Google Alerts is a useful tool. I added a couple of alerts about 10 years ago and occasionally, I’ll get one letting me know where my books are being pirated. Pretty handy. But mostly, I get a bunch of alerts for Wrestlemania. Why? Because apparently, Rasmenia translates to Wrestlemania in another language. I haven’t figured out which one yet.
What’s weird is, I’m not into wrestling.
Okay, what I mean is, I’m not into wrestling anymore.
When I was an eight-year-old kid living in Indiana, my mom’s boyfriend took me and my friend Patty Foreman to a wrestling match. We drove all the way up to Fort Wayne from our little trailer park in Bluffton. I didn’t like Mom’s boyfriend, but that night, I didn’t notice him. Patty and I bounced around in our seats squealing and giggling with glee while large sweaty men punched one another and bashed faces with folding chairs.
Months later, me and Mom were in Colorado with her new boyfriend. Every Sunday morning, they made me wake up early to walk a quarter of a mile to the Methodist church for Sunday School. They didn’t go to church. I was forced to go alone while they stayed in bed. I hated it. I’d discovered my atheism early in life and arriving at church alone each week was awkward and embarassing.
There was a bright spot, however. When I returned home, the TV would be on and I’d get to watch the weekly WWF shenanigans while I had breakfast. (It got me through until Dr. Demento came on the radio later that night.)
The characters and drama were silly and over the top, but fun. Then, as is the natural course of things, I began to find it corny and childish and I forgot about wrestling.
For a while.
Those wrestlers were showing up all over the place. Jesse Ventura popped up in Predator. Rowdy Roddy Piper came to chew bubble gum and to kick ass. They were okay, I guess. But they weren’t Andre the Giant in The Princess Bride.
When I saw those guys on various movies and shows, I still saw them as cartoonish and cheesy. They were among the childish things I’d put away. Not Fezzik. He was endearing. There was now this other side to Andre the Giant I wasn’t aware of.
In 1999, I went to Bike Week in Sturgis, South Dakota. There was some buzz that year because there was a big wrestling event taking place. Things are always wacky there, but that year I saw a mob of people block the street to surround Dennis Rodman on his bike at a red light. In the Broken Spoke Saloon, I stepped into a surreal scene: Hulk Hogan and a couple of other oversized men I didn’t recognize were swilling beers and rocking out onstage with the band to a slurred and growling cover of “Mustang Sally.” The audience, instead of cheering and singing along, stared mouths agape. Clearly, no one had expected anything like this. I was surprised not only at the weird turn of events, but that they were even there. Wasn’t wrestling… for kids?
Then I moved to France and realized that Andre the Giant didn’t had fans and was straight-up adored at home. He was one of their own and they love him. Faces light up and they say, “Oh! Dédé le Géant!” There was nothing silly or childish about him.
I came across Box Brown’s graphic novel about Andre the Giant (give it a look here) and bought it for my French husband.
The thing about us gifting books to one another is that they end up being for both of us, as we both read the books we give to one another. It’s a sweet deal. And this is a wonderful book. There are places where Andre feels mythical; like a French version of Paul Bunyon. (He could lift a car! He got a ride to school from Samuel Beckett!) Larger than life and superhuman. But what the story tells is that he was very human, suffering from acromegaly and living with terrible pain.
It’s a complete story of his entire life and I loved Box Brown’s drawing style so much that I wanted my own hand to create the images in his frames. I settled for a page in my sketchbook.
After we both read the book, we watched the Andre the Giant documentary. It’s heartbreaking, but worth the watch.
Being on a Dédé kick, I also read As You Wish by Cary Elwes. You know, Wesley? The Dread Pirate Roberts? Yeah. That dude. It’s more fun and upbeat than Dédé’s biography and the doc, but with all of them together, I felt like I had a clearer picture of the guy. I prefer to take a deep dive when reading about real people or events, as opposed to just reading one book. (I have also picked up The Princess Bride book, but haven’t started reading it yet. Is it any good?)
After that deep dive, I thought back to that night in Fort Wayne. I haven’t seen or spoken to Patty Foreman since the early 80s. But I can still see the smile on her face as we laughed and watched some guy in his underwear taking a chair to the face. I lost touch with her, just like I’d lost touch with the fact that I’d never really stopped loving over-the-top corny fun.
Books and movies, they do a good job of reminding us why the things we loved as a kid are still pretty great.
Hold on. Got another Google Alert. Talk to you later.
Your friend,
Wrestlemania