Death of the Territories Read online

  Not every expansion idea McMahon had worked out. He was said to have approached NWA member Don Owen of Portland with a buyout proposal sometime in late 1983, but Owen turned him down.118 If he’d attained the Pacific Northwest, he would’ve controlled the entire coast. Around November 1983, he reportedly offered NWA world heavyweight champion Harley Race $250,000 to abandon the Alliance and join the WWF.119 The money was alluring, but Race refused to turn his back on the NWA and remained loyal. His defection would have been crippling to the Alliance and given McMahon extraordinary momentum in his expansion endeavors. Although the offer was made in secret, those in the know had proof that McMahon Jr. wasn’t exactly cooperating with the NWA to ensure mutual success. His aggressive actions were one-sided and, in effect, a de facto state of war existed between the WWF and the NWA. It just wasn’t yet public knowledge.

  In fact, NWA-affiliated wrestlers continued to appear on the WWF’s All-American Wrestling program going into 1984. But McMahon was thinking far outside the box, and the motivated staff of Titan Sports was working to make his vision a reality. Thirty-three-year-old Howard Finkel was the company’s very first employee, and his face and voice were well known to fans.120 From Newark, New Jersey, Finkel worked as a ring announcer for McMahon Sr. before being hired by Titan in 1981.121 In addition to lending his familiar voice to various events, he narrated TV voice-over promos, helped with talent, and added his creative input wherever it was needed. Finkel was joined by Ed Cohen, who was six years younger and Titan’s second official employee.122 A 1978 business graduate of Roger Williams University in Rhode Island, Cohen shared McMahon’s ideals when it came to brand development. He saw the potential for growth and approached wrestling from a fresh, outsider perspective.

  Altogether, McMahon and his team implemented a new business model for professional wrestling, and in doing so, strived to replace nearly all the industry’s old philosophies with new ideas and formulas. Even the lexicon had to change — beginning with the word “wrestling” itself. Over time, their business became “sports entertainment.” His wrestlers were not athletes, but either “sports entertainers” or simply “talent,” and fans were “consumers.” It was the job of Titan Sports to market its product to the masses, and it was going to use every creative way known to mankind to generate sales.

  The repackaging of wrestling was an essential element of Titan’s uphill climb. Since the popular qualities of the sport were already well known to the public, there were two segments of people: those who loved wrestling and those who hated it. There was a unique middle ground for casual fans, but McMahon wanted to widen the WWF’s audience by completely reformulating wrestling’s image. He wanted families, not cigar-smoking, beer-guzzling roughnecks, and he was willing to sanitize his promotion even at the risk of losing longtime supporters. To old-school promoters and fans, that was a huge step in the wrong direction. McMahon didn’t see it that way and planned to force wrestling’s evolution by redefining how the sport was marketed, presented, and perceived.

  At its core, the WWF was already far more colorful than rival promotions, and McMahon’s talent roster was formulaic. He had his popular babyfaces, a group of clean-cut wrestlers who smiled and shook hands with fans. Then there were the rulebreakers, a group of snarling heels constantly gaining heat for their brutal actions. Categorizing the wrestlers even further, McMahon had wrestlers pigeon holed by their cultural heritage — Native Americans (Chief Jay and Jules Strongbow), Asians (Mr. Fuji, Tiger Chung Lee), Samoans (Afa and Sika), and Puerto Ricans (Pedro Morales) — or by a performance specialty — masked wrestlers (Masked Superstar, Invaders), high flyers (Jimmy Snuka), and muscular performers (Ivan Putski, Tony Atlas, Don Muraco). Each wrestler fulfilled a specific need in the WWF’s machinery. And if a wrestler left the organization for one reason or another, McMahon simply filled the gap with someone else. McMahon liked to capitalize on current events, and with Russia and Iran always in the news in the 1980s, he promoted heels Ivan Koloff and the Iron Sheik. Interview segments were peppered with pop culture references to make the WWF appear trendy. TV squash matches were purposely short to provide the audience with instant gratification. The star grappler of the bout would dominate the offense and crush his opponent with a noteworthy finishing move, which the commentators incessantly talked up. They would hype his ongoing feud or his climb up the WWF ladder, giving the impression that he was a wrestler to watch in the future. The balance between the action in the ring and the crafty salesmanship of the commentators was one of the WWF’s strengths, and McMahon himself was a master in the way he advertised his wrestlers. Managers Fred Blassie and Captain Lou Albano were also exemplary in that regard.

