Wendy, in her own speech, was
understandably overcome with emotion as she shared her memories of
her life growing up as the daughter of the top wrestler, and top
women's wrestler, of the territory . The wrestlers who came to the
family home to start the long rides, the ones who babysat her, the
fans who loved her parents, and the father who would have finally
known, had he lived to be there tonight, that he was still
remembered and what that would have meant to him, it all came
rushing out with the kind of eloquence that only comes from a
wrestling lifetime.
"My father would have loved this
night."
- Bruce Mitchell
Excerpt from a
PWTorch VIP Exclusive
PWTorch.com
Wendi Weaver, accepting the induction
for her father Johnny Weaver, perhaps the most popular wrestler in
the history of the Carolinas, who died in February:
"This is my home," she said. "Everybody
here is family. Whether you be a fan who came up and asked for my
dad's autograph, and he gave it to you, or you were a wrestler who
came to our house ... he would be so humbled."
Rip Hawk recalled how he first met
Weaver in 1957 and saw how he patterned himself after the legendary
Sonny Myers, a fixture in the Kansas-Missouri area.
"He always had talent but he was just
hidden," Hawk said. "When he got here, he found his home."
Steve Johnson
Excerpt from "Legends Abound at
Charlotte Fanfest"
Canoe SLAM! Wrestling
JOHNNY WEAVER
It’s not enough to say that Johnny
Weaver was the biggest wrestling hero who ever passed through the
Carolinas. If you’re going to truly understand how much Weaver meant
to wrestling in the Mid-Atlantic during the heyday of Jim Crockett
Promotions, his daughter Wendi Weaver, who will accept his induction
into the Hall of Heroes, puts it in perspective with a tale that
tells all. Long after Weaver hung up his boots, his second career
with the Mecklenburg County Sheriff’s Department required him to
pick up a singularly violent prisoner at a state prison. Weaver’s
superiors warned him: “This guy is really bad. He’s lashing out at
all the other sheriffs up there. Make sure he’s secure.” Down the
hall walked Weaver to take custody of the dangerous inmate.
Suddenly, the prisoner stopped cussing and fighting his handlers.
“You’re Johnny Weaver! You’re Johnny Weaver! Oh my God! Man I used
to watch you with my grandma in front of the TV.” As Wendi
recounted, “That guy turned. It was a childhood memory. He wasn’t
mean any more; he wasn’t lashing out.” No wonder journalist Mike
Mooneyham said Weaver “was to wrestling fans in the Carolinas what
Mickey Mantle was to baseball and Johnny Unitas was to football. He
wasn’t particularly flashy, but that was part of his appeal.”
Kenneth Eugene Weaver was a man with a
people’s touch, and it was reflected in the way he thought his life
might turn out. “I never wanted to do anything but wrestle and race
stock cars,” he said in a 1979 interview. “If I hadn’t wrestled, I
don’t know what I would have done.” Born in East St. Louis, Ill.,
Weaver first came to note in the Midwest right around his 21st
birthday after serving as a referee and roustabout for famed St.
Joseph, Mo., promoter Gust Karras. Billed for the early part of his
career as “Johnny Ace,” a “lanky” lad from St. Louis, he also worked
for Jim Barnett and Johnny Doyle around Indianapolis for a couple
years; in one May 1959 match he beat Bronko Lubich in Anderson,
Ind., a future adversary in the Carolinas.
Rip Hawk played a major role in
bringing Weaver to the Mid-Atlantic in 1962, and he stayed there for
most of his career, holding titles such as the Southern heavyweight
singles and tag championship on about two dozen occasions. At first,
he was understudy to veteran George Becker, a tag team combo that
stayed on top of the cards for years. As Hawk recalled: “He was a
good guy, a hard wrestler and produced when he got in the ring.” Les
Thatcher credited Weaver and Becker with giving him his first break
as a part of six-man tag matches and recalled Weaver as one of the
most detail-oriented people he ever met. “He kept a book in his bag
and I remember the first time I ever worked as a partner with those
guys,” he said. “And this book told me if they had been on top in
Spartanburg a year ago. Johnny kept a record of who they worked
with, what the finish was and what the house drew. That’s how
detailed he was with stuff.” And Don Kernodle, who cites Weaver as
the inspiration for his own career, offers a clue to his enduring
territorial appeal. “We didn’t have baseball or football in the
Carolinas back then. But the wrestling came to your town or your
high school gym every week and you could actually reach out and meet
Johnny Weaver and talk to him,” Kernodle said. “Johnny wasn’t a
character. He was a person.”
Already ready to slip on his version of
the sleeper hold, Weaver remained a top hero in the area even when
he switched over to the broadcast booth with Rich Landrum. After
leaving wrestling in 1989, he worked for the sheriff’s department,
where his knowledge of the back roads, and the quickest way to
transport prisoners, was legendary from his wrestling travels.
Weaver died in February at 72, just a few months before his
retirement. He’s not forgotten, though, and won’t be as long as
there’s wrestling in the Carolinas.
“To see all those people come who were
fans, coming up to me and telling me all these stories, I’ll never
forget it,” Wendi said.
- Steve Johnson
Wendi Weaver photo by Dick Bourne
• Rip Hawk & Wendi Weaver photo by Blake Arledge |