“Guys, I’m hurting, man, I don’t want to go tonight.”
They let me have it. “Dustin, you get your ass there. Do your job. We’ll talk about this later, but get your ass there and do your job tonight.”
I ended up going, but shortly thereafter I quit. Life was just bad. Terri and I decided we needed to move back home to Live Oak, Florida, where she is from. We talked about building a house there. Terri kept working, and I figured I could find enough work to make ends meet. I figured maybe I’d do something for WCW, but in reality I was burned out and exhausted. The pills were taking a terrible toll on me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was beat up, depressed, and falling apart. I still hadn’t spoken to my father.
Everything just seemed to be getting . . . darker.
Things got a little freaky.
EIGHT
THE FALSE BOTTOM
Dakota was five years old when we moved back to Florida and into my mother-in-law’s house.
Over the next few months, about all I did was hang out around the house drinking and strategizing my next pill run. By then I was constantly medicated, pretty much every waking hour. Terri wasn’t stupid. She knew. I was becoming angrier and more messed up with each passing day. Finally, she brought me into the bedroom one afternoon.
“Dustin, we’re getting a divorce.”
I never saw it coming, which goes to show how removed I was from reality. To me it was completely out of left field. We talked about it a little bit, then she brought Dakota into the room so we could tell her together. Dakota started crying. She didn’t understand why her mommy and daddy were no longer going to be living with her. I was trying to hold it together, but I couldn’t. I broke down, and that ticked off Terri even more because she didn’t want Dakota to see me crying. Meanwhile, all I could think about was what Terri was doing to me. I was so self-absorbed and screwed up that I couldn’t see past my own pain, all of which I had created. I started apologizing, pleading with Terri to give me another chance. But she was done and I was destroyed.
A few weeks later I needed to find a place to live. I didn’t care where I ended up, but I had to leave that house. In the middle of everything, I decided to give Eric Bischoff a call. I have no idea why I thought that was a good idea. Yet it turned out to be a great idea. Eric knew I had been fired by the WCW. He also knew I took it like a man and never pushed the issue legally. To his credit, Eric didn’t forget.
I went up to Atlanta and he gave me a great deal for really decent money. I went back to Florida, found a Realtor, and bought the second house I saw. I tried to convince myself that I had accepted the reality of the divorce and that my life was going to change. The fact that I had a great contract no doubt helped me deal with those issues, but my feelings about the divorce were still raw. I started buying everything. After the house, I bought a truck and a boat. In my twisted mind I was going to show Terri that everything was actually her fault. All I could see was what was happening to me. She had kicked me out. She had taken me from my daughter. I couldn’t see even a little bit of myself in the middle of it all, and yet the whole thing started and ended with me.
It wasn’t her fault. She loved me. She took care of me. I chose the wrong path and the marriage didn’t last. Fortunately, a beautiful and wonderful daughter came out of our time together. Now everything is good between Terri and me, but I was so messed then that I had no idea how much more messed I would become.
That period was probably my first bottom, but it was a false bottom. I had a whole lot farther to fall before it all ended. But I dug myself out financially and went through the divorce. I had Dakota every other week. I was working at WCW, making huge support payments, and working hard to function when my daughter was around. I was still popping pain pills left and right, but the alcohol consumption hadn’t picked up yet. I was drinking, just not as much as I did later.
As I’ve said, the pills had an uplifting effect on me. They made me feel more energetic and raised my mood. I’d take a couple pills before an interview, and I could talk forever. It just flowed out of me. I’d start spitting out stuff and it all made perfect sense to me.
One day I heard that Barry Windham was doing a shoot up at his property near Homerville, Florida, just outside Jacksonville. I’m about four-wheeling, hunting, fishing, and everything that goes along with that lifestyle. I loved seeing the camera crew work and having fun with guys I really liked, so I drove over from High Springs.
Before the shoot we went to the Jacksonville Coliseum, where there was a show that night. Barry told me, “You know, your dad is in the building.”
Somebody had gone inside and told my father that his son was outside in the parking lot. When I realized he knew I was there, it felt like time stopped. I was scared because I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know whether my father was about to come out of the building and punch me, or reach out and shake my hand. I was standing in the parking lot with Barry and Curt Hennig watching the door when it slowly opened.
I hadn’t seen my father in the flesh in five years. He started walking toward me. The cowboy hat kind of hid his face and he was walking in his unmistakable strut. It took him forever to get to me. Meanwhile, everyone got real quiet. I couldn’t see his eyes. I was trying to figure out what was about to happen, but I couldn’t get a read. He finally came within a couple feet of me and he lunged toward me. He hugged me and we stood there squeezing one another for probably twenty minutes. It was so emotional. Five years of heartache and pain came falling out of both of us. It was like being reborn.
For me, it was an immediate feeling of becoming lighter, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off my back. From that point on we never turned back. It’s like we finally grew up. We knew that after that experience we had to think about what words we chose to use. If there was something he wanted to get across to me, he thought about what he wanted to say. I learned that I too had to think about how I expressed myself. He’s my dad. I realized that he could be gone any day. We became closer than we had ever been, closer in a way that I had craved and needed when I was little.