  Titan Sports also experienced a physical overhaul in the latter stages of 1983, when the company uprooted from South Yarmouth, Massachusetts, and moved to Greenwich, Connecticut.123 The building was 35 miles from New York City, less than an hour’s drive, and gave them good access to JFK, LaGuardia, and Newark airports. The proximity to New York made the sales pitch that Titan was based in the Big Apple almost true. New York had always represented wrestling’s biggest money territory and carried a lot of weight in the industry. The new headquarters went hand in hand with Titan’s new national goals.

  Part of his consolidation included a handful of new organization-wide policies. For one, he placed a ringside ban on all non-Titan photographers, a move that dramatically affected the way the media covered the promotion.124 McMahon’s reason was simple: he wanted to create his own WWF periodical, and on July 5, 1983, Titan Sports Publications Inc. was incorporated in Massachusetts.125 The WWF had long enjoyed a partnership with Norman H. Kietzer of Minnesota, the publisher of the widely popular Wrestling News magazine. As part of that collaboration, Kietzer was responsible for two WWF souvenir arena programs, WWF Championship Wrestling and Major League Wrestling. In 1983, Mike LeBell’s longtime assistant, Jeff Walton, joined Kietzer as an editor and was a big help in coordinating WWF material for the various publications. Following the ban on photographers, there was speculation that Kietzer was going to publish a WWF-only magazine since he already had the mechanisms in place. But legend has it that McMahon wanted him to cancel his agreements with other promotions to do so. Kietzer was the central hub for high-quality programs and worked with the AWA, Mid-South, and the NWA, and he wasn’t interested in working only with the WWF.126 As a result, McMahon abruptly severed his ties with the Minnesota outfit and launched Victory Magazine, published out of Greenwich, with Edward D. Helinski and Jeff Walton as editors. This project would ultimately evolve into WWF Magazine in 1984. The in-house publication was a great tool to put over talent, featured photographs of all the popular stars, and advertised merchandise, a revenue stream increasingly valuable to Titan.

  Surprisingly, McMahon authorized his magazine editors to feature a limited amount of content about other territories, including an article entitled, “The Von Erichs: A Dominant Family of Wrestling” in the inaugural issue of WWF Magazine during the spring of 1984. Like the footage of outside territories on All-American Wrestling, the articles seemed to compound the confusion about the WWF’s relationship with other promotions. On one hand, Titan seemed to be heading toward an isolationist policy at odds with other territories, and on the other, McMahon propped up the stars of World Class or Florida on TV and in print, sharing his national exposure with NWA members Jack Adkisson and Eddie Graham. Perhaps these gestures by McMahon Jr. were the last vestiges of his father’s friendship with these longtime associates. But promoting non-WWF superstars was another way to garner interest in new territories. For instance, having an article on the popular Von Erichs was a surefire way to increase magazine sales in the Dallas market, and help familiarize those fans with the WWF roster. The Von Erichs were also on TV in many WWF cities through syndication, and McMahon might have been looking for crossover viewers.

  On the booking side of things, McMahon Jr. wanted to strengthen his creative team by hiring a first-class ma
tchmaker. There were a number of options, but McMahon Sr. had a man in mind and, as a favor to his son, reached out to George Scott.127 Scott, at 54 years old, had more than three decades of experience in the business, both on the mat and behind the scenes. He was long known as one-half of the Scott brothers tag team, along with his real-life sibling, Sandy, and prior to plying his trade in the Mid-Atlantic region, he had honed his craft as a booker alongside Stu Hart in Calgary. Back in 1973, Scott had taken the reins of Jim Crockett Promotions and transformed it from a middle-of-the-pack organization into arguably the hottest, most-talked-about territory in the country. His task wasn’t easy. He actually rewired the promotion from the ground up and slowly altered Crockett’s antiquated booking philosophies into a cool and stylish new system. He pushed young guys like Ric Flair, Jimmy Snuka, Ricky Steamboat, and Roddy Piper, while relying heavily on veterans like Johnny Valentine and Wahoo McDaniel. The mixture of talent offered intriguing feuds, and Scott was careful to protect his wrestlers with sensible scenarios that consistently piqued the interest of fans over a period of years. Even with some redundancy of matchups, his creative methodology kept Crockett thriving into the early 1980s, and his influence remained after his 1981 departure. Scott spent time in Georgia and Oklahoma before receiving the call from McMahon Sr., and he happily accepted a job on the WWF’s payroll.

