Various Articles
“They were in many notable feuds over the years, but the ones involving the Kentuckians and the team of Ray Gunkel and Buddy Fuller were arguably the most brutal.”
http://www.georgiawrestlinghistory.com/halloffame/assassins.html
http://www.georgiawrestlinghistory.com/halloffame/assassins.html
“Renesto and Hamilton, as The Bolos, set a number of attendance records in the Carolinas-Virginia area during the early ’60s. Six-man matches with The Missouri Mauler against The Kentuckians and Haystacks Calhoun established attendance records in such venues as the Charlotte Coliseum, Dorton Arena in Raleigh and the Greenville Memorial Auditorium. Renesto and Hamilton also set attendance marks throughout the territory for tag-team matches against The Kentuckians and Johnny Weaver and Haystacks Calhoun. Those attendance records are still unbroken at the Charlotte Coliseum and Dorton Arena.”
http://www.mikemooneyham.com/pages/viewfull.cfm?ObjectID=6DF1093D-CD0E-4F53-9DD3665466770695
Mid-Atlantic Wrestling Legacy
The Ties That Bind
by Mike Cline
My maternal Grandfather was a bit of a wayfarer throughout his life. He would pop in to see us maybe once a year, then disappear again. But for whatever reason, during 1958 and 1961, he came and stayed, and stayed, and stayed. Besides having to share my bedroom with him in our small house (don’t get any ideas—twin beds), his being there didn’t cause me any great hardships, except for his snoring.
One really great thing to come out of this extended “visit” was his getting me hooked on “rasslin'”. Yep, every Saturday afternoon, he and I would plop down on the couch in the den and turn on our only TV set to one of our three channels and watch WBTV’s CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING with Big Bill Ward.
My earliest memories of wrestling was my Grandpa Frank screaming at the antics of The Great Bolo, The Von Brauners, and Larry “Crusher” Hamilton (later The Missouri Mauler). Then, later, when Rip “The Profile” Hawk came to Jim Crockett’s wrestling empire, even though Rip was a heel like Bolo, for some reason, Grandpa would laugh hysterically at the antics of the “Ripper”. Then, when Rip started teaming with the late Swede Hanson, Frank would laugh at him as well. Don’t get me wrong…he would also cuss out “The Blonde Bombers”, but he did it while laughing. Maybe it was because the WBTV-Charlotte wrestling show had established a policy of introducing these guys as Rip “The Profile” Hawk and Swede “Big Foot” Hansen. Instead of showing a head shot of Swede when he was introduced, the camera would show only his feet. And when Rip would step up to the camera for a close-up of his profile, the image would be turned upside down. Rip would then throw a tantrum.
Later around 1960-61, the big event promoted heavily by Mr. Crockett was a big holiday card (which holiday, I can’t recall) to be held at the “Big Dome”, the Charlotte Coliseum on Independence Boulevard. The main event was to be an “anything goes fight-to-the-finish match” between babyfaces The Kentuckians—Tiny Anderson (actually Grizzly Smith, father of Jake Roberts) and Big Boy Brown and their opponents—The Great Bolo and Bolo (Tom Renesto and Jody Hamilton). These two teams had been going at it for weeks, each trying to destroy one another, with the hillbillies, of course, trying to pull off the Bolo hoods. I remember one Saturday afternoon, promoting this big card, one of the Kentuckians had one of the Bolo masks pulled up to the guy’s nose. Big Bill is screaming, “He’s got the mask almost off. We’re going to finally see who the Bolo is! Oh no—we’re out of time. See you next Saturday.” The TV screen then went to an immediate fade. It was the equivilent of premature withdrawal during coitus. The next week, the men from the Blue Grass State were back stating that if you come to the Charlotte Coliseum this coming week, we promise that we will unmask both of the Bolos. That was enough for me—I had to go. One problem—I was in the fifth or sixth grade, and the wrestling show was on a Monday night—a school night. “No way,” said my Mom, who was backed up by my Dad. “But your Grandpa is going with his friend Glen. He can tell you what happened Tuesday morning at breakfast before you go to school.” That would have to do.
The following Tuesday morning, I rushed to the breakfast table for my wrestling report, only to learn that my Grandfather had already left the house to go do whatever. “You can talk to him at supper,” Mom said. Gosh–an already endless day at school actually got longer. But the evening meal finally arrived, and I asked Grandpa what happened? “Did they unmask the Bolos? What did they look like? Who are they?”
