Ron Hill’s autobiography looks at wrestling outside the big time
The death of Kevin Sullivan brought a million stories of a legendary career spanning decades in the wrestling business. But not every story is a positive one.
Take the story of Sullivan’s training.
According to the press (and Sullivan himself), he was trained by a minor wrestler named Paul Del Monico in Boston in 1970, part of a program that would see him train for free under Del Monico, the only requirement that the student be under the management of Ed May, owner of the school and budding independent promoter. The unique school was even covered in a 1970 edition of Ring Wrestling magazine.
The training (and subsequent bookings) was sparse, and the young Sullivan struggled to find a spot in the wrestling world. That was until he agreed to train under an entirely independent-minded wrestler named Ron Hill in Florida. It was Sullivan’s big break, as Hill put in a good word with Tampa wrestling kingpin Eddie Graham.
It was a kindness that Sullivan forgot. But Hill never did.
The story is just one of an incredible array of colorful and chaotic experiences, as Hill tells in his autobiography When Wrestlers Had Cauliflower Ears: The Life and Times of Ron “The Golden Gladiator” Hill. While not a new book by any means (it came out in 2010), it’s an unexpected treasure worth checking out for anyone who wants to get a sense of what wrestling was like outside of the bright lights, glitz, and glamor.
Ron Hill isn’t a name you’ll see on a WWE Hall of Fame ceremony or even mentioned that much, really. But this gruff, no-nonsense journeyman was a “wrestler’s wrestler,” equally at home as the hero or the villain and not afraid to stand up to promoters (occasionally to his own detriment).
Born and raised in Brockton, Massachusetts, Hill grew up idolizing the mat stars of the Boston rings: Jackie Nichols, Bibber McCoy, Les Ryan, and Frank Sexton, among others. In fact, Hill idolized them so much that he took up amateur wrestling at the YMCA, eventually catching the eye of Joe Belino, a local promoter for Paul Bowser (and possibly a well-connected Italian American businessman in the import/export business, if such a thing existed).
Belino was always looking for an angle to fill the Music Hall Arena, and the 17-year-old Hill and his best friend Billy Lyons (no, not that Billy Lyons/William Snip) showcasing their budding skills for friends and family was one such angle. This was Hill’s entry into the murky world of pro wrestling — one that would see him wrestle internationally and “win” a claim for the world light-heavyweight title.
Hill’s book is a fascinating insight into the wacky world of Tony Santos and his Big Time Wrestling promotion that was a throwback to a different era. Santos, really Tony Sannizarro, was a former boxer, wrestler, referee, and lowly stooge in the Paul Bowser empire who decided to make a go on his own when the aging Bowser lost interest in wrestling, only running sporadic cards and instead focusing on his harness racing.
Finding himself out of money and facing menacing threats from Bowser and his mob-friendly underling, Montreal promoter Eddie Quinn, Santos turned to Jack Pfefer for support. He found a niche on the periphery of Boston wrestling and created a growing circuit of dinner clubs, small arenas, casinos, amusement parks, drive-in theatres (yes, really), and fairs from Newport, Rhode Island, up into the Canadian Maritimes.
Pfefer’s presence kept Santos safe, and eventually, Bowser (at the instigation of Pfefer’s ally and NWA President Sam Muchnick) reached a peaceful coexistence in the area, including sending some lesser or younger Bowser talent to work for Santos — like Ronnie Hill.
Hill’s relationship with Santos was never one of trust, with Hill continuously butting heads over bookings … and, more importantly, control. This tense relationship often left Hill out in the cold and without bookings, with the young, hard-headed Hill working through a unique selection of jobs to make ends meet.
When Wrestlers Had Cauliflower Ears brings these peculiar “side quests” to vivid life, including the summer he worked as an assistant to a trapeze act and how he got his first gimmick: “Cowboy” Ronnie Hill, a moniker he earned as the stunt choreographer and head stunt cowboy at Cowboy Town, a Plainville, Massachusetts amusement park with a Wild West theme.
It was under his cowboy moniker when Hill won his “world title.” That honor was bestowed by Santos, who heralded the bewildered Hill after knocking out an opponent the day prior.
Only this opponent was a townie, there was no match, and the “ring” was the midway at the summer fair in Revere. It’s a great story worth the price of the book alone. And Hill would defend that title when a local promoter needed a little oomph, including running opposition in San Antonio and across the border from El Paso in Mexico.
While Hill’s time with Santos was brief (in the cosmic sense, in reality, around a decade), he gained much of his savvy in (and out) of Santos’ rings, a unique melting pot of grizzled veterans clinging on, like Nichols and McCoy, local grapplers, and undersized showmen like Emile Dupre, Terry Garvin, and a young Pat Patterson, who Hill derided as “workers.”
Shooting was a required skill if a wrestler wanted respect from Hill. His book derides the gimmicky and showman aspects of the sport he was breaking into. Hill was out of place in many ways — belonging to the late 1930s and early ’40s with his no-nonsense approach. That probably explains why he put so much pride in his cauliflower ears.
While he prized his shooting skills, Hill was no slouch when enticing a crowd. With a personality as peppy as Bob Holly, Hill attracted fans thanks to his hard work, skill, and honesty and detractors who despised his cool confidence.
The book is a refreshing look at wrestling outside of the big time. Hill found his happiest moments working in some of the smaller locales, like Larry Kasaboski’s Northland promotion or for the Lortie brothers during the mild Canadian summers.
But Hill found his eventual home in the south. And it was in the south, namely Florida, where Hill found his place in life. Originally having moved to allow his dying father a chance to spend time with his brother, Richard, a military man and marital arts expert, Hill eventually began a secondary career as a private investigator with his brother. This career combined Hill’s love of excitement and his dedication to mastering martial arts of any variety.
And that dedication led him to a brief stint as a trainer. But Hill’s list of students is sparse — in fact, there are only two names: Sullivan, who never gave Hill the credit he deserved, and a clumsy, brawny powerlifter named Joe Bednarski, who would later find fame as the “Polish Hammer,” Ivan Putski.
Like his time in Massachusetts, Hill’s time in Florida was chaotic and intermittent. He occasionally found himself on the outs with Eddie Graham, but (as before) he simply relied on a mixture of independent states and side hustles to combat his own political missteps.
Graham and his partner/mentor Clarence “Cowboy” Luttrell owned and operated the NWA’s booking office for much of Florida, and we’re extremely unwelcoming when it came to rivals, something Hill would learn firsthand.
While on the outs, Hill would run his pro wrestling school and appear as a headliner for a colorful outlaw promoter, Billy Blue Rivers.
As legendary wrestler Bob Roop would later recall, “Billy Blue Rivers ran shows in little bars over in St. Pete, and Eddie just despised – he acted like, you’d have thought these guys were like Ole Anderson was when Vince McMahon was trying to take Atlanta from him. These people weren’t any threat. Ronnie Hill’s little school wasn’t any threat, and Billy Blue Rivers’ bar shows wasn’t any threat, but to Eddie, God, you’d think these guys were carrying the Andromeda Strain or something. He just hated them. He’d got almost into a frothing fit about them.”
Billy Blue Rivers was born Bill Wenhold in Pennsylvania. Trained by his father (old school shooter Karl Schneider) and a longtime veteran of the ring wars, Johnny Carlin, Wenhold had the pedigree to be a star but lacked in some key areas. Sure, he had charisma (which Hill described as “popular with a redneck crowd”), but according to Hill he was devoid of most in-ring skill and lacked the physique to make it big.
As Ronnie Hill put it in his book, “He was the only person I have ever seen warm up with a pair of cable expanders and never show a single muscle during the effort.”
Blue Rivers and Hill had established a successful program at a country and western nightclub in Clearwater. The program was built steadily, with the unforgiving and ruthless Hill continuing to brutalize the popular Blue Rivers, much to the dismay of the local fans.
