Just prior to starting kindergarten in the late summer of 1961 I could stay up until 10 pm on Monday nights to watch WWWF professional wrestlers like Bruno Sammartino and ‘Baron’ Mikel Scicluna. I know what you are thinking, how is a pretend sporting event relevant to anything. You are right, it is not, but it taught me something about people. My great-grandmother was a stout, proud black woman, who had lost her own daughter in a train accident and had two sons who served in two branches of the military. She was raised by her grandmother and was the granddaughter of a former slave. Growing up I routinely heard her describe her life as being hard for a “colored woman” but her pride never allowed her to relent.
I was the son of single teenage mother, which in 1956 was scandalous. My relationship with my “Ma” as I called my great-grandmother, was the most precious thing in my life. I was five years old in 1961, sitting on my granny’s lap, comforted within her embrace and stationed on the end of the couch closest to the TV because her hearing was failing, is the first real cognitive memory I have of her. She would squeal when the strapping Italian hero [ Bruno Sammartino] came on the screen. She would tell me there is a man who, “was not born in America, just like our people” but proves you can be what you want. Ma was a true believer, and therefore so was I. She winced at every poke in the eye, every slam of Bruno’s head into the turnbuckle or foreign object jammed into his throat. She believed every affront to her hero was real and I was outraged for her.
I tell this story because those moments taught me that people from everywhere have more in common than we have differences. Bruno was a white man from a totally different culture, but my granny explained, to me, he grew up poor, like her, and his family escaped oppression. I was confused but nodded knowingly. I did not feel poor, I was loved. I thought oppression was a singing group. My granny would protect me from everything; why should I be afraid? Her squeal intensified when Bruno defended his championship against ‘Baron’ Mikel Scicluna. Scicluna was a heel. The purpose of the heel was to complete the passion play; good versus evil, right versus wrong, fair play versus the cheat. Bruno would start out strong, the tide would turn Bruno would take a beating but ultimately his strength and character prevailed, Ma was pleased. Having endured all the struggles and little microaggressions that plagued the lives of “colored folks” she would say, “a foreigner, who came to this country, and was laughed at for not speaking American, could win.” Bruno gave her hope
Looking at the history of professional wrestling obviously it is riddled with the most racist and blatant stereotypes in entertainment history; Bobo(s), Killer(s), Chief(s) and Nature Boy(s) but it has a simplicity of right and wrong that appeals to children and through Ma’s eyes, me.
Since 1961 I have followed the whimsy and on Monday nights I still feel the warmth of my great-granny’s arms and security of her bosom when I snuggled up, as a five-year-old was held tight and yelled along with her, kill ‘em…