“You know,” he said, “the Kentuckians pulled just about every piece of clothing the Bolos had on, except their trunks AND their masks. They ripped the Bolos’ shirts off, they tore their tights, even took off one of the Bolo’s boots. And just as they were going to take off the masks, one of those ?$@^(^%* hit the Kentuckian with a hunk of metal and pinned him.”
“But George Becker won his match.”
Who cared about George Becker? I wanted to know who the Bolos were. They terrorized Carolina wrestling for what seemed like forever. They beat everybody. And they never did get unmasked. Eventually, they headed further south, down Georgia way, and changed their name to the Assassins. The only person who ever unmasked Tom Renesto was Tom Renesto, when he decided to retire as an active wrestling to keep book for, I believe, Ann Gunkel’s promotion, leaving Jody Hamilton to continue the Assassins careers with a series of different Assassin partners (including Hercules Hernandez). I don’t believe Jody was ever exposed (mask-wise anyway) in the ring.
Well…Assassin Renesto, the big Swede, and Grandpa Frank are no longer with us, and you know…in different ways, I miss them all.
I also miss the “old school” days of wrestling. I realize that things have to change, but it isn’t always a change for the better.
And when professional wrestling formally came out of the closet, it really changed everything. Next time, I’ll write about how I found out that all about wrestling wasn’t what it seemed.
– Mike Cline
May 2003
© Mike Cline
http://www.mikemooneyham.com/pages/viewfull.cfm?ObjectID=6DF1093D-CD0E-4F53-9DD3665466770695
Mid-Atlantic Wrestling Legacy
The Ties That Bind
by Mike Cline
My maternal Grandfather was a bit of a wayfarer throughout his life. He would pop in to see us maybe once a year, then disappear again. But for whatever reason, during 1958 and 1961, he came and stayed, and stayed, and stayed. Besides having to share my bedroom with him in our small house (don’t get any ideas—twin beds), his being there didn’t cause me any great hardships, except for his snoring.
One really great thing to come out of this extended “visit” was his getting me hooked on “rasslin'”. Yep, every Saturday afternoon, he and I would plop down on the couch in the den and turn on our only TV set to one of our three channels and watch WBTV’s CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING with Big Bill Ward.
My earliest memories of wrestling was my Grandpa Frank screaming at the antics of The Great Bolo, The Von Brauners, and Larry “Crusher” Hamilton (later The Missouri Mauler). Then, later, when Rip “The Profile” Hawk came to Jim Crockett’s wrestling empire, even though Rip was a heel like Bolo, for some reason, Grandpa would laugh hysterically at the antics of the “Ripper”. Then, when Rip started teaming with the late Swede Hanson, Frank would laugh at him as well. Don’t get me wrong…he would also cuss out “The Blonde Bombers”, but he did it while laughing. Maybe it was because the WBTV-Charlotte wrestling show had established a policy of introducing these guys as Rip “The Profile” Hawk and Swede “Big Foot” Hansen. Instead of showing a head shot of Swede when he was introduced, the camera would show only his feet. And when Rip would step up to the camera for a close-up of his profile, the image would be turned upside down. Rip would then throw a tantrum.
Later around 1960-61, the big event promoted heavily by Mr. Crockett was a big holiday card (which holiday, I can’t recall) to be held at the “Big Dome”, the Charlotte Coliseum on Independence Boulevard. The main event was to be an “anything goes fight-to-the-finish match” between babyfaces The Kentuckians—Tiny Anderson (actually Grizzly Smith, father of Jake Roberts) and Big Boy Brown and their opponents—The Great Bolo and Bolo (Tom Renesto and Jody Hamilton). These two teams had been going at it for weeks, each trying to destroy one another, with the hillbillies, of course, trying to pull off the Bolo hoods. I remember one Saturday afternoon, promoting this big card, one of the Kentuckians had one of the Bolo masks pulled up to the guy’s nose. Big Bill is screaming, “He’s got the mask almost off. We’re going to finally see who the Bolo is! Oh no—we’re out of time. See you next Saturday.” The TV screen then went to an immediate fade. It was the equivilent of premature withdrawal during coitus. The next week, the men from the Blue Grass State were back stating that if you come to the Charlotte Coliseum this coming week, we promise that we will unmask both of the Bolos. That was enough for me—I had to go. One problem—I was in the fifth or sixth grade, and the wrestling show was on a Monday night—a school night. “No way,” said my Mom, who was backed up by my Dad. “But your Grandpa is going with his friend Glen. He can tell you what happened Tuesday morning at breakfast before you go to school.” That would have to do.