The situation nearly overflowed into riot one night when Hill targeted his rival with a devastating cross-arm breaker submission. Hill’s mastery of grappling techniques and Blue Rivers’ ability to connect with their redneck fans made this hold particularly effective. And when Hill refused to break the hold after the match, all chaos erupted. The referee had to call in local police to separate him from the helpless Native American wrestler.
A highly anticipated rematch was scheduled for the following week, where Blue Rivers aimed to defeat his evil rival finally. Given the immense anticipation, a sell-out crowd was guaranteed.
And then it fell apart.
At his core, Billy Blue Rivers was paranoid about Graham and the threat he posed to his fledging outlaw promotion. Because of this, he saw fictional enemies everywhere – including Hill. Realizing that Hill was a dangerous shooter (and that Graham was enamored with wrestlers who could legitimately hurt people in the ring), Blue Rivers was concerned for his safety.
Did he have reason to worry? Absolutely.
Earlier in the week, Graham had sent word to Hill that he needed to speak with him about an urgent matter. The matter? Graham and Luttrell would pay Hill $1,000 to break the arm of Billy Blue Rivers.
“No, keep your money,” Hill replied, “you’re going to need it.”
But while Hill was on the level, Blue Rivers and his father were convinced they were in trouble. So, when the big evening came, the big explosion turned out to be nothing more than a little fizzle.
Blue Rivers was convinced of a double cross, so he quadruple-crossed Hill. When the referee (who happened to be Blue Rivers’ father and manager) called for the bell, the two locked up. And then it was over. Hill was immediately disqualified (for no reason), and Blue Rivers and his father high-tailed it to the locker room.
Rather than be angered, the bemused Hill accepted his payoff and realized Graham had played a masterful strategy to completion. After all, why pay a $1,000 when a free threat would do the trick?
But Hill didn’t let the politics get to him. Heck, he even tried to promote wrestling on his own. Real wrestling, but his “Professional Classic Wrestling,” a wrestling circuit that relied on amateur-style grappling and legitimate contest of skill, never made it beyond the 300 or so confused Floridians that made it into Jessie’s Auction House in Wachula.
But though he was always on the move, Hill still found his career-defining role as “The Gladiator” and “Golden Gladiator” in Gulf Coast Championship Wrestling for Lee Fields, where he “innovated” the idea of a “loaded” mask.
I don’t want to go too much more into the plot as I’m not doing it a service: this is an engaging and enjoyable read you’ll want to revisit time and time again.
Perhaps the most memorable part of When Wrestlers Had Cauliflower Ears is the less familiar names you encounter. And no name carried as much respect with Hill as “Killer” Kurt Douglas.
While he is often mocked for his name, Kurt Douglas was no gimmick. Instead, he was a local guy with a loving family and a good job who just liked to wrestle. Having initially set out to “handle” a prospective wrestler (Douglas) at the YMCA, Hill immediately bonded with the mighty and technically proficient Douglas.
He gave Douglas his highest recommendation, and Santos immediately shot Douglas to the top, making him his East Coast Heavyweight Champion in his rookie year.
Douglas never sought the bright lights of Madison Square Garden or the million-dollar gates. He loved his town, his family, and his life. And it was a life (and career) that was tragically cut far too short; Hill’s final meeting with his friend was particularly poignant.
But the book is filled with old-timers and stars of a by-gone era: “Golden Boy” Arnold Skaaland (who helped make Hill with an hour draw early in his career), Angelo Savoldi, Les Ruffin, Jack Clayborne, Bull Curry, Lou Thesz, Buzz Orio, and more dot the pages of the book, offering the ideal primer for those looking for a better grasp at some of the sport’s lost greats (Thesz excluded, plenty is known about him).
But what’s most enjoyable is the narrator himself. In When Professional Wrestlers Had Cauliflower Ears, Hill is gruff but likable and honest much more often than most. In many ways, Ron Hill comes across as a mixture of Lou Thesz and Bob Holly — open, unflinching, and tinged with a hint of resentment for those who lacked Hill’s work ethic or wrestling prowess. And it’s that honesty that sticks with you and leaves you with a deep sense of respect for Hill, his career, and how he lived his life.
