Wrestling was as popular those days as baseball or football in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, where I grew up. Since I had been let in on the secret I saw it as purely entertainment. Still, many of my buddies and a lot of adults remained unwavering believers. They swore wrestling was for real and they'd point to the blood pouring from a competitor's head after being struck with a ring stool or catching a sharp elbow too sharply in the mouth as indisputable evidence of its authenticity. So, when Gorgeous George came to town in the early '50s, zealous fans -- wild-eyed, umbrella-toting women and crazed, fist-waving men -- paid good money ($5 ringside) to scream expletives at the blonde, flowing haired man in the ermine-collared robe and diamond earrings.
I was reminded of Gorgeous George this week in Bob Dylan's autobiographical book, Chronicles Volume I. Dylan, then a young star, encountered the wrestler-showman at the Minneapolis National Guard Armory. Dylan, who was on stage when George made a grand entrance, was thrilled when George recognized him and paused to nod and wink at him in an encouraging way.
I, too, was awed by the man as I watched him on the small black and white TV set in our living room. There were many heroes and anti-heros in pro wrestling in those days, guys with names like Goliath, The Strangler, The Twister and The Bone Crusher. But none put on a better show than Gorgeous George. Actually, he was a mediocre, 5-foot-9, 200-pound, little known athlete before he decided to remake himself into a flamboyant, effeminate, irritating villain. His entrances changed the wrestling world and his antics were credited with a sudden boom in the sales of TV sets.
He was, I believe, the first wrestler to come down the aisle with music blaring over the loud speakers. His theme song was the unlikely Pomp and Circumstance. He was accompanied by women tossing red roses, mammoth body guards, trainers, valets, managers and who knows what else. As he made his way to the ring (a journey that took 10 times longer than any other wrestler), he would respond to the mounting jeers and boos with his own taunting and threatening jesters that would cause the weakest in the crowd to cower and the bravest to yell even louder.
As he slowly climbed into the ring, tossing his curls back away from his face, he would be handed a large and garish perfume atomizer that he would then ceremoniously spray in his corner and toward the crowd. As the boos rose to thunder he would walk across the ring and spray his opponent. By now the crowd was more like a mob than an audience but George seemed undaunted as he walked about the ring waving and blowing kisses.
I don't know his actual win-loss statistics but I know Gorgeous, whose real name was George Wagner, won more bouts than he lost. He even won a couple of championships, much to the chagrin of most fans, who continued to pay hard earned cash in hopes of seeing his face ground into the mat by a "real man."
I imagine that any number of athletes (Mohammed Ali? Dennis Rodman?) and entertainers (Liberace? Little Richard?) learned a thing or two by watching old Gorgeous George footage. I'm surprised his story has not been made into a movie. If that happens, I can't wait to see who plays the lead role.
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