Many times in our business, we were asked to bend the rules a bit and help out some of the fine folks that helped to make us a great living. This story is one that relives a part of my life in the great business of pro wrestling, when we reached out to help somebody.

Les Thornton had been a royal pain in the butt for more then a decade. He had beaten a lot of my best stars. He was a fantastic athlete that excelled in just about everything he tried. He had been a boxer, he had played rugby, and he had tossed the huge poles (like telephone line poles) that gave people recognition in Great Britain of being a superman.

I could never understand some of their funny way of life standards and just kept my opinion to myself when asked. I guess that football, baseball and arm wrestling were strange to them also.

We had traveled from Amarillo to Colorado Springs the night before and then drove to Albuquerque for the Sunday night matches. Arriving at about 5 a.m., we checked in at the hotel the guys normally stayed at. D & D Sports, in association with Fundamental's Inc., had provided a safe and inexpensive place the guys could spend the day relaxing in.

Normally, we would sleep 'til about 10:30 in the morning and then get up and do live TV promos for the matches that night. We would then go and eat, usually at Old Town, and retire back to the room until about 5 p.m., when we would leave for the arena.

The TV interviews went very well, and I had a chance to meet one of the old timers from a couple of decades before. One of the Sharpe Brothers (not Mike Sharpe from the WWF) was a big to-do at the station and was doing a live spot for a local winemaker and had 12 bottles of wine for the promo. When he finished, he said hello to all the "boys" at the studio and gave each of us a bottle to enjoy. I did not particularly care for wine but accepted his hospitality. We spoke of the old days and related the talk to a few of the big names that I knew, like Don Eagle ... Yukon Eric ... Billy Goelz ... Johnny Case ... The Bavarian Boys ... Mr. Moto ... Gorgeous George ... Moose Cholak and a lot of others that I mentioned. His wits were very aroused by the names I mentioned as they brought back a lot of memories. I thanked him for the wine, and we went out and did our live promos.

This night in particular was marked with a Battle Royal, and I was involved in the ruckus with eight other guys that were regulars in the territory. I hated Battle Royals because you could never see what was coming at you unless you backed yourself into a corner.

Bobby Hart was the man I managed in the Amarillo Territory, and he was under a mask as The Patriot. We had a big following, as we gave the fans just what they wanted. Everybody in the battle royal got a few punches at me, and they were trying their best to eliminate me from the ring. Bobby Hart and Don Fargo saved me in every encounter until Ricky Romero, the territory's biggest name (besides the Funks) decided that he no longer wanted me in the ring. He grabbed me in an airplane spin and proceeded to spin me out of the arena and was very close to the ropes when, out of the blue, Don Fargo dropkicked Ricky from the center of the ring, driving him backwards and over the top rope with me still on his shoulders. I came very close to having my back broken that night but was spared as I fell on top of Romero. He got the worst of the deal.

I tried to re-enter the Battle Royal as Bobby was still in the ring but was sent to the dressing room by the ref. Bobby Hart was the next to go out of the Battle Royal at the hands of Terry Funk, the rattlesnake from Umbarger, Texas.

We showered and were just about to get into Bobby's custom built Chrysler Wagon when out of the other room came Les Thornton. He talked to Bobby and told him that his car wouldn't go any further and that he needed to get to El Paso in the worst way. Bobby agreed reluctantly but placed him in the center seat next to the Viking. I was in the rear of the wagon so I could watch the stars ... I was always fascinated by astrology as a younger person.

Somewhere near Truth or Consequences, N.M. we had to make a pit stop as Dick Murdoch, who was sitting in the front with Bobby, had downed his 12-pack of longnecks and needed a refill. Upon returning to the car, Les Thornton, being the cheapskate of a bum that he was away from the fans, begged for a bottle of beer from Dick. Murdoch was a guy that, when you befriended him, would give you the shirt off his back; he gave Thornton a beer from his 24-pack case of longnecks he had beside him on the front seat. Thornton chugged it down and demanded another, but Murdoch said no.

It was then that Thornton remembered that he had his bottle of wine in his bag. He turned and asked me to fetch his bag for him, as it wasn't too far from me. He retrieved the wine bottle (a Fifth) and then threw the bag back at me, hitting me in the groin. After regaining the wind that was knocked out of me, I grabbed him from behind by the hair and told him to watch what the hell he was doing or he would be escorted out of the car in the middle of nowhere.

He said he was sorry, that it was an accident, and then he asked me for my bottle of wine. I told him NO, that I was saving it for a friend. As the miles stretched out through the night, Les became more belligerent and daring, a side of him I had never seen before. He turned and grabbed me by the shirt collar and pulled me into his face and said, "You cheeky little bastard, give me your wine or I'll break your little bloody body in half."

Bobby Hart and Murdoch had had enough of the infringement on my body and stopped the car to get Thornton off me. As Murdoch opened the door, a diamondback rattler came into view in the rest stop area next to the car. It had probably been resting when we pulled up. Murdoch jumped back and slammed the door and said, "Never mind, we will get the S.O.B. in El Paso in another 25 miles." With that, the Viking, who was sleeping next to Thornton, woke up and, with a thunderous left to the jaw, knocked Thornton out.

As we entered the Holiday Inn parking area in El Paso, it was 4:00 in the morning. The guys dumped Thornton on the parking lot area and threw his bags on top of him. He was still out. We checked in and proceeded to go our separate ways. Everybody had his own room, but we were in an area all to ourselves in the complex.

At about 5:30 a.m. my phone rang; it was Thornton ... he was MADDER THAN A WET HEN and told me he was coming down to my room and kick my butt for knocking him out. He didn't see who had hit him in the car ... I guess it was too dark. He hung up, and I wanted to tell him who was the one that did him in but didn't know which room he was in. I called to the front desk, and they gave me his number … he was right across from Murdoch.

My door was nearly breaking off its hinges when Les was pounding on it for me to open, but I had other ideas, and I wasn't opening for him. I looked through the little security hole in the middle of the door, and there stood Thornton in his au-natural. Not a stitch of clothes on. Hmmm ... should I? WHY NOT!

I called Murdoch and told him I was sorry about waking him up but thought how funny it would be if Les had left his door open and he was standing out in the hall with no clothes on, and you were to go and close his door and leave him in the hallway naked. Dick hollered, "OH YEAH BUDDY!" and said, "I'll be right back." He opened his door, Les had heard the door open and turned to see Dick, wearing only cowboy boots and a Stetson hat, pull his door shut and go back to his room across the hall and smiling at him when he went. There was Les Thornton stark naked in El Paso in the Holiday Inn. WHAT NEXT?

To be continued....