Dad absolutely loved – and I do mean loved – TV wrestling. He had his favorites, but none of them could surpass the one and only William Dee Calhoun, aka Haystack Calhoun.
Word had it that Haystack Calhoun, along with other wrestlers, would be at the Caribou Armory to entertain and mesmerize the faithful fans in Northern Aroostook County. Well, Dad was tickled to think that he might get the chance to see the wrestlers live and in person. The advertisement for the event listed a few of the wrestlers performing, and one of them was Haystack Calhoun. This event would be stupendous in Dad’s eyes and I was going to be at his side.
Mom bought the tickets and on a chilly evening in November, Dad and I climbed into his pickup, the pre-winter frost and promise of snow tugging at our jackets and tickling our noses. I think Dad skipped all the way to the entrance door, suddenly remembering he was not alone. He turned around and skipped back to get me. We passed in our tickets and found an empty space on the bleachers.
Dad could not sit still. He got up and walked to the the concession stand to buy both of us ice-cold sodas, popcorn, \program books and banners. Dad’s blue eyes were swallowing up the magic as he reveled in the sounds, sights and smells surrounding him.
The show began and I caught sight of the back area dressing room where a ragged, black velvet curtain acted as a door. Dad sat beside me, clapping his hands and air boxing. The first act finished and about three other acts followed before Haystack made his appearance.
That black curtain was getting a bit ruffled at this point and I could see the wrestlers moving back and forth as they waited for their chance to go into the ring. Dad seemed to be unaware of anything except for the wrestling bouts before him. These men were jumping on top of each other, flinging themselves across the ring and landing squarely on top of the opposition.
I had long ago realized that these men were not injuring themselves or the challenger; they were exceptional athletes and showmen. My father did not see it this way; he was convinced that they were out to win at any cost, even if they broke a leg or knocked someone unconscious.
My eyes were on the curtain more so than the ring. Haystack Calhoun pushed through the curtain quite suddenly and in one sleek movement, he slid under the ropes and landed on his feet; his robe still intact. He stomped across the ring, shook his fist at the crowd, and caused my father to jump to his feet and shout out, “You got this, Haystack. Caribou loves you!”
My well mannered father, who worked diligently to provide for his family and never veered off the path of obligation, stood on the bleacher beside me jumping and shouting louder than anyone else in the armory auditorium.
I do not recall the name of the wrestler who came out next, but I do remember that he and Haystack seemed to despise each other. They snarled at each other, screamed at each other and Haystack bumped the man with his belly and then flung himself on top of the man, winning the match. Dad was having a difficult time speaking at this point as he was hoarse from the shouting, screaming and hooting.
We watched Haystack gracefully leave the ring, his robe over his shoulder. As always, he was dressed in overalls and powerful-looking wrestler boots. Haystack walked toward the black curtain, and Dad clapped his hands as he watched the wrestler who had just been brutally defeated reach out to Haystack and give him a true man hug. They laughed, slapped each other on the shoulder and disappeared behind those black, velvety curtains.
Dad sat there beside me in shock. He dropped his head and glanced back at the curtain one last time. He informed me we were leaving and together we maneuvered our way down the bleachers, out the door, into the pickup and home.
My dad recovered from that stark realization. The next night at dinner, he asked the question I was waiting for. “Did you think it was real, Bin?”
I had been anticipating this question all day. I even rehearsed my words several times. “I sure did think it was real — just like you and all the other people around us,” I said. “But just think, you got to see them in real life and it was really great, Dad. I loved it.”
I certainly did not love it and I knew it was fake. I was just a young girl, trying to soothe her much older and wiser father. I think it would have been a betrayal of sorts if I had agreed with others that the whole thing was staged.
So, for years and years, Dad and I would marvel at the current wrestlers and as time went on, my father started to comment on their amazing athletic prowess. I am sure my father knew deep down that they really did not jump on top of heads and break limbs out in the ring. But you see, my friends, he wanted me to keep on believing.
Belinda Wilcox Hersey lives in Caribou with her husband, Kent. You may email her at belindahersy@gmail.com.
