The Killer: Anatomy Of A Mat Villain

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Killer Kowalski in his prime.

WWE Photo

Killer Kowalski was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame in 1996.

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Bryan Walsh trained under Killer Kowalski.

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Pro wrestling great Killer Kowalski.

A recent story on Killer Kowalski brought back a flood of memories about one of pro wrestling’s truly great villains.

Killer was one of those classic heels who knew how to generate heat back in the days when that rare and innate ability separated the men from the boys in the wrestling business. He made a nice living by being mean and playing the bad guy to perfection.

While Wladek “Killer” Kowalski was feared by wrestling fans throughout the world, alter ego Walter Kowalski was a kind, gentle man with a heart of gold who wouldn’t swat a fly. A vegetarian who neither smoked nor drank, he loved poetry and classical music, especially Mozart, and was a deep thinker who studied theology and metaphysics. While fans lustily booed him every time he stepped inside the ring, unbeknownst to them, Killer would meditate, visualizing an image of Jesus casting his light over the ring and the crowd.

But the crowd loved to hate Kowalski, who came by the name “Killer” after a 1953 match in Montreal, when one of his patented knee drops accidentally swiped the cauliflower ear off opponent “Yukon Eric” Holmbeck.

As the story goes, Kowalski later visited Eric in the hospital, and he began laughing along with him at how silly the bandages looked. When it was later reported in a newspaper that Kowalski visited the hospital to laugh at the sight of his unfortunate victim’s missing ear, his reputation soared to a new level.

Kowalski, a naturalized U.S. citizen who was born to Polish immigrants in Windsor, Ontario, Canada, traveled the world many times over and met the best in the business. He was one of pro wrestling’s major attractions during its golden age in the ‘50s when the business gained a foothold on the new medium of television.

A master of the dreaded claw hold when it was one of the most dangerous weapons in the profession, Kowalski was perpetual motion in the ring, wrestling’s version of a great white shark who never slowed down the pace.

“He could go and go and go. He really never stopped moving,” recalled a former training student who noted Kowalski’s amazing cardiovascular conditioning. “He was one of those guys who if he grabbed you in a hold, he wouldn’t use it to rest. He’d grab the ropes and turn it into a chokehold. Then he’d do his kangaroo hop around the ring, take a bump and let the babyface make his comeback. He was just a bundle of energy.”

Kowalski, known in the business as somewhat of a loner, married for the first time two years ago at the age of 79. “What could I do? She told me she was pregnant,” he would quip.

But he received countless proposals over the years, including one from a woman while he was on tour of Australia, who asked the wrestler to take her back to the states with him. “I can’t,” he told her. When the woman asked why not, he replied, “You don’t fit in my suitcase.”

Walter “Killer” Kowalski, now 81, is many years removed from those glory years. An imposing man who once stood 6 foot 6 inches tall and weighed 275 pounds, the ailing wrestler now resides in a Massachusetts nursing home, according to an article in the Boston Herald. His body is failing him. His knees are shot and no longer support him, and he’s not in good enough shape to endure an operation. A pacemaker keeps his heart beating.

It’s a frustrating time for him,” wife Theresa, 79, told the Herald. “We just can’t find a doctor who’ll operate on his knees because of his age and the pacemaker. I think the world ought to know that when you reach your 80s and are in need of surgery, it’s not all that easy to get it. So sometimes his spirits are down.

“We spend the days talking about everything, and I’ll try to bring something special from the house to eat. But what really cheers him up are the cards and letters he gets. Right now, I’d say they’re the best medicine of all.”

His many friends inside and outside the business aren’t counting him out yet either. They tend to reflect on the many qualities that made Killer Kowalski an unforgettable character.

“There’s one thing you can never take away from him. He has lived a spectacular life,” says veteran wrestler Bryan Walsh. “He’s traveled the world. He’s done what he’s loved doing. He achieved the fame and glory of being a top name in a business he loved. He may not be a financially rich man, but his memories are a treasure chest.”

“To me, he was the most altruistic person I’ve ever met. He always put the needs and desires well ahead of those of himself,” says author and longtime friend Jeff Archer.

“One year, he sent us a beautiful silver plate for our anniversary. Another time, he sent an original poem to my wife for her birthday. He paid 50 bucks for someone to write it in a calligraphy style. At the time, he had little money himself and I chewed his (butt) out for having paid someone to illustrate the poem, and told him that it was the poem, not the calligraphy, that warranted merit.”

Archer notes that Kowalski made several trips to San Diego during a five-year period and was always a guest at his home.

“We considered him part of the family, not a former wrestling superstar,” says Archer. “The only arguments we ever had were over money; he always tried to pay for gas, or food, or something else. Most financial arguments are over money someone does not pay. Ours were over him trying to give away money.”

Archer related an incident that demonstrated Kowalski’s charitable nature.

“In 1998, I arranged for the Thomas Paine Coffee Shop in San Diego to hold an afternoon with the Killer. About 100 people showed up. We watched two of his matches on a large-screen TV and then he spoke and took questions. It was Kowalski at his best. Magic.

“Several groups used the coffee shop for their home. They all pitched in and gave me an envelope with $250 inside for Walter. After the show, we went to my car and I handed Walter the envelope. As I was putting my seat belt on, he gave me the envelope and said, ‘This is yours.’ I asked why and he replied, ‘You organized this afternoon. I wasn’t looking for money, so take it.’ I snapped, ‘I’m not Killer Kowalski. You earned it.’

“He was quiet on the drive home and then I spotted him trying to put the envelope into the glove compartment. Finally, I told him that I had enough of this and said he would lose my friendship if he didn’t stop trying to give me the money. He begrudgingly halted his attempts.”

Killer could never quite get wrestling out of his system. He opened up a wrestling school in suburban Boston after his 30-year in-ring career ended in 1977. There the WWE Hall of Famer taught hundreds of aspiring grapplers the tricks of the trade. His students included the likes of Paul Levesque and Joanie Laurer, who later became better known as Triple H and Chyna.

Walsh, who began training under Kowalski in 1983 and worked professionally until 1998, recalls being in total awe of Kowalski when he first met him at his wrestling school office.

“He was actually sitting down when I first walked up to him. Then he stood up. I’m looking at this guy, and I said to myself, ‘Wow, that really is Killer Kowalski.’ You don’t expect larger-than-life people to stick their hand out and say hello to you.”

A mesmerized Walsh immediately left his job as a sandwich maker in Pawtucket, R.I., scraped together a third of the $1,200 training fee and began taking lessons four times a week. While he didn’t have the complete fee up front, he figured that by the time his $400 worth of lessons was finished, he’d have saved another $400 for the next installment.

What he didn’t take into account was the cost of the weekly bus trips from Rhode Island to Massachusetts, along with food and other expenses. He couldn’t afford to continue, and was crestfallen when the day came that he had to break the news to his trainer.

Walsh explained his dilemma to Kowalski who, without hesitation, pulled him aside and offered him an alternative. For the first eight shows he’d work for Kowalski upon completion of his training, Walsh would be paid the customary $100 for each match, but he’d work them for free.

“I’ll never forget him for that. Instead of bouncing me out, like most trainers would have done, he gave me a way to stay,” says Walsh.

Kowalski’s kindheartedness and compassion didn’t end there.

Walsh got into some financial trouble 15 years later and was in a bind.

“I swallowed my pride, picked up the phone and Walter answered. I explained my situation. I told him I needed 400 bucks.”

What happened next, says Walsh, tells you the kind of man Walter Kowalski is.

“He could hardly see by then, but he got into his white, beat-up car and drove all the way from Stoneham, Mass., to this International House of Pancakes in Braintree with an envelope with $1,000 in it. I can’t tell you how much that man meant to me throughout the years. He even put the (Northeast junior heavyweight) belt on me. I knew deep down inside that I was never going to become a big name because it just wasn’t happening in the ‘80s for a guy my size. He actually had T-shirts made up for me at the shows.”

To many aspiring wrestlers, going through the rigors of training can be grueling and disillusioning, often resulting in hopefuls calling it quits in short order. But to Walsh, training under a legend like Kowalski was a dream come true.

“It was so much fun going to that school. We didn’t even have a ring to work in. We had wrestling mats. The camaraderie we had was unbelievable. Walter was like our big brother. At the end of every workout, we’d pull up chairs and he’d talk to us and tell us stories. He’d share advice and tell us about his experiences. Some were hilarious and some were touching. But I’ll tell you one thing. There was never a boring, disappointing moment when you were around Walter. I was totally in awe of the guy.”

Walsh remembers attending Kowalski’s “unofficial” WWE (then World Wide Wrestling Federation) retirement match in 1977 at the Providence Civic Center against Irish Pat Barrett. The Killer would wrestle an occasional match after opening his wrestling school, says Walsh, and “would still go and put on the best possible show he could.”

“He wasn’t a kid then,” says Walsh. “But to see him go out there and put out such energy ... he always gave it a hundred percent. And he never took a liberty with anyone in the ring. Walter was light as a feather. He never beat anybody up. If you did something wrong, he’d yell at you. But five minutes after that admonishment, the argument was over, it was forgotten and you were friends with him again. That’s the kind of guy he is.”

Walsh says Kowalski, despite his lofty standing in the profession, never forgot his roots.

“He was never too busy to shake a hand or say hello. He was very approachable and never turned away anybody for an autograph. He never even charged anybody for an autograph. That’s a real rarity today.”

Now 45 years old, Walsh looks back on a career that never put him in the spotlight, but one that gave him experiences he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“The best years of my young adult life were going to and from Boston and working with all the men and women at that school. Those were the best years of my life. Going to Walter’s was a blast. I never took it for granted. I even used to say to myself, ‘Man, I love these years, and I hope they never end.’ But they do.”

Many other students besides Walsh, Levesque (Triple H) and Laurer (Chyna) passed through the Killer’s doors. Future stars such as Big John Studd, Perry Saturn, John Kronus, Matt “A-Train” Bloom and Frankie Kazarian are all alumni.

Oddly enough, Laurer makes little mention of Killer in her 2001 autobiography, “If Only They Knew,” even ignoring the fact that her mentor helped pave her way to fame and fortune in Vince McMahon’s WWE.

I once asked Levesque, who at the time was engaged to Laurer, how his significant other could so easily dismiss Killer’s contributions to her career.

“I can’t figure it out,” he said. “But I know one thing. I can tell you that Walter is a great guy.”

The Killer still is.

- You can help brighten up a legend’s day by sending a card to Walter Kowalski at the Everett Nursing Home, 289 Elm St., Everett, Mass. 02149.

Reach Mike Mooneyham at (843) 937-5517 or mooneyham@postandcourier.com. For wrestling updates during the week, call The Post and Courier Info Line at (843) 937-6000, ext. 3090.