By Scott Bowden
April 14, 2005
A Funkin’ Great Read: Scott Bowden agrees that Terry Funk’s new book shows that the former NWA World champ is MORE THAN JUST HARDCORE
“When I was a little boy, I used to take grasshoppers and bite the legs off ‘em. My dad would say, ‘Terry, why do you do stuff like that?’ And I’d say, ‘Just for the hell of it, dad.’”
--Terry Funk, Memphis TV, 1983
Like Jim Cornette many years before me, I was the victim of a rib the first time I met Terry Funk. Although not as notable as the prank pulled on Cornette (Funk ripped off the rookie manager’s trousers in an unplanned moment on live Memphis TV in 1983), I was still shaken up momentarily.
Working as referee for the Monday Night Memories reunion show at the Mid-South Coliseum in early 1994, I was anxious to meet Funk, one of my favorite performers. I confided in Eddie Gilbert (my first mistake) that Funk and I had a mutual friend in Red West.
West is Elvis Presley’s former bodyguard and best friend, who’s forged a successful career as a character actor, including an appearance with Funk in the classic (ahem) Patrick Swayze vehicle ROAD HOUSE. West, a former member of Presley’s Memphis Mafia, had turned part of his home into a makeshift actor’s studio, located near my hometown of Germantown, Tenn. I had been a student at the Red West Actor’s Studio for a few months, adding to my busy schedule as an undergrad at the University of Memphis, a FedEx employee and part-time pro ‘rasslin’ referee. (I was about three months away from making my heel turn as Eddie Gilbert’s new manager.)
I later learned that Eddie had informed Terry that a nervous rookie ref would be approaching him, using the West connection as a way to break the ice. As I hesitantly approached Funk in the dressing room, his eyes widened before he said, “Who the hell are you?” I quietly introduced myself as the ref and quickly offered up Red West’s name. He looked at me incredulously, slowing saying, “I…don’t…know…any…Fred West.” I looked at the ground, shuffling my feet, before speaking up, “Um, no sir. I said, ‘Red West.” Funk’s reply: “I already told you: I…don’t…know…any…Fred West!” Needless I was scared shitless. I looked over at Eddie, who began shaking his head and waving me off. Undaunted, I pressed ahead, a little louder this time: “No, sir! RED West!” Funk stared me right in the eyes before he cracked. He began laughing, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Oh, Red West! I know that guy! He’s a helluva guy!” We then talked for a bit about Red, as I noticed Eddie with a broad smile on his mug.
Later that evening, Tommy Rich piledrove me in the ring, signaling the end of a six-man tag involving Funk. Even though I was supposedly knocked out from the piledriver, Funk picked up my lifeless body by the hair, screaming, “C’mere, you sonuvabitch!” The former NWA World champ punched me before putting the boots to me. I was thrilled.
While this encounter isn’t covered in Funk’s new book, TERRY FUNK—MORE THAN JUST HARDCORE, the Cornette rib is, along with details of his feud with Jerry Lawler, including the infamous Empty Arena Bout at the Mid-South Coliseum in 1981.
In fact, Funk’s bio is a thorough examination—and sometimes explanation—of the moments that haves shaped his life and career, whether they occurred in Memphis, Atlanta, Florida, Japan or on his Double Cross Ranch in Texas.
Unlike Harley Race’s disappointingly short effort, Funk’s book covers most of the bases here (more than 50 pages longer than Race’s bio…and the Funker’s type is much smaller). Perhaps more important, Funk’s voice is captured in the book. You can almost hear him reading it, which is missing from Ric Flair’s and other wrestlers’ bios. (Actually, the Nature Boy’s bio shifts from Flair’s voice to Mark Madden’s throughout, which was annoying to me.) The Dusty Rhodes bio is similar to Funk’s in that regard, but that’s almost a detriment, as the Dream’s voice is great to listen to during a promo but it sure doesn’t read well.
Not since Mick Foley’s classic HAVE A NICE DAY: A TALE OF BLOOD AND SWEATSOCKS has there been such an entertaining rasslin’ read. (Foley writes the book’s foreword, citing the influence of his hardcore mentor on the profession.)
Funk’s bio features stories on all of the people you’d hope that he’d cover, and even those you wouldn’t necessarily think of.
Dick Murdoch: “We played when we were little kids. He was always a little asshole like I was, and we both ended up following in our fathers’ footsteps as wrestlers. His name actually came up as a possible NWA world’s heavyweight champion. What kind of champion would Murdoch have made? Well, he’d have drunk a lot of beer every night. Hell, he probably would have traded the world belt for a case of beer on the right night.”
Billy Bob Thornton (yes, that Billy Bob): “The Billy Thornton I knew was a strange kid. Years later, I went out to California in the 1980s looking for acting work. Some big casting agent called me in to read for some TV movie. She said, ‘By the way, the fellow who wrote this, Billy Bob, says he’s your nephew.’ I said, ‘Billy Bob? I don’t know any goddamned Billy Bob!’ She said, ‘Billy Bob Thornton.’ I thought and thought and finally said, ‘Yes! Yes, I know that goofball! He stole that car!’” (Funk didn’t get the job.)
Dusty Rhodes: “Dusty had become a really big babyface—a 350-pound one! It was hard to believe this incredible star was the lisping baseball player from West Texas State. He took every single hindrance he had, from his speech impediment to his physique, and turned them to his advantage.”
David von Erich: “If he hadn’t died so young in 1984, I think he would have been a great choice as a long-term NWA champion. In terms of being a pro wrestling performer, he had it all. It would have been interesting to see what would have happened with the Von Erich boys had the drugs not been there. It might not be Vince McMahon running it. It might be the Von Erichs as the major power. The tragic moment when David died could have been the major moment that changed the course of the wrestling business.”
Dick the Bruiser: “He loved getting into bar fights with pro football players, or whomever else he could find. Dick was married to one of the city’s more famous strippers. She was a pretty good-sized woman. Sometimes, he’d get drunk, put on one of her wigs and drive up and down the yards on his block. His neighbors would look out the window and think his wife had gone crazy because all they saw was this burly figure with a long, blonde wig on a motorcycle.”
Jerry Lawler: “There’s none better at conniving or manipulating than Jerry, and I mean that as a compliment. Thank God he’s never had a reason to put a dagger in my back. Lawler, right now, could step in a WWE ring, get on the microphone and cut as good a promo as the top 10 percent. He can also throw a better punch than 99.9 percent of anyone working today.”
Eddie Gilbert: “Some stuff in wrestling today is a byproduct of an idea from Eddie Gilbert. People have no idea have influential his ideas really were. Even though I knew he had a problem, the news of his death came as a terrible shock to me. I even get mad at Eddie Gilbert, sometimes, for killing himself (alleged cocaine overdose) and taking himself away from all the people who loved him.”
You get the idea.
Other highlights include his defense of Foley against Flair’s allegations, insight into his dad, Dory Sr., and brother, Dory Jr., and info about his stints in the WWF and WCW.
Another added bonus—the lyrics to “Lucy,” the heartfelt, impromptu diddy he sang at the ROAD HOUSE wrap party: “Oh, Lucy’s got a pussy like a Javelina hog! Lucy’s got a pussy like a Hav-A-Lee-Na hog!”
Much like he carried himself during his career, Terry said he worked hard on the book because he wanted it be respected by his peers. I’d say he accomplished that and more.
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