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An upturn was provided in 1928 by Gus Sonnenberg and the flying tackle he used as a Dartmouth footballer. His first opponent, no halfback, was unable to dodge, was carted unconscious from the mat. The success of this new tactic quickly boosted the sport. With addicts neither so naive nor so particular as before, refinement soon disappeared entirely. Eye-gouging, hair-pulling and kicking became common practice. Assault & battery on the referee proved a popular diversion. Lately one wrestler introduced the new fad of trying to garrote his opponent with three feet of chicken wire. Though even the most bloodthirsty addicts frown on its use, chloroform has been employed on several occasions to down an adversary.
Quick to see that rough & tumble entertainment is the first prerequisite of a big gate, wrestling promoters have scoured the country for freaks & oddities. One first-class drawing card is 320-lb. Man Mountain Dean (né Leavitt) whose incredulous career is matched only by his size. Born on Manhattan's tough West Side, he unsuccessfully dabbled in boxing, served as a sparring partner for Jess Willard, went abroad with the A. E. F. Discharged from a high-toned production of Shakespeare's As You Like It because he tackled the leading man, Frank Leavitt drifted to Miami to become a member of the police force. Expelled because he was alleged to have accepted a glass of champagne from Al Capone, he turned up in a whistle-stop town in Georgia. There Eugene Talmadge, now Georgia's Governor, saw him flatten an opponent, sent him north with letters of introduction. At first Frank Leavitt was an indifferent success, drifted to England where he was hired to double for Charles Laughton in the wrestling scenes of the cinema Henry the Eighth. Because his false whiskers kept falling off, he grew a genuine pair, adopted the name Man Mountain Dean. A wretched wrestler, he does provide customers with the amazing spectacle of much human flesh on the move.
His counterpart, Leo Daniel Boone Savage, is even more eccentric, still more genuine. Born in the Kentucky backwoods, he hitchhiked to Beaumont,, Tex. last year, walked around the streets looking for someone to "scuffle." Immediately snatched up by a wrestling promoter, he soon proved Texas' No. 1 drawing card, not only by his tremendous mop of black hair and beard, but by his eccentric habit of walking barefoot around Houston streets with a lantern, afraid that the street lights would suddenly blow out. In his hotel room he keeps his pet opossums under the bed, once completely flustered the management by bringing in a rooster to wake him up in the morning. Unscientific in the ring, this 250-pounder has nonetheless thrown some of the best U. S. wrestlers. "Last time I counted," said Leo to a newshawk, "I had eight brothers and sisters, and every one of them, 'n' my mom 'n' pappy are agin my scufflin'."