I learned that if you are a parent and you don’t understand your children, then you need to tell them, “Hey, you’ve got one mom and one dad in life. Don’t let that relationship slip by you. Once they are gone, they are gone forever. Don’t wait and hope for a second chance that might never come.” If you are a parent and you never tell your kids that you love them, then they are going to grow up craving that attention. They’ll eventually find it somewhere else. If you can get them now before issues come between you, then you are going to be much better off. By being honest and open with your feelings, everyone involved gains a better understanding of the other person. You create a platform and an atmosphere that allow your relationship to grow even through differences of opinion. Make sure your children know how much you love them. If you are the son or daughter, try to understand where your parent is coming from before it’s too late.
I will say this: If you are a parent and your son or daughter is communicating with you, then you are doing something right. It’s that simple. If your child comes to you for advice or guidance without you asking if everything is okay, then you are doing something right. That shows everyone is on the same page. It shows mutual respect, happiness, love, and trust.
Once Dad and I got back together, he was very supportive. It was like those five years never happened. He was there when the divorce went through. And there was a good feeling between us, better than it had ever been previously.
The character Seven was a result of our getting back in touch. One day we were at my dad’s place in Atlanta. My brother, Cody, was there. I wanted to discuss with them a new character I had been thinking about. I mentioned the name Seven, then described how he looked, how he acted, the way he talked, just everything about him. We came up with the actual vignettes right there at my dad’s place. Cody and I even shot a little scene that turned into the character. Really, I looked like Uncle Fes
ter with red eyes, white face paint, and a shaved head. I thought it was really cool when Seven would come up to the window of his house as this scary, dark guy talking in a real low voice with a kind of demonic element to him.
In the scene we shot at my dad’s house, I came up out of the bushes to the window. It was creepy but cool. I showed it to Eric back at the office and he got us a budget. We had enough money for a couple extras to shoot some really freaky vignettes.
I was wearing a very thick, long leather coat that I had designed. It probably weighed fifty pounds. The coat was very elaborate—it looked like Pinhead’s coat in the Hell-raiser movies. We spent $20,000 setting all this up and everything appeared to be fine and ready to go when Vince Russo showed up. He had other ideas.
“What do you think about going out there and just cutting a promo as Dustin, not this Seven character?”
Russo left it up to me, but he made a persuasive argument and I just went with it. Seven—one night only! I don’t know, I think it would have been pretty good. Russo mentioned something about the character being too dark, too creepy for kids. We did one vignette with a small kid. The character was wearing the long dark coat and looking into the child’s bedroom. You heard Seven say, “Now close your eyes and go to sleep, my child.” When the kid opened his eyes, they were black. Apparently, they thought that was a bit too much. At least that was one of the excuses for killing off the character, which was ridiculous and stupid. Think of some of the other things you’ve seen on television. I know it was kind of creepy, but the vignettes were cool.
I designed pretty much every aspect of the character, the vignettes, everything. But Russo was the boss, the head dude. He gave me creative freedom to an extent. I’m sure that if I had told him I wanted to keep doing Seven, Russo would have put an X on the whole thing. In a lot of ways I was still blind to the gritty part of my job.
Russo wanted me to go out there as Dustin and cut a promo about how my dad was unfairly fired by WCW. Russo wanted me to go off on him, too, for dressing me up and making me do all these gimmicks. The idea was that I was tired of all the interference, and that I was Dustin Rhodes, dammit, and I was going back to my roots.
When I landed in the ring I took the microphone and I went off. I went off on Vince Russo, Vince McMahon, and everybody, including the WCW for kicking my dad to the curb. We were in Atlanta and the fans went nuts.
It was a good promo, but I think Russo was just trying to get some heat for himself. Nothing really happened after that. I wore the coat into the ring, but the paint was gone and I was Dustin, the American Nightmare. Eventually, I was just put on the shelf. I was making good money, but I wasn’t getting any kind of push. They weren’t doing anything with me. I don’t know if Russo was the one behind it all. I wrestled occasionally, then headed home and collected paychecks. But that’s the story of Seven—created and killed off in one night.
I did a little run with Jeff Jarrett, who was a very close friend of Russo’s. I guess that was Russo’s way of helping out his buddy, because I lost all the time. Of course I knew it wasn’t about winning and losing, but it just didn’t feel right at the time. There wasn’t much reason for me to be losing, or winning, for that matter, because we weren’t building a story line. I felt lousy and I had too much time to think about it.
I started wondering why Russo would be messing with me. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me, and I wasn’t sure what was happening to the business either. I knew there were guys who hated my dad, but I was Dustin, not Dusty. So they hated me, too? I never did anything to those people.
Looking back, though, I realize that Vince doesn’t do anything that doesn’t make sense. If he doesn’t believe you’re going to make him money, then he won’t use you. It’s that simple. But back then I didn’t know what was going on. All I knew is that I wasn’t working a whole lot. Too much free time combined with the growing list of issues with Terri was a good recipe for disaster.
