Being from Norwalk I will add Calvin Murphy (who I did see play many times). In football Andy Robustelli, Rosie Grier, Pete Gogolak (who all trained at Fairfield), Billy White Shoes Johnson (because in pickup games everyone wanted to be him), Homer Jones (who I drew blood from once). In baseball of course Micky, Whitey, Yogi (who I met many times in NJ) and in professional wresting, Bobo Brazil, Bruno, Haystacks and my fav Eduardo Carpentier the Flying Frenchman who once picked me up and carried me around the ring on my birthday!!
Wow, this second page of the thread has unlocked the vault. I'm sure I could delight in this continuing for quite some time.
My sole period of watching wresting was highlighted by everyone you mentioned (Samartino and Calhoun, for the record), to which I'd add Killer Kowalski and mention of "Big Daddy" Lipscomb, who wrestled for a brief period but was better known as a Baltimore Colts defensive lineman, and was the first person I ever heard of who died from a drug overdose. After Gene Conley, he was my second exposure to a two-sport professional athlete, as well as one of my first exposures to a player known almost exclusively by his nickname. It was only in his obituary that I half-understood that I learned his true name was Eugene.
All of the above noted, I'm writing because I most loved when Carpentier would escape certain defeat, criss-cross the ring several times, climb the ropes, and belly flop from above onto his larger opponent thereby pinning him down for the 'surprise' victory. I can't believe (meaning that I do) that he carried you around the ring on your birthday!! Your story reminds me of this undoubted tale related directly from the source to my partner Laura and me at an Oneg Shabbat at Temple Beth El in Great Neck, NY a quarter century ago.
The attached Wikipedia entry gets credit for doing most of the heavy lifting, providing back story and context for my second-hand experience of something equivalent to your first-hand brush with greatness. It's perfect that you sandwiched in brief mention of iconic Yankees between classic ("New York football") Giants greats.
en.wikipedia.org
Starting in the mid-90s, Laura would go on Saturday mornings to Torah study. Almost nothing in her past would have indicated that she'd have pursued this, but she enjoyed the cameraderie and intellectual stimulation. I'd generally awaken later on Saturday, after having spent the weekdays in Manhattan where I was in law school somewhat working out my midlife crisis, and returning to Long Island for family/domestic life that also included Saturday night lap swimming at the North Hempstead town pool; bar pie pizza from Eddie's (or Grandma slices from Umberto's); and vintage Grateful Dead live recordings on WBAI's "Morning Dew" radio program.
Laura delighted in poems regularly shared by one of her classmates, a slight, compact, quiet older gentleman whose words combined beauty and immediate impact...perfect examples of poetry for people don't think they understand or like poetry.
One night, the Friday worship service featured members of the Torah study group and, as was custom, there was a reception afterward, Kiddush wine, challah, and small pastries. I was asked to hurry myself out of the city and attend that night, and was happy to do so.
At the Oneg a chatty, elegant, mature woman took an instant liking to me. She was fun and funny and curious, and wore a substantial diamond on her wedding ring finger. I made no efforts to escape from her attention, but Laura wandered over to explore whether I might like some relief. Instead, Phyllis Yohai related the tale of her husband Morrie's business success, and his minor-legendary status as the originator of the Cheese Doodle. The best part of the story was that the name for the extruded, air puffed snack was chosen because in size & shape the finished product looked like little dog doodies. Having been raised in a Bronx Ashkenazi Jewish environment, Laura loved that her family's chosen term for solid waste was put to such fanciful use. Better still, the story had a "mum's the word" coda in which Phyllis confided (Joan Rivers-like), "Morris would kill me if he knew I told you this." Her secret reveal would remain secure with us.
The mysterious quiet man with the wispy pony tail indeed lived up to the, "I wonder what's the deal with him" curiosity that reasonably arose in response to his Torah commentary and beautiful poems. His loyal, proud, loving wife was the extrovert; he was the introvert. But that doesn't account for my summoning and documenting this memory here, today, because (as Hillel said), "If not now, when?"
At some later date, I attended another Friday service and reception afterward, and Phyllis recognized Laura & me, and brought her modest husband over to meet us. Having presumably been properly vetted by his wife, Laura and I enjoyed casual company with the Yohais, and Morrie shared from his own Bronx childhood a generation before Laura's earliest years having been spent there before moving to more suburban Queens for her growing up years.
Finally we move to the story inspired by mention of a young boy carried around the professional wrestling ring.
Morrie told us of receiving a new bicycle somewhere around his 10th birthday and riding it to nearby Yankee Stadium during the baseball field's first decade. During this first ride, he heard a voice call out, "Hey kid..." by a man who expressed interest in his shiny new bicycle. "Mind if I take it for a ride?"
The trusting boy then watched in awe as Babe Ruth rode around the Yankee Stadium parking lot, showing off his skills with self-delight equal to that of the youngster who felt like he was inhabiting a dream.
Nothing about Morrie Yohai's demeanor or presentation before or after suggested he was given to fabulism. He knew the value of his story, but he related it more in wonder than anything else. He was comfortably in his 70s, where I've just begun mine. Recollections and a felt need to seize the opening to capture, shape, and share them are increasingly familiar to me.
For this, I missed ESPN Game Day.
And now, a haircut, some errands & home maintenance, late afternoon-into-bedtime play & care with a two-year old, all leading to 8pm game time.
Go Huskies!
Ugh, I don't have time to re-read/proofread this single-take memory. I'll have to copy-and-paste it elsewhere to review, wince, laugh, and make corrections (perhaps even edits or proportion or clarity) later.