  Ticket sales for WWF shows fluctuated throughout 1983, but it didn’t take long for the core audience to warm up to a hot angle. The reemergence of heel Sgt. Slaughter made a big impact on the organization, and his Marine Corps drill instructor gimmick drew immense heat. He chased Bob Backlund’s WWF title for some time but never scored a three count to win the belt. Jimmy Snuka was involved in a chase of his own, and his ongoing feud with Intercontinental champion Don Muraco grabbed headlines throughout the year. The two wrestled all over the territory with many finishes ending in count-out or disqualification, before culminating in a series of cage matches. Another attention-grabber in the WWF arsenal was Andre the Giant battling the 6-foot-10, 350-plus-pound Big John Studd. Though these matches consisted mostly of punches and kicks, the two mountainous men colliding created a good visual for spectators.

  It is important to note that George Scott had a good working history with most of the WWF locker room. Slaughter, Snuka, Studd, Tony Atlas, Masked Superstar, and the Iron Sheik had each spent time in the Mid-Atlantic territory and witnessed Scott’s magic firsthand. Scott went in knowing the strengths and limitations of his wrestlers, and for a booker, that was invaluable information to have, making his transition all the easier. At the forefront of the roster was Bob Backlund, well into his fifth year as champion. Like the heavyweight titleholders for the NWA and AWA, Backlund was the face of the WWF, and his sincere, role-model persona had made him a box-office superstar. But to some fans, his clean-cut traits were wearing thin, and they wanted a stronger personality at the top.

  Backlund, since defeating “Superstar” Billy Graham in 1978, had been a credible champion on the mat, respectful of the fans, and utterly humble. The WWF’s rotating heel challengers worked as effectively for him as they had for Bruno Sammartino, and Backlund lived up to all of Vince McMahon Sr.’s expectations. McMahon Sr. had always been an enthusiastic supporter of the Minnesota grappler, and Backlund had great respect for the man who’d given him the belt. During an interview in 1985, Backlund told a reporter, “I owe [McMahon Sr.], second to my father, more than anyone in my life.”128 His 2015 autobiography was also dedicated to McMahon.129 McMahon Jr. had been on board with Backlund as well and spent the entire first episode of All-American Wrestling in August 1983 touting him as the best in the world.

  But by December, McMahon Jr. was ready to make a dramatic decision. Backlund, he concluded, was a great champion, but to successfully market the WWF to a larger part of North America, a change was in order. The promotion needed a more charismatic star, and McMahon had someone in mind. He first had to get the belt off Backlund to a transitory titleholder, and he quickly scripted a TV angle between Backlund and the Iron Sheik, setting up a match at Madison Square Garden the day after Christmas. Backlund, ever the professional, helped lay out the finish for the important bout, which would see him caught in the Sheik’s powerful camel clutch.130 With little hope of escaping, his manager Arnold Skaaland would throw in the towel to signify his defeat. That’s exactly how it played out. Backlund was dethroned before a shocked crowd of 24,500 people at the Garden.

