Straight from the Hart

Straight from the Hart by Bruce Hart Page A

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Authors: Bruce Hart
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could all be an accident or coincidence; by that token, I guess you can call me a mark, and I’m more than happy to remain one.

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    When I returned from Hawaii, I was surprised and disappointed to find that Tricky Dick Steinborn had been canned — reportedly because he, Keith and Bret weren’t in agreement on schematics. Bret — who’d only been working a few months himself — and Keith were now handling the book.
    They had me work with heel Marty Jones on my first night back, in a cage match. The angle we’d shot before I left had been pretty hot and we ended up selling out in short order. Our match went well. That same night, Keith, for reasons known only to him, saw fit to bring Larry Lane back and had him work in a babyface vs. babyface tag against Bret and himself. They had a sixty minute broadway (time limit draw), which from a technical point of view wasn’t bad, but since there was no heat or background story, it wound up kind of flat.
    That didn’t stop my dad from paying Lane more than double what Marty and I got that night. Jones, like Dynamite, was a bit of a hothead; he blew a gasket and caught the first plane back to England. Perhaps I should have been pissed too, but at that stage I was happy just to be on the right side of the grass.
    With Jones out of the picture, I worked with Dynamite the next week and we turned away close to a thousand fans. It was a barnburner of a match, which exceeded all expectations. Even though he was barely twenty, Dynamite had 78
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    ♥ STRAIGHT FROM THE HART ♥
    developed into one of the best workers in the business and was only getting better.
    I’ve often been asked what made Dynamite so special. Well, first, he was a phenomenal athlete, remarkably adaptable to virtually any style or format —
    be it British, North American, or Japanese. What really set him apart was his timing: he seemed to have this innate ability to know precisely when to do things. Beyond that, like all the truly great workers, he was capable of making damn near anyone he worked with look good — in many cases, better than they ever dreamed of looking — myself included.
    Even though business remained steady throughout the spring and into summer, there was a fair bit of friction between Bret and Keith. They couldn’t seem to agree on methodology and were bickering over who was in charge.
    Things finally boiled over one night in Calgary when they argued over some finish and ended up getting into an altercation in the dressing room with my dad having to pull them apart.
    My dad then decided to go another direction and hired this crusty old veteran named Art Nelson. Nelson had worked for us back in the early ’60s, and since then had made the rounds in a few territories in the States, including Amarillo.
    The first week that Art was in town, he notified Dynamite and me that he’d never done much business with smaller guys working on top. He pretty much indicated that we’d be relegated to undercard status, as would Keith and Bret —
    neither of whom weighed much more than 200 at that time either.
    Although Dynamite and I weren’t thrilled, at least we knew where Art stood.
    We decided to head to Germany where we’d been invited back for the Hanover tournament. Art then imported a whole crew of these long-in-the-tooth, heavyweight cronies from the States to work in the main slots, including “The Professor” Dale Lewis, Mr. Pogo and Don Gagne, and he put the singles strap on himself.
    The second go-round in Germany proved to be even better for Dynamite and me, as we were given a lot better push by the new German promoter, Heinrich Kaiser. Dynamite continued with his practical jokes — something he was gaining notoriety for. Dynamite also hooked up with some German doctor over there, who introduced him to the anabolic steroid, Primobolan — which, at 79
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