Death of the Territories Read online

  In Kansas City, NWA president Bob Geigel knew a WWF invasion was imminent and was doing everything possible to maintain his local control. Throughout 1984, to strengthen a roster that paled in comparison to outside territories, he imported recognizable stars for shows at the Memorial Auditorium, Memorial Hall, and Kemper Arena, and he had his ups and downs. One show in March logged a $100,000 gate, but his regular Thursday night shows at the Memorial Hall — part of Kansas City wrestling tradition going back decades — saw a steep decline in attendance, and he scaled back to once or twice a month. As expected, McMahon obtained TV in Kansas City, on KEKR-62, and arranged for a show in July 1984. But dismal advance sales forced a cancelation, and again in August. McMahon finally got the right kind of momentum going and pushed into Kansas City on September 29 with 5,500 people on hand to see Andre the Giant, Roddy Piper, Junkyard Dog, and the Brisco Brothers.

  The pressure on Geigel to successfully repel the New York impresario was immense, and it got the point that he was seriously considering walking away. According to an article in the Kansas City Times in December 1984, he actually accepted terms to sell the KC office outright to McMahon, but the deal was never finalized. Instead, the hostilities intensified. On November 29, the two sides went head to head but ended in a stalemate, with the WWF drawing 820 fans and Geigel 970. “This [war] has cost us a lot of money,” Geigel explained. “I’ve gone out of my way not to knock the guy (McMahon) in public, although he’s on a dead-end street, or at least I hope he is. I have instructed my people not to say a thing bad about any of them.” A public relations official for Titan Sports issued a statement, declaring that the WWF was more akin to the “major leagues” than to the regional operation, but Geigel didn’t let that comment slide. “At first, they thought [the WWF wrestlers] were big time, from Madison Square Garden, and we were run of the mill,” Geigel said. “Now they’ve seen the ‘big time’ and seen that the ‘big time’ isn’t really the big time.”201

  One of Geigel’s important Pacific allies, Lia Maivia of Honolulu, along with her booker Lars Anderson, had attended the annual NWA convention in Las Vegas. Maivia’s Polynesian Championship Wrestling was a shining example of how cooperation benefited a promotion. In 1984, with help from outside territories, her company saw average attendance at the Blaisdell Arena jump threefold, and crowds popped for supershows at the NBC Arena during Maivia’s Summer Series ’84 campaign.202 The Von Erichs were big favorites, particularly because the World Class syndicated show had been on in Honolulu for months, and people couldn’t wait to see them in person. Chris Adams, Jimmy Garvin, and Michael Hayes flew in from Dallas, and Seiji Sakaguchi and Tatsumi Fujinami came from Japan. Other participants included Bad News Allen, Matt Borne, Masked Superstar, and Mark Lewin.

  On December 19, 1984, Jimmy Snuka and Andre the Giant, two WWF workers, wrestled for Maivia, and Andre won a 20-man battle royal. Maivia’s son-in-law, Rocky Johnson, was active on the WWF circuit for most of 1984 and was a longtime mainstay in the promotion. At least for the time being, Hawaii was not in McMahon’s expansion plans, a fact that was probably more attributable to its distance from the U.S. mainland than anything else. Generally speaking, it was difficult to find many territories not being directly impacted by the WWF one way or another. The promotion’s TV reach was on an unheard-of level in professional wrestling history. In addition to national outlets on WTBS and USA, a local WWF show was on air in nearly 100 markets by the end of 1984.

  TV overexposure was a worry not only for the WWF, but for pro wrestling as a whole. Twelve years before, in 1972, a promoter warned of its effects, explaining, “Too much television almost killed us off 20 years ago, but we won’t make that mistake again. We use television now, but we limit the exposure to give fans just a taste so they’ll come out for the live matches.”203 That promoter was none other than Vince McMahon Sr., who’d been through the turbulent 1950s, when TV sent wrestling into the stratosphere of success and then caused its downfall. People became bored by the wrestlers, the matches, and the same old script. Was McMahon Jr. setting himself up for the same kind of fall? Verne Gagne believed so. “I see history repeating itself,” he told a reporter for Minneapolis CityBusiness. “There’s no new talent, you’ve seen them all before. And fans get a little confused, it’s so diluted.”204

