FiRsT ChApTeR cOnT. - ChEcK iT oUt!!! - Wrestling - http://maxpages.com/paulwwfwebsite/FIRST_CHAPTER

That belt spoke volumes to me, and in this case it was saying, "Get the point, jabroni?!"

Good-bye, Grandpa

The man in the hospital bed looked nothing like my grandfather. Peter Maivia was a Paramount High Chief, the highest rank a Samoan can achieve. He had done so much for the wrestling business and for the Samoan community. The man I knew was a bronzed block of a man, very statuesque and proud and full of life. From his chest to his knees, every inch of his body was covered with tattoos. The artwork was reflective of his status as a high chief. Most Samoans who achieve this rank acquire the tattoos over the course of several years; my grandfather, because of his busy schedule, had all of the work done with modern tools. They ply their craft the old-fashioned way: with a needle: ink, and a tiny mallet. But there is no denying their talent. My grandfather's massive torso looked to me like a brilliant and vibrant cityscape, with dozens of intersecting lines and angles, each of which told its own little story.

This man in front of me now, in the spring of 1982, was someone else. He was frail and withered. He was tired.

My grandfather had retired from performing a few years earlier, but he was still actively involved in the business. He had purchased the territory of Hawaii from Ed Francis, another promoter and a man who happens to be the father of Russ Francis, a former All-Pro tight end for the New England Patriots and San Francisco 49ers. While my father was working the territories in the states, my grandfather was busy trying to pump life back into the business in the South Pacific. It had taken some time, but he was beginning to make progress. Unfortunately, he didn't live long enough to see it through. My grandfather was a stubborn guy, so he ignored for years the blood that he sometimes passed in the toilet, the coughing fits that left him exhausted. Don Muraco, the Magnificent Muraco, was a good friend of my father's and a contemporary of his on the wrestling circuit. He and some of the other boys would see my father in distress and encourage him to seek help. "Come on, Chief," they'd say. "You have to see a doctor." But my grandfather would simply hold up a hand and shoo them away.

Now there was nothing to be done. The cancer had ravaged his body, and my mother and I had returned to Hawaii, essentially to be with him in his final days. My father had remained behind in Portland, Oregon, where he was wrestling several nights a week. This was the hardest time in my mother's life because she was about as close to her father as a daughter could possibly be,

The hospital room was packed with visitors when we arrived. My mother pushed her way through the crowd and, sobbing like I had never heard, threw herself on top of my grandfather. It was so hard to see her like that. And to make matters even worse, two wrestlers who were in the room, a couple of big guys who had never met my mom, and who thought she was just some grieving, desperate fan, decided to act like bouncers. They pulled her off my grandfather and tried to drag her out of the room.

"You'll have to wait outside, ma'am"one of them said. My mother continued to wail uncontrollably. She wasn't even capable of protesting. Fortunately, my grandfather saw what was going on and quickly intervened.

"No, no, no" she said. "This is his daughter."

After my mother stopped hugging him, I walked up and gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "Hi, Grandpa. I love you." But he couldn't respond. I held his hand and looked down at him, waiting for him to flash that big smile of his, the one that could light up the island. But it didn't come.

Two weeks later High Chief Peter Maivia passed away. There was a massive ceremony in Honolulu, attended by thousands of people. I had always known that my grandfather commanded tremendous respect, but I had never fully understood just how universally well liked he was. He rests now in Diamond Head, which is a big mountain outside Honolulu. My only regret is that he is not here now to see the fruits of my labor, but I believe he looks down on me and smiles. I believe he is proud of what his grandson has accomplished. I think he's proud of what I've done with sports-entertainment, bringing to the forefront the fact that what we do is showmanship and theater but nonetheless an extraordinary athletic achievement. And I think he'd be proud of what the business has accomplished because he devoted his life to it.

My grandfather's final wish was to have my grandmother assume responsibility for his business. And, of course, she honored that wish. She took over the territory and immediately brought in Lars Anderson, who is part of one of the most famous families in wrestling, to act as a booker. She devoted all of her time and spirit to this task, despite the fact the she wasn't a young woman, and soon the business began to flourish. Leah Maivia was no absentee owner, no corporate figurehead, either. She was a hands-on leader and the first woman promoter our business had ever seen. She even wound up being voted vice president of the National Wrestling Alliance, which was more of a political move than anything else, but nonetheless was a tremendous honor. She was instrumental in bringing a weekly television wrestling show to Hawaii. She began staging huge monthly shows featuring all of the best wrestlers in the territory. And, most important of all, she organized the annual High Chief Peter Maivia Memorial Tribute Show, in which wrestling stars form all over the world would participate. Andre the Giant, a close friend of my grandfather's, always showed up. Ric Flair was a given, too. And, of course, you'd have your local guys on the undercard. Every year the Blaisdale Arena would be sold out. The tribute shows was one of the biggest events on the island.

