Battle Royale: Marco and Victor, the Wrestling Bear

                                                                                     

What Victor must have looked like in the wild

     For those who attended Marco's celebration of life reception at the Cinema Bar in Culver City last month. Many said they'd liked to read a story they'd heard published in an online blog called, La Bloga, something to do with Marco wrestling a bear. Here it is. Rest in peace my dear friend.    

                                                                                 *****

     The trendy Whole Foods at the corner of Barrington and National in West Los Angeles has ended its run. Before it was Whole Foods, it had been Westward Ho, and before that the Lilywhite grocery store. Today, the vacant building is hidden by a mesh-covered wired fencing.  It’s hard to believe how fine the building had once been, especially as seen through teenage eyes, when