  Veteran Baton Rouge promoter Jimmy Kilshaw, an associate of Bill Watts’s Mid-South promotion, told a local journalist in 1985 that oversaturation was already hurting their operations, with attendance down an average of 500 people: “If [the overexposure] keeps up, it’ll burn the population out on wrestling. It’s making big bucks now, but [McMahon] will cut his own throat.”205 In the past there had been a saturation point for pro grappling, but McMahon didn’t seem to care. At any rate, that was the impression. But McMahon was more cunning than people realized. While he did offer full matches on his various telecasts, he usually withheld superstar bouts and his top-running feuds. Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, and other upper-echelon talent made TV appearances but only to whet the appetite of eager fans. Thus, if they wanted to see more of their favorite performers, people would have to buy tickets.

  Of course, traditionalists didn’t like it. They hammered the WWF for its general practices and unconventional theatrics. But the WWF had no interest in straight-laced wrestling content. McMahon and his cohorts were offering “sports entertainment,” a blend of in-ring action with memorable characters and storylines. He was appealing to a new audience, building up the interest of casual fans, and introducing his style of wrestling to young people.

  McMahon had massively increased the public’s awareness of his company’s brand, and WWF was fast becoming the most recognized wrestling organization in North America. By the end of 1984, wrestling was a hip enterprise headed for its most lucrative financial year to date. McMahon undoubtedly had his opponents, but even his rivals had to acknowledge the immense interest he was bringing to the sport. To remain competitive, they needed to take a few pages from the WWF’s playbook and capitalize on the opportunities being afforded. The game was changing, and McMahon was far out in the lead.

  Chapter Twelve

  WrestleMania

  Longtime Houston promoter Paul Boesch was first lured into the business as a grappler in 1932 by Jack Pfefer, a man who knew talent when he saw it. In the years that followed, he toured North America, facing the best in the business, and became a fine journeyman. After serving distinctly during World War II, Boesch resumed his career, only to suffer serious injuries in a car accident in 1947 near San Antonio.206 Boesch gave up his active wrestling career to focus on announcing, refereeing, and booking matches in Texas. By that juncture, the native New Yorker now had the Lonestar State in his blood, and Boesch made Houston his permanent home. In the 1960s, Boesch assumed control of the Houston office and had good relations with NWA and AWA officials. He broke off his longstanding trade agreement with Jack Adkisson in 1981, cutting off appearances by the Von Erichs, but Boesch didn’t miss a beat. Despite not having a booking office of his own, he remained an influential player because of his partnership with Bill Watts and the Mid-South group. Boesch focused on giving Houston fans a professional operation, and the strength of Watts’s roster kept enthusiasts happy. Cards featured Magnum T.A., Butch Reed, the Midnight Express, the Rock and Roll Express, Jim Duggan, and Steve Williams, among others, and Houston never seemed to be at a loss for great matches. But as 1984 passed, Boesch and Watts had to deal with the WWF, as Superstars of Wrestling debuted in several of Watts’s key cities.

  Breaking ground in Texas, Titan Sports secured TV outlets on two independent stations owned by Grant Broadcasting, channel 20 (KTXH) in Houston and channel 21 (KTXA) in Dallas–Fort Worth. The WWF made its first live appearance in Houston on December 27, 1984, with a Dallas program scheduled for the next evening. In preparation for the WWF’s arrival, Boesch and Adkisson put their past grievances aside and, along with Watts, arranged a defense. They planned to directly compet
e against McMahon in both Houston and Dallas and booked several recent castoffs from the WWF: Billy Jack, Kamala, Terry Gordy, and Buddy Roberts. In Houston, Butch Reed won a massive two-ring battle royal and Kerry Von Erich beat Gino Hernandez, while Hernandez went over Kevin Von Erich in Dallas. As for the WWF, they offered their “B” lineup with Andre the Giant, Greg Valentine, Tito Santana, and Big John Studd, drawing under 3,000 people in each city.207

