Kowalski was a bad guy. Everybody hated him but me. He cheated; complained to the referee; ruthlessly beat the hell out of his opponent after he jumped him when the match was over; and played every dirty trick in the book. I thought he was great.

At about the age of 14 or 15, I stopped watching professional wrestling. After all, there were rumors that it was "fake."

In the early 1990s, by mistake, I began to watch wrestling again. I was painting my kitchen and was about to come down from the ladder when pro wrestling came on the TV and change the station. I had too much paint on the brush and decided to keep painting.

The broadcaster announced that Bob Backlund was making a comeback. When I finally came down from the perch, the match was over. A nondescript Backlund won a lackluster match. Something was fishy. Wrestling never was this mundane.

The following week, I watched again. This time, the mild-mannered Backlund went berserk in the ring. For the next few weeks, officials tried to put a straight jacket on him, but he just became crazier.

Then, an insane Backlund announced he was running for president. Great stuff.

At the time, I published a monthly magazine called The Alternative. It was similar in content to my current column. We never endorsed anybody for any office, but I could not let the Backlund thing ride.

I sent a letter to the World Wrestling Federation and told them my magazine would endorse Backlund. They called me and sent out a publicity person to discuss the issue. We endorsed Backlund and the WWF and wrestling publications picked up on it. It was great publicity for all.

Along the way, I began to learn of the inside goings-on of pro wrestling. Some of the guys held post-graduate degrees and after retirement became authors, poets, comedians or artists of note.

I was intrigued about the sociological aspect of wrestling and pitched the idea of a book to my publisher. At first, he was very hesitant, but, eventually, he succumbed.

If I was to write a book on wrestling, Killer Kowalski would be my first interview. Within a few months of my first speaking to Kowalski (first name Walter), we were close friends. He made several trips from Boston to San Diego and spent time with me at my house. He is a giant of a man at 6’7" and 285 pounds. He is also a very warm and giving human being who displays no pretense.

On his first visit, we had to go to a sports shop to purchase a shirt for him to wear in a photo shoot. When we entered the shop, the owner, about 60 years old, just stared. Kowalski went to the shirt rack and the owner asked me, "Is that who I think it is?" I said, "Probably." He then approached Kowalski and said, "Hi. What an honor. I used to watch you wrestle when you still used the name Vladek." Kowalski stated, "Thanks. Where are the double extra-larges?" The owner then went to his employees and pointed to Kowalski and said, "That guy’s a legend." Kowalski never let fame or notoriety go to his head.

I was warned that my radical politics may not fit well with Kowalski, so I kept quiet about political matters. My advisors were wrong.

Within a few hours, Kowalski stated his love of nature and the environment. He often said, "Nature will devour mankind."

He was proud that he single-handedly de-segregated many hotels in the south in the 1950s. When he and the late black star Bobo Brazil walked into a hotel late at night and Kowalski loudly stated, "My name is Killer Kowalski. I am a professional wrestler and this is my friend Bobo Brazil. We will have a room here tonight," not one clerk turned them down. Maybe because Brazil was about the same size as Kowalski, but the hotel still became integrated, even if for one night only.

Now came the issue of Iraq. One day, Kowalski was looking at some of my material and saw a picture of Saddam Hussein. "Humph," he uttered. I did not know what was coming next. He then continued, "I’d like to meet that guy." "Why?" I asked. "Because I would like to shake his hand and apologize to him for the U.S. destroying his country. We had no right to do that."

This first statement about Iraq came in about 1998, so Kowalski was talking about the first Gulf War. I knew he and I would have no problem talking politics.

By September 1998, my book, Theater in a Squared Circle … The Mystique of Professional Wrestling, was completed. The publisher was putting the final work on design. Kowalski came for a week to visit me. This time, he looked at a map of Iraq and said, "Let’s go to Iraq." I was amazed and asked, "What?" He repeated himself.

Kowalski then said we should assemble a bunch of wrestlers and go to Iraq to perform on a friendship mission. I told him first of the illegality of such a venture and also the implications that if we pulled it off it would be a great embarrassment to the U.S. government: a bunch of pro wrestlers touring the country that was the U.S. enemy number one. Kowalski did not waver. We now had a plan.

In December 1998, in San Diego, we held a booksigning for the launch of Theater. Assembled were a bunch of professional wrestlers from different time periods and various federations. All had national notoriety. All had committed to go to Iraq. I will give a short description of each and his specialty:

Lanny "The Genius" Poffo: He wrestled for years as Leaping Lanny Poffo, a good guy. Then, the World Wrestling Federation (WWF) changed him to a bad guy (heel) and he became The Genius. His character was that of a gay poet. In real life, Poffo is a published poet who has recited poetry at Shakespeare festivals in England.

Bryan Walsh: He was a good guy for five years in the WWF. The All-American boy who held up good U.S. values.

Colonel Nizar Hussein: His role was that of an Iraqi champion who was Saddam Hussein’s nephew. He also wrestled under the name of Tiger Khan during his career.

Killer Kowalski: The most hated wrestler of his era, a career that began in 1947 and ended in 1977. He was nine times world champion and is still a household name in Australia and South Africa. He had to be escorted to the ring by Australian soldiers for his own safety because his gimmick appeared so real to the fans.

After the booksigning, Kowalski went back to Boston. Walsh, after going back to Massachusetts, relocated to the west coast and lived with me for four months. Poffo kept in contact. We began to plan the Iraq trip.

Along the way, the Honky Tonk Man showed his interest in going to Iraq. Big Bill Anderson, a recently-retired star would come and bring a half dozen of the young wrestlers he was training in his school. Kowalski would be a guest referee and the honored former world champion. We had an impressive roster by any professional wrestling standard.

Colonel Nizar Hussein would be the winner of the main event. He would wrestle Walsh (who would use the name Phil Clinton). Their roles would be reversed: Hussein being the fan favorite in Baghdad and Walsh the heel.

We now had to approach the Iraqi government and see what it thought of the idea. An Iraqi-American friend of mine who frequently visited his family in Baghdad consented to bring the proposal to Iraqi authorities. 

In 1999, he delivered the proprosal. They said it sounded okay, but they needed more information and a script.

I wrote the script and a short bio of the wrestlers. Colonel Nizar Hussein would beat Phil Clinton with the "flying Scud," a leaping move off the top rope after a grueling 15-minute match. The Honky Tonk Man would use the same gimmick as he did in the U.S.: an Elvis Presly impersonator. The Genius would read poetry in the ring and then wrestle an opponent. Anderson’s aspirants would be on the undercard.

When my friend returned to Baghdad in 2000, the offcials who read the script approved it but said it must still be okayed by other authroties.

By 2001, all the authorizations were in order. We were to travel to Amman, Jordan and there we would be met by Iraqi drivers who would take us to the Hotel Al-Rashid in Baghdad. We were to wrestle five times in one week: in Baghdad and surrounding areas, such as Fallujah. The matches would be free of charge for the spectators. The final event would be in Iraq’s national stadium that seated about 100,000 people. There had been a regime change in the U.S., so Walsh’s had to scrap the Phil Clinton guise and change his moniker to George Weed.

On this side of the world, we began fund-raising within the Iraqi communities of San Diego and Detroit. We assumed that by 2002 or early 2003, we would be traveling to Iraq.

Then, the news started changing. More and more missile attacks in the "no-fly zone" were occurring. More civilians were being killed. The talk of war was increasing. By the beginning of 2002, we speculated that we could be in the middle of the stadium in Baghdad and an errant U.S. missile could blow up the joint. Especially if the U.S. deemed us traitors. It would not be the first time that such an incident had occurred.

By mid-2002, it became evident that there would be no wrestling tour of Iraq. My friend traveled to Baghdad and told the officials that we considered such an event too dangerous for everybody. They agreed and thanked us for even thinking of putting on such a show.

I must say that those wrestlers who consented to travel to Iraq had great courage and integrity. I thank Killer Kowalski for bringing up such a radical idea that even I would not have considered prior to his suggestion. There are too few Killer Kowalskis and Lanny Poffos and Bryan Walshes in this world. When it came time for them to stand up for their principles, even under the threat of being ostracized, they did.

There are a few ironies of this story. In Baghdad, prior to the illegal invasion of 2003, we could have gone anywhere and been treated with respect, even though we were from the country that destroyed Iraq in 1991 and had imposed a strangling embargo on the country. Today, if a dozen U.S. citizens, pro wrestlers or otherwise, walked down virtually any Baghdad street, they would either be shot or kidnapped. So much for liberating the country.

The beautiful stadium in which we were to have held the grand finale of the tour in Baghdad is no longer in use. U.S. tanks destroyed it in 2003 when they used it as a permanent parking lot. Today, it is a mass of ruts and holes.

And, the soccer stadium in Fallujah where we would have performed, is now a mass graveyard. During the U.S. attack on the city in April 2004, more than 600 civilians were killed and the stadium had to be converted to a burial ground. I think the citizens would have preferred wrestling.