NEW SPIRIT OF WRESTLING
- 12/21/2005 (12:24:08 pm)
- Georgiann Makropoulos
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Reading David's story of his Dad, Lou Sahadi, brought back such great memories for me too. I worked for Lou for many years, writing for his various wrestling magazines.
One of my favorites was Wrestling Confidential. I wrote a column called Wrestling After Dark, that I loved doing.
Lou would go into the homes of the wrestlers and bring us closer to them and their personal lives. Don't forget this was back in the 60's and 70's, Lou was way ahead of his time.
And what he said about Vince McMahon, Sr is also so true. He loved wrestling and he adored his fans. He was so down to earth.
I remember one afternoon my friend Richie Olander who was security for Saks 5th Avenue, called me at work and said, "You'll never guess who just came here?" I said, no idea, who?
He preceded to tell me that Vince McMahon, Sr. stopped by to give him a ticket for Madison Square Garden. He was so surprised and so happy. This was the kind of man Vince Sr. was. Whenever we saw him, he always went out of his way to talk to us and all the fans. He was very accessible. I sure do miss those good ole days.....
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| December 21st, 2005 01:25 | ||
| “OF FATHERS, AND SONS” By David Sahadi The night was unusual because I stayed home, something I never do on a Saturday. What’s even more unusual is that, living a nomadic lifestyle, home is a nebulous, transient place. But if there is somewhere that evokes a sense of home within my heart today, then undoubtedly it is South Florida, my dad’s home, where I spend my winter sabbaticals, if only to spend some time with him. My dad is 75. He lives alone. He no longer moves with the swiftness of his youth, and his graying hair is testament to the incessant march of time. But he still has a youthful heart and enthusiastic spirit, and, shackled more and more by the increasing need for routine and comfort, still maintains an open mind. This night we decided to enjoy a home-cooked feast and watch TNA Impact, the first time I have watched the show with my dad since TNA debuted on Spike TV. My dad is a free-lance sportswriter, having authored 25 books. He also has been part of the wrestling world, as a writer and magazine publisher, for the better part of 50 years. Tonight, I wanted his perspective, his analysis, his astute perceptions. More importantly, I just wanted his company. Spending time with him is a gift I cherish more and more the older I get. “Who was the first wrestler you ever met?” I asked, as steaks sizzled on the grill and the night’s focus on wrestling began. “Buddy Rogers,” he replied, as memories came alive in his eyes. He interviewed Buddy Rogers for a publication called Wrestling World Magazine in the early 60s. He was reluctant to do the interview with Rogers, he confessed, because my dad was a ‘real’ sports writer and he thought wrestling was ‘fake’. But, in a mere instant, Buddy won him over. “He was so charismatic, so intelligent,” my dad continued. “He shattered my preconceptions of what a professional wrestler was.” “What was your first impression of Freddie Blassie?” was my follow-up. “He was articulate, sharp-looking, charismatic. He dressed like a movie star. His hair was slicked back and wavy. He seemed right out of Hollywood.” My dad went on to tell a story of how he did a photo shoot with Freddie Blassie at an Italian eatery called Mama Leone’s in New York City for Wrestling Confidential in 1963. He placed Freddie beside the restaurant’s elegant baby grand piano while a beautiful model posed and stared at the white-haired star with fancy in her eyes. It was then that the moniker, “Hollywood Fashion Plate,” was born. My dad and I both respected Freddie as a man and loved him as a friend, my father when Freddie was wily and spry in the springtime of his youth; I while Freddie was still a spirited ‘old bastard’ in the autumn of his years. It is one of the many bonds that connect us to this business, to life, to each other. Soon we sat down to a pre-show dinner of steak, Caesar salad, red wine and creamed spinach. Frank Sinatra played in the background. The trek down memory lane continued. “Remember Jimmy Weston’s?” my dad posed as he sliced into his steak. I did. This meal we were eating tonight was a throwback to one he enjoyed numerous times at the swank restaurant in midtown Manhattan back in the 70s and 80s. Once a month, when the then-WWWF put on shows at Madison Square Garden, my dad would get paid $50 a night for doing PR for Vincent J. McMahon, the grandfather of professional wrestling. When work was through, Vince Sr. made it a ritual to take many of his cronies out to dinner at Jimmy Weston’s, merely as an expression of gratitude. I went there once, with my older brother, Joe. I saw the tremendous admiration Vince Sr. had for my dad. I never knew back then that I would one day work for this man’s son, and the son of a man sitting next to him, Dennis Dunn. My