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ONE OF MY MANY RIBS
– Dick Steinborn
October 23, 2008
My dad Milo spent thirty-one years as a pro wrestler. He would invite some of his cohorts to dinner on Sunday evening, and the funny
stories would fly. Of course, since I knew I wanted to pursue the same profession as my dad, I listened with intensity most all of the time.
Most of the stories were about the ribs that the stars of that day were playing on each other. There were stories about Ray Steele, Gino
Garibaldi, and so many others. Some of the stories were dull, but what intrigued me were the funny jokes that were played.
And so, I took up the fun part of the game. The ribbing of a cohort in your business only brought respect from those who accepted you and
your prank that you were to pull. Of course, receiving a joke played on you had to be accepted, also.
Today’s crunch of problems with the high cost of gasoline, brought back memories of one of my ribs, played on a youngster from
Galveston, Texas. His name was Mickey Sharp. His father was a mortician in Texas, and Mickey had to assist with the embalming of the
patrons who had passed on.
�I had enough of that�, Mickey told me. He said that Texas TV wrestling got into his blood as he watched it each week on his TV
set. No one seems to know who started Mickey with a solid training program.
He showed up at the ABC Booking office in Atlanta and told the secretary that he was a wrestler and he wanted to be booked.
Ray Gunkel and Don McIntyre, along with the veteran Paul Jones, were the owners of the company. With a short interview, Mickey
convinced them that he was their man.
There are some fans who are prepared to be a pro wrestler. Some truly believe they belong in the business. Then there are those who
find that in their own mind, they have to be in the business. Mickey had to do something else than what he was trained to do by his father.
And so, TV wrestling in Texas became his new dad.
The Atlanta office booked Mickey just on his word. He came to Atlanta driving a brand new Volkswagen automobile. Petrol in those days
was 40-60 cents per gallon.
Mickey’s appearance in the ring was nothing but an imitation of what he had trained himself to believe from being a wrestling junkie.
He was in awe of the TV stars in Georgia. He was like a mark in the dressing room. He was the low man on the totem pole.
Since he didn’t have much to brag about, he started telling the boys that he was getting 20-30 miles more per gallon on his VW. We
heard that story every night. That’s when I started to play a rib on Mickey.
I bought a medium-sized fruit jar and filled it with gasoline. It had a tight seal, so I wasn’t worried about any spillage.
Mickey was always on first, so I decided to sneak outside to the parking lot and poured a pint of gasoline into his vehicle.
Since he was always talking about his VW’s performance on the highways, I now was going to give him something to brag about.
Sure enough, Mickey started telling the boys he is getting 50 miles a gallon, and then it went to 60 mpg.
All the boys knew of the rib and kept Mickey’s attention away from the gas gauge as Mickey left the arenas at night. There was loud
talk about how Mickey was improving in the game as the key was put in the ignition to leave the arenas after the shows were over.
Then Leo Garibaldi started offering Mickey more money than the car was worth. Leo kept insisting and Mickey Sharpe kept getting more
proud after each offer.
He finally caught on. And when he left Georgia he shook my hand and said, “Thanks for accepting me in your game.�
I never knew what happened to this young man. Georgia might have been his only territory where he could call himself, a full-fledged
professional wrestler. He was ribbed.
– Dick Steinborn
October 23, 2008
My dad Milo spent thirty-one years as a pro wrestler. He would invite some of his cohorts to dinner on Sunday evening, and the funny
stories would fly. Of course, since I knew I wanted to pursue the same profession as my dad, I listened with intensity most all of the time.
Most of the stories were about the ribs that the stars of that day were playing on each other. There were stories about Ray Steele, Gino
Garibaldi, and so many others. Some of the stories were dull, but what intrigued me were the funny jokes that were played.
And so, I took up the fun part of the game. The ribbing of a cohort in your business only brought respect from those who accepted you and
your prank that you were to pull. Of course, receiving a joke played on you had to be accepted, also.
Today’s crunch of problems with the high cost of gasoline, brought back memories of one of my ribs, played on a youngster from
Galveston, Texas. His name was Mickey Sharp. His father was a mortician in Texas, and Mickey had to assist with the embalming of the
patrons who had passed on.
�I had enough of that�, Mickey told me. He said that Texas TV wrestling got into his blood as he watched it each week on his TV
set. No one seems to know who started Mickey with a solid training program.
He showed up at the ABC Booking office in Atlanta and told the secretary that he was a wrestler and he wanted to be booked.
Ray Gunkel and Don McIntyre, along with the veteran Paul Jones, were the owners of the company. With a short interview, Mickey
convinced them that he was their man.
There are some fans who are prepared to be a pro wrestler. Some truly believe they belong in the business. Then there are those who
find that in their own mind, they have to be in the business. Mickey had to do something else than what he was trained to do by his father.
And so, TV wrestling in Texas became his new dad.
The Atlanta office booked Mickey just on his word. He came to Atlanta driving a brand new Volkswagen automobile. Petrol in those days
was 40-60 cents per gallon.
Mickey’s appearance in the ring was nothing but an imitation of what he had trained himself to believe from being a wrestling junkie.
He was in awe of the TV stars in Georgia. He was like a mark in the dressing room. He was the low man on the totem pole.
Since he didn’t have much to brag about, he started telling the boys that he was getting 20-30 miles more per gallon on his VW. We
heard that story every night. That’s when I started to play a rib on Mickey.
I bought a medium-sized fruit jar and filled it with gasoline. It had a tight seal, so I wasn’t worried about any spillage.
Mickey was always on first, so I decided to sneak outside to the parking lot and poured a pint of gasoline into his vehicle.
Since he was always talking about his VW’s performance on the highways, I now was going to give him something to brag about.
Sure enough, Mickey started telling the boys he is getting 50 miles a gallon, and then it went to 60 mpg.
All the boys knew of the rib and kept Mickey’s attention away from the gas gauge as Mickey left the arenas at night. There was loud
talk about how Mickey was improving in the game as the key was put in the ignition to leave the arenas after the shows were over.
Then Leo Garibaldi started offering Mickey more money than the car was worth. Leo kept insisting and Mickey Sharpe kept getting more
proud after each offer.
He finally caught on. And when he left Georgia he shook my hand and said, “Thanks for accepting me in your game.�
I never knew what happened to this young man. Georgia might have been his only territory where he could call himself, a full-fledged
professional wrestler. He was ribbed.
