It’s Mock Mayhem in Maywood : Pro Wrestling Pageant Sure Beats a Poke in the Eye

The most maniacal of the troupe, who went by the name of Ripper Savage and who had hair that no hairdresser would ever admit to having done, said, “This is a circus, pal.”

A traveling sideshow, at least, one that stopped in a dusty city park on a hot, cloudless afternoon Sunday and set up, not tents, but a wrestling ring, and charged $7 to sit around it and gawk at the performers.

“I’m the strong man,” said Ripper, the star of California Championship Wrestling who had pectorals and deltoids that indeed suggested long hours spent in gyms.

Ripper waited with the other wrestlers in a recreation room at Maywood Park where they dressed for their matches. Their street clothes sat on Ping-Pong tables.

“He’s the fat man,” Ripper said, pointing at Beartrap Smith, who sat across the room with most of his 460 pounds bunched around his middle. Ripper said Beartrap got that way from eating doughnuts. Beartrap denied it.

Greasy Gold Hair

“And we have acrobats and clowns, which I am neither,” Ripper said, although surely he jested, for here was a man with hair bleached to a greasy gold on the sides and separated by a furry black swatch that sneaked down his forehead.

Ripper briefly discussed his background: “I’m from the Bronx. I grew up fighting in YMCAs and in the streets. My old man made me lift weights so I wouldn’t be like these wimps in California.”

California Championship Wrestling is not to be confused with wrestling’s really big show, the World Wrestling Federation, which has high national television ratings, a celebrity following and a major star in Hulk Hogan.

But the CCW, a fledgling federation trying to entice TV viewers and attract arena crowds of at least 2,000 by developing some stars of its own, does not have an inferiority complex. At least the Ripper doesn’t. “I’d wrestle Hulk Hogan any day in the week,” he said.

Only 8 months old, the CCW is headed by Thomas Renesto, who produces the TV shows which have copied the WWF format in which wrestlers commit studio mayhem while being interviewed by the show’s host, who for the CCW is Barry Richards, a former radio disc jockey.

‘Championship’ Bout

On the TV show Saturday, the Ripper and his manager, tuxedo-clad Tux (“Don’t Call Me Crazy”) Newman, rowdily hyped Ripper’s Maywood “championship” bout with Victor Rivera. “In New York I used to beat the hell out of those Puerto Ricans all the time,” the Ripper had said.

Renesto, 52, a former wrestler, said he has started a pro wrestling school in an effort to find stars like the Ripper. “It takes a lot of time to build (a new wrestling federation),” he said. “We look for charisma and conditioning.”

Host Richards said: “We’re not trying to compete with the WWF. We’re building our own stars and Budweiser is backing us. We’re the only local wrestling show west of Dallas.”

(The CCW would get half the day’s receipts and the other half would benefit the Maywood Recreation Department.)

And so more hype was about to begin in this sport, which has never been accused of being legitimate although its rabid fans have never seemed to mind. (If you’re close enough to the wing, you can sometimes hear the wrestlers whisper to each other things like “stay here” or “let’s go to the ropes.”)

But the Ripper, flexing inside a black leather vest muscles that seemed to have been inflated with an air pump, vowed: “You’ll see blood flow, teeth fly and hear bones break. There’s nothing fake about it, pal.”

The blue ring was on the dirt infield of the park’s baseball stadium, and Beartrap Smith stepped into it to the accompaniment of ZZ Top’s “Legs,” which pounded from huge speakers. Beartrap’s legs, inside blue dungarees, could not be seen. He discarded his suede vest and hat and prepared to wrestle two men.

“This is a handicap match,” Richards, the sideshow’s barker, announced to a crowd of 375 people, most of them youngsters. “All he has to do is pin one and he’s the winner.”

Beartrap’s opponents banged into his stomach, causing him to growl, but not in pain. Appropriately, they kept trying to get him in a bear hug, but because Beartrap’s waist looked to be about 60 inches around, that was impossible. Beartrap simply bucked backward, sending his tormentors flying across the ring like limp puppets. Beartrap fell on one of them and the match was over--after only four minutes.

