Profile #2: "The American Dream" Dusty Rhodes

The American Dream. The son of a plumber. The white man's afro. The purple belly splotch. The urban-Southern patois. The shuck. The jive. The lisp. The bionic elbow.

Needless to say, Dusty Rhodes was the chief inspiration for the birth of this blog. When I was a kid, I found an old kneepad, slipped it onto my elbow, and went around pretending to drop the "bionic elbow" on random kids in the neighborhood. I wanted to be Dusty. It didn't matter that he had the physique of a flesh-colored Grimace. It didn't matter that he couldn't pronounce the letter "s." Dusty was my idol.

It's pathetic, but I remember sitting in my basement with my Dad. Huge, HUGE Saturday night. It was Dusty versus his hated rival, Tully Blanchard [see Profile #321] , of the dreaded Four Horsemen. It was a match for the television title, but with a twist: each participant was to put up $50,000 worth of his own money, with the winner collecting the championship belt and the bounty. Of course, Dusty rolls up with his $50,000 in cash in a brown paper sack. He declared it "The people'th money, daddy!" Tully strides to the ring with his manager and chief financial advisor of Tully Blanchard Enterprises, Inc., J.J. Dillon [see Profile #881]. Dillon is carrying a steel briefcase filled with their money. My Dad had ordered some Jerry's Subs (which he would later boycott for many decades) and french fries and soda. We were huddled together in the basement, father and son, rooting against each other's respected combatants. I couldn't understand how he'd root for Tully back then. Still really don't understand it entirely to this day.

The particulars of the battle aren't important, only that Tully and J.J. cheated to defeat Rhodes. My Dad gloated. I cried, and stormed out of the basement. Rooting for Dusty Rhodes was like that; predicated almost entirely on pathos, irrespective of victory or defeat. You rooted for him because he had guts and he never backed down.

Of course, he played the blue-collar face perfectly, and even managed to infuse some "street" vernacular into each promo. On the stick, he's probably in my top five, all-time. Nobody could talk shit like Big Dust in an interview. He'd come out in terrifyingly tight blue jeans, a flannel, maybe a faux-silk Skoal jacket, and a trucker hat (no irony), and just lay it down. He'd bust out lines like "I'll rip yo' neck off and dance on ya tonsils!" And I thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Despite being overweight, Dusty was a pretty good worker and had a natural instinct on how to gauge and play to the crowd. He took the traditional "face in peril" role to the extreme, and he bled buckets nearly every night for added effect. It'd be pointless to attempt a linear progression of his career, as it's far too storied and comprehensive to summarize here, but let's just say that he fought and beat everyone and anyone in the wrestling industry at one point or another. He held every major title there is to hold, and he fought in every major organization there was to fight in. I won't explore his booking capacity here; I'm strictly talking about Dusty, the wrestler.

Perhaps the thing Dusty was most famous for, unfortunately, was taking a beating. God, could he take a beating. It was his signature. And back in the day, before the curtain was pulled back on professional wrestling and we had the cavalcade of inane vignettes and back-stage videos, Dusty engineered what was at that time a revolutionary concept: getting jumped not just outside the ring, but outside the arena. In "real" life. Unheard of. And thus a moment was born that, I still contend, is the greatest single moment in wrestling history to-date. Yes: Dusty Rhodes getting jumped in a parking lot in Charlotte, NC, by the Four Horsemen. Behold:

Please note that right before Dusty gets smashed with the Louisville Slugger, he says "Make it good!" Ya know why? 'Cause Big Dust goes hard, that's why. Just look at his forehead---a crossroads of scars and slashes that Jim Cornette observed "resemble a Sudanese roadmap."

Then, of course, the second-best moment was when Dusty lost a loser-leaves-town match. Suddenly and mysteriously, a new masked wrestler named The Midnight Rider, entered the scene. Nothing like a 300+ lbs. Dusty Rhodes, purple belly splotch and all, squeezed under a black mask, seeking vengeance on his enemies.

As a kid, I always knew Dusty would take a beating and keep on comin'. It was in his DNA to seek justice against all odds. Oddly inspirational. That was the essence of The American Dream.

Where is he now? Retired, divorced, and inducted into the Wrestling Hall of Fame in 2007. I imagine he's eating a jelly doughnut somewhere and enjoying the good life. As he should. All hail The Dream.