How 'bout dat guy!

JS Online: How 'bout dat guy!                                          From The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinal

Funeral dirge? Forget it. It's smiles, tears and the 'Beer Barrel Polka' for Da Crusher's send-off.

By DON WALKER
[email protected]

Posted: Oct. 28, 2005

South Milwaukee - In the ring, countless wrestlers tried but failed. Instead, it was left to family and friends Friday to lay the Crusher to rest.

Remembering 'Da Crusher'

Photo/Gary Porter A wrestling ring in Holy Sepulcher Cemetery pays homage to Reggie “Da Crusher” Lisowski, the wrestler who made Milwaukee famous. Lisowski was buried at the cemetery Friday.

Photo/File Reggie “The Crusher” Lisowski was the childhood hero of many a Milwaukeean.

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But not before a few tales were told at Reggie Lisowski's funeral at Divine Mercy Catholic Church, at the Molthen-Bell & Sons Funeral Home on Thursday night, on Web sites devoted to wrestling and in an interview with one of Da Crusher's most famous opponents: Maurice "Mad Dog" Vachon.

Dennis Hilgart, who worked with Lisowski for more than 25 years as a wrestling promoter, barnstorming the Midwest and beyond, said Lisowski was a great entertainer who never disappointed. Lisowski, 79, one of wrestling's greatest icons for more than 35 years, died Oct. 22 from complications of surgeries for a non-cancerous brain tumor.

"When the Crush ran an opponent into the post, he would holler out: 'How 'bout dat!' " Hilgart recalled. "The crowd would go completely nuts."

He was the people's champ, the no-frills, working-class hero with a stogie stuck in his mouth, a beer in his hand and a signature wrestling move: The Bolo Punch. He bragged that he trained by running on the lakefront with a barrel of beer in his meaty hands, and no one doubted him. At more than 250 pounds, he had a barrel chest, a throaty roar and was the best interview in town.

Lisowski's mother once said that she knew before he was born that he was destined to be famous.

And he was. He took on all comers in the 1950s and 1960s, eventually teamed up with Dick the Bruiser as a memorable tag team, and lasted long enough to eventually wrestle in the early 1980s against Jesse "The Body" Ventura."

Mourners, many of whom brought their kids to the visitation Thursday night, said they would schedule church services on Sunday around Lisowski's morning TV wrestling matches. Milwaukee was a wrestling town, and Lisowski was the star attraction.

Mark Marsden, 48, of Milwaukee, said Lisowski was an American original.

"I saw him about 50 times or more," Marsden said as he watched a TV video chronicling Lisowski's life inside Molthen-Bell. As a child, Marsden said, he and his brother would dress up as wrestling characters and wrestle inside makeshift rings set up in the family home.

"He was a part of my childhood. There was nothing like him. I wish I could have met him," Marsden said.

Of all the matches with the likes of Nick Bockwinkle, Bobby "The Brain" Heenan, Vern Gagne and others, the classic matches pitted Vachon and Lisowski. "They beat the heck out of each other," Hilgart recalled. "They were both tough guys."

Vachon, now 76 and living in Omaha, recalled a bout in which Lisowski banged Vachon's head against a metal table, causing a gaping wound.

"He almost killed me," Vachon recalled Friday. "Wrestling is supposed to be fake, but somebody forgot to tell the Crusher. I had 22 stitches, and it all happened on TV. The blood sprinkled everybody at ringside."

Lisowski, ready with the quip, said Mad Dog would have to go to his veterinarian to get stitched up.

"They said he was the wrestler who made Milwaukee famous," said Vachon. "He made Milwaukee famous by pounding on me. But he always gave people their money's worth."

In his homily, a cousin, Father Ed Lisowski, said the famed wrestler was a man who "came up the ladder the hard way," and was proud of his bricklaying days. But Father Lisowski remembered the pain and suffering his cousin endured when he was wrestling.

"He sacrificed his life for his family, for us, for his fans, and he never complained," Father Lisowski said.

Lisowski's son, David, told mourners at the funeral Mass that his father would travel as many as six days a week. His mother, Faye, would keep the home fires burning while her husband was off wrestling, David Lisowski said. And when he got home, Faye would have a meal ready.

As a child, Lisowski remembered his father's matches and how seriously he took his career. But there was plenty of fun in between.

"I was the guy who popped the bottles of champagne for him and Dick the Bruiser," David Lisowski said.

David Lisowski said his father never refused an autograph request and would visit sick kids at Children's Hospital whose dying wish was to see the Crusher.

"The legend is gone, but his memories will live on forever in our hearts and minds," David Lisowski said Friday.

As the casket was led out of the church, a man held a boom box playing the "Beer Barrel Polka (Roll Out the Barrel)." There were tears and smiles all around.

Inside Holy Sepulcher Cemetery, where Lisowski was buried, some local wrestling buffs put up a wrestling ring in Lisowski's honor. At the ring stood Lisowski's wrestling boots, the traditional way to signal a wrestler's days are over.

How 'bout dat for a send-off?