The truth is, I was a mess. Terri is a really good woman, but I put her through so many bad experiences and it was all coming back to bite me. I blamed her for all the pain I felt around the divorce and the fact I could see my daughter only every other week. Eventually that pain turned into hate, which is far more toxic for the person feeling that emotion.
There wasn’t much room for my angels. My demons were taking control.
NINE
THE DESCENT
When I left the WCW I didn’t do much of anything for a while. I did some shows for independents, but mostly I was chasing painkillers and living off what I made on my last contract. That is, until I blew it all.
It wasn’t just the money. I was taking more and more pills. I also had a short-lived and highly volatile second marriage. We only dated for a few months, then one day we just went to the justice of the peace and did the deed. That was typical of the way my mind was working—wasn’t working is probably a better way to describe it.
It started during my final weeks at WCW. We were married only a year. There was just so much going on at the time. There were child support issues with Terri. I was worried about my house being taken away from me. Cars were repossessed. My life was spinning out of control and generally chaotic. I was starting to sell everything I had just to buy my next bottle of pills. I spent a lot of time every day thinking. “Okay, which doctor am I going to go to when my pills run out?” I always had two or three doctors. Days in advance of running out, I’d be planning, trying to figure out which one I could call to get the next bottle.
It took a lot of time, focus, and effort to manage that part of my life. As a result, time was taken away from Dakota. Of course I didn’t see it that way. I would wake up thinking and planning. “Okay, I’m going to pick me up a bottle of vodka before I get my pills, then I’ll be good. I’ll be fine.” That process might take five minutes on a good day, ten hours on a bad day. I was at the point where I needed that fix to feel better before I could think or do anything else. As bizarre as it sounds now, I honestly didn’t think anyone was the wiser. I couldn’t imagine the possibility that people around me knew I was hiding bottles of pills or spiking Mountain Dew with a pint of vodka. I had a prescription. I wasn’t doing anything illegal. Well, that part isn’t necessarily true. Let’s just say I wasn’t doing any illegal drugs.
I had beer around the house and legal drugs. No big deal. Over time, though, the drinking went to a whole new level. Still, I thought I was hiding everything from everyone. But I was taking so many pills. By that point I was up to twenty painkillers a day, then three to five Xanax at night so I could sleep.
Here’s a story that still scares me. I ran out of Xanax one night. I knew I couldn’t get any more for three days. On the third night without the pills, I started experiencing horrific withdrawals. I was lying in bed, completely beat up and exhausted, but I couldn’t get to sleep. I didn’t know what time of day it was, whether the sun was coming up or just about to go down. There were times during the day when I tried to sleep because I thought it was nighttime.
The next morning at around six o’clock, I called Terri to wish Dakota “Sweet dreams” before she went to bed. She had just gotten up and was getting ready for school and I didn’t have a clue. Thank God it wasn’t my week with Dakota. After I hung up, I somehow realized how messed up I was. I called Terri and came up with this story about how I had been on the road and I was just real tired.
Meanwhile, I was working independents and trying to hold it all together. I’d take a couple pain pills to get me through the match, then head home as soon as I could get out of the arena. There isn’t much money in the independent game. A guy had to stay busy to make any kind of living. I didn’t care about making a living. All I cared about was making enough cash to buy my pills, a gallon of vodka, and gas for my truck.
I did some shows as Goldust, which was illegal because WWE owned the intellectual property. If WWE had ever known, they would have sued me to block the use. I just didn’t care. Besides, I could
make $1,500 a night as Goldust. It was an easy decision. Then again, my decision-making process was rather limited. A lot of times I’d decide whether to do a show based on the venue’s proximity to my house. I avoided getting on planes. I’d work Florida, if it was close enough, and I’d consider the Carolinas if the money was right. Keep in mind most of the time I was getting paid $500, $800, or maybe $1,000, but it was sporadic. I always demanded cash, never checks. I had seen my father get screwed over taking checks that didn’t clear. If it was convenient and easy, then I’d try to sell some pictures in the arena. Most of the time, though, I just wanted to do my work and get out of town.
Physically, I was a mess. I was out of shape and getting fat. Looking back, it’s amazing I didn’t have a serious injury during that period. I made sure to keep what I had to do in the ring to a minimum. If I was Dustin Rhodes, then I did some Goldust moves and let the other guy beat me up a little bit, though not to the point of injury. Believe me, that’s a lot harder than it looks, especially in the shape I was in.
When I went up to visit my dad in Atlanta, I’d have bottles of pills and bottles of vodka hidden in my bag. I had everything right where I could find it at all times. He didn’t know that I was pouring vodka into Mountain Dew bottles, or stopping back in the bedroom where I was sleeping in to fill the bottle back up with vodka. I didn’t realize that when you drink that much alcohol, it starts coming out of your pores and you smell like a distillery. That’s one of the many signs of a serious problem, hiding your behavior from people and believing you are doing it successfully. My dad had been around the block and he knew what addiction looked like. But I don’t think he had any idea about how much I was doing and where it was headed.
Cross Rhodes: Goldust, Out of the Darkness (WWE) Page 7