The following Tuesday morning, I rushed to the breakfast table for my wrestling report, only to learn that my Grandfather had already left the house to go do whatever. “You can talk to him at supper,” Mom said. Gosh–an already endless day at school actually got longer. But the evening meal finally arrived, and I asked Grandpa what happened? “Did they unmask the Bolos? What did they look like? Who are they?”
“You know,” he said, “the Kentuckians pulled just about every piece of clothing the Bolos had on, except their trunks AND their masks. They ripped the Bolos’ shirts off, they tore their tights, even took off one of the Bolo’s boots. And just as they were going to take off the masks, one of those ?$@^(^%* hit the Kentuckian with a hunk of metal and pinned him.”
“But George Becker won his match.”
Who cared about George Becker? I wanted to know who the Bolos were. They terrorized Carolina wrestling for what seemed like forever. They beat everybody. And they never did get unmasked. Eventually, they headed further south, down Georgia way, and changed their name to the Assassins. The only person who ever unmasked Tom Renesto was Tom Renesto, when he decided to retire as an active wrestling to keep book for, I believe, Ann Gunkel’s promotion, leaving Jody Hamilton to continue the Assassins careers with a series of different Assassin partners (including Hercules Hernandez). I don’t believe Jody was ever exposed (mask-wise anyway) in the ring.
Well…Assassin Renesto, the big Swede, and Grandpa Frank are no longer with us, and you know…in different ways, I miss them all.
I also miss the “old school” days of wrestling. I realize that things have to change, but it isn’t always a change for the better.
And when professional wrestling formally came out of the closet, it really changed everything. Next time, I’ll write about how I found out that all about wrestling wasn’t what it seemed.
– Mike Cline
May 2003
© Mike Cline
The Assassin Jody Hamilton – Behind the Mask
Author: Javier Ojst
Joseph “Jody” Hamilton wasn’t always billed from Parts Unknown. He also wasn’t always wearing a mask traveling the world as The Assassin generating the kind of heat that almost got him and his partner Tom Renesto killed on several occasions. Today we pull back the mask on one of professional wrestling’s greatest masked men.
Joseph “Jody” Hamilton wasn’t always billed from Parts Unknown. He also wasn’t always wearing a mask traveling the world as The Assassin generating the kind of heat that almost got him and his partner Tom Renesto killed on several occasions. Today we pull back the mask on one of professional wrestling’s greatest masked men.
The Assassin Jody Hamilton pummels Ron Wright
The Kentuckians and The Assassins
In the fifteen years of craziness wrestling as The Assassin, Jody Hamilton enjoyed working with The Kentuckians (Grizzly Smith, who was Jake Robert’s father, and Luke Brown) the most because they made an “ungodly amount of money” with them. The key was to never get them off their feet, and this made them look like super-strong giants.
They took to one of Ric Flair’s adages before he even used it: “You have to beat somebody to be somebody.” Putting someone over to get yourself over.
The Assassins were an established team, but they had no problem losing to The Kentuckians in order to boost them in the eyes of the fans. Jody believes that at one point, The Kentuckians were the hottest team of babyfaces in the country, including Georgia, Florida, Charlotte, California, Oklahoma, and outside of the U.S. in Vancouver, Australia, and Japan. He says that other than Gorgeous George, The Kentuckians flat-out lived their gimmick better than anyone.
They took to one of Ric Flair’s adages before he even used it: “You have to beat somebody to be somebody.” Putting someone over to get yourself over.
The Assassins were an established team, but they had no problem losing to The Kentuckians in order to boost them in the eyes of the fans. Jody believes that at one point, The Kentuckians were the hottest team of babyfaces in the country, including Georgia, Florida, Charlotte, California, Oklahoma, and outside of the U.S. in Vancouver, Australia, and Japan. He says that other than Gorgeous George, The Kentuckians flat-out lived their gimmick better than anyone.
The Kentuckians, Grizzly Smith and Luke Brown [Photo: onlineworldofwrestling.com]
“We had some brutal battles with Grizzly and Luke,” Hamilton remembers. “When I say brutal battles, I mean exactly that. They were physically brutal matches. We had bloodbaths every night.
