Moberly, Missouri Part Two

NOTE--Great news!!!! I was just informed that Rob Moore, my webmaster, will not have to face the surgeon's knife again. They are to give him a dose of radioactive iodine, and, in a month, he will go back and get the results. I am very envious that he will be going to Paris to get this done. Please take pictures of the Eiffel Tower when you are there.--Percival

(WEBMASTER'S NOTE: Paris, Texas, that is. I'm sure there's some kind of tower there, maybe a water tower. Thanks for the well-wishes.--Rob)

Roger Kirby, the top contender for the Central States championship, and I had ventured to Moberly, Missouri for a title match against Danny Yellowbear. We spent an interesting afternoon at a local radio station and then proceeded to get some food and go to the park and enjoy an outdoor picnic.

We found out that Moberly didn't like us and that we were going to have to go hungry until we went back to St. Joe, where Roger lived at the time. I changed that scenario with a quick trip back to a Chinese restaurant and got some Sweet and Sour Chicken and Won Ton Soup, along with a huge tub of rice and some soft drinks.

The next two hours were spent eating and going over our battle plan to beat Yellowbear and take the title belt back home with us. I had remembered some matches that I had when I was wrestling as the Green Hornet some years ago and told Roger about some of the moves I used that had not been seen in almost a decade. He liked the ideas and went over the moves like the true ring general that he was.

Once inside the building, we began a workout regime that would have put most wrestlers in the hospital. Roger had found six folding chairs and placed them in a triangle shape where his feet were resting on one and his hands would be on the other two. I set up three just like his, and we began to do deep push ups on top of the chairs. For every ten I did, Roger did twenty five.

We complimented the workout with Hindu squats and chin ups from a portable bar I brought along that mounted in the doorway leading to our shower. After almost an hour, I was ready to stop, but Roger kept going as Harley Race and the Viking, along with Tank Patton, came into the dressing room. Some of the guys joined Roger, and they had a good time getting pumped up.

The first match of the evening was Tank Patton against Steve Bolus. Since I also had Patton under management, I went to the ring with him. I nearly got involved in a fight with a ringsider that had heard my comments earlier in the day on the radio. The local police held the man back but seemed reluctant to do so, as they didn't like me either.

The match went to a time limit draw, and both men were covered with sweat and exhausted from all the changing of holds. I could see that it was time to start traveling with Tank to the gym again as he let Bolus slip out of some very easy counter holds.

The Viking was next and took on Bobby Whitlock from Alabama. Both of these men knew each other, and it seemed like each was trying very hard to win the match by strength and power. Viking ended up using his taped thumb for the win by thrusting into Bobby's throat and getting a three count as he twisted around on the mat trying to catch his breath.

Harley Race was next and faced one of the meanest guys that stood on two feet, The Stomper. Race began the match very slowly and methodically taking the 6-foot 4-inch opponent off his feet and forcing him to the mat by grabbing leglock after leglock. Harley knew as well as I did that those size 15 tan boots with the two inch soles could kick the living devil out of you and turn you into a crumpled mess in just one move.

Harley took the match outside the ring at the 15 minute mark, and both men were counted out by the referee, Ronnie Etchison. Harley exited to the dressing room as Stomper went back to the ring and asked the fans for another chance to prove he was better than Race.

I had changed outfits from the first match and wore a bright red coat with yellow slacks and a pale blue shirt with a favorite flowered tie to offset the ensemble. I had also put one of my favorite purple caps with gold leaf trim on the bill.

Roger was resplendent in his red outfit with the black boots and white warm up jacket with "I AM A WINNER" sewn on the back. We were led to the ring by four uniformed officers of the Moberly police force. I don't know who was guarding the yard with those four there, but I wouldn't want to have them for security at a backyard BBQ.

We made it to the ring where Yellowbear was waiting for us, and, as I turned the corner to go to our side of the ring, I noticed that Gust Karras had taken a spot near the timer’s table. He had six of the biggest goons sitting behind him, as he knew that this was going to be a donnybrook of a match.

It was scheduled for the best of three falls, as were most of the matches of that era. I knew that Roger had to take the advantage over the champion to get any kind of edge on him.

He began to grab holds, just like we had gone over in the park, and it put old Yellowbear at a loss as Roger used a reverse rolling crucifix and got the three count on Yellowbear very easily. Gust Karras rose up from his chair and reminded Ronnie Etchison that hold had been barred in four Western states as it ended up breaking the necks of two wrestlers in Montana and South Dakota earlier that year.

I was quick to remind Mr. Etchison that he should have been aware of all the rules of the state of Missouri and that a hold like Roger used had not been barred and to have the old one legged promoter return to his seat or levy a fine on him. Roger started to applaud my wisdom and was cut short by Etchison ringing the bell to start the second fall.

Some woman in the ringside area had brought a tom-tom and began to beat on it for all it was worth. It seemed to incense Yellowbear, and he rose off the mat and began to fight back everything that Kirby was doing to him. It was time to bring into battle plan “B.” Roger jumped from the ring and came over next to me. This further agitated Yellowbear, who was now doing a war dance of some kind to the beat of that tom-tom the ringside lady was beating on.

Kirby beat a 20-count on the outside twice before getting caught by Yellowbear and put into an Indian Death Lock and submitting. I tried to help Kirby back to his feet, but the leglock used by Yellowbear had taken its toll.

The bell for the third fall rang, and Yellowbear charged at us. I rose to my feet and started to take my coat and tie off when he grabbed me by the tie and threw me over the top rope, almost into Tank Patton's arms. Tank had come down to ringside to lend his moral support to Kirby. I regained my composure and began to shout out instructions in a language that I thought only Kirby knew.

I soon found out that it was a derivation of the Cherokee language and was well known by Yellowbear. He countered every move that Roger was going for and grabbed the Indian Death Lock once again and forced Kirby to tap out.

Moberly was a much happier place, and we ended up leaving with the short end of the money for the night. I still made my usual 35% for my services. We survived to meet Yellowbear three nights later in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where we defeated him and gained that coveted Central States Belt that had been worn proudly since 1938 by many of the greats in the sport.

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers

2003 BWC Hall of Fame Inductee
2004 CAC Hall of Fame Inductee
2006 LWA Hall of Fame Inductee
2007 TCCW Hall of Fame Honoree