Post by The Ultimate Nullifier on Feb 26, 2016 17:39:39 GMT -6
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By Paul Guzzo | Tribune Staff Published: February 25, 2016Updated: February 26, 2016 at 07:00 AM
TAMPA — As a real estate agent born and raised in Tampa, Nicole Alonso is accustomed to walks down memory lane when she scans new listings.
She’ll recognize the home of a childhood friend or perhaps a building that once was a favorite restaurant.
This past month, the nostalgia hit hard.
Two properties now for sale are associated with her late father Mike Gossett, better known by his stage name “Mike Graham,” a star of Tampa’s professional wrestling scene who, with his father Eddie “Graham” Gossett, operated Championship Wrestling from Florida.
One property is the Tampa Sportatorium at 106 N. Albany Street, owned first by Alonso’s grandfather and then by her father, where for more than 30 years professional wrestlers gathered for weekly TV tapings. It will be sold at auction starting at 10 a.m. Saturday.
Also for sale on the open market is 5117 W. Poe Avenue, the location of Alonso’s childhood home and host to countless parties for professional wrestlers while they were off the clock.
“This all takes me back,” said Alonso, 40, as she toured the Sportatorium for the first time since her father sold it in 1996. “I wish my dad was here with me to walk through this place again.”
The Sportatorium building was most recently used to manufacture women’s clothing but it still shows signs of the days when it served as the broadcast center for Florida wrestling.
The ceiling grid that held the lights remains intact and four round, metal beams marking corners of a wrestling square still jut from ceiling to floor. Turnbuckles and ropes once were attached to the beams with an elevated wrestling mat placed in between.
After Alonso’s father sold the home in 1992, the structure was demolished and a new one built. Still, one iconic feature was kept — a pool in the shape of the numeral 4, her father’s ode to his figure-four leg lock finishing move.
“It’s interesting how small mementos can remind us of how big something once was,” Alonso said. “Wrestling was the big show here.”
❖ ❖ ❖
Alonso’s memories of actual wrestling are few. Her grandfather and father chose to shield her from a business that in those days was brutal, often bloody and still masquerading as legitimate competition.
She remembers attending only one wrestling event at the Sportatorium and it was accidental. Before matches, she was part of a commercial filmed there promoting a search for missing children. Her grandfather was supposed to escort her upstairs afterward but forgot.
“So I’m standing by the wall and see my father race into the ring, tear off his shirt and beat a man in the head,” Alonso said with a chuckle. “He then sees me, runs over to me and runs me out the door.”
Still, she knew all the performers from the time they spent at her family home.
“They came and hung by the pool or went out on our boat because we lived on the water,” Alonso said. “Steve Keirn was a staple. Kevin Sullivan was here a lot. Wahoo McDaniel and Ric Flair would stop by.”
Alonso recalled that the first time she saw the legendary 7-foot-4, 500-pound “Andre the Giant” walk into the home, she ran and hid in fear. Coaxed from under her bed, she learned the behemoth actually had a big heart.
“That house was one of the few places the wrestlers could be themselves in the days when you didn’t break character in public,” said Barry Rose, an archivist of Florida professional wrestling history. “In those days you could get fired if seen hanging out with someone you were feuding with. But at the Graham house these men could relax with a drink without a worry.”
In the era before World Wrestling Entertainment dominated the industry, individual states and cities hosted territorial promotions. From the mid-1900s through 1980s Tampa-based Championship Wrestling from Florida was among the most popular.
Most of the industry’s big names — Buddy Colt, Jack and Jerry Brisco, Dory and Terry Funk, Wahoo McDaniel, Hiro Matsuda, Dusty Rhodes, Brian Blair — worked for Championship Wrestling from Florida at some point and performed in the Sportatorium.
“Cowboy” Clarence Luttrall, founder of the Tampa wrestling company, purchased the building in the late-1940s, then sold it along with the wrestling promotion in the early 1960s to Eddie Gossett, who would later pass each to his son Mike Gossett.
