Amarillo, Texas was a wide-open territory with a "bicycle of towns" we traveled every week. Sometimes the towns were not too far apart, but the Friday night towns of Abilene and Brownwood and an occasional spot show did pose a long trip, as we had to be back in Amarillo to do TV on Saturday morning around 10 a.m. We then had either Colorado Springs, Colorado or Hereford, Texas that same night.

Some of the guys who made up the talent for the Amarillo Territory were Dick Murdoch, Dutch Momberg (who wrestled as a German by the handle of Killer Karl Krupp), Les Thornton, Don Fargo, Nick and Jerry Kozak, Stan Hansen, Bobby Hart (The Patriot), The Viking, Moose Morowski, Alex Perez, and, of course, The Funks.

Bobby and I were both seasoned pilots, and going to the airport and renting a plane for a trip was not a problem. Filling it was not a problem, either, as a lot of the guys wanted to fly rather then drive the 530-mile round trip to Abilene, Texas.

This particular Friday, we were sitting at my home and the phone rang, and it was Les Thornton. I asked, "What can I do for you?" He replied, "Sir ... PLEASE ... me car is on the fritz and I need to get to Abilene badly ... do you have an extra seat on the plane?" Les was a gutsy type of guy that kind of got under your skin if you let him. I said to him, "I guess so, but you can't take a lot of luggage with you because of the weight we will be carrying. Meet us at the Amarillo Flight Services at 6 p.m." Bobby looked at me very puzzled, sipped the hot coffee he was drinking and said, "I thought we didn't want to take that pug nosed English pain in the butt with us anymore. You remember the problems he caused us in El Paso. He nearly cost us the deal we had at the hotel." I looked at him and said, "It's OK, Bobby ... just let me have the controls as soon as you get airborne … I'll do the rest … TRUST ME."

Six p.m. comes too quickly when you are enjoying a little home life one day a week. I had grabbed my infamous briefcase that was filled with my gear and my change of clothes to go home and headed for the airport with Bobby. We were met by Murdoch, The Viking , Don Fargo and Les Thornton.

As we were in pre-flight checkout, I noticed the outside temperature was around 106 degrees. To equal the weight out, we put Thornton and Fargo in the rear seats with The Viking and Murdoch in the center two seats, and Bobby and I occupied the front pilots' seats. We approached the on ramp at almost a capacity level with the fuel, the weight of the guys, and the equipment we carried to wrestle.

Bobby called on the mic, "Amarillo tower, this is Cessna N6455R...we are ready for take off." "Cessna N6455R, you are cleared for take off." They gave us the rest of the instructions. We started to taxi towards the end of the long runway that I knew we would need to make it off. We made one turn, stopped, revved up the engine, let the brakes go, and proceeded to put the hammer down. The small aircraft bounced on the runway a couple of times, and as we approached the end of the runway, Bobby pulled back on the wheel and we lifted ... not too soon, as I saw the tops of the security fence just missing the wheels. That barbed wire has no feelings and no remorse if it gets you.

The music of AM 820 WBAP out of Fort Worth was playing on the AM radio for Murdoch as we leveled out over Palo Duro Canyon, south of Amarillo. I looked back at the Viking. He had taken a bottle of 190 proof Vodka out of the carry-on bag he had his gear in, and was just starting to take a sip when I grabbed the controls from Bobby and put us into a dive. Les Thornton screamed and reached up from the back of the plane and grabbed the bottle from The Viking's hand and tipped it bottoms up. Viking was trying to grab his arm and was going to knock him out again, but Les was too fast for him. The bottle was nearly empty, and you could hear Les wheezing and gasping for air like there would be no tomorrow.

I pulled back on the wheel, adjusted the throttle, and leveled the plane out after I did a few side to side swings. As I looked back again, Thornton had grabbed a barf bag and was heaving his guts out. The guys were laughing so hard, it was difficult keeping the plane level.

Had Les Thornton, The English Bulldog, the former British Empire Champion, finally met his match????

Les began screaming at me and Bobby to put the plane down; he wanted no more of this. Of course, we didn't want to alter our flight plan, so we continued to Abilene.

One hour and five minutes later, as the six-passenger Cessna 210 touched down at Abilene, Texas Airport, I exited and quietly looked back at the aircraft and broke out in a silent laugh that had my face turning red. Biting the inside of my cheek, I looked over at Bobby Hart, whom I managed at the time, and just stood silent. He could hardly hold back the laughter either.

Poor Les had somehow managed to get into one of the six parachutes we had on board and was still wearing it as we were getting into the limo. Of course we made him get his own cab as he still had barf all over his front, and we certainly did not want our reputation marred.

As we entered the huge auditorium, we were greeted by The Lawman, who ran the promotion, and I asked who our opponent was tonight.

Guess who???? Les Thornton!

It was all Bobby and I could do to keep a straight face during the match, as every time Les looked over at me, I started retching, as if to throw up. He would then look over at me and start cursing under his breath. He would jump from the ring and go under the ring apron and try to throw up again. I would jump under the side cover and try and get him mad enough to chase me, but he wanted none of that. Fans didn't understand, but Bobby and I had a night off with the Little Bulldog from Manchester, England. We finally had him so tired out that Bobby was able to get the Watergate Roll on Les and make him submit.

The Watergate Roll, for those of you who may not be familiar with the name, is a reverse rolling knee lock that, after locking the knee from behind, has the opponent rolling from his stomach to his back to his stomach and again and again, tightening up each roll until he gives up.

Oh … by the way ... Les wouldn't fly back to Amarillo with us. He hooked a ride with Nick Kozak and got back at about 4 the next morning.

Les NEVER asked us for a ride again. I couldn't understand why???

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers