The fact that Les Thornton had talked Bobby Hart into riding with us was true. The fact that Les Thornton had drank all his beer and all the wine that was given him is true. The fact that he grabbed me when I wouldn't give up my bottle of wine and made threats on my body is true. What Les didn't realize, and probably to this day didn't know, is that The Viking (Bob Morse) was awakened from a sound sleep and had punched Thornton in the jaw and knocked him out. The Viking owed me one anyway and was just paying his bill. He also had no use for the little Englishman.

We had arrived at the Holiday Inn in El Paso and checked in at about 4 a.m. Les Thornton had been dumped on the concrete and his bags dumped on top of him. We went into our rooms and proceeded to rest up for the next big day. At about 5:30 a.m., Thornton, who had woken up and checked in, called my room, madder then a wet hen, and wanted revenge. He hung up before I could tell him that it was the Viking that had done him in. He was at my door almost instantly and was knocking it off its hinges when I called Dick Murdoch's room.

I told Dick how funny it would be if he would go across the hall and pull the door of Les' room shut, as he was totally nude in the hallway in front of mine. Dick thought that was the greatest thing since sliced bread and did just that. Thornton turned his attention for a moment just to see Dick smile at him as he was crossing the hall going back to his own room after closing his door.

Now, being at the Holiday Inn is great. The rooms and the service they gave us were second to none. Why, they were such good fans, they even let us stay the second night free for the boys that were going to Odessa, Texas the next night. Les Thornton nearly ruined that. What a belligerent pain in the butt he was. He finally went away from my door, and where he went, I didn't know and personally didn't care.

At around 11:45 a.m., Bobby Hart called my room and invited me to breakfast with him, Murdoch and The Viking. I got dressed and met them in the lobby. As I glanced out towards the pool, something caught my eye. There was Les Thornton on a pool chaise with a towel draped over him. He was beet red from lying in the almost 100 degree heat of the El Paso sun. I didn't think anything more about it and went to breakfast with the guys.

I guess Thornton, who couldn't get back into his room, had found a bath towel and laid down to sleep it off next to the pool. He must have been a real heavy sleeper, as the patrons at the pool hadn't even woken him. As I ate the steak and eggs, I thought, what could I do to him? Hmm?

Towards the end of breakfast, I ordered a huge glass of ice and water, signed the bill for the breakfast and walked with Murdoch, The Viking and Bobby Hart towards the pool. As I passed near the chaise that Les was lying on, I accidentally (Ha Ha) tripped and dumped every bit of that 32-ounce drink and its ice on Les, who came up off the chaise wearing nothing under the towel and proceeded to chase me. He was cussing up a storm and wanted to whip me like a convicted prisoner.

Murdoch and Hart grabbed the smaller Thornton and Viking threw the towel around him before he could cause any more attention. Then they said their 'sorrys' to all the guests near them for the way that Les had embarrassed himself as well as exposed himself and took him to the front desk so he could get a key to his room. By then, I was at my room and thought the war was over.

That night at 6:30, we left for the El Paso County Auditorium for the matches. Bobby Hart and I were in the ring awaiting our opponent. Up the aisle came Les Thornton. He looked directly at me and had blood in his eyes. He jumped over the top rope and proceeded to chase me all over the auditorium but could not catch me. Every time he bumped into somebody, the pain from the sunburn was almost unbearable. One fan slapped him on the back and screamed, "Get that little son of a gun, Les." He turned, wanting to hit the fan, but gave it a second thought, as he was a fan favorite; the guy had no idea what the commotion was all about. The referee had no other choice but to ring the bell and count him out. Bobby never broke a sweat in the ring and walked away with the winner's end of the money. He showered and, after the matches, took the Viking and Murdoch back to the hotel.

Les had chased me out the front door of the arena and out into the cool night air and halfway to Juarez, Mexico before giving up. I proved I was a better runner and in better condition than he was. I hailed a cab and went back to the Holiday Inn, where I knew it would be safe.

I had not won the war, nor was I sure the battle was over between Les Thornton and me. The proverbial pain in the exterior would have to wait for another day till he could get his hands on me.