Every Wednesday at 1 p.m., matches were recorded at the Sportatorium for TV broadcasts throughout the state Saturday nights.
“Magic was made in that Sportatorium every Wednesday afternoon,” said Gerald Brisco, 69, of Tampa, who held the Florida heavyweight championship in 1974. “What we did there was ahead of its time.”
❖ ❖ ❖
As many as 200 chairs were set up around three sides of the ring with the fourth occupied by the announcing table and interview stage. Gordon Solie, known as the voice of Championship Wrestling from Florida, usually worked there.
One camera was locked onto a podium for the wide shot, Brisco said, and a second hand-held camera was used for everything else.
The walls were painted dark and the ring heavily lit, creating the illusion the building was the size of an arena when it was only a few thousand square feet.
The second floor consisted of an editing suite, a tape library, and an audio studio to record voice overs.
“The Sportatorium was a television studio,” said Dory Funk Jr., 75, a four-time Florida heavyweight champ and former NWA world heavyweight titlist who now runs the Funking Conservatory Wrestling School in Ocala. “It was a wrestling show but it was more an hour commercial to get you to buy tickets to watch us wrestle in an arena.”
Matches of consequence rarely occurred at the Sportatorium but rather would involve a big star easily defeating an unknown.
“They would give me someone to guzzle in the ring to show how good I was,” Funk said. “They’d give Brisco someone to guzzle to show how good he was. Then people would want to pay to see us wrestle each other. You didn’t give that match away on free television.”
The marquee matches occurred at Tampa’s Fort Homer W. Hesterly Armory and other big arenas throughout the state, such as West Palm Beach Auditorium or Miami Beach Convention Center.
When a big match did take place, it was primarily meant to whet the fans’ appetites, said wrestler turned politician Brian Blair, 57, of Tampa, two-time Florida heavyweight champ.
“We’d go to a 10-minute draw to leave the fans wanting more,” Blair said. “And they’d have to go to the armory for the rematch.”
The grapplers also sold fans on buying arena tickets with interview segments and scripted drama at the Sportatorium tapings.
❖ ❖ ❖
Among the more memorable storylines archivist Rose recalled was the time in the 1970s when Jos LeDuc turned on his friend Jimmy Garvin during an interview. The faux beating put on Garvin was so brutal the grappler was spitting up blood.
“You then wanted to see them in the ring to settle it,” Rose said.
Gerald Brisco’s favorite memory of the Sportatorium was one of his first appearances there. It was 1970 and he was new to the industry but his older brother Jack Brisco was already an established champion.
Knowing Jack Brisco was not at the Sportatorium because of a delayed plane, bad guy wrestler Dale Lewis challenged him to a match then called him a coward for not accepting. Defending his brother’s honor, Gerald Brisco stepped into the ring.
“He beat on me pretty bad since I was just a rookie and he put me in his Lewis Lock meant to break an arm,” Brisco said. “But I wouldn’t give up. Then, just as my arm was ready to snap, a cab pulled up with my brother and he ran in to stop it.”
That storyline, Brisco said, established a feud between Lewis and brothers that carried over into arena shows.
When major events were held outside Tampa, Brisco said, he would often ask the pilot to detour slightly to fly over Eddie Gossett’s house so he could see the unique pool from above.
“We had a lot of parties there,” Brisco said. “A lot of fun.”
After Championship Wrestling from Florida shut down in 1987, Mike Gossett tried to keep the Sportatorium profitable with ventures including a weekend roller skating rink, his daughter Alonso said. But ultimately, he had to sell it.
He remained in the industry through the early 2000s but his later experiences never lived up those he had while a star and promoter in Tampa. A leg tattoo he had showing an empty wrestling ring symbolized the change, she said.
“It was a look inside of him. He felt empty. He needed that spotlight.”
