The
mid-winter blues. We all get them at one
time or another. Those grey December days
that are made tolerable by Christmas
lights and family gatherings suddenly turn
into bitter, sometimes lonely, and always
cold days of January. It was on one of
those raw cloudy days, a Tuesday
afternoon, I was miserable, business was
bad, nothing was working out like I wanted
it to. Then the phone rang.
“Highspots
needs two cases of Ole’s book, and they
want them autographed,” George South said.
“Ole doesn’t want to ship them, so I’ve
volunteered to go get them, and that way I
can visit with him. I’m going to Toccoa
tomorrow morning. Want to come with me?”
The
real world suddenly seemed less important
for the moment. This is not a question
George needed to ask me twice.
* * * * * *
Wednesday, in contrast to the day
before, was one of those beautiful cold
winter days; sunshine and blue skies. The
temperature was right at freezing when I
arrived at 7:45 AM to pick George South up
at his house in Concord. His twins Abigail
and Scarlett and youngest son Garrett were
getting ready for school. The smell of bacon
and eggs still lingered, and George’s wife
Missy had started chili in the crock pot for
supper later that night. Man, that house
smelled good.
We headed out for a three-hour road
trip to Toccoa, GA. Journey is
the official music of Gateway road trips.
They are George’s favorite band. That music
takes him back to the early 1980s, during
the time Gene Anderson managed US Champion
Jimmy Snuka, when Steamboat and Youngblood
ruled the world as tag champs. Like a lot of
us, George lives in the past, so Journey
just always seems right, no matter what the
circumstances. That music had gotten us
through two separate 22-hour round-trip
adventures to the Headlock Ranch, and it was
now serving us well on our way to see Ole
Anderson.
Toccoa is a small north
Georgia town at the intersection of US
highways 17 and 123, several miles off
Interstate 85, just south of the
Georgia/South Carolina state line.
Business-17 is the main drag through town,
littered with the usual suspect steakhouses
and fast food joints. The original plan was
to meet Ole for lunch at Quincy’s restaurant
downtown, where we were to meet him for
lunch and pick up two cases of autographed
books to take back to Highspots in
Charlotte. But the plans changed when we
called Ole mid-morning from the road to make
sure we were still set to go.
“We’ll have lunch and then you guys
follow me out to my house and you can pick
up the books there,” Ole said.
We were in shock. A day earlier
when George had called to line up the trip,
he told Ole we would be glad to come to him
and pick up the books so he wouldn’t even
have to leave his house. “Hell no!” he said.
“There has never been a wrestler at my
house, and the first one sure isn’t going to
be George South!” Needless to say, we
thought this was a great change of plans. We
couldn’t believe we were going to Ole’s
house.
We got to Quincy’s Steakhouse
around 11:30 AM and Ole got there not long
afterward. He looked great, shook our hands,
and seemed glad to see us. I had met Ole on
a few occasions before, at a show three
years earlier in Hartwell, Georgia where he
was there signing autographs. David Chappell
and I had been fortunate enough to have
dinner with Ole and Paul Jones at the NWA
Fanfest in Charlotte in 2005. George of
course had known Ole for almost 25 years,
first doing TV matches for him in the last
days of Championship Wrestling from Georgia
in 1985 on TBS, and then as a regular
enhancement talent for Crockett Promotions
throughout the rest of that decade. There is
lots of video tape of Ole and Arn Anderson
beating the crap out of George in buildings
everywhere from Shelby to Roanoke.
When
we had walked into the restaurant, it was
like walking in with Norm at Cheers. All the
waitresses said hello to Ole. We found out
later that this was where Ole had lunch
almost every day. A waitress came over and
asked Ole to sign an autograph for a lady at
another table who was too shy to ask for it
herself. The girl that ran the cash register
told us she had grown up watching Ole on TV
with the Horsemen, watching wrestling out of
Atlanta with her Dad every Saturday. Ole
Anderson should run for Mayor of Toccoa.
He’d be a sure bet.
At one point Ole asked George “So
you are still doing this horseshit?” George
responded “Shoot Ole, I’ll probably never
quit wrestling.” George told Ole about the
short little program he had with Brad
Anderson, Gene's son, the previous summer,
and how Brad carried his dad’s boots to the
ring, how he wore his Dad’s ring jacket
(that famous maroon jacket with “Gene”
written in script on the front and “Anderson
Brothers” on the back.) Ole stopped eating
and looked at us. “You’re kidding,” he said.
He paused for a moment, smiled, and said,
“Well that’s great.” It was sort of a
special moment; you rarely seem to get a
smile out of Ole. He started talking about
those boots, the maroon and gold stripped
boots so closely associated with the
Andersons over the all the years they
wrestled. He told us Gene and Lars wore them
first, and then he started wearing them when
Gene brought him in to the Carolinas in 1968
and made him one of the Anderson Brothers.
It was such a thrill for us just to hear him
talking about simple stuff like those boots.
Those boots are so iconic of the Minnesota
Wrecking Crew, one of the strongest lasting
memories I have of watching wrestling
growing up. The Andersons always wore those
maroon and gold boots.
I’m surprised Ole could finish his
lunch with George talking a mile a minute.
No kid on Christmas morning could possibly
be more excited than George South at 44
years old when he gets to spend time with
one of his childhood heroes. Ole gently
kicked me under the table. “Does he ever
shut up?” he asked, with a quick wink. “My
God, how in the hell did you ride down here
with him?” We were just glad Ole seemed to
be having a good time.
After lunch, we headed for Ole’s
house. He still drives that same old
Cadillac that he told us later had over
300,000 miles on it. George rode with Ole,
and as I followed behind them, all I could
see was the profile of George’s face, that
mouth yacking a mile a minute. Poor Ole.
We drove along a two lane highway,
and then off onto a winding road that snaked
around Lake Hartwell, occasionally crossing
bridges that spanned inlets and entrances to
small lake coves, then through long sections
of deep woods.
I imagined for a moment that Ole
might actually be taking us out in the woods
to shoot us.
Suddenly he pulled off of the
two-lane road onto the shoulder. There was
this long pause and I could see Ole talking
to George. Then George got out of the car.
My goodness, Ole has had enough and thrown
George out, I just knew it! Thankfully, he
had only asked George to get the mail out of
his mailbox. To this day, that’s one of the
things George liked most about the trip: he
got Ole’s mail out of his mailbox.
We pulled off the main road into
the drive way, a long winding gravel road
that led to the back of his 14 acre
property. You always hear people talk about
what a cheap son of a gun Ole is. When we
got to his house, we got to see first hand
what being a cheap son of a gun all those
years allowed him to enjoy now. What a
beautiful home. He built the house himself,
a huge 4000 sq. ft. two-story Cape Cod-style
structure sitting on a hill some 200 feet
high over looking Lake Hartwell. That house
is immaculate. Ole even made us take our
shoes off in the garage before we could come
in. So there we were, getting a tour of Ole
Anderson’s house - in our sock feet. This
was pretty cool.
Ole showed us the rock work he did
himself on the fireplace in his bedroom, the
furniture he had re-finished, even a table
that he had made. He was especially proud of
the wood work he had done, the custom
molding he had made around the ceiling. It
was simply a beautiful house, inside and
out.
There was a huge bookcase in the
living room full of photographs of his
family. One in particular caught my eye, his
son Bryant graduating from college, walking
the stage in cap and gown, receiving his
diploma. What jumped out were Bryant’s huge
trademark Anderson sideburns. Ole explained
Bryant was getting started in pro wrestling
at the time, and he had the complete
Anderson look. He was the spitting image of
his Dad.
Ole sat down at the kitchen table
and stated signing the books we were picking
up to take back to Charlotte. He bitched and
griped about signing every one. “We aren’t
through yet?” he asked when I opened another
case. In between every fifth book or so,
George kept shoving something in for Ole to
sign. At one point Ole punched George right
in the chest, never looked up, signed the
photo, and then grabbed the next book.
“Jesus Christ, how many kids do you have?”
When he got through signing books,
it was my turn to pester him. What a mark I
am for him. I had brought my replica NWA
world tag team belts with us. These were
custom made from Reggie Park’s original 1974
engraving artwork. I wanted to get a photo of him
with them if he’d agree to do it. I was
half-way expecting him to throw me out the
bay window there in the kitchen. But his
reaction actually surprised me. He held one
of the belts and said “These look great,”
but then he quickly pointed out they weren’t
exactly like the originals. The original
plates were in two pieces, the engraved
pieces attached to a seperate flange piece.
The plates on my replica belts were all in
one piece (as they are typically made
today.) Ole actually remembered how the
original belts were made. Dave Millican, who
made these beautiful belts, later told me it
was really kind of neat that Ole made that
observation because so many of the guys
never paid attention to things like that.
For someone who would occasionally insist
that belts were simply props, Ole sure had a
good memory of those belts that he hadn’t
seen in 27 years.
Throughout the visit, we got Ole
talking about our favorite old wrestling
angles, including the “Supreme Sacrifice”
that took place during Gene and Ole’s epic
feud with arch-rivals Paul Jones and Wahoo
McDaniel. Grumpy old man that he is (and by
his own admission, by the way), Ole seems to
dog everyone, but he clearly has respect for
those two guys. He seemed most proud of
their one-and-a-half-hour time limit draws
that led to two hour time limit matches in
the Mid-Atlantic territory in 1975.
Finally, after several hours, it
was time to head home, and I was sure Ole
was quite ready to get rid of us. We loaded
the books and put our shoes back on out in
the garage. Ole thanked us and told us to be
careful driving home. It took several
minutes to load everything up and get turned
around in the big driveway.
As we pulled away, the sun had
started to set over Lake Hartwell, and it
was getting cold again. I looked back and
saw Ole standing out at the edge of his
garage. He was waving goodbye. Or perhaps he
was just making sure we didn't rob the
place. There are a couple of people who know
Ole really well that have told me that
despite his gruff exterior and constant
grumpy disposition, he is basically an old
softie deep down. I obviously couldn’t tell
you, but there was something special about
seeing him at that moment. It is a memory I
never want to forget.
- Dick Bourne
Mid-Atlantic
Gateway
Trip Date:
January 17, 2007
Article
Originally Published: August 2, 2007
© 2007
Mid-Atlantic
Gateway
Toccoa Photos by Dick
Bourne and George South
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