Then came the hard work. For at least 10 minutes, Beartrap, who said he tracked animals in the mountains of Colorado as a kid, stood in the hot sun and signed autographs for the kids. One boy touched Beartrap’s arm, cautiously, as if just to find out what it felt like.

“You guys all come and see me wrestle again,” Beartrap said, perspiration drops falling from his bushy eyebrows. “I’ll be on Channel 56.”

Frances McDade, 62, also got an autograph from Beartrap. “He seems friendly and honest,” she said. A red-haired woman, she sat in the front row of folding chairs, her eyes glued to every match.

“I’ve been watching for 40 years,” she said. “That’s where my husband took me on dates, to the wrasslin’ matches. She proudly wore a lei, given to her by wrestler Junior Maivia, who had been in the opening match and whom Richards had introduced as being from “the Hawaiian Islands.”

McDade may have been the biggest fan, but the biggest fan was Bill Hardy, 57, of Cudahy, a former wrestler who wore a red flowered shirt and seemed almost as huge as Beartrap. The back of his neck was so wide that it seemed just a continuation of his back.

“I was the Golden Terror (in the ‘50s),” Hardy said. “I used to have a lot of bleached hair.”

Hardy said he wrestled as recently as a year ago and was still very proficient. “I could put you to sleep in one minute,” he said.

Hardy wasn’t overly impressed with the show. “No excitement,” he said. “You’ve got to be a terrific actor. This is too cut and dried. What they need is a big name.”

Next to the speakers, a young woman with a camera stood out from the rest of the crowd and awaited the main event between the Ripper and Rivera. Unlike the other fans, who wore simple clothes suitable for the heat and dirt, she had on a white suit, hose and high heels.

“This is like an old-fashioned carnival,” said the woman, Christine Creager, a factory worker in Garden Grove and a regular at wrestling matches. “It’s like the last fragment of that kind of entertainment.

“It’s hard to put your finger on why you like it. It’s the atmosphere, the characters. It makes me feel good. These are very charismatic individuals.”

At 3:10, with the sun having moved to a more merciful position and the music having changed to “Eye of the Tiger,” it was time for the Ripper to challenge Rivera, a man pushing 50 but still this outfit’s heavyweight champion.

“This is a title match,” Richards announced. “The belt is on the line. One fall, one-hour time limit.” Nobody was betting it would last that long.

The match began but no blood flowed, no bones broke and teeth stayed in mouths. Promises, promises.

At one point, the Ripper appeared to be gouging Rivera’s eyes, but his fingers were actually pressed against Rivera’s forehead, although from a distance few fans could tell.

Poking Rivera

The two appeared to be trying to hug each other to death when Ripper’s manager, Newman, who after a quarter-century in the wrestling business can recognize a bored crowd, saved the show. Looking like a ringmaster in his red tuxedo coat, he would stalk outside the ring, looking for opportunities to poke Rivera with his cane, then suddenly wheel toward the fans and yell, “Shut up,” even when they were not saying anything, which was often.

But that got the crowd riled up. Youngsters, not yet teen-agers, clung to the backstop in front of the stands and shouted obscenities at Newman.

Suddenly, Rivera got Savage in trouble, and Newman, predictably, tried to come to the rescue. He climbed into the ring, cane raised, but Rivera felled him with a drop kick that brought the day’s biggest roar of delight. The referee halted the match as the Ripper, gripping his side and wincing as if in unbearable pain, was hustled away by Newman. “Eye of the Tiger” was cued again and Richards said into the microphone: “The winner because of outside interference and still champion . . . Victor Rivera. Thank you for coming.”

It was not yet 3:30.

Outside the recreation room, the youngsters, the novelty of these strange visitors having yet to wear off, congregated around the door, clamoring for the Ripper. He appeared with his girlfriend, Savage Baby, an aspiring wrestler herself, and a stack of his photographs.

“Does anyone want some pictures?” the Ripper asked. “I’ll autograph them. Fork over four bucks. I know you kids want to grow up to be like the Ripper.”

The kids jeered.

“C’mon, let’s see some bucks,” the Ripper said.

He didn’t see any.

The Ripper and Savage Baby ducked back inside, and the kids took off in search of a better deal. Maybe Beartrap was still around.