Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (19 page)

But that was the beauty of the place — nobody cared about the appearance. Man, it was all about those “Castles.” A little square piece of brown meat smothered with onions, plopped with a pickle, drowned in ketchup and then neatly,
neatly
placed in a little bun exactly the size of the miniature burger. Unbelievable. There was nothing like them, and still isn’t. “Krystals?” Are you kidding me?

Nothing but a weak imitation.

Perhaps the best thing about White Castle was the belly-churning, onion-breath stinking
agita
(an Italian term for when food repeats on you). Oh, the
agita
. You would be burping up those bad boys for weeks — and they’d be tasting better every time.

The next day, I formally applied for the job of editor of the
World
Wrestling Federation Magazine
. The person that would be doing the hiring was a British gentleman by the name of Tom Emanuel.

Emanuel headed up the publications department, and had been doing so for several years. Tom had an excellent relationship with Linda McMahon, who by now
had
to know the name Vince Russo. So I did the resumé, got an audience with Emanuel, and literally once 130

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again sold like an mci solicitor. Then I waited, waited, waited and waited some more. Man, that time was painful. Let’s face it — I was either in or out. If I wasn’t good enough to be the editor, then where was I going? What? Was I going to freelance for the next five years?

No way — this was it, in or out.

Several weeks passed, during which I tortured myself mentally and emotionally. Man, I hate that part about getting a job. I guess that’s why I hate working for people in general. Enough of the waiting game — was I in or not? Somebody tell me please!

Finally, Emanuel did. With that one phone call my entire life would change forever. With the words, “You’ve got the job,” the Appliance Giant was dead, and Vince Russo was welcomed into Titan Tower.

What part of that don’t you understand?
Titan Tower!
The same Titan Tower where, only a few short months earlier, sometime in the middle of the night, the Mat Rat and I had delivered a demo tape to a security guard at the front door looking like two of the biggest marks you’ve ever seen! Captured on this cheap, plastic vhs tape were all our hopes and dreams of getting into the glorious “Fed.” (I later found out only Howard Finkel, the wwf ring announcer, saw that tape.) Titan Tower — Mecca. The dream had come true. I’m not going to lie to you; when I hung up with Emanuel, I cried. They weren’t tears of joy, but rather tears of relief. I knew at that time that it was a make-it-or-break-it situation, and to be honest with you — there was no plan B.

There was never a plan B with me. The way I looked at it at the time, you only need a plan B if you forsee plan A failing. My mindset was: don’t let it fail; see it through until it plays out just like you visualized.

For me it was always about following the dream, no matter how difficult the journey became. See it, believe it, live it. My only problem was I never imagined, years later, that dream would become my worst nightmare.

When I was on my quest to get a job with the wwf — I referred to it as

“my” dream. It was “my” dream, and “I” was going to make it happen.

Nobody else was going to have any say about it. It was what I wanted.

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How many of us live this way? How many of us decide that we’re going to be what we want to be, and that’s just the way it’s going to be.

If that’s the case, then why didn’t I play baseball for the San Francisco Giants during my prime? It’s not because I didn’t want to, but rather because I didn’t have the gift. I think they call it the God-given gift.

Sinatra had the God-given gift to sing; Groucho Marx had the God-given gift to make people laugh; Tiger Woods has the God-given gift to golf.

The truth is, we all have a gift. We just need to go with our strengths (they’re our strengths for a reason), pray and then God will unravel his plan for how we are to use those gifts to glorify
his
kingdom.

But keep one thing in mind — we aren’t going to dictate to God what our role is going to be. If we do, then we are attempting to please ourselves, and that’s not what God intended. As I stated earlier, that’s why some guys never make it in wrestling. It’s not necessarily that they weren’t good enough — but perhaps it was not God’s plan for them to be wrestlers. If they do become wrestlers because it was “their” desire and “their” dream, how many of them walk away miserable, years later, simply because they didn’t listen, and didn’t follow God’s plan?

Given the current state of the wwe, many ask me why I don’t go back to Vince. “Imagine the money you could make.” Well, the answer is simple — that’s not in God’s plan. Writing wrestling was my God-given gift.

God’s plan is right here, right now, in me glorifying his name through these words.

God — you are everything. Without you I am nothing. Lead and I will follow. I am here for one reason — to carry out your plan.

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Chapter 26

WELCOME TO TITAN TOWER

To those who say Vince Russo never paid his dues: digest this. Okay, so I was going to the big time — Titan Tower, located in beautiful Stamford, Connecticut. One small problem — I lived in beautiful Holbrook, Long Island. Yeah, I was going to move, but you don’t sell your condo in a day. So, every morning the journey would begin: the Long Island Expressway, over the Throgs Neck Bridge, to 95, to Stamford, Connecticut. The journey was five hours a day — in traffic — door to door. I can still remember my first day on the job.

When my trek was over at about 9 o’clock at night, I pulled into the parking lot of my condo complex thinking: “What have you done?

Was it all worth this?” For that first week I was second-guessing myself every minute of the day, but things worked themselves out, and I finally sold my condo and relocated my family to Stamford.

Fortunately, the adjustment wasn’t difficult, as Stamford was a lot like Long Island. But until we were able to find an affordable house, 133

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Amy, myself, Will, VJ and Cagney, my mixed mutt, all had to contend with each other in a one-room apartment the company was putting us up in. Man that was insanely ridiculous! But again, we managed until we found that affordable house. I say affordable, because I was hired at $60,000 a year. I know that’s not much, but at the time it was a fortune to me! I had never seen that kind of coin before. But in Connecticut, what you got for the dollar was limited. Put it this way

— the Flintstones had a bigger house. Still, I was happy — that is until I was immediately reminded of Corporate America.

Man, I almost forgot what it was like working in Corporate America. I mean, there’s nothing worse than wearing a suit and tie to work every day, especially when you’re working for a wrestling company. Give me a break!

Another big pet peeve? Why do guys wear suits and ties to work?

Who agreed to this unexplained ritual? Why must society always dictate everything we do or say? Why are grown men expected to follow this outdated dress code? Nobody wears a suit and tie hanging around the house. No — we wear loose clothing, preferably sweats — so we can be comfortable. So, why would we want to be
uncomfortable
eight hours a day, five days a week? A tight collar around your neck is the equivalent of wearing pants that are too tight. It’s so uncomfortable, how can guys do it everyday? How do Pat Riley and Phil Jackson coach basketball games while rompin’ and stompin’ up and down the sidelines in Gucci suits? To me, it’s one of the mysteries of life. When I went to Titan, I played the game of “Dress Up Ken” from March of

’94 until December 31, 1994. My New Year’s resolution was to
never
wear a shirt and tie to work again — and I never have.

Ironically enough, over a period of time, everybody followed my lead and left their shirts and ties at home. That is, of course, with the exception of those trying desperately to get ahead.

While I’m on the subject, when I was first hired by the wwf there was also an unwritten law that you weren’t allowed to have facial hair.

For whatever reason, Vince
hated
facial hair. Is that a questionable position, or what? I mean look what the beard did for Lincoln, or 134

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how about Lennon, in his early Yoko era. One guy freed slaves, while the other gave peace a chance. Were they bad guys because they skipped the Track ii every morning?

I started at Titan literally weeks before WrestleMania x. So as you can imagine, it was a thrill to actually attend the Granddaddy of Them All as an employee, especially since it was being held in my own backyard — Madison Square Garden. My two fondest memories of that grand event were Linda McMahon telling me to “lose my gum” at the fan festival, and having the privilege of personally telling Owen Hart immediately following the spectacle what a great match he’d had against his brother Bret.

I can go on and on about Owen Hart, and later I will, but I’ll stick to the story for now. WrestleMania x was the first time Owen and Bret worked a match of such magnitude together in the federation. In my opinion — they not only tore the house down — they ripped the plants from the garden. On a personal level, the match meant so much to the brothers. I don’t know if I’ve ever met any two individuals with more pride than Bret and Owen Hart. It was just in their bloodlines. The Harts were a wrestling family, and even when they were boys, their father, Stu Hart, a wrestling legend in his own right, always expected a lot. Now don’t misunderstand me, Stu was no Great Santini — the boys
wanted
to make him proud, and they always did. The business meant everything to Bret and Owen. Never, and I mean
never
, would these two guys just go through the motions. Every time out, they performed as if it was their last match — and you know what? The fans knew it, and respected them for it. There is just so much to say about these two men.

To this day, WrestleMania x really stands out, for several reasons.

Of course the first is that it was my first major event as part of the Titan family. But the second? Little did I know that from that early high, everything would come crashing down around me. My Mecca would soon turn out to be a knife-wielding ghetto in the South Bronx.

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Chapter 27

WORLD WRESTLING

FEDERATION MAGAZINE

So now I’ve got the office, the suit and tie, and I’m the editor of
World
Wrestling Federation Magazine
. In those first few weeks, I was simply getting my feet wet. Let’s face facts — what had I ever been the editor of, aside from my college newspaper,
The Shield?
It was a joke that I was even given the position. What kind of experience did I have? I’d watched wrestling as a kid? I’d hosted a radio show? I freelanced an article on Adam Bomb? Yeah, you’re right — I had no business being there . . . but I was. So to educate myself, quickly, I buddied-up to the assistant editor, Louie Gianfriddo.

The last paragraph was written two years ago — at a time when Jesus Christ and myself were strangers at best. What’s ironic now are my own words . . . “I had no business being there . . . but, I was.” Wow, those words are sautéed in divine truth. I had no business being there . . . but I was. So who placed me there? And why?

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I am so blessed to have the privilege of having my own words to reflect on from before I was saved. For those of you who think Russo is nuts, just look at the then and the now.

“I had no business being there . . . but I was.” Somebody had a reason for my being there — somebody I wouldn’t personally meet until some 10 years later.

About six or seven years my junior, to know Louie was to love him.

Talk about a Guinea! This guy was Capone, DeNiro, Stallone, Gandolfini, Pesci and Sinatra all rolled into one. Louie G. wrote the book on Guinea! The accent, the dress, the attitude, the little Guinea moustache — the cheeks swollen all the way out to Queens because his face was so overloaded with dip. I’m talking the real deal here. I swear to you, this kid had to be running numbers by day. And he was just so fascinated with gangsters. He knew every gangster, their nicknames, who ratted on who, who rubbed out who — he not only wrote the book on goodfellas, in his mind he lived it.
Fahgettaboutit!

I immediately took a liking to this kid — again it was the loyalty thing. Louie was more loyal than a kennel full of basset hounds. If anyone messed with me, they messed with Louie. And believe me, this was an asset. Even though he was five-foot-nothing, Louie could deadlift more than 500 pounds. The guy was an amateur bodybuilder who won many a contest in his day.

Louie always compared the wrestling business to the mafia. “Are you on the inside, or the outside?” was his philosophy. “Cause if you’re on the outside, it’s no good. They’ll never accept you as one of theirs.” Well, no doubt I was on the outside, until Louie brought me in. He taught me the rules of “the road.” In those early days, I traveled with Louie as much as possible, wanting to learn all about the life of the boys. The fact was, Louie was one of the best teachers I ever had.

Louie taught me what the wrestling business was all about.

After hangin’ and bangin’ with Louie for a few weeks, I got a good sense of this new world. Behind the curtain was a society within itself.

The laws were their own, and the rules of the real world just didn’t 137

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exist. Being back in the civilized world right now, it’s hard to explain.