult if you did not accept. I wanted to say no thank you but instead I replied, “Okay, I’ll have one, a Jack Daniel’s and Coke please.” Now that was a huge error on my part. Andre called the waitress over and ordered me a double Jack and Coke. Not saying anything, I took the drink, thinking just one shouldn’t be too bad. Danny finally came down to the bar to meet us, but not before I had two more double Jack and Cokes. Once again, the big man had succeeded in getting me drunk. One major problem, though: it was prior to the event and I still had to get them to the venue.

  Danny looked at me and said, “Jimmy, are you okay to drive?”

  DISCLAIMER: I do not endorse what I did next nor do I think in any way, shape, or form that what I did was acceptable.

  I explained to Danny that if we were to arrive at the venue with him driving and anyone were to see that I was not driving, my job would be in jeopardy. He cautiously agreed to let me drive and sat shotgun to keep an eye on me. I could tell he wasn’t happy about it but went along for my sake. I was not stumbling drunk but over the legal limit for sure.

  We made it down to MLG without incident and I parked the car. We made our way to the locker rooms; all the while I was nervous that someone would find out I had been drinking before the show. Walking past Jack, I handed him his keys. He paused for a moment and called me back to speak with him. He looked me in the eyes and asked, “Have you been drinking?”

  There was no denying it, so I confessed to having a few drinks. I wasn’t going to put the blame on anyone else, so I just said yes. Waiting for his reply, the fear of losing my job took over. It seemed to take forever for him to say something and when he finally did, it shocked the hell out of me. He said, “The Boss cornered you in the bar, didn’t he?” I nodded and he continued, “Go get some coffee in you and don’t let any of the agents see you for a little while. You’ll be okay.” He half-smiled in an almost hope-you-learned-a-lesson-here kind of way and went to work. I on the other hand drank several cups of coffee, avoided everyone for about an hour, and got through the night’s festivities. After that day, I never ever had a drink before a show again. They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone; well sometimes all it takes is to almost lose something to really appreciate what you have. From that point on, I never took my job for granted. Lesson definitely learned.

  Chapter 8

  Back on Track

  I had dodged a bullet and it was once again time to focus on where my career was heading. I was still working two part-time jobs. I liked working at the Beer Store but that wasn’t my first choice as a career path. The WWF was where I wanted to be, but the scandal that revolved around Garvin and the WWF was taking its toll on the company. Terry had to go. Now don’t get me wrong, I hate it when anybody gets let go from their job, but when I heard that Terry Garvin had been relieved of his duties, I began to think that this was my opportunity to go back to a full-time schedule at my dream job. Steve Taylor assumed Terry’s position in the Event Operations department. Steve and I got along very well, going back to when Steve was the principal photographer for the WWF and their magazine. I kind of felt guilty for thinking this, but in my mind it was only a matter of time before Steve brought me back on the road the way it used to be. It didn’t exactly turn out that way.

  For the next few years it was pretty much the status quo. The only difference was that I was getting to work the occasional TV or pay-per-view event, but it was still nowhere near the amount I was hoping for. As usual, I didn’t complain about it and just went along with the program. My work ethic had not changed. I continued to give 110% all of the time and never let on that I was unhappy that they had not offered me a full-time slot. My thinking was good things come to those who work hard and don’t rock the boat. I knew nothing about the squeaky wheel getting the grease theory. So for the next few years I toiled at both jobs, hoping the WWF would see how valuable I was to them. Sometimes, though, they might not have seen it that way.

  An error in scheduling caused me to miss an event in Fredericton, New Brunswick. It would not have been such a big deal had it not been for the fact that for this show, I was the scheduled ring crew. Let me explain. When the booking sheet came out for the month of the Fredericton show, I saw that I was the ring crew/referee for a Halifax event that took place the day after the Fredericton show. Jack Tunney insisted on getting the booking sheet sent to him directly for any Canadian events and then he would inform me of my bookings. Jack told me about the Halifax show. I mentioned to him that Fredericton was running the night before and asked if I would be doing that show as well. He said not to worry about that and that I was only booked for Halifax.

  I booked my flight to Moncton to pick up the ring the day before the Halifax event. That was the same day as the other show I was told not to worry about. Flying into Moncton, I took a cab to where the ring truck was stored, started her up, and headed to Halifax. I pulled the truck into a weigh station at about eight p.m. The officer inside called out to me on the loudspeaker and asked if I was Jim Korderas. How did this guy know my name? I said, “Yes, I am Jim Korderas,” and he said, “Can you park the truck and come inside please?”

  Of course I did just as he asked. I entered the booth with no idea what was going on. My first thought was that something had happened at home, an emergency of some sort. The first words out of the officer’s mouth were, “You need to call Steve Taylor ASAP!”

  Piecing two and two together I had an inkling of what had happened. Using the pay phone outside, I called Steve at his home. He answered and right away asked me where I was. I told him where I was and he then said, “Why aren’t you in Fredericton?”

  A bit flustered, I explained the whole situation to him about not being told to be in Fredericton and not to worry about who would be the ring crew there. I could tell he was not a happy camper but he did understand my position and told me to proceed to Halifax. The Fredericton show was cancelled due to the miscommunication. From now on, though, he would send out booking sheets for the Canadian shows to Jack as usual but would also send one to me so that I would be aware of the dates. We both had great respect for Jack and didn’t want to put the blame on him. Steve took the heat for the mishap. In the meantime, we had come to the conclusion that we would be on the same page from now on. It was the one and only time I failed to provide a ring for a show. It would never happen again on my watch.

  With that miscommunication behind me, it was now time for me to decide which profession was going be the one for me. Sling beer or go forward and do what I believed I was born to do. Even as a youngster, I knew I belonged in the wrestling business. Not necessarily as a wrestler or a referee, but I just knew this business was for me. I waited for the chance to talk to Steve in person, not wanting to tell him of my intentions over the phone. The next set of TV tapings we wer
e both at, I pulled him aside and asked him if he had a minute or two to chat. He said he did and we went out and sat in the stands of the empty arena. I explained to him that I wanted to be a full-time member of the Event Operations team, meaning ring crew/referee. I also explained that working two part-time jobs wasn’t cutting it for me so it was time for me to choose one or the other. The job I wanted with all my heart was with the WWF. It was no contest. The WWF was where I wanted to be and where I felt I belonged.

  Steve was somewhat taken aback. Telling him my intentions and how I felt really surprised him because, as he put it, “I didn’t know you felt that way. I thought your other job was your primary one and wrestling was secondary.” Before I could rebut that statement he went on, “Now that I know what you want, I would love to have you with us full-time.”

  There was no hiding my elation. I gave Steve a big hug and told him I was in. I was back, even though I never really left, but I think you know what I mean. Even though I was back working a full-time schedule for the WWF, I was hired as an independent contractor and not an employee of the company, which suited me just fine. They were not very happy to hear it, but goodbye Beer Store! It was now game on for me. What followed were many years of great times and awesome memories. There were a few sad moments along the way but the good far outweighed the not so good.

  By this time, the production values of WWF’s flagship program, Monday Night Raw, had expanded from its beginnings when it was filmed at the Manhattan Center in New York City. Every two weeks we would be live on the USA Network and tape the following week’s episode of Raw the Tuesday after the live show. On the weeks when the taped show aired, we ran non-televised live events so the travel schedule was hectic. Again I’m not complaining; it is the nature of the business and I took great pleasure in being a member of the WWF family. A family is what we were, especially those of us on the road crew.