  The WWF’s “A” players, including Hulk Hogan, Roddy Piper, Junkyard Dog, and Jimmy Snuka, were in St. Louis on December 27 before returning to New York for a huge spectacular the next night. The show sold out Madison Square Garden and the adjoining Felt Forum, and Hogan pinned the former WWF champ the Iron Sheik in the main event. JYD, Barry Windham, Mike Rotundo, and Antonio Inoki won singles matches, and a tag bout between Piper and Bob Orton Jr. against Snuka and the Tonga Kid ended in a double disqualification. There were two other happenings of note, and the first was clearly scripted. Cyndi Lauper returned to the WWF and buried the hatchet with Captain Lou Albano, giving him a gold record for helping raise money for charity. Piper wasn’t caught up in the sentimentality of the moment and ended up breaking the record over Albano’s head. He also hurled Lauper to the ground and slammed her manager, David Wolff.

  The other occurrence at the Garden took place backstage, out of the view of the crowd, and to this day, there is still conjecture about whether it was all spontaneous or preplanned. Reporter John Stossel was at the event doing a story on pro wrestling for ABC’s newsmagazine 20/20. He went in for an interview with reputed heel “Dr. D” David Schultz, who was in no mood for games. Stossel asked about the veracity of wrestling, and the 6-foot-4 grappler proceeded to slap him twice in the head.208 From Stossel’s point of view, it was a genuine attack, but there was question whether Schultz’s actions were part of a purposeful attempt to garner media attention. If you believed that any publicity was good publicity, then this idea was a winner. But looking at the ramifications of the incident for Schultz, Stossel, and the wider reputation of pro wrestling, the entire episode was a major catastrophe.

  For his actions, Schultz was suspended by the New York State Athletic Commission, fined $3,000, and, less than two months later, was let go by the WWF.209 Stossel suffered hearing damage in both ears and received a six-figure settlement from the WWF. Wrestling was hammered by the national media, with pundits wondering if it was “too violent.” Disgruntled ex-wrestlers, such as Eddy Mansfield, joined in the condemnation, discussing how matches were predetermined and the practice of blading.210 The Schultz–Stossel incident wasn’t the only costly out-of-the-ring miscue to hit Titan Sports in early 1985. Hulk Hogan appeared on the cable talk show Hot Properties and demonstrated a front chinlock on host Richard Belzer. The maneuver caused Belzer to lose consciousness, and his body fell headfirst onto the studio floor, causing a head injury. This situation also triggered a lawsuit, with a financial settlement favorable to the victim. It was negative press all the way, and everyone wanted to forget these incidents ever happened.

  In December 1984, the WWF was active in 15 previously off-limits territories, and was currently battling opposition in 11 of them, demonstrating the turbulence of the times. One thing was becoming apparent for the WWF, though, and that was that big-name talent alone wasn’t going to sustain the box office in newly forged regions. Booking patterns left a lot to be desired, as the undercards of arena shows often appeared to have been arranged in slipshod fashion. “Good guys” were pitted against “bad guys” with no further rhyme or reason. And to make things worse, it was typically one “name” wrestler paired with a preliminary-level worker, only diminishing the importance even more. The finishes were painfully predictable.

  With all the superstars on the roster, enthusiasts expected better in-ring action, and in a lot of cases, they just weren’t getting it. So after the initial excitement wore off, and Hogan and the other leading stars made their initial impression, there wasn’t much left to speak about. In the battleground cities, a disappointed wrestling fan could cross town the next time and watch the competition instead. For the WWF to keep them coming back, it had to improve its TV-to-arena booking, and ensure there was not only basis for the matches at the top of the card, but up and down the bill as well. Matchmaker George Scott took on a larger role in 1984 to improve on these deficiencies, and he undoubtedly had the talent to work with. There were huge personalities with incredible charisma, high-fliers and skilled scientific grapplers — he just had to get the pieces into the correct positions and establish a sound game plan for a few months at a time.