One afternoon, a week after we started working together in Florida, we were getting ready to make a trip to Jacksonville. As I bent over to pick up my bag, I almost fainted. When the room started to spin around, and I got sick to my stomach, I had to sit down. When the dizziness and nausea still wouldn’t go away, they rushed me to the doctor. When he checked me over, he discovered that my blood pressure was dangerously low. I was a quart low from bleeding myself almost dry, night after night.”
They also had two memorable runs in the Carolinas working with Haystack Calhoun and Johnny Weaver, where The Assassins wrestled as Great Bolo and Bolo, which were established names thanks to Tom’s previous stint in the Carolinas and Crockett Sr. wanted to capitalize on that heat.
One afternoon, a week after we started working together in Florida, we were getting ready to make a trip to Jacksonville. As I bent over to pick up my bag, I almost fainted. When the room started to spin around, and I got sick to my stomach, I had to sit down. When the dizziness and nausea still wouldn’t go away, they rushed me to the doctor. When he checked me over, he discovered that my blood pressure was dangerously low. I was a quart low from bleeding myself almost dry, night after night.”
They also had two memorable runs in the Carolinas working with Haystack Calhoun and Johnny Weaver, where The Assassins wrestled as Great Bolo and Bolo, which were established names thanks to Tom’s previous stint in the Carolinas and Crockett Sr. wanted to capitalize on that heat.
By Bill Poteat
Posted Apr 18, 2020 at 9:35 AMThe silly hype and the endless hoopla that now surrounds the Super Bowl pale in comparison.
The suspense and the drama accompanying Game 7 of the World Series might have come close, but not really.
The Masters, college basketball’s Final Four, even the most wreck-filled NASCAR race, were but poor imitations.
When it came to sheer sporting excitement in the Piedmont region of the Carolinas, including Gaston County, nothing could compare with Championship Wrestling, broadcast every Saturday from 5 to 6 p.m. on Charlotte’s WBTV Channel 3 when I was a youngster.
Championship Wrestling, hosted by WBTV Sports Director “Big Bill” Ward, made its debut in the autumn of 1958 and life in these parts was profoundly altered.
Gentle Christian men who never raised their voices, howled in outrage when the Great Bolo used a “foreign object” against one of the Kentuckians.
Little old ladies who had last been excited by some Lothario in their youth, screamed and cursed when the distracted referee did not see Homer O’dell beating Johnny Weaver over the head with his cane.
Children who had been taught the benefits of good sportsmanship and fair play chortled with glee when Haystacks Calhoun smashed a metal folding chair over the head of the spiteful Rip “The Profile” Hawk.
Families who normally ate supper at 5 or 5:30 p.m., saw the big feed pushed back until after 6 so that every moment of in-the-ring action could be savored.
And calling it all from his chair at ringside was Big Bill Ward, a barrel-chested man with a dark mustache and Hollywood hair who looked like he had just ridden into Dodge to clear out the Dalton gang.
Part of the appeal was the ferocity of the matches themselves, all of which sharply focused on the simple theme of good vs. evil.
George Becker and Johnny Weaver — good.
Swede Hanson and Rip Hawk — bad.
The Flying Scotts — good.
Aldo Bogni and Bronko Lubich — bad.
Nelson Royal and Abe Jacobs — good.
Skull Murphy and Brute Bernard — beyond bad.
The good guys were primarily “scientific” wrestlers, meaning that a few of them might actually have graduated high school.
The bad guys were street toughs, bullies, unreformed criminals and were usually of questionable ethnic origin, often hailing from “parts unknown.”
The good guys relied on athleticism, skill, and a healthy devotion to God, country, mom, and apple pie.
The bad guys relied on treachery, outside intervention, usually by a “manager,” and the use of the above-mentioned “foreign object,” often slipped under a mask while the referee was looking the other way, which was pretty much always.
The primary requirements to be hired as a referee for these championship matches were faulty eyesight, failing hearing, and the ability to be easily and always distracted while illegal mayhem went on — unnoticed — behind you. (My bride might say that I’d make a good referee.)
Of at least equal appeal with the matches were the interviews between the contests.
Big Bill would listen solemnly while the likes of Skull Murphy prattled on about his greatness as partner Brute Bernard, who apparently did not speak English or any other known language, paced in tight circles off to the side, occasionally emitting a cross between a scream and a yodel. (My brother Johnny used to emulate this maneuver. Apparently he did not speak English either.)
