“Mr. Irresistible” Sweet Daddy Siki, who wrestled from the 1950s into the 1980s, and helped train world champions Edge/Adam Copeland and Christian Cage, has died. He was 91– though most didn’t know that.
He died on Tuesday, December 31, 2024, at Humber Hospital, in Toronto, just before the start of the new year. He had battled dementia for many years.
Siki aggressively protected his full story, letting few know his real name let alone his age.
For the record, he was born Elkin James, on June 16, 1933, in Grimes, Texas, northwest of Houston, to parents who were 60 hours-a-week farm laborers.
He was often called “Reg” by friends, in reference to the wrestling name, Reginald Siki, which he started under — an homage to an earlier star, Reginald Siki, who Siki never met.
It was a long, segregated road to fame for the native of Montgomery, Texas, who grew up in Los Angeles. Serving in the 2nd Division, infantry, in the U.S. Army, he rose to Corporal within two years, serving in Korea after the peace treaty was signed in July 1953, patrolling and keeping the peace. Before getting drafted, he had dabbled in wrestling lessons, having been a fan, but took it up in earnest after being discharged, enrolling in Sandor Szabo’s wrestling school in Los Angeles. Though he never met Szabo, Siki learned the game from Ray Ortega, and worked out with Louie Miller. After an initial hiccup with the California courts and trying to get his wrestling license despite his small size — 180 pounds, Siki got booked in Artisia, New Mexico, and made $13.50 in his debut in late 1955, under promoter “Elephant Boy” Tony Olivas, where he didn’t need to be registered. Performing as Reginald Siki, the name of another black star from the 1930s, the 5-foot-10 workout fiend got up to 230 pounds.
Athletic and blessed with stamina and bravery, Siki slowly started to make a name for himself. With his dark skin and dark hair, he was a babyface, teaming with other African-American heroes like Sailor Art Thomas on the broadcasts from Chicago’s Marigold Arena. He was known for his leaping ability. “I used to practice, practice, dropkick, dropkick, dropkick,” he said.
Siki was one of the first African-American heels, and wasn’t scared to push the envelope. At one point, he changed his name to Mau Mau Siki, after the Mau Mau Uprising in Kenya, and was nearly hung in Walla Walla, Washington. “I was the last one to leave the dressing room, and people were out there waiting for me. They had a rope up in the tree,” he said. “When you’re young, you do a lot of foolish things. I walked downstairs, laughing like hell. ‘Ha, ha, you crazy people.’ I walked right through them — I didn’t run. One thing I learned, you don’t run; you start running, that’s a bad thing, they run after you and get you.”
His villainy didn’t develop in earnest until he mastered his craft as a babyface against his idol, Buddy Rogers, who he’d befriended in Ohio. “He took me under his wing,” said Siki, adding that it was Rogers that got him to the booming New York territory, and they spent three years in each other’s company. Siki toppled Rogers for Columbus’ Eastern Heavyweight title in February 1959.
The bout that stands out the most, however, was in Greensboro, North Carolina, with the Klu Klux Klan picketing outside, and surrounding ringside. “When I walked out there, no lie, you could hear a pin hit the floor,” said Siki. The referee told Siki not to throw even one punch. Rogers took it all in strut, and Siki was counted out in the finish. [Historians have tried to find record of this bout, without luck — but Siki told the story so well, and so often, there has to be a grain of truth to it.]
Promoters weren’t as forgiving when they learned of Siki’s marriage to Anne, a Caucasian, Estonian woman born Anu Liis Koks. His bookings dropped, as did his pay, and he retreated to the less prejudiced Toronto in late 1961. He and Anne had two sons, Justin and Reg.
In Canada, he earned his stardom with cross-country tours first in wrestling, then in his country and western band, The Irresistibles, in towns big and small, primping and picking away. And it was in Montreal where he claimed he was first dubbed “Sweet Daddy” Siki rather than Reginald Siki — though he was definitely using that name prior.
He was a star in the Atlantic Grand Prix territory (“99% of the women love me, 1% hate me, but they are the fat, ugly ones with no teeth; Leo Burke can have those ones”), throughout southern Ontario, and in Calgary, where Stu Hart used him regularly. “He did everything Gorgeous George did, except he was black,” said Hart in 1997. “I’d never seem him in a bad wrestling match either.” Mr. Irresistible was a wizard on the microphone as well, his nasal Texan twang enhanced by the arrogance.
Musically-inclined, Siki cut a few singles as a whim when he was starting over in Toronto, and by the end early ’80s, he had four albums: three country and western, and one rock’n’roll. Both of his sons got involved in the music business as well. And Siki wrote his own theme song, too, “I Am So Proud Of What I See”. The touring became a grind, though. “It’s a big responsibility when you have to be the boss of three or four other guys,” he confessed. Instead of touring, he bought himself DJ equipment and a karaoke machine, and took his act to parties and taverns across southern Ontario, hitting many of the little towns that he had wrestled in while working for “Bearman” Dave McKigney.
How sweet was he?
Chiara Pugliese, widow to Tony “Cannonball” Parisi, and long-time friend, shared a memory on Facebook. “I remember when he came to restaurants and asked for a coffee to go and he said he wanted 5 sugars and 5 creamers and I said are you sure you want 5 sugars and he replied, ‘Yes, because I am Sweet Daddy Siki,’ with such a warm chuckle. Such a wonderful memory”
His wrestling career came to a close in 1987, but he stayed involved for a time, running a wrestling school with Johnny Powers and then Ron Hutchison. The biggest names to have benefited from his training were WWE stars Edge and Christian.
Looking back, Siki will say that one of the rare perks of the racially-segregated life on the road was meeting other celebrities stuck in the same situation, Siki said. Count Basie recognized him in a Chicago hotel, he partied with the Shirelles, and couldn’t lose Cassius Clay for three days in Florida. He missed Muhammad Ali when the boxing great was in Toronto’s Maple Leaf Gardens, but learned that George Foreman was a huge fan. “I went in the dressing room. George said, ‘God, I remember you! I used to come see you wrestle in Dallas, Texas!’ Can you imagine that?”
Ever careful of his money, Siki would have a calculator with him in the restaurant to figure out the tip. Though he doesn’t have the first nickel he even learned, as his friends are quick to quip, Siki is proud of what he has done. After all, it’s a long way from hoping to find some fresh roadkill, like a rabbit, for dinner, or scrounging in garbage bins for food. “This is what I did to become who I am.”
The CBC helped fund a documentary on his life, titled Sweet Daddy Siki, which came out in 2017, which this writer was a part of working on.
The documentary also was among the last of his public appearances. He stopped running karaoke at The Duke Tavern prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, and he never went back.
“He lived a long life, did what he wanted to do, and made a successful career out of entertainment,” summarized His son, Reg James, in an email.
The family hopes to have a celebration of Elkin James’ life at the Duke, maybe in June, closer to Siki’s actual birthday — now that all has been revealed.