Gazing around the Sportatorium, she added, “He loved this building. What a place.”
pguzzo@tampatrib.com
(813) 259-7606
@pguzzotbo
s1175.photobucket.com/user/vkm1984/media/AR-160229478_zpsmhme9mei.jpg.html
By Paul Guzzo | Tribune Staff Published: February 25, 2016Updated: February 26, 2016 at 07:00 AM
TAMPA — As a real estate agent born and raised in Tampa, Nicole Alonso is accustomed to walks down memory lane when she scans new listings.
She’ll recognize the home of a childhood friend or perhaps a building that once was a favorite restaurant.
This past month, the nostalgia hit hard.
Two properties now for sale are associated with her late father Mike Gossett, better known by his stage name “Mike Graham,” a star of Tampa’s professional wrestling scene who, with his father Eddie “Graham” Gossett, operated Championship Wrestling from Florida.
One property is the Tampa Sportatorium at 106 N. Albany Street, owned first by Alonso’s grandfather and then by her father, where for more than 30 years professional wrestlers gathered for weekly TV tapings. It will be sold at auction starting at 10 a.m. Saturday.
Also for sale on the open market is 5117 W. Poe Avenue, the location of Alonso’s childhood home and host to countless parties for professional wrestlers while they were off the clock.
“This all takes me back,” said Alonso, 40, as she toured the Sportatorium for the first time since her father sold it in 1996. “I wish my dad was here with me to walk through this place again.”
The Sportatorium building was most recently used to manufacture women’s clothing but it still shows signs of the days when it served as the broadcast center for Florida wrestling.
The ceiling grid that held the lights remains intact and four round, metal beams marking corners of a wrestling square still jut from ceiling to floor. Turnbuckles and ropes once were attached to the beams with an elevated wrestling mat placed in between.
After Alonso’s father sold the home in 1992, the structure was demolished and a new one built. Still, one iconic feature was kept — a pool in the shape of the numeral 4, her father’s ode to his figure-four leg lock finishing move.
“It’s interesting how small mementos can remind us of how big something once was,” Alonso said. “Wrestling was the big show here.”
❖ ❖ ❖
Alonso’s memories of actual wrestling are few. Her grandfather and father chose to shield her from a business that in those days was brutal, often bloody and still masquerading as legitimate competition.
She remembers attending only one wrestling event at the Sportatorium and it was accidental. Before matches, she was part of a commercial filmed there promoting a search for missing children. Her grandfather was supposed to escort her upstairs afterward but forgot.
“So I’m standing by the wall and see my father race into the ring, tear off his shirt and beat a man in the head,” Alonso said with a chuckle. “He then sees me, runs over to me and runs me out the door.”
Still, she knew all the performers from the time they spent at her family home.
“They came and hung by the pool or went out on our boat because we lived on the water,” Alonso said. “Steve Keirn was a staple. Kevin Sullivan was here a lot. Wahoo McDaniel and Ric Flair would stop by.”
Alonso recalled that the first time she saw the legendary 7-foot-4, 500-pound “Andre the Giant” walk into the home, she ran and hid in fear. Coaxed from under her bed, she learned the behemoth actually had a big heart.
“That house was one of the few places the wrestlers could be themselves in the days when you didn’t break character in public,” said Barry Rose, an archivist of Florida professional wrestling history. “In those days you could get fired if seen hanging out with someone you were feuding with. But at the Graham house these men could relax with a drink without a worry.”
In the era before World Wrestling Entertainment dominated the industry, individual states and cities hosted territorial promotions. From the mid-1900s through 1980s Tampa-based Championship Wrestling from Florida was among the most popular.
Most of the industry’s big names — Buddy Colt, Jack and Jerry Brisco, Dory and Terry Funk, Wahoo McDaniel, Hiro Matsuda, Dusty Rhodes, Brian Blair — worked for Championship Wrestling from Florida at some point and performed in the Sportatorium.
“Cowboy” Clarence Luttrall, founder of the Tampa wrestling company, purchased the building in the late-1940s, then sold it along with the wrestling promotion in the early 1960s to Eddie Gossett, who would later pass each to his son Mike Gossett.