Big Bill never masked his disdain for the bad guys, with one of his go-to put downs being, “That fella is so low he’d have to walk on stilts to look a snake in the eye.”
And always, during every broadcast, he would work in the line, “Be sure to take an hour or two out tomorrow for Sunday school and church.”
Considering all the yellin’ and cussin’ and screamin’ that went on all over the region during each Saturday broadcast, that wasn’t bad advice.
Bill Poteat, whose dad told him and his brothers that rasslin’ was a fake and a sham, but who never missed a minute of the weekly broadcasts, may be reached at 704-869-1855 or bpoteat@gastongazette.com.
Posted Apr 18, 2020 at 9:35 AMThe silly hype and the endless hoopla that now surrounds the Super Bowl pale in comparison.
The suspense and the drama accompanying Game 7 of the World Series might have come close, but not really.
The Masters, college basketball’s Final Four, even the most wreck-filled NASCAR race, were but poor imitations.
When it came to sheer sporting excitement in the Piedmont region of the Carolinas, including Gaston County, nothing could compare with Championship Wrestling, broadcast every Saturday from 5 to 6 p.m. on Charlotte’s WBTV Channel 3 when I was a youngster.
Championship Wrestling, hosted by WBTV Sports Director “Big Bill” Ward, made its debut in the autumn of 1958 and life in these parts was profoundly altered.
Gentle Christian men who never raised their voices, howled in outrage when the Great Bolo used a “foreign object” against one of the Kentuckians.
Little old ladies who had last been excited by some Lothario in their youth, screamed and cursed when the distracted referee did not see Homer O’dell beating Johnny Weaver over the head with his cane.
Children who had been taught the benefits of good sportsmanship and fair play chortled with glee when Haystacks Calhoun smashed a metal folding chair over the head of the spiteful Rip “The Profile” Hawk.
Families who normally ate supper at 5 or 5:30 p.m., saw the big feed pushed back until after 6 so that every moment of in-the-ring action could be savored.
And calling it all from his chair at ringside was Big Bill Ward, a barrel-chested man with a dark mustache and Hollywood hair who looked like he had just ridden into Dodge to clear out the Dalton gang.
Part of the appeal was the ferocity of the matches themselves, all of which sharply focused on the simple theme of good vs. evil.
George Becker and Johnny Weaver — good.
Swede Hanson and Rip Hawk — bad.
The Flying Scotts — good.
Aldo Bogni and Bronko Lubich — bad.
Nelson Royal and Abe Jacobs — good.
Skull Murphy and Brute Bernard — beyond bad.
The good guys were primarily “scientific” wrestlers, meaning that a few of them might actually have graduated high school.
The bad guys were street toughs, bullies, unreformed criminals and were usually of questionable ethnic origin, often hailing from “parts unknown.”
The good guys relied on athleticism, skill, and a healthy devotion to God, country, mom, and apple pie.
The bad guys relied on treachery, outside intervention, usually by a “manager,” and the use of the above-mentioned “foreign object,” often slipped under a mask while the referee was looking the other way, which was pretty much always.
The primary requirements to be hired as a referee for these championship matches were faulty eyesight, failing hearing, and the ability to be easily and always distracted while illegal mayhem went on — unnoticed — behind you. (My bride might say that I’d make a good referee.)
Of at least equal appeal with the matches were the interviews between the contests.
Big Bill would listen solemnly while the likes of Skull Murphy prattled on about his greatness as partner Brute Bernard, who apparently did not speak English or any other known language, paced in tight circles off to the side, occasionally emitting a cross between a scream and a yodel. (My brother Johnny used to emulate this maneuver. Apparently he did not speak English either.)
Big Bill never masked his disdain for the bad guys, with one of his go-to put downs being, “That fella is so low he’d have to walk on stilts to look a snake in the eye.”
And always, during every broadcast, he would work in the line, “Be sure to take an hour or two out tomorrow for Sunday school and church.”
Considering all the yellin’ and cussin’ and screamin’ that went on all over the region during each Saturday broadcast, that wasn’t bad advice.
Bill Poteat, whose dad told him and his brothers that rasslin’ was a fake and a sham, but who never missed a minute of the weekly broadcasts, may be reached at 704-869-1855 or bpoteat@gastongazette.com.