It was during one of these shows that I got my first taste of the selfishness and politicking that can make wrestling a tough business. I was thirteen years old, and even though my father was in the World Wrestling Federation and we were based in the Northeast, we always went back to Hawaii to help out with the memorial show. At this time, Lars Anderson was not only the booker for the territory but also the Polynesian champion. He was scheduled to wrestle a guy named Bad News Allen on this night; in fact, he was supposed to drop the Polynesian belt to Bad News Allen ("dropping the belt" in our industry means doing a favor…letting the other guy win). But Lars Anderson balked at the request. About half an hour before the show started I overheard my grandmother and father talking about how Lars was refusing to drop the belt. This happens sometimes in our business. A lot of guys, whether it's because they start to believe their own press or whatever, they sometimes hold up promoters or hold up a show by refusing to do a job.

Lars's refusal was an insult not only to my grandmother but to the memory of my grandfather, and I remember becoming enraged when I heard that this was going on. I could feel my blood boil as I worked myself into a frenzy of anger: This son of a bitch! This is my grandfather's memorial" This guy is supposed to be here to pay his respects for what my grandfather did for this business, how he helped pave he way for everyone here! And this guy is thinking only of himself!

The first problem was that Lars was a booker. That was a huge strike against him. Time and again it has been proven that that equation is fatally flawed. You can't be a booker for a company and also wrestle for that company. It's a conflict of interest, and it just will not work. Naturally, if you're a booker, you're going to want to schedule yourself on top; you're going to want to appear in the main event. It just makes for a bad recipe.

I wasn't capable of rational analysis at the time. I was thirteen years old, my body was just starting to pump testosterone to my muscles, and my temper often spiked without warning. I wanted everything to go smoothly for my grandfather's sake, for his memory's sake, and for all the other guys. So I made up my mind: I may be thirteen years old and this guy can kick my ass, but it's an ass-kicking I'm going to have to take!

I stormed into the dressing room and looked around for Lars. At thirteen, I didn't understand whey he was doing this, whether it was personal, or simply a matter of business, and I didn't care. All I knew was that he was disrespecting my grandfather's show. I was so angry that I wasn't even aware of anyone else being in the room. I marched right up to him, pointed a finer, and said, "You son of a bitch! You don't want to drop the belt? This is my grandfather's night and you're disrespecting him like that?! What's wrong with you?!"

My dad, as it turned out, was in the corner talking to some of the boys about a few things, and when he heard me yelling, he looked over with stunned disbelief in his eyes. I could see that he was just shocked. Lars was six foot three, 260 pounds- a big, strong, full grown bear of a man, and here was this kid challenging him, screaming at him, crying.

"I'll kick your ass, you selfish bastard!"

I thought I was doing the right thing. But everyone was angry with me, including my father and grandmother. They were so busy trying to put on a show that the last thing they needed was me going crazy in front of everyone. So my mother took me off to the side and said, "Why did you do that? What happened?"

"This is Grandpa's night, I choked out. "And look what he's doing. He's disrespecting my grandfather. How can he don this?"

Even at thirteen, I remember understanding the situation perfectly and being acutely aware of the implications. "This business is a work," I cried. "How can he be so selfish?"

My mother gave me a hug, brushed my hair, and said, "That may be true, but it's not your place to say anything."

And with that one sentence I snapped out of it. She was right, as usual. So I apologized to my mother and father and grandmother, and to everyone else who had been exposed to my tirade. I even apologized to Lars Anderson even though it sickened me to do so. Looking back, I regret losing my temper because it embarrassed my family. But I don't regret speaking my mind. This business is a work, which is another way of saying that the results are predetermined, and we all know it. Winning isn't the point - doing your job and doing it well is all that matters. The people and the business come first. I understood that then, even when I was just a stupid loudmouthed kid, and I understand it now...

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