  Generally, the WWF was doing many things right, and the organization operated with heightened professionalism. At the arena, there was the odd no-show, but nothing like the problems Verne Gagne had in the AWA. “If a fan comes to see Hulk Hogan and he isn’t on the card, we give him his money back,” explained Ed Cohen, a Titan Sports official, in late 1984. “We make sure nobody goes home feeling cheated.”211 Even if a fan favorite lost in the main event, they were usually put back over with a little post-match revenge or time to pose in the ring, practices that continue to this day after live shows go off the air.

  Back in the Northeast, McMahon’s home territory, the WWF had long maintained a sense of community, particularly in smaller towns. The WWF worked hand in hand with local groups and was generous in donating funds from special events to charity. In this transitional era, it was extraordinary to hear Howard Finkel’s voiceover promotion of WWF stars at a high school gym on WOR-TV, but that was the nature of the business. As the years passed, Vince McMahon put an end to the school-gym era. As for WOR-TV, it was reported that McMahon was paying the station as much as $5,000 a week for television time in 1984, up from $1,750 a few years before.

  Compensating stations was a commonplace practice for Titan Sports, and it was costing the company a fortune. If you take just three stations from the vast WWF TV empire, WOR, KHJ in Los Angeles, and KSTU in Salt Lake City, the combined payment schedule for a year amounted to $494,000. The WWF had somewhere between 90 and 100 stations, and though they weren’t paying every one of them, it was still a huge amount to invest across North America. But the local promotion was translating into serious earnings in many markets. To use the example of Los Angeles, if the WWF made a minimum net profit of $40,000 at the gate for 10 shows a year, it would earn $400,000. The annual cost of TV on KHJ was $130,000. Of course, there was tremendous overhead, but a strong box office could pay sizable dividends.

  In some cases, Titan Sports offered their program to a station free of cost, and gave the operator seven of the 12 minutes set aside for commercial spots. The station would then sell that time to local businesses to make a good profit without spending a dime. Titan kept the remaining commercial time for their national advertisers. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and TV station sales departments easily sold advertising during WWF broadcasts thanks to the important demographic it reached. The major deals Titan made with national advertisers brought in a lot of income for the company and easily offset the original production costs for its television operations. Finally, the extended promos individualized for each market drew fans to the arenas where Titan Sports made its real money.

  On the cable TV side of things, the WWF’s relationship with WTBS out of Atlanta remained contentious through the end of 1984 and into ’85. The problems began when Vince McMahon decided to use out-of-town footage for his two weekend telecasts instead of holding full tapings at the WTBS studios like his predecessor. McMahon spliced in interview footage from WTBS, but it just wasn’t up to par in the eyes of station owner Ted Turner, who wanted the same commitment Georgia Championship Wrestling had given him since the 1970s. But McMahon was intent on doing things his way, and there the issues began. Over time, two other problems arose. First, Turner believed the ratings for World Championship Wrestling and The Best of World Championship Wrestling should have been higher, though both shows were in the top five highest
-rated shows on cable. Additionally, Turner and other station officials didn’t like that McMahon worked so closely with one of its main rivals, the USA Network. Needless to say, USA was equally peeved about the WWF being on WTBS and MTV.

  The difficulties between the WWF and WTBS didn’t stop there. Apparently, Titan wanted to run commercial advertisements that it had obtained independently during the broadcasts, but WTBS blocked them from doing so. The station was paying the promotion a production fee and was not interested in sharing commercial time. They compromised by offering the WWF commercial time at a reduced rate, which could be resold to advertisers. McMahon agreed and the matter was seemingly settled. But in early 1985, WTBS officials insisted the WWF become exclusive and drop affiliation with the USA Network.212 McMahon declined. In response, station officials eliminated the discounted commercial time and began charging the full rate.

  Under the circumstances, the long-term connections between the two entities appeared to be in doubt. In contrast, USA Network officials, aside from the WTBS issue, had always been happy with the WWF. McMahon’s promotion was featured three nights a week, encompassing four and a half hours of content, and was the highest-rated program on the network. “The last six months have been incredible,” said Mark Braff, director of communications for the USA Network, in early 1985. “It wasn’t that long ago that people would watch [wrestling] on television and not talk about it the next day at work. Now if you don’t watch it and can’t talk about it the next day, you’re not chic. It has actually become mainstream.”213