Every Wednesday at 1 p.m., matches were recorded at the Sportatorium for TV broadcasts throughout the state Saturday nights.
“Magic was made in that Sportatorium every Wednesday afternoon,” said Gerald Brisco, 69, of Tampa, who held the Florida heavyweight championship in 1974. “What we did there was ahead of its time.”
❖ ❖ ❖
As many as 200 chairs were set up around three sides of the ring with the fourth occupied by the announcing table and interview stage. Gordon Solie, known as the voice of Championship Wrestling from Florida, usually worked there.
One camera was locked onto a podium for the wide shot, Brisco said, and a second hand-held camera was used for everything else.
The walls were painted dark and the ring heavily lit, creating the illusion the building was the size of an arena when it was only a few thousand square feet.
The second floor consisted of an editing suite, a tape library, and an audio studio to record voice overs.
“The Sportatorium was a television studio,” said Dory Funk Jr., 75, a four-time Florida heavyweight champ and former NWA world heavyweight titlist who now runs the Funking Conservatory Wrestling School in Ocala. “It was a wrestling show but it was more an hour commercial to get you to buy tickets to watch us wrestle in an arena.”
Matches of consequence rarely occurred at the Sportatorium but rather would involve a big star easily defeating an unknown.
“They would give me someone to guzzle in the ring to show how good I was,” Funk said. “They’d give Brisco someone to guzzle to show how good he was. Then people would want to pay to see us wrestle each other. You didn’t give that match away on free television.”
The marquee matches occurred at Tampa’s Fort Homer W. Hesterly Armory and other big arenas throughout the state, such as West Palm Beach Auditorium or Miami Beach Convention Center.
When a big match did take place, it was primarily meant to whet the fans’ appetites, said wrestler turned politician Brian Blair, 57, of Tampa, two-time Florida heavyweight champ.
“We’d go to a 10-minute draw to leave the fans wanting more,” Blair said. “And they’d have to go to the armory for the rematch.”
The grapplers also sold fans on buying arena tickets with interview segments and scripted drama at the Sportatorium tapings.
❖ ❖ ❖
Among the more memorable storylines archivist Rose recalled was the time in the 1970s when Jos LeDuc turned on his friend Jimmy Garvin during an interview. The faux beating put on Garvin was so brutal the grappler was spitting up blood.
“You then wanted to see them in the ring to settle it,” Rose said.
Gerald Brisco’s favorite memory of the Sportatorium was one of his first appearances there. It was 1970 and he was new to the industry but his older brother Jack Brisco was already an established champion.
Knowing Jack Brisco was not at the Sportatorium because of a delayed plane, bad guy wrestler Dale Lewis challenged him to a match then called him a coward for not accepting. Defending his brother’s honor, Gerald Brisco stepped into the ring.
“He beat on me pretty bad since I was just a rookie and he put me in his Lewis Lock meant to break an arm,” Brisco said. “But I wouldn’t give up. Then, just as my arm was ready to snap, a cab pulled up with my brother and he ran in to stop it.”
That storyline, Brisco said, established a feud between Lewis and brothers that carried over into arena shows.
When major events were held outside Tampa, Brisco said, he would often ask the pilot to detour slightly to fly over Eddie Gossett’s house so he could see the unique pool from above.
“We had a lot of parties there,” Brisco said. “A lot of fun.”
After Championship Wrestling from Florida shut down in 1987, Mike Gossett tried to keep the Sportatorium profitable with ventures including a weekend roller skating rink, his daughter Alonso said. But ultimately, he had to sell it.
He remained in the industry through the early 2000s but his later experiences never lived up those he had while a star and promoter in Tampa. A leg tattoo he had showing an empty wrestling ring symbolized the change, she said.
“It was a look inside of him. He felt empty. He needed that spotlight.”
Gazing around the Sportatorium, she added, “He loved this building. What a place.”
pguzzo@tampatrib.com
(813) 259-7606
@pguzzotbo