  The following day McMahon made another historic move when the World Wrestling Federation invaded St. Louis, the heart of the National Wrestling Alliance, and planted its flag. On December 27, McMahon led his company into the famed Khorassan Room at the Chase-Park Plaza Hotel, the site of Sam Muchnick’s long-running Wrestling at the Chase television program, and staged a WWF TV taping. The arrival of the WWF on sacred NWA ground was disconcerting to Alliance officials, and Bob Geigel, the local NWA representative, was in for the fight of his life. His promotion had barely outlasted the competition of Larry Matysik, who ran opposition through the end of October before closing up. Matysik, interestingly, was initially in on the WWF’s St. Louis deal as a partner, but McMahon chose to go it alone and locked in deals with KPLR-TV (channel 11) and the ballroom at the Chase Hotel.131

  Kevin Horrigan reported on the WWF’s arrival in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on December 30, 1983, and called McMahon’s promotion “The Beast of the East.” He mentioned the extraordinary history of wrestling in St. Louis and acknowledged that McMahon wanted to “recapture” the stylishness and popularity the sport lost when Muchnick retired. “St. Louis isn’t that much different from other major markets,” McMahon was quoted as saying. “We can bring in new talent, more sophisticated marketing techniques and a new approach. The consumer isn’t going to suffer. The consumer is going to be the winner.”132 However, some people would’ve argued that St. Louis was greatly dissimilar to other wrestling cities. It was an entity all its own, and the hardcore local audience was definitely against outlandish gimmicks, too much in-ring drama, and anything that insulted their intelligence. They were the people who supported credible champions like Jack Brisco, Pat O’Connor, and Lou Thesz. Although Bob Backlund and the Iron Sheik had legitimate backgrounds, the WWF was the polar opposite of Muchnick’s promotion in just about every way. Fans who grew up watching the NWA now had a contrasting alternative, and whether they’d be swayed by McMahon’s cartoonish roster remained to be seen.

  McMahon’s move into St. Louis had an even greater significance, which resonated deeply in the wrestling world. His effort was a full-scale declaration of war against the NWA and the territorial system, and no one could dispute that he was expanding nationally. And McMahon’s December 27 taping in St. Louis managed to declare war on Verne Gagne’s American Wrestling Association at the same time. He did it by signing Gagne’s most captivating box-office superstar, Hulk Hogan, a man who’d been waiting in the wings for a run at the AWA world championship for months. Hogan was jumping to greener pastures in the WWF, and McMahon was riding a huge wave of momentum.

  Larry Matysik, in Kevin Horrigan’s article in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, noted, “The talk in the business is that [McMahon is] trying to take over everything. The question is, can one outfit take over an operation that’s been run by dozens of independents? I don’t know, but they sure got rid of me.”133 The last part of his comments was unsettling to a certain degree, but as facts would have it, before it was all said and done, scores of others would say the same thing.

  Chapter Eight

  The Great TV Expansion of 1984

  The landscape of professional wrestling changed in 1983. Whether the modifications were good for business as a whole remained open to debate, and the answer you received really depended on who you asked. The World Wrestling Federation logo was shining bright in St. Louis and Detroit, two old-time NWA strongholds, and Vince McMahon Jr. was organizing a series of maneuvers that would stun critics and enthusiasts alike. Just b
efore the year ended, McMahon made an appearance on the WWF’s “Victory Corner,” a brief TV interview segment used to promote the organization’s periodical, Victory Magazine.134 After acknowledging the massive changes that had already taken place, McMahon made a stunning prediction to host Robert DeBord: “I see 1984 as being perhaps the most turbulent year in professional wrestling.” He added that there might be a “virtual flood of wrestling talent into the World Wrestling Federation the likes of which we’ve never seen before.”

  Any type of mass migration of top talent to the WWF was going to create turbulence of the highest order, as Hulk Hogan’s jump from the AWA did. Hogan was Verne Gagne’s cash cow, and a man he took great credit for building up. “Hogan I created and molded,” Gagne told Minneapolis CityBusiness in 1986. “He’s a guitar player. You know what his athletic background is? Little League.”135 No one could dispute that Gagne had given Hogan room to mature as a grappler and fan favorite. During Hogan’s first run in the WWF, he showed glimpses of greatness but was limited as a heel before closing out his tenure unceremoniously in April 1981. He joined the AWA several months later and saw his career take off in feuds with world champion Nick Bockwinkel, Jesse Ventura, and Jerry “Crusher” Blackwell. In addition, he enhanced his abilities and confidence with a string of tours for New Japan Pro Wrestling.