Abilene, Texas

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, 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.

Some of the guys that made up the talent for Amarillo 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, Killer Karl Kox, Ricky Romero, 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 than drive the 530-mile round trip to Abilene, Texas.

This particular Friday afternoon, 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, me car is on the fritz and I need to get to Abilene badly. Do you have an extra seat on the plane?" 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 6p.m." Bobby looked at me, sipped the hot coffee he was drinking, and said, "I thought we didn't want to take that English pain in the butt with us anymore. You remember the problems he caused us in El Paso." I looked at him and said, " It's ok; just let me have the controls as soon as you get airborne. I'll do the rest."

6 p.m. comes too quickly when you are enjoying a little home life one day a week. I grabbed my infamous briefcase that was filled with my gear and my change of clothes to go home and headed for the airport. Murdoch, The Viking, and Les Thornton met us. As we were in pre-flight checkout, I noticed the outside temp was around 106 degrees.

To equal the weight out, we put Thornton 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 mike, "Amarillo tower, this is Cessna N6455R---we are clear for take off." "Cessna N6455R, you are cleared for take off," and they gave us the rest of the instructions. We started our taxi towards the long runway that I knew we would need to make it off 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 a moment 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.

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 his carry-on bag he had his gear in and was just starting to take a sip when I grabbed the wheel from Bobby and put us into a dive.

Les Thornton reached over from his seat in 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 but Les was too fast for him. The bottle was nearly empty, and you could hear Les wheezing for air, like there would be no tomorrow. I pulled back on the wheel and leveled the plane out after I did a few side to side swings.

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

As the six-passenger Cessna 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. I looked over at Bobby Hart, who 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 took all Bobby and I could do to keep a straight face, as every time Les looked over at me at ringside, I started retching as if to throw up, and he jumped from the ring and went under the ring apron and tried to throw up. 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 what was going on, but Bobby and I had a night off with the Little Bulldog from Manchester, England.

Oh---by the way---he wouldn't fly back to Amarillo with us. He hooked a ride with Nick Kozak and got back at like 4 in the morning.

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

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers