Forgiven: One Man's Journey from Self-Glorification to Sanctification (42 page)

Anyway, feeling somewhat distraught about what wrestling fans posted to my website, I left to teach my youth group at a local church here in Marietta. With my mind still reeling, I walked into an auditorium filled with 600 kids, all in middle and senior high, singing in harmony their praises and worship of the Lord. I stood in one spot, I closed my eyes, I listened . . . and I cried.

Now you tell me — which world do you want to live in?

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Chapter 52

OWEN

Man, I wasn’t looking forward to writing this — but it has to be touched upon. I loved Owen Hart. I’m not just saying that because that’s what you say when somebody passes. I truly loved the guy: from the first time I ever spoke to him — that day at WrestleMania X — to the last time I ever saw him, Owen was my favorite.

I’ve got to be honest — as time went on I hated being on the road more and more. I hated leaving my family, I hated the politics that surrounded the business — it was getting to the point that I just hated everything . . . and everybody. But then when you walked into a building and saw Owen Hart, your face just lit up. Maybe it was because he was always smiling, always in search of that next practical joke. But whatever the reason, Owen was a constant reminder as to why I was still doing this — it was for people like him. Every chance I got, I used to call Owen from my office — just hearing his voice on the other end of the line would bring a smile to my face. He was 304

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simply a guy you had to love — a great father, a great husband, a great all-around human being.

Months before his death, Owen was partnering with Jeff Jarrett.

One of the ideas I had was for Owen to fall head-over-heels in love with their manager, Debra. I don’t know — just the thought of seeing Owen in love seemed like it would be great entertainment. I mean, he had that innocence about him. Even when he tried to be the tough guy — “I’m not a nugget!” — I just had to laugh. Now, this is the kind of guy Owen was: when I bounced the story past him, he didn’t want to do it. He said that even though it was a work — his wife, Martha, would get upset. You had to respect that. So I told Owen, “No problem, we’ll do something else.” Owen is one of the few men I knew in the business who remained faithful to his wife and kids — that’s especially honorable when you consider the hours, days and years he spent away from home.

With the Debra story no longer an option, I looked for other possibilities. I thought of the idea of bringing Owen’s old character, the

“Blue Blazer,” a masked superhero, into the 21st century. Again, Owen, for me, was just a natural comedian — one of those guys who didn’t realize how funny he was. Owen had no problem with this new idea

— the only thing he suggested was that maybe the Blue Blazer could somehow, some way win the Intercontinental Title to gain credibility.

The night Owen died, he was going to be crowned the wwf Intercontinental Champion.

In the weeks leading up to the pay-per-view, Owen played the bumbling modern day superhero better than even Jim Carrey could.

He was brilliant. I’ll never forget the time when Owen was to make a spectacular entrance, via a cable wire from the ceiling, and then proceed to attack Steve Blackman. Well, as the script read, the cable got stuck about five feet from the ground and Owen hung there helplessly trying to free himself as Blackman pummeled him like a red, white and blue piñata. It was entertainment at its best and Owen seemed to be enjoying it. If he wasn’t, he wasn’t letting anybody in on it.

A few days before the pay-per-view I received a phone call from 305

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Steve Taylor, who was the vp of Building Operations for the Federation. A wwf lifer, Steve told me that the people responsible for descending wcw’s Sting on
Nitro
were going to be in Kansas City, and they wanted to show us what they could do. He asked me if we could use their services that night. After thinking about it for a few moments, I said to Steve, “Let’s descend Owen. Why not let the Blue Blazer make another grand entrance?”

Up until that point Owen’s descent had not been scripted. It was added after that phone call. Quite honestly, I never even though twice about it. It had been done a million times before and it was just part of the show. But, let me make this point — it was not vital to the show. In other words, if Owen had balked — or didn’t want to do it

— it would have been scratched without even an afterthought.

The day of the pay-per-view was no different than any other.

Hours before, I was running around the backstage area making sure everybody had their material. While making my rounds I ran into Owen, who had just finished practicing the descent. I asked him how everything went and he said, “Fine.” He just had one request — could he be introduced first? Owen explained that once he was down, it took him a few minutes to take the harness off. If his opponent, the Godfather, was already in the ring, then he — in reality — would attack the blue Blazer before he was able to free himself. I told Owen no problem — we’d make the change.
Never
, at any time, did he tell me he didn’t want to descend or that he was having second thoughts.

Again, that would have been the end of it.

Let me make something perfectly clear — during the time I wrote television for both wwf and wcw, the idea of talent doing something they didn’t want to do because they were afraid of losing their jobs was nothing more than an ol’ rassler’s tale. Never during my tenure as head of creative for either company did I pressure anybody into something they didn’t want to do. And, I will also state, emphatically, neither did Vince. To this day Bret Hart says that Owen was “talked into doing a stunt he didn’t want to do.” I sure wish I knew who “talked Owen into it,” because on the heads of my three children it was neither me nor 306

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Vince. There was nothing to talk him into. The descent was an afterthought, not at all crucial to the match or the pay-per-view.

When I talk about not forcing somebody into doing something they didn’t want to do, obviously I’m not talking about doing a job (getting pinned) — I’m talking about a story line, some dialogue, a dangerous bump or even a “stunt.” As far as jobs go — everybody has to lose at some time or another in their career. Even Riff Raff occasionally got the duke over Underdog. But yeah — everybody had to do jobs whether they liked it or not. What I’m talking about is when one of the boys felt uncomfortable or unsure about doing something else.

The logic is simple — if a talent doesn’t feel comfortable doing something and you force him to go out there and do it (which would never happen), that particular segment of the show is going to be a disaster. When a wrestler doesn’t feel something, it comes across loud and clear over the boob tube. On top of that, why would you want to make somebody do something they don’t want to do? It’s wrestling . . .

it’s
fake
. There isn’t a right way or a wrong way to do
anything
. There’s a million different ways to do what needs to be done in the wrestling business. If a wrestler actually believes that insane folklore — that if you don’t do what the booker tells you to do, you’re putting your job in jeopardy — then it’s just their paranoia talking.

Following the tragedy of that day, I heard a few people talk about

“old-time rasslin’.” That Owen hadn’t wanted to do the descent but was afraid to speak up. That is absolute nonsense. Vince and I never worked that way — with anybody. Owen knew that.

About an hour before show time, I again ran into Owen. He told me about the schtick he was going to do with the Godfather. It was hysterical — typical Owen. About 30 minutes before he went out, I saw him in a maintenance outfit — I guess he was going to wear that up to his spot in the rafters so nobody would know who he was. He was getting a cup of coffee. . . . That’s the last time I saw Owen Hart alive.

It’s funny, but looking back now it’s still so vivid, seeing him that last time. Nobody else was around, and I was just watching him get 307

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coffee. It seemed like time froze. I even remember just looking at him and laughing to myself — it was just . . . Owen. When I was 18, I experienced something similar the last time I saw my grandmother.

Something, or
somebody
, told me to get back to the house before my grandparents left, just to say goodbye.

Again, I wrote the above passage two years ago, and without even understanding why, I was talking about God. That last time I saw Owen was like the experience I had had with my grandmother. I knew that I was being told something — I felt it. And it’s haunted me throughout the days and nights since Owen’s passing.

Only a few days after Owen’s death, I dreamt about him. All I can remember is him putting his hand on my shoulder and saying, “Vince, it’s all right . . . I’m all right.”

I now know that that was God speaking to me. I now know that God had much bigger plans for Owen Hart.

• • •

I was hovering around the gorilla position when Bruce Prichard started screaming, “Owen fell! Owen fell!” Bruce’s face was as red as a stop sign. I don’t know . . . it just didn’t sink in at first. A few minutes later, paramedics raced to the ring. There was dead silence in the back

— and it finally began to register. I couldn’t even watch the monitor.

The next thing I remember is the paramedics racing — with Owen laid out on a stretcher — from the gorilla position to a waiting ambulance. The Rock was alongside Owen’s stretcher. I turned away because I didn’t want to look . . . I just couldn’t see Owen like that.

When the ambulance sped from the building, man, it just wasn’t real. At first I guess it was instinct that made us go through the motions — go on with the show. I don’t think anybody knew what else to do. In the back . . . we were all just zombies: breathing, but not living. Nobody said anything to anybody. Time stood still.

About a half-hour later, Shane McMahon whispered in my ear,

“He didn’t make it.” Words can’t describe how I felt. I was devastated.

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This was Owen, man — Owen.

There were a lot of hugs that night and a lot of tears, from everyone who loved Owen: Triple H, the Rock, Chyna, Jeff. . . .

That night I went back to my hotel room and I called Amy, crying uncontrollably. All I could think of was Owen’s wife Martha and his two kids — all the time he spent away from them to earn a paycheck to support them, and now he was never going to see them again. I thought of Amy and my own kids, and I cried out loud: “Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this?”

I seriously thought about going home that night — but I couldn’t.

I just had to be with the “boys,” my other family, that following day.

The next day at tv, everybody was just beginning to come to grips with what happened. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Executive producer Kevin Dunn wanted to go on with Raw like nothing had happened. Even though I couldn’t see it at the time, Kevin was just trying to do his job, trying to do what he did best. He couldn’t have been thinking rationally — nobody was.

After Kevin made his pitch to Vince, I went into Vince’s makeshift office, fighting back tears. I told Vince that if tonight’s show wasn’t some kind of a tribute to Owen, then I was going home . . . and I meant it. Vince and Kevin then made the decision to dedicate the show to Owen. A private set was made available for anybody who wanted to express their feelings. I never even thought about it. There is no way I could have got the words out. To this day I have never watched that show . . . it’s just something I can’t do. I don’t want to ever remember Owen in death. I just want to remember that smile, that laugh.

I think about Owen frequently. He reminds me on a daily basis that nothing else really matters in this world except those you love . . .

those you would give your life for. Thinking about Owen has helped me get through some tough days. His picture still hangs on the wall in my office — the only piece of wrestling paraphernalia I have. It’s an autographed copy of the
wwf Magazine
. I’ll never forget how thrilled he was to be on his first cover.

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Vince Russo

You know, sometimes, when all the negativity rears its ugly head

— nonsense that just doesn’t matter — I wish that people would just take the time to remember Owen Hart and all that he stood for. If they did, nothing else would matter.

I want to touch upon a sidebar to this tragedy, a question that is still asked today. Should Vince McMahon have allowed the show to continue after Owen’s death? Well, what I can tell you is this — I was at the pay-per-view when Brian Pillman, a close friend of Owen Hart, had passed away just a few hours before the show. I clearly remember how the entire Hart family was scheduled to work that day. Well, minutes before the match I checked in on them to make sure that they were okay. Owen was sitting in the corner of the locker room lacing up his boots. He called me over.

“Vince . . . tell me that Brian’s not really dead,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Owen” was all I could say.

Moments later, Owen Hart went out through that curtain and gave a stellar performance. I know deep down inside that Owen did that in Brian’s memory. The night he passed away I’m sure Owen would have wanted the same thing.

No matter where my life takes me from this point, I know that I will never meet another man like Owen. I was blessed by God to be able to call him “friend” during the time he was here.

God bless you, Owen. I will never forget you.

Subconsciously, the references to God were there. At this point he was perhaps working — slowly but surely — his way to my heart.

The week following the incident, when I got together with Vince to discuss the next
Raw
— he hit me with something I’ll never forget.