Ted DiBiase Receives 2010 Iron Mike:

An Award; An Inspiration
by Jeff Sharkey
Photos Courtesy Bob Leonard, Darla Taylor, Roger Deem, Steve Rosen

Upon completion of nearly 80 minutes interviewing Ted DiBiase over the phone, there’s a parallel easily drawn between this dialogue and his past wrestling promos.  Be it as a rising babyface talent, or from listening to his heel comments broadcast nationwide at the desk of Gordon Solie on Superstation WTBS, it is a self-assured coolness he conveys.  A confident quality that with every word uttered, his audience can see that he believes what he says, and thus they can too, even if they might disagree with his viewpoint.

Only once during the course of the interview is there a deviation from his baritone.  DiBiase’s voice wavers slightly as he is asked to comment on the scope of his being selected as the Cauliflower Alley Club’s 2010 recipient of the Iron Mike Award.  “This is one of those times when I wish my Dad was here to see this,” DiBiase says.  “This award is voted on not only by my peers… but by my father’s peers as well.  It’s the highest award that can be given to a pro wrestler.  It’s perhaps the most sentimental award you could receive.  I think it’s pretty cool, and it’s very special to me.”

This sentimental quality holds dual meaning for DiBiase.  Not only is the Iron Mike name a tribute to CAC founder and long-serving President, Iron Mike Mazurki; the  moniker also can be attributed to Ted’s father, Iron Mike DiBiase.  The elder DiBiase carved his niche as a rugged individual in the already rough sport of wrestling, and was married to ladies’ wrestling star Helen Hild, Ted’s mother. “I can remember seeing Mike DiBiase on the TV show TEXAS RASSLIN’ with Ves Box,” recalls Larry Matysik, longtime office manager of the St. Louis Wrestling Club and host of WRESTLING AT THE CHASE in St. Louis.  “He wrestled alongside a lot of great stars like Danny Plechas, Lou Thesz, Ray Gunkel and Larry Chene.”  After a match in Texas in 1969, Iron Mike DiBiase suffered a heart attack and passed away shortly afterward.

Just a few years later, perhaps more than ironically, young Ted DiBiase received his early doctrination into the pro wrestling business, also in a Texas ring.  “I started by refereeing in the Amarillo territory after I left college in the summer of 1975.  I was the next on the long list of guys who attended West Texas State University and played on the football team to go into professional wrestling,” DiBiase said.  That list included Terry Funk, Dory Funk, Jr., Dusty Rhodes, Bobby Duncum, Bruiser Brody, Stan Hansen, Tito Santana, Tully Blanchard, Manny Fernandez, Barry Windham and Kelly Kiniski; some got their start earlier and some followed in Ted’s footsteps.

“Refereeing gave me a huge education just by being in the ring, and it was a great workout.  Working with seasoned veterans, you’re as close as you can get to feeling the people… and learn about timing,” DiBiase said.   Faced with an injury that was sure to mean reduced playing time in his senior year, Ted took the advice of someone who would play an integral part in his career down the road.  “Dick Murdoch invited me to come get my feet wet, and then go back to finish my senior year.  I already knew that I wanted to wrestle because I loved it so much,” DiBiase said.  “In hindsight, I should have gone back to get my college education.  But I was 21 years old, and stupid.”

DiBiase used Bill Watts’ Mid-South Wrestling as a base of operations for the first 12 years of his career beginning in 1975.  He notes his appearances in the ring for the Funk Brothers in Amarillo, and also for Bob Geigel in the Central States office.  ‘”Bob, Pat O’Connor, and Harley Race… these were men my father was close with,” DiBiase said.  But it was a multi-year love affair between Ted and the St. Louis wrestling fans that made the second generation DiBiase grow into a polished star.

“St. Louis was essentially a one-city territory… and if you got over there and were featured, that LAUNCHED you,” DiBiase said.  “The value of my experience in St. Louis is huge.”  Larry Matysik concurs.  “I really think that, especially for the time of what wrestling was in the 1970s, Ted was the perfect example of a babyface.   Athletic, literate… and gave a good accounting of himself in public. Sam Muchnick was a strong booster of Ted’s.   After his first St. Louis television match (a draw with Buck Robely) we knew it; I said ‘the kid’s gonna be good.’  He just needed to get experience and avoid getting hurt or burned out.  we knew he had ‘IT’ and it fit within the context of our circumstances.”

