Hart - Hitman: my real life in the cartoon world of wrestling

Copyright 2007 by Hitman Productions Inc.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or re-trieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This Grand Central Publishing edition is published by arrangement with Random House Canada.

Grand Central Publishing

Hachette Book Group, USA

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com.

First eBook Edition: October 2008

ISBN: 978-0-446-54607-2

This book is dedicated to the memory of my loving mom,
Helen Tiger Belle Hart

I want to thank my children for giving me the time and space to write this book, especially after sacrificing so much of our time together during my pro wrestling career. Thanks to David Moraniss and Joe Fiorito for their encouragement throughout. Thanks also to Bruce West-wood and his staff at Westwood Creative Artists; and to Anne Collins at Random House Canada for an absolutely brilliant editing job, and for helping me to pull it all together. Thanks to all Hart family members, especially Ross and Alison; and to Julie, for putting up with me for as long as she did. I need to give special thanks to Marcy Engelstein for her amazing and tireless devotion to helping me write this book, which would never have been written without her. Thats the plain truth of it. Thank you, my friend. Ill never forget the time and energy youve given me through some very difficult times. Thanks to Dave Meltzer and Bob Leo-nard for preserving history. Thank you to all my fans around the world: I hope I havent disappointed too many of you by being as truthful as Ive been in these pages. Lastly, to every wrestler mentioned in this bookthe good, the bad and the uglyand even more so to all the wrestlers I worked with from the start, I thank each and every one of you for working with me, and for trusting me like a brother and a friend. Im free at last.

One thing you will discover is that life is based less than you think on what youve learned and much more than you think on what you have inside you from the beginning.

MARK HELPRIN, Memoir from Antproof Case

IT SEEMED LIKE AN ETERNITY until the pastor called me to the podium. I rose slowly from my seat, away from the insulation of loved onesJulie, our four kids, my friend Marcy and Olympic wrestling champion Daniel Igali. I felt them all take a deep breath as I made my way to the aisle.

My fathers funeral service was held on October 23, 2003, at the biggest church in Calgary, yet it overflowed with an eclectic throng of thousands who came to pay their respects to the legendary Stu Hart, old-time pro wrestling promoter extraordinaire.

I moved slowly, a silent prayer resounding in my head, Please, God, help me make it through. I am an experienced public speaker, but my confidence had been shattered by a major stroke.

It hadnt been that long since Id been trapped in a wheelchair, paralyzed on the left side, unsure whether Id ever walk again. Since then Id been having emotional meltdowns triggered by the most unlikely things; this is common among stroke victims. I didnt know how I was going to deliver a eulogy worthy of my father and not break down. It was also hard for me to walk tall when I felt so many eyes measuring the difference between what I was nowmy body stiff, the chiseled edges softenedto what Id been.

But when I walked past the pew where my brothers and sisters satmy limp more noticeable than I wantedI sensed, perhaps for the first time in our lives, that they were all behind me, even those with whom Id had differences. Do it for Dad, Bret. Do it for all of us. Do us proud. Thered been twelve Hart kids, and now there were ten. Our beloved mother, Helen, had died just two years earlier. Wed all been through so much, traveled such a long, long road.

This wasnt just the end of my fathers life, this was something deeper, and I think we all felt it. So many times over so many years I truly thought this godforsaken business was dead to me, but this was the day pro wrestling died for mefor good.

In the front pew sat Vince McMahon, billionaire promoter of the WWE (once the WWF), whod made a failed attempt to steal my dignity, my career and my reputation. Beside him sat Carlo DeMarco, my old friend turned loyal McMahon lieutenant. They were doing their best to look dignified, but I knewand they knew I knewthat McMahons presence at Stu Harts funeral was more about image than anything else. It only made me more determined to climb the steps with my head held high. You dont matter to me anymore, Vince. I survived you, and everything else too. I had thought it was wrestlings darkest hour when Id had my heart cut out in the middle of the ring by that son of a bitch. Then the Grim Reaper of wrestling took my youngest brother, Owen, and that was the blackest day.

Keep walking, I?told myself, for Davey, Pillman, Curt, Rick, Liz... so many of us are gone, so young, and directly on account of the wrestling life. Hell, even Hawk. People told me he had wept like a baby when he heard Stu had died of pneumonia at eighty-three... and then Hawk died that very night. One more for the list. And surely not the last.

I reached into my breast pocket and took out my notes, carefully unfolding them on the slippery, polished surface of the oak podium. I surveyed the crowd, my gaze stopping at the young apprentices, Chris Benoit, Edge and Storm, who looked back at me with respectful anticipation. Next I glanced at a company of stalwart ring veteransThe Cuban, Leo, Hito, even Bad Newsall more ruminative and melancholy than Id ever seen them. I read it in their faces, the unspoken truth that burying a man like Stu Hart was truly the end of what we had lived forand too many had died for.

And then the sight of old Killer Kowalski, in his good suit, transported me back four decades, to before Owen was even born.

I am a survivor with a story to tell. Theres never been an accurate account of the history of pro wrestling. All the public knows is what is packaged and sold to them by the industry. Since Im no longer in the business, Im in a decent position to tell the truth, without fear of recrimination. With this book, which is based on the audio diary I kept through all my years in wrestling, starting in my early twenties, I want to put you in my shoes so you can experience what pro wrestling was like in my era, through my eyes. Its not my intention to take needless jabs at those who made the journey with me, but Ill pull no punches either. Not here.

Wrestling was never my dream, and all too often it was my nightmare. Yet ingrained in me from birth was the instinct to defend it like a religion. For as long as I can remember, my world has been filled with liars and bullshitters, losers and con men. But Ive also seen the good side of pro wrestling. To me there is something beautiful about a brotherhood of big, tough men who only pretend to hurt one another for a living instead of actually doing it. I came to appreciate that there is an art to it. In contrast to my father, who loved to proudly tell people who the real tough guys, or shooters, of his generation were, I can just as proudly tell you who the great workers, or pretenders, of my generation were. Unlike so many wrestlers with their various made-up names and adopted personae, I was authentic, born Bret Hart into a wrestling world I couldnt escape. I cant say lifes been easy, but I can say its been interesting.

Ive always thought of myself as a quiet, easygoing kind of guy, and I believe I was well respected by most of my peers. Some have labeled me as arrogant, and others say I lacked charisma. Admittedly, I wasnt the best talker or mic man in the business, but I more than made up for it with my technical proficiency in the ring. I dont think anyone can rightly dispute that I was a wrestler who put the art first and gave everything I had to the businessand to the fans.