Ted DiBiase (7 page)

I remember my dad waking me up one time in the middle of the night. It was obvious that he had driven all night to get home, because he was still in his wrestling clothes. “Teddy, go wash your face. When you get done, immediately come down. I have to tell you something.” I was still half asleep, but I washed my face and proceeded downstairs. When I got there he sat me down and said, “Your mother is leaving.” I couldn't believe it.

What apparently happened was that after a show, my dad went to a hotel room where the boys were playing cards. They were drinking and having a grand old time. Meanwhile, all night long and into the morning, my mother was calling Dad's room, but there was no answer. My mom knew
about life on the road, and she knew about the reputations of some of the other guys who fooled around with women. Although my dad never had that reputation, it was only human nature for my mom to think the worst. I guess it was guilt by association.

My heart sank. I ran outside and went around to the back of the apartment. I went inside the horse trailer—the one John had stepped out from behind when I shot him with my BB gun—and cried my eyes out. I started to pray and asked God to make things right. I told him that I loved my mom, and I loved my dad, and I wanted everything to work out. I didn't want to have to choose between my parents.

By the time I got back to the apartment, everything had calmed down. Mom was in the kitchen making breakfast. It seemed that everything was fine. Whatever my dad had to do to prove that he was where he was supposed to be the night before, fortunately for me, she believed him.

Later that summer, my dad had a match with Dory Funk Sr. at the Amarillo Sports Arena. It wasn't an ordinary match. It was a Texas Death match. In that match, pinfalls don't count. The only way you win a Texas Death match is when somebody isn't able to answer the bell.

In a record that to my knowledge still stands to this day, my dad and Dory Funk Sr.'s match went on for an unprecedented three and a half hours. To keep the crowd engaged for that long is a testament to their working abilities. If you think about it, a football game is more or less a three-hour event with a halftime, time-outs, and other short breaks.

During the course of this match, I heard on the radio that my dad and Dory were entering the second hour of their match. My mother worked it even for us. She reacted like she was all upset and told us not to go anywhere. She was going down to the sports arena.

It turned out that my mother was in on the match. To help build heat, Dory wanted my mother to speed through town and get stopped by the police. She got in her car and drove right through the heart of Amarillo, speeding and running every red light. She was trying to get stopped by the police, but nobody stopped her. She finally got to the arena and security detained her. My mom, who worked in the business for years, didn't miss a step with her performance to make it look real.

With my dad and Dory both tired and busted up, the finish of the match was even more astonishing. They knew that the city had a curfew. They had started their match around ten o'clock at night, and at that time it was already fifteen minutes past the one o'clock curfew. It was obvious that they were in direct violation of the city ordinance. The police and fire marshal were called in to shut the building down. They stopped the match and sent everyone home. In the end, Dad and Dory had wrestled a three-and-a-half-hour draw.

The next day it was all in the news. It was incredible. The arena was completely sold out for weeks.

We stayed only one year in Amarillo. Dad's run was over, and to avoid overexposure, it was time to move on. He made a decision, and it was crystalclear that we were going back to Omaha to stay. However, Dad was still involved with wrestling. He would use Omaha as a base and drive to all the different wrestling regions. He wasn't moving anymore. At that time, Dad was wrestling for the Dusek family in the Nebraska territory.

Since kindergarten, I had moved eight times in seven years. But that was the nature of professional wrestling. Nobody ever complained, and we were a family that looked out for one another.

We even moved back into the same house we were living in before. I was enrolled again in St. Ann's Catholic School. There I spent seventh, eighth, and ninth grade. It was my longest tenure so far in one place. It was there that I met my friend of now over forty years, Oscar Nanfito.

Oscar and I became best friends. During those years, we were nearly inseparable. We played football and other sports, hung out, talked, and did other things young boys do in their early teens. My parents liked Oscar. We had chemistry and always got along great.

We were opposite in some areas, especially girls. Unlike me, Oscar would get all the girls. He was handsome and very confident. He had very little fear of women, or at least he played it that way.