dad never knew then that one day, in his latter years, he would be penalized by the sins of sons with pernicious intentions. “Vince Sr. was a class act,” my dad reminisced. “He had tremendous respect for people. There wasn’t a mean bone in his body. He was a very forgiving, very compassionate man.” When the meal was consumed, and another glass of wine poured, we sat down to watch the show. The first match featured Samoa Joe. It was my dad’s first time seeing the Samoan Submission Machine. Initially, he wasn’t overwhelmed by Joe’s physical appearance. Until the bell rang. Then fury was unleashed and perceptions changed. “Wow, what an athlete.” my dad observed. I agreed. We watched as Joe put on a brutal display of power and submission. “How does that not hurt?” he asked after one of Joe’s stiff moves. “It does,” I replied. As we watched the show, my dad was awed by the awesome presence and daunting physical power that is Abyss. “Many consider Abyss ‘the best big man in the business’,” I commented. “I would have to say he’s the best big man of all time,” my dad added. “I followed Andre the Giant throughout his career, and, athletically, he couldn’t do what Abyss can do.” He loved the charisma of “The Alpha Male” Monty Brown. “Very colorful,” my dad noted. “Great magnetism. And what a physique. That guy can be a huge star.” But his personal favorite still remains “The Phenomenal” AJ Styles, a modern-day innovator inspiring an old-school admirer. “That guy is amazing!” my dad gleamed. “He does things I’ve never seen done before. I think he is the most amazing wrestler ever.” That’s a big accolade coming from a man who has seen it all following wrestling for five decades. “Good show, dude,” my dad said when it was over. “You guys have something special going on here. I’m proud of you.” With that he rose, gave me a heartfelt hug and a kiss, and retired for the evening. He rarely makes it up past midnight these days, but he wanted to enjoy the company of one of his sons for as long as he could. It was at this time that I studied the pictures that adorned his living room wall, dozens of photos and framed articles chronicling his professional life. My dad lives humbly, with little fanfare these days. But in these snapshots that capture youth and time, and dreams unfolding, I saw him posing with a venerable who’s who of sports and cultural icons: Joe DiMaggio, Frank Sinatra, Muhammad Ali, Phil Rizzuto, Howard Cosell, Pete Rozelle, Burt Reynolds, Joe Namath, Johnny Unitas and Peyton Manning, just to name a few. And I noticed, in each photo, he had a radiant, infectious smile, one that obviously impacted the subjects beside him, for they were all smiling, too. He was known, loved and respected by many. Then amidst the photos, I saw a column he had written fifty years ago. It was framed in black, the paper weathered brown with time. And I was humbled. It was an epitaph he wrote about his father in a newspaper called The Heritage on a rainy April day in 1964. “It is the pattern of life,” he wrote about the passing of his father. “A man is born, and he also must die. But often in between its cycle, you lose the value of things. When you cried, you suddenly realized that it was the first time since you were a kid that tears filled your eyes; and you learned at that moment that man must have compassion for without it you’re really empty inside. “He was a humble man,” man dad’s printed words continued. “His greatest riches were his family, and his proudest possession was his son. There was a close bond between the two, and it was outwardly displayed by an affectionate kiss whenever they would greet one another or say goodbye for the day. The two greatest words he ever spoke were ‘my heart’, but it sounded so much more meaningful the way he said it in Arabic, ‘Ya albee.’” “I am my father’s son. No more will I feel his tender kiss and hear the words ‘Ya albee’. These two things are more precious than any wealth. I am not sorry, only sad that he is gone. Rather, I am sorry for any son who doesn’t return his father’s love. No greater love had a father for a son; and I can humbly say I loved my father…” My dad loves his sons, and we him. I am proud to be his son, blessed that he is my father. That’s why staying “home” this Saturday night was an enjoyment, a gift. And that’s why this year I have a different perspective on the holidays. This year, my values have shifted. Forget material presents, bottles of expensive liquor, holiday parties and neatly wrapped gifts. Forget the lame excuse, ‘too busy with work’, as an alibi not to be with the ones you love. The greatest present one can give is the gift of one’s presence. This holiday season, cherish the presence of those who love you, and whom you love, too. Cherish their being, their kindness, their legacy and their invaluable inner gifts. Cherish them while they are still of flesh and blood, while you can still hug and embrace them, before the only thing left to embrace is memory. |
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