Former Pro Wrestler Becomes Priest at 76

He has traded in his leopard-skin loincloth for the Cloth at a time when many people his age are busy praising the putter.

At age 76, former professional wrestler Bill Olivas--the man they once called “Elephant Boy,” the “Wild Man of Borneo” and “Zando Zabo, the bushy-haired wrestling gypsy from South America”--has been pinned by the Lord to serve his people.

During a recent ceremony at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in Ojai, Olivas became the oldest of about 500 men to be ordained as Catholic priests this year.

“Sometimes I hear that you should retire at 65 or 70, even in the priesthood,” Olivas said. “Why? If you’re feeling great, why are you going to retire from serving the Lord?”

The ordination service finished what Olivas started half a century ago, before he marched off to World War II to brave German fire at Normandy and the Battle of the Bulge. Before he launched a worldwide pro wrestling career. Before he and his wife managed the idyllic Matilija Hot Springs for more than two decades.

“The Lord had other things for me to do before he finally said, ‘I’ve got you,’ ” Olivas said with a big laugh.

Those who know Olivas are not surprised to see him dedicate his golden years to God, even when, according to church officials, the average retirement age of a priest is 70.

Born and raised in Ojai, Olivas is the great-great-grandson of Don Olivas, founder of Ventura’s historic Olivas Adobe. It was during his teenage days as a St. Thomas Aquinas altar boy that Olivas said he first got the call.

He spent two years after high school studying for the priesthood in a junior seminary in Los Angeles. But when World War II erupted, his father, William Olivas Sr., wanted his son to enlist.

His mother, Solena Ayala Olivas, had dreamed of her son becoming a priest. She cried when he enlisted.

“Mom, it’s my decision,” he remembers telling her. “If God wants me to be a priest, he’ll keep me safe.”

Nine months before the D-day invasion on the beaches of Normandy, 18-year-old Olivas arrived in England as a member of an Army engineering outfit.

He was a clean-cut seminary dropout and ex-high school wrestler, not the type to drink or smoke or hang out in the pubs. Instead, he lifted weights in the local gym, where he met a professional wrestler named Bobby Coleman.

Every Friday, Olivas and his pals went to a Southampton arena, where pro wrestlers earned 70 pounds--about $210--per match. One night, Coleman’s opponent didn’t show up, and Coleman urged his friend to enter the ring.

Olivas wrestled that night--and almost every Friday after that.

Not long afterward, war called again, and Olivas was soon clearing mines from the beaches of Normandy, trudging through the icy Battle of the Bulge, watching too many friends die along the way.

Just before Olivas left England, Coleman passed along his mother’s phone number in Los Angeles. Just in case Olivas ever wanted to be a pro wrestler.

Ojai seemed an awfully small place when he got home. He couldn’t sit still. Studying seemed unrealistic. The clap of a hand, the boom of a dropped book sent him back to the front lines.

“This is not for me,” he told his parents. “I’m leaving. I’m going to be a professional wrestler.”

He became a star on the pro wrestling circuit, fighting with the likes of Gorgeous George in a 25-year career that took him across the United States, Europe, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa.

When Olivas’ wrestling career was over and he and his wife returned to Ojai, Ventura County was trying to get rid of Matilija Hot Springs after losing money on the spa for years. The couple signed a lease and made the mountain resort their career.

During two decades at Matilija, Olivas had reconnected with the Catholic Church, attending services at St. Thomas Aquinas. He became a deacon there, allowing him to do everything a priest does except say Mass and hear confession.

After his wife’s death, Olivas moved into the rectory and spent a decade as the church’s business manager.

In 1991, Olivas joined the Augustinian order as a brother. Within the last two years, he learned that his years of scriptural study and work as a deacon and brother meant that he needed only a few seminary courses to become a priest.

“I say you’re never too old,” Olivas said. “I’m the oldest altar boy around here. I’ve been serving the Lord all these years. You’re never too old. You’re never too old.”