One time, Oscar tried to help me. During our freshman year, Oscar's older brother Joe was getting married. At the wedding reception, there was this girl I really liked, but I didn't have the confidence to talk to her. Oscar used his charm and brought us together. We hung out and chatted for a while.
I told Oscar I really wanted to give her a kiss, but I was scared. He motivated me to make my move, and I did. Thanks, Oscar!

OSCAR NANFITO:

Ted liked her and she liked Ted. So I got both of them together. Ted wanted to give her a kiss but he was scared. I said, “Oh, just kiss her! Go outside and give her a kiss. Don't worry about it!” Well, he did, but the fun was just starting. To my surprise, I noticed Ted was eyeing another girl. I couldn't believe it. The next thing I saw, they were talking. We somehow got separated and I couldn't find Ted. I finally decided to look outside. Lo and behold, I see Ted and this girl on the swing, smooching away. I told him later that I thought I created a monster!

The summer prior to my freshman year in high school, my life changed. St. Ann's only went up to the eighth grade. I wanted to attend and play football at Creighton Preparatory School, a private, Jesuit college prep school for young men that was founded in 1878.

It was a very competitive school. You had to take and pass an entrance exam to get accepted. The school had a marvelous academic reputation, and its athletics were equally impressive. Though I was just an average student, I passed the exam and was accepted into the school.

OSCAR NANFITO:

Ted was a really good student. He would take honors classes, study real hard, and get As and Bs all the time. I was just the opposite. I was a D/F, barely pass type of guy. Unlike Ted, I was just a goof-off.

It was then that I asked my dad to help me get in shape. I really wanted to be a standout football player, just like him. I also wanted to make him proud. It
was time to get serious. Dad said, “If you want to play football because you really want to, that's fine. But if you're doing this because you think you have to because I did, don't do it.”

“Dad, I understand what you are saying, but I am doing this because I want to.”

“Teddy, I will help you. I'll also work you hard.”

“I want it, sir.”

Then he looked me straight in the eye. “Teddy, I love you no matter what. Be the best you can be at whatever it is you do. But remember, what I am about to put you through to get you in shape, you asked for it!”

Boy, did he give it to me. For the next four months and throughout my freshman year, Dad trained me. He worked me very hard and taught me the importance of weights, cardiovascular training, and eating right. I worked muscles that I didn't even know I had. Though I would get sore, I never got depressed or upset. I was focused; I had my eye on that football prize.

I also recruited my buddy Oscar to work out with me. He was also a football player and wanted to get in better shape for the upcoming season. Dad's training schedule had us first doing calisthenics. And we did them until we dropped. We then ran, anywhere from five to ten miles a day. But it wasn't over yet. We would then stumble into our garage for a detailed weight workout—bench-pressing, squats, dead-lifts, and so on. After months of this workout, we were in excellent shape and had become football machines.

OSCAR NANFITO:

Ted's dad helped both of us get in shape for football season. Mr. DiBiase was a disciplinarian. He was strict and didn't pull any punches. When he wanted something, he told you exactly what he wanted. He was big and burly and he had this deep, scary voice. I was always intimidated by him. Even when he was laughing, you would have to wonder. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy. But if he said something, you knew you'd better do it.

After my freshman year at Creighton Prep, we moved back to Amarillo. Dad decided that because of my football potential, it would be better for me to attend a high school in Texas. There, the high school football talent was much better. The competition would give me an opportunity to improve and hopefully get a college scholarship. It was also an opportunity for Dad to finish out his wrestling career.

The Amarillo territory was a great place to make a living wrestling. The promoter was Dory Funk. Unlike in past moves, this time we took everything with us back to Amarillo. Dad made it unequivocally clear that he wasn't moving the family again until I graduated high school.

Since I had three years of high school left, Dad only wanted to wrestle up until I graduated from high school. He would then retire from the sport and relocate the family back to Willcox. There he would begin his second career, running his own pizza restaurant.

