Straight from the Hart Read Online Free PDF Page A

fun of us for our attire. My brothers and I became kind of immune to the putdowns or would, on occasion, challenge our oppressors to fights after school, but it was pretty hard on my poor sisters — who were often reduced to tears because of the insulting and derisive taunts.
    When I think back now on that tough time, I find it hard to fathom why people discriminate against the poor or underprivileged. Poverty, obviously, isn’t a lifestyle anyone chooses.

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    That November, with things looking increasingly bleak, my dad happened to run into Ron Chase, the new programming director of CHCT television in Calgary, which was the station my dad had been on back in the ’50s. In talking, Chase mentioned that he used to be a big fan of the wrestling show and inquired as to whether my dad might be interested in coming back to his station. My dad, of course, jumped at the opportunity and they soon had agreed on bringing the show back, for the start of January 1966.
    I can still recall the big smile on my dad’s face when he came home that day and informed my mom that he was getting back into the wrestling business.
    Helen had never been a huge fan — even during the boom time — and had come to see the wrestling business as more of a curse than cause to celebrate.
    She, however, seemed to realize that this was perhaps our last chance to salvage things and threw herself into the mix with as much enthusiasm and energy as she could muster.
    There was only one problem though — Stu Hart didn’t have two cents to rub together and the start-up costs would include refurbishing the rings, advertising and other costs, not to mention getting talent. My dad, who’d loaned thousands of dollars to friends and associates around town when business had been good, 23
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    ♥ BRUCE HART ♥
    began calling around, hoping someone could oblige him, but all his supposed friends turned him down and, as the January start date loomed closer, it was beginning to look like the whole endeavor might not get off the ground —
    which had my mom pretty distressed.
    A few weeks before Christmas, with the thermometer hovering around forty below, my dad arrived in his broken-down old Cadillac to pick us up at school and happened to run into our principal, Harold Sharlow, who, oddly enough, had at one time sold tickets for my dad, back in the ’50s. As they got to chatting, my dad related how he had a chance to start up the promotion again but was strapped for cash and the whole thing appeared to be in jeopardy. Sharlow immediately offered to lend him a few thousand dollars and that would prove to save our bacon, as my dad put it.
    With the money in place, my dad then embarked on trying to line up talent
    — which, given how tough it had been the year before, seemed a daunting task.
    This time around though, he had considerably better luck. One of the things that worked in our favor was the prevailing racial tension in the United States
    — the protest marches, Martin Luther King, Mississippi burnings, the KKK
    and all of that — which made it tough for black wrestlers, especially heels, to find work.
    As a result, my dad was able to secure the services of some terrific African American talent, including a colorful, outspoken black heel named Sweet Daddy Siki, who, I’m told, was the main inspiration for another black athlete making a name for himself at the time — Cassius Clay, who would later change his name to Muhammad Ali. Siki — who had bleached blond hair long before Dennis Rodman ever dreamed of it and who did cutting-edge promos —
    referred to himself as “Mr. Irresistible” and claimed that he was “the women’s pet and the men’s regret.” He would prove to be an instant box office smash for our promotion. He also recommended a young black babyface he’d been tutoring — Rocky Johnson — who would similarly become a mainstay of the