Meeting Ox Baker Part One

Getting up at 6 a.m. was not a regular thing for me recently. I awoke to a wonderful day that was to happen and the events that would follow.

I had a brisk breakfast of cereal and then went to an early Cardio Therapy session at St. Luke's Hospital at 8 a.m. The workout seemed to take forever as I went from machine to machine and gave them my all. I even went an extra couple of minutes on the treadmill while daydreaming of an old friend that has been gone from us nearly five years.

After a quick shower and a few other things to be taken care of, I sat in the car and started the long journey towards Chicago. The 60 miles of Ohio Turnpike seemed to go very fast as I listened to some oldies on the radio, and it took me back to a special time of my life. From surfing songs by Jan & Dean to ballads from Conway Twitty, the miles just clicked away westbound.

As I passed South Bend, Indiana, a special spot on the bypass reminded me of the times when I would take this road with Bobo going to his home after a long road trip. Highway 31 North wandered its way through some of the best farmlands in Michigan. It was the home of some of the best fruits and vegetables to be found in the United States.

Acre after acre of Green and Red Grapes hung heavily on their vines. Tree orchards stood with branches red from some of the best Delicious and Macintosh Apples known to exist. Berrien County is a special part of the world that feeds millions of hungry mouths yearly with its harvests.

As I turned off 31 onto Britain St., I couldn't help but shed a few tears as I looked at the familiar neighborhood that Houston Harris called his home. The majestic homes that once housed huge families were still standing and calling out their beauty to passing cars. I turned into the large yard of one of the biggest homes, a three story dark green edifice trimmed in white, and I knew that I had returned to a place that gave me refuge on many a night.

Bobo's wife of 35 years, Doris, met me at the bottom of the ramp that was made for his wheelchair during the last few years of his time on earth. We hugged and held hands while she spoke of what a great day this was for her. I entered the huge 10-foot doors that led into the main part of the lower section of the house to the den area. Bobo would spend countless hours in this room surrounded by many pictures of himself and his family.

His huge leather recliner had been moved from its spot to another area, and the wall seemed so bare with just the framed poster of Bobo and Giant Baba hanging there. I glanced into the living room, and there on the mantle rested the walnut case that had my best friend's ashes in it. A huge portrait hung on the wall that portrayed Bobo in a match with The Original Sheik, with Joe Louis as the referee. As I turned to go back to the den, a huge picture stood on an artist's easel of Bobo as he looked while being inducted into the WWF Hall of Fame in 1994. Beside it encased in flowers is the plaque they gave him on that night.

I visited for what seemed like an eternity. Talking over old times and bringing everyone up on all the events that had happened since we last were together. Doris spoke of the days right before Bobo's passing, how he had breakfast in bed, and his two oldest daughters joined him in the room, and they talked and sang gospel songs together. That was the last morning that he spoke to anyone. He suffered a stroke and was rushed to the hospital in St. Joseph, where he suffered more strokes during the next few days. He was put on a ventilator and life support system, and all that he could do was blink his eyes.

Tears started to swell my eyes shut as I listened to some of the stories that they told me. I glanced at my watch and said to Doris and Beverly that I must be going. I am terrible at goodbyes and have a hard time dealing with them. I gave them some of the pictures of Angus and myself along with some others that I had in my briefcase and gave each a hug bye and promised to come back soon.

I headed back down the street to the Interstate that would take me to Chicago and the friends that I have made there. I expected to run into a lot of traffic on I-80 but did not, and the miles seemed to just drift on by. Soon, I was southbound on Interstate 57 and headed toward Peotone, where we had a 6:30 p.m. dinner engagement at Die Peotone Bierstube, run by Karl Ditschler.

This was a special night for the board members of Championship International Wrestling as they were meeting to discuss the yearly events that have happened and future business. One by one, they made their way into the special section roped off for us. Juan Hernandez, "Mr. Karate," and two business associates sat down on the far side of the huge oval table. They were within reach of me, but the music coming from a live Bavarian band was booming out with excitement as we tried to speak. Next to arrive was Chief Paul Farber, and with him were the Russian Brute and Big Ox Baker.

The room seemed to just stop as these two huge men brushed the sides of tables and chairs making their way to our dining area. Ox seemed to fit right in with the music as he began to sing fluently in German, much to the amazement of the band. After a short introduction to the audience that packed the eatery to its beer stein decorated walls, Ox and the Brute came to the table and began to shake hands with everybody.

He came eye to eye with me and looked puzzled as I was beginning to shake while taking his hand in friendship. He pulled me from my seat and drew me to his face and said in a loud voice, "You're that guy that I met once again in Las Vegas a few months ago, AREN'T YOU????" I answered in a voice not becoming to me, "YES SIR, I am." "You were that manager of Black Angus … WEREN'T YOU????" I once again answered, "YES SIR, I am."

He then grabbed me in a vise-like hug and nearly squeezed the air from my lungs and said, "It sure is good to see you again." Then, the huge six foot, nine inch Russian Brute stepped forward and also grabbed me in a vise-like grip with hands that would make two of mine and said in his own gruff voice, "HELLO COMRADE." People began to come to our table to meet with these great legends and get autographed pictures and copies of Ox Baker's Cookbook.

To be continued..…