We arrived in May and settled into an apartment. It was the same complex that we lived in years ago. Mom wasn't too impressed with the property this time around and wanted a more desirable place to live. We eventually moved into another apartment complex at the end of June. We planned on staying there for the next three years.

It now seemed that our life was finally stable. I was working out harder than ever before. My parents were getting along very well. John was enjoying his new friends. Now that the DiBiase family was all together, we were living
la dolce vita
—the sweet life. Then everything went downhill.

Wednesday, July 2, 1969, was the worst day of my life. My best friend, my dad, Mike DiBiase, died. Dad was wrestling Man Mountain Mike in Lubbock. Mike was a big man, about six-four, and weighed more than four hundred pounds. During the course of the match, Mike threw Dad out of the ring. As Dad proceeded to get back in the ring by grabbing the second rope, he collapsed and fell facedown on the floor.

The fans thought nothing was out of the ordinary and the referee began his count. As the referee was counting, things weren't going as planned. Harley Race, a wrestler who would later become one of the greatest in the history of the sport, was standing in the back, watching the match. He sensed
something was wrong and rushed to the ring. He performed CPR and did the best to breathe life into my dad. An ambulance was called and Dad, with Harley by his side, was rushed to the hospital. He was pronounced dead on the emergency room table.

HARLEY RACE:

Earlier in the evening, Mike DiBiase told me that he moved all his belongings and his entire family from one apartment to another that same day. He looked very tired, but didn't complain about a thing. I think half of the reason he didn't complain was because he was wrestling Man Mountain Mike. MMM weighed more than four hundred pounds, so Mike knew he wasn't going to be moving at any high speed.

As the match started, there was some pushing and shoving. Mike then took a back bump. All of a sudden, Mike folded his arms over his chest, backed up into the ropes, and went right out onto the floor.

I was watching the match from the back and immediately knew something was wrong. I ran to ringside and tended to Mike. He had a pulse but wasn't breathing. I administered CPR and did my best to keep him alive until the ambulance arrived. He was alive when they left in the ambulance.

TERRY FUNK:

A lot of people don't know this, but I didn't go to Lubbock the night Teddy's father died. In fact, that was the reason why Mike went. Teddy's father took my place that night to wrestle Man Mountain Mike. He was very tired, but being the person that he was, he took my place anyway. I wish I would have gone.

At the news of Dad's death, I immediately started to cry. I was dazed and in disbelief. Mom went hysterical. I never saw her in such distress. She was out of control and I remember her screaming at the top of her lungs, “This can't be true!”

Though he didn't actually know what was wrong, John was equally shaken by the events. With Mom unable to gather her faculties, I had to tell John. I remembered what Dad had told me when his mother passed away. I told my concerned brother, “John, Dad died tonight.” We cried and embraced each other as tight as we could. Suddenly, in a divine moment, John pulled back and said to me exactly what Dad told us after his mother died: “Teddy, Dad's at peace. He's looking down on us right now. He's fine.” It was the worst night of my life.

JOHN DIBIASE:

The night my father died, they came to the door, and Teddy answered. They asked for Mom. She started crying. I knew something was wrong. Then they spoke to Teddy. Then I was told—I was the last one to know. But I sensed something was wrong, and if I remember it right, Teddy may have been the one to tell me that Dad had died. I was only eight years old.

That Saturday, July 5, the funeral services were held in Amarillo. The local funeral home was packed with family and friends. My brother Michael got leave from the army and was there with his wife. My dad had touched so many people, and I was shaken by seeing him in a casket. I had to be pulled away when they closed the lid. Dad's body was later shipped to Willcox, where he was buried.

Under Texas law, an autopsy is required. It was discovered that Dad had a heart attack. He had arterial sclerosis—a hardening or thickening of the walls of the arteries—and one artery was completely blocked. Scar tissue was found around his heart, showing he had had earlier heart attacks.