EDITOR’S NOTE: Jeremiah Plunkett writes a weekly column SlamWrestling.net, where he offers up stories of his travels in “Journeyman Journals with Jeremiah.”
Journal Entry 12/15/2024
Welcome back to Journeyman Journals! Today, I’m writing from a cold and rainy park in Middle Tennessee while my wife competes in a Christmas-themed race. As I’m off the road this week, I want to spotlight a wrestling family that profoundly shaped my life and career. No, I’m not talking about the Anoa’is, Harts, or Von Erichs. I’m talking about Tennessee’s own—The Mortons.
For those outside the Volunteer State, it might come as a surprise that the Morton family’s influence in wrestling extends far beyond Ricky and Kerry. In fact, my first encounter wasn’t with Ricky or Kerry at all. It was with “Mr. TNT” himself, Sweet Shane Morton.
Back in the early days of my career, I was wrestling in a hardcore-based promotion, experimenting and learning by trial and error. Buzz Dupp—one of my trainers—wanted to get me out of that chaotic environment and into a place where I could learn actual wrestling. That’s when he told me, “I’m getting you into Columbia.”
Columbia, Tennessee, a town of about 35,000 at the time, was known as the “Mule Capital of the World” and home to NASCAR legend Sterling Marlin. But for me, Columbia became synonymous with wrestling. In 2005-06, two promotions ran head-to-head there on Saturday nights: Mike Porter’s NWA Main Event and Shane Morton’s Columbia Wrestling Alliance (CWA), where I was headed.
Shane is a legitimate Morton—Ricky’s second cousin. And much like Ricky, Shane had charisma and knew how to draw a crowd. CWA was packing some of the biggest houses in the region. Stepping into Columbia felt like stepping back in time—fans still believed. Little old ladies with beehive hairdos would smack heels with sacks of nickels, while older men with pocketknives would make threats from ringside. It wasn’t uncommon for fans to try jumping the barricades (really just PVC pipes anchored by concrete buckets) on a weekly basis.
In Columbia, I was thrown into an environment where I had to adapt quickly. The locker rooms were separated, everything was called in the ring, and the roster was full of veterans who’d worked the territories. There weren’t many young guys like me, but I was in the perfect place to learn.
I wrestled constantly—sometimes twice or even three times a night. I had my usual role as JP Dangerously (a name I still cringe at), but I’d also don a mask for various gimmicks when an extra body was needed. I was The Ringmaster, The Puerto Rican Assassin, and possibly even The Royal Knight. Fun fact: The Royal Knight costume I wore was the same one Barry Horowitz used at Survivor Series 1993. Last I heard, it’s in the collection of Mikey Dunn.
Shane and I slowly became close, and as I gained experience, he put me in more prominent spots. One of my favorite times was tagging with my mentor Quinton Quarisma as “Hangin’ Tough.” We worked a lot with Shane and his partners, Steve Morton or Devin Domain. Those matches taught me about the Morton family’s natural ability to sell. The fans loved Shane and Steve so much that they’d lose their minds when we’d beat on them—security had to hold back fans almost every match. It became a running joke to ask Big Terry, our head of security, how many fans tried to jump the barrier. One was disappointing; our record was five.
Outside the ring, Shane was a local celebrity. We’d hang out at a bar called Cowboys, where everyone called him “Mayor.” The staff even gave us all T-shirts with nicknames—Shane’s, of course, read Mayor.
Years later, I took over training Shane’s son, Cody, Steve’s son David, and even helped Shane’s daughter Jerilynn. I had the privilege of overseeing Cody and David’s first professional matches before they became the tag team Smokin’ Budz. Jerilynn managed and occasionally wrestled in family matches, continuing the Morton legacy.
My first meeting with Ricky Morton came a few years after I met Shane. I was riding with Shawn Shultz and Danny Dealz to a show near Knoxville. In the locker room sat Ricky, holding court like the legend he is. I was shy and starstruck, but Ricky broke the ice. He took one look at me—bald head, tight beard, and red butcher singlet—and asked, “Have you ever thought of being a Russian?” Before I could respond, he laughed and said, “We’ll call you Balls Frozenoff!” The locker room erupted, and I immediately felt at ease.
That night, I worked with Shawn Shultz, one of the most talented wrestlers I’ve ever shared a ring with. He never got the big break he deserved, but I’ll save more about Shawn for a future installment. After the match, Ricky complimented us and asked the promoter if I was booked for the next week. The promoter replied, “If Ricky wants you here, you’re booked.”
The following week, I was a nervous wreck. When the day arrived, I was ready to wrestle Ricky Morton. This was also my first encounter with a young Kerry Morton, then about nine or ten years old. Known to the boys as “Moto,” Kerry was already chain wrestling in the ring before the show, outshining most adults. Watching his growth as a performer over the years has been no surprise.
Over time, Ricky and I crossed paths more frequently. He always remembered me, which amazed me given his legendary career. As we got closer, I came to consider Ricky and Kerry friends. When my father passed away, Ricky hugged me at the next NWA taping and talked with me. Both he and Kerry checked in on me for months.
I also owe Shane a debt of gratitude. Beyond being a great promoter and wrestler, Shane is one of the most selfless people I’ve met. He’s organized countless fundraiser shows to help wrestlers in need and continues mentoring young talent. One of his most meaningful contributions is the annual Right Way Wrestling Reunion, where generations of wrestlers come together to share stories, knowledge, and camaraderie.
I used to joke about my “never-ending war with the Morton family” in promos, but in truth, that rivalry shaped my career. To Shane, Virginia, Steve, Ricky, Cody, Jerilynn, David, and everyone else in the Morton clan—thank you for treating me like one of your own. I’d go to war with or against any of you, any time.
Next week, Journeyman Journals hits the road again. I’ll be defending Miss Teeny, the NWA Mid-America Heavyweight Championship, at Tennessee All-Pro Wrestling’s Morrison Mayhem and raising money for cancer treatments in Lebanon, Tennessee. Join me there, and until then, be well.
JEREMIAH PLUNKETT LINKS
- Jeremiah Plunkett story and column archive
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- NWA LinkTree