Both DiBiase and Matysik enjoy retelling one tale of St. Louis wrestling that took place at the KPLR-TV studio for WRESTLING AT THE CHASE.  “Before every taping, Sam Muchnick would give “the speech” to the wrestlers.  It was the same every time…. we are guests of this station, so respect their property.  No two men on the floor…stay away from tables and chairs… and don’t touch the TV equipment,” Matsyik said.  “Ted heard that speech, and then went out for a tag team match with Bob Sweetan and Dick Murdoch, facing Ted and Rocky Johnson.”

DiBiase tags in at this point to heighten the suspense.  “Dick grabs me and says ‘no two men on the floor’… and then tosses me outside and follows me!  Next he says ‘stay away from the furniture’ and proceeds to slam my head into the announcer’s table!   Then he says ‘don’t touch the TV equipment’ and starts to choke me with one of the TV camera cables!   When he was done, all he said was ‘now do all of that stuff to me’!!   So that’s exactly what I did; I fought him all over the place, slammed his head into the table, and choked him with the cable,” DiBiase said.

The tremendous match finally concluded and DiBiase walked up the steps to the control room, where he met Sam Muchnick at the top.  “I expected us to get our asses chewed… and there’s Sam.  All he says is, “Great match, guys!”   Smiling in the doorway down the hall was Dick Murdoch.  It was only one of the times DiBiase and Murdoch would cross paths in the course of their careers. 

“Dick Murdoch doesn’t get the credit that he deserves; he was one of the greatest workers we ever had.   I think the powers-that-be were afraid to ever put the World title on him for fear he wouldn’t take it as seriously as he needed to,” DiBiase said.  “Dick was just like a little boy who didn’t want to grow up.  He was such a naturally-gifted guy, one of those that I really admired.”

DiBiase became Missouri State champion in February 1978, being used as a replacement for Murdoch as a way to unseat Dick Slater from the throne.  But Murdoch captured the strap just a few weeks later in a back-and-forth struggle on television.  Despite the loss, DiBiase had been established, with Murdoch playing a large part in getting him over with the audience.

Upon mentioning Murdoch as one of his influences, he is pressed for a short list of others who he would include in that category.  “Terry Funk, Harley Race, Bill Watts, Murdoch…and Killer Karl Kox.  He’s the one who taught me that ‘less is more’… it wasn’t just what you did but WHEN you did it that was important.  He had such great timing, and really told the story and the drama of the match.  When people tell me I was a great technician, I have to say that it puts me right up there with some people who I hold in high esteem… guys who helped shape me,” DiBiase said.

Another watermark in Ted’s career was another St. Louis TV tag bout with NWA World Champion Race and DiBiase on opposing sides.  Following a suplex attempt that was reversed by DiBiase, Race found himself pinned for the three-count, victim of DiBiase’s belly-to-back suplex.  In the excitement of the upset, ring announcer Mickey Garagiola announced DiBiase as “the NEW NWA World Heavyweight Champion” which sent Sam Muchnick into temporary panic mode.  Larry Matysik remembers, “Because it was Mickey getting carried away in the moment, and with his honest excitement it came off so naturally, I don’t think it would have worked if it had been planned.”

That boosted DiBiase into a main event for the World title on November 24, 1978 against Race.  After a close battle, DiBiase’s misjudged Thesz press on Race left him whiplashed on the top rope and unable to continue.  “But Ted had made it,” Matysik said.  “It was a textbook way to be making a young star.”

Indeed, there were many chapters in the DiBiase textbook during the close of the 1970s and the start of the eighties.  Fan support was strong and undying at this point, as Darla Taylor, CAC member and longtime St. Louis fan remembers.  “Look at these stars Ted clashed with -Jerry and Jack Brisco, Bob Slaughter, Jim Valiant, Roger Kirby, Ox Baker, Ken Patera, Big John Studd, Baron Von Raschke. and so many more.  Is it any wonder Ted DiBiase is a name everyone in St. Louis still remembers?  He was a true babyface who never had to beg for a crowd response, because they were with him from the opening bell !”

The infamous rematch with Race for the NWA World title at Kiel Auditorium on February 6, 1981 ended with what became known as “the Dusty finish” for its frequented use while Dusty Rhodes booked for Jim Crockett in the mid 1980s.  But in St. Louis, the result was booked to make all parties come out strong.  The referee of record, Charles Venator, was knocked down, yet he still witnessed Race tossing DiBiase over the top rope, an act that served as grounds for disqualification. Yet before that decision could be rendered, DiBiase returned to the field of battle, and Race fell victim to another belly-to-back suplex, which led to a three-count at the hand of a second official.

Slowly the official decision of a DQ on Race became apparent to the throng in attendance through well-timed referee pantomime and Matysik’s announcement of the result over the house mic.  The St. Louis crowd shared DiBiase’s visible disappointment.  But it was the right decision technically, and thus they respected the referee’s call, especially after he was endorsed by a handshake from the challenger, who came ‘just that close’ on this night.  The anticipation of DiBiase being on the brink of striking gold led the fans back to the rematch at the Checkerdome on June 12, 1981.  Sixteen thousand fans watched as Race turned back DiBiase’s challenge.  “But it proved Ted was a main eventer who delivered good matches and drew money,” Matysik said.

At this point, DiBiase recalls, “I was highly considered for the NWA title, and I wish it would have happened for me.  But there were politics involved, and things happen.  I think I was one of the few guys who had the Missouri belt who didn’t make it to the World title.”  

It was around this time that Ted ventured from Mid-South and moved into Georgia rings.  “The key was to get over on the national TV there,” DiBiase said.  “The formula I was told is, there were three guys picked that the belt would rotate between, which would create interest.  The three guys, in theory, were myself, Ric Flair and Dusty Rhodes.  Well, the booker had been Ole Anderson, who one day was gone as booker, and Jim Barnett brought in Robert Fuller.  I had nothing against Fuller as a person, but as a booker I wasn’t impressed.  Well, one night in St. Louis I learned a lesson about keeping my mouth shut.  I expressed my opinion, and word got back to Barnett.  After that, he no longer considered me as part of that formula.”

While, as mentioned, the grooming of young Ted DiBiase was taking place in Atlanta and St. Louis, it was Bill Watts’ Mid-South Wrestling that served as his home base.  “I was Bill’s guy for 12 years,” DiBiase said.  His memories of those days, 1975 to 1987, were mostly positive.  

“With Bill, he had the kind of personality that wasn’t easy to like.  We had at times a real love/hate relationship.  But I respected him for being so smart, so knowledgeable about wrestling.  I loved the way he told stories in his programs; just the whole way he did business… he and LeRoy McGuirk had one of the hottest territories.”  There were a few drawbacks, however.  “It was a great learning experience, but get ready to wear your car out,”  DiBiase said.

Travels to other territories in the early days made DiBiase appreciate his Mid-South roots at various times.  “I went to the WWWF in 1979 around the same time as Tito Santana,” DiBiase recalls. “They did phenomenal business but the the ring work was atrocious.  I couldn’t understand why such lackluster work was well-received.  I felt fortunate to have started with Watts and gained knowledge under Murdoch, Kox and Race…Bob Sweetan, a great heel, and Buck Robely, a great booker and a good hand, with very good knowledge of the business.”

DiBiase’s style was an amalgam of his mentors by this point, a polished repertoire culled from the ranks of those he idolized.  “I picked up little things.  Like the diving punch I became known for?  That was something I saw Murdoch do.  Or for my figure-four leglock, I would set it up using the spinning toehold that the Funks made famous.  Terry was a big influence, but also Dory Jr.   To this day I think the Dory vs. Jack Brisco matches were so well done, with such exquisite timing.  It’s what I tell my sons today; pick the things you like from other guys, and create your own style.”

The million-dollar riches would come soon enough.  But in 1982, DiBiase’s Mid-South experiences had led him to work alongside Bob Roop as a tag team partner, and later a bitter rival when Roop turned heel.  “Our matches weren’t work at all; Ted’s a good hand and our matches were smooth and easy,” Roop said.  Uh, check that.

“There is one exception, and it’s now become an ongoing gag whenever we see each other,” Roop continued.  “Ted was leaning on the apron standing on the floor, selling…and I came down the apron to boot him.  Well, as I did that, Ted moved!  The end result was the toe of my boot connecting with Ted’s chin.  It busted his lip and it called for stitches.”

Such an end result might have led to a lesser man’s outburst.  Not so with DiBiase, according to Roop.  “If he was angry at me for it, he never complained.  He was gracious about the whole thing… he was so smooth I don’t think he ever hurt anyone,” Roop said.  “Accidents are bound to happen, where people get hurt, of course… but whenever we see each other it’s not ‘Hello’… it’s “Ted, you moved!”   DiBiase appears to have moved on from any anger he might have expressed, stating “I had a lot of fun working with Bob Roop, and have a lot of respect for him.”

Later in 1982, with Roop providing color commentary during one of Ted’s Mid-South matches, DiBiase realized another of his goals.   He was able to turn heel.  “I always wanted to heel, just like my father,” DiBiase said.  “He always had this attitude, I guess you could call it aloof… he had a way of speaking down to the audience, calling them things like freeloaders.  I had watched how he walked to the ring, and his body language.  That’s what I tried to do as a heel.”

The purpose for the heel turn came out of necessity, for both the promotion and DiBiase himself.   While he had enjoyed multiple years of success in his babyface build, it was yet another formidable challenge to DiBiase to tackle.  “As talent was leaving Mid-South, the booker, Ernie Ladd, was telling me to keep an eye out for the next big heel for JYD.  At the time we were the top two babyfaces,”  DiBiase recalls.   “I used to tease the Dog and tell him all he did was shake his butt for ten minutes… that, and make all the big money.”

With some introspection and perhaps his own clear vision of making that big money alongside Junkyard Dog, DiBiase made his pitch.  “It was in the Shreveport hotel; I went up to Ernie’s room and told him ‘I found your heel’.  And when he asked who, I told Ernie, ‘You’re lookin’ at him!’

“You should have seen Ladd’s face… his eyes widened, and he took a couple of steps backward, pointing at me while grinning, saying, “You rascal!’   Who would have ever thought I would turn against my best friend?” DiBiase asked.

As mentioned, Bob Roop called the action for the rare case of these friends and partners, DiBiase and the Dog, as opponents.  After a few uncomfortable moments during the fray that built the drama, DiBiase resorted to pulling a black glove from his tights and wayleighed JYD to knock him senseless, with the three-count immediately after the punch.  Bob Roop’s commentary, that of someone with a negative opinion of DiBiase at the time, in essence built up both the incredible staying power of JYD, and how it took underhanded tactics on DiBiase’s part to emerge victorious.   The heel wheels were in motion.

“Almost from the beginning of that run, I second-guessed myself on the decision to go heel,” DiBiase said.  “Things I was doing just didn’t feel believable, so I called up Terry Funk for some advice.  Since JYD was great on the mic but limited in the ring, Terry gave me the greatest bit of advice he could.  He told me to let JYD stand in the center of the ring, and to work around him, calling the spots that utilized what he could do.”

Now on the other side of the fence, DiBiase continued to hone his heel persona, with that cool confidence mentioned at the outset.  His move back into Georgia rings in 1984 allowed a nationwide audience to see his latest style with notable battles with other established babyface stars like Bob and Brad Armstrong, Ronnie Garvin and Wildfire Tommy Rich.   Bob Roop’s travels led through Georgia as well during this time, and on occasion they would travel the loop of the satellite towns WTBS beamed their cable signal into.

DiBiase chuckles when recalling a tale that Roop had asked to see what Ted’s remembrances would be.  “We started after flying into Columbus, Ohio on a Saturday after taping TV, then drive all through the week to the towns on the loop, and wind up back in Columbus with a flight at the end of the week back into Atlanta for the next Saturday’s TV,” DiBiase explains. 

Roop in particular wanted DiBiase to look back, fondly or otherwise, at their traveling companion for the week, King Kong Bundy…the 450 pound mammoth.  “Bundy couldn’t fit in the back seat, but he took up more than half of the front,” Roop groans.  “Then he’d fall asleep the whole way, only waking up when he wanted to eat.  Two or three straight days of driving like this in gray, overcast weather.”

DiBiase then fills in some of the blanks.  “HORRENDOUS,” he begins, “I remember that Bundy would wear these tennis shoes, but he’d never wear any socks with them.  So when he took them off in the dressing room, the smell was awful!  So one night while he’s in the ring… we burned his shoes!  He came back to see this pile of ashes on the floor.  Get the message, Bundy?” DiBiase asked.   “Smarten up, or we’ll do something about it!”

Ah, but the Bundy-bash continues only for a brief time.  “Then, when we got in our car, after Bob and I woke up, worked out, and took a shower at the hotel, we then picked up Bundy, who was ready for lunch.  He asked us to go through the drive-thru at Wendy’s.  His order was two triple cheeseburgers… two large fries…a frosty… and a DIET COKE!?!  I just exploded when I heard that,” DiBiase said.

By 1987, following his long run as a heel in various territories, and pairing with the sport’s toughest hombres, including Stan “The Lariat” Hansen and “Doctor Death” Steve Williams for main events in the tag team division, DiBiase was ready to open another window of opportunity.  It was answering Vince McMahon’s call for a spot with the WWF, for a characterization that embodied much of the qualities Ted had admired in seeing his father years before.  “Vince saw what kind of heel I had become, understanding the psychology, looking down on the people… he told me I was the guy to fill the Million Dollar Man role,” DiBiase said.  “That was me, with the volume turned up.  I saw what Vince saw, that wrestling was great entertainment, and the business needed to adapt.  So even though I came out with this Million Dollar Man character, once the bell rang I was the same wrestler I always was, a credible and believable worker.”

For six years, DiBiase criss-crossed the globe with the dollar signs prominent on his gear, and in his bank account.  But the schedule was grueling.  “My Mid-South schedule was rough, but at least I would make it home!  In the summer of ’87, it was three weeks on and one week off.  Eventually that changed to ten days on, three off, four days on, and three off.  But it was the most money I ever made in my career,” DiBiase.  

As his Million Dollar Man catchphrase “Everybody’s got a price!” became a rallying cry, there were periods of trouble, proof that the limelight often blinds those it shines upon.  “By 1993, I had made the decision to leave.  I was fatigued, and was in the process of putting my family back together.  I had almost lost them due to my own stupidity.   I left WWF and went back to Japan where I teamed with Stan Hansen again,” DiBiase said.  “We were champions in All-Japan, but then I hurt my neck, which ended my active career.”

In 1994, DiBiase returned to WWF as a commentator and manager.  “I had been asked to go on the road and groom Sid, and then work with Steve Austin,” DiBiase said.  “But by then, I feared the road.  I didn’t want to get sucked back in, and be away from my family for long stretches.  They were my priority now.”

A move to WCW kept DiBiase working, and limited his road trips.  “Show up on Mondays and pay-per-views… and make a great living,” DiBiase said of the three-year WCW contract he signed.  “Looking back, it was the right decision for my family, if not necessarily right career-wise.  But I do not regret that decision.”  The reasons for departing the WWF were not out of anger; it was during his WCW time that he appreciated what he had walked away from.  “McMahon really does know how to create stars; I’m watching him do it with my son right now.  It’s the little things he brings out, and when it’s time to recap the story, he has all the footage there to capitalize on.   WCW only created one big star: Goldberg,” DiBiase said.

For all the individual accolades, title belts and career success, DiBiase sees the repaired relationship with his family as the true prize.  He’s collected a few compliments along the way that must hold meaning as well.  “Ted paid the cost of being a star, but he made a new life for himself, and didn’t let the business destroy him,” Bob Roop offered.  “He’s always been the same, friendly guy; what you see is what you get.  Ted is a guy I trust, have a lot of confidence in and respect.  He’s someone I knew would always have my back.  Ted was one of the standup guys.  He deserves to get a nice accreditation.”

Getting the Iron Mike Award is a fitting way for Ted DiBiase to take his place in wrestling lore, yet pay homage to those who blazed a trail ahead of him, in addition to those that stuck by him in good times and bad.   “Wrestling fans are the most loyal, the greatest fans in the world.  People who have followed my career can tell me things that I thought I had forgotten.   I’m so grateful to them all… once you get ‘em you have ‘em forever.   I love the wrestling business and always will.,” DiBiase said.

The Cauliflower Alley Club reunion affords DiBiase the opportunity to bridge wrestling’s illustrious past with the determination and ambition of the future stars, a role he would enjoy immensely.  “CAC is a great stage to bring both sides to appreciate the other.  It’d be very easy to reminisce, stay stuck in my old ways and be unwilling to embrace how wrestling has changed  In many ways it has changed for the better,” DiBiase said.  “I want people to know wrestling is still loved by people watching worldwide.  In lots of ways I’m still old school, but as time moves on, we need to see that change is the only constant, and that’s how we grow.  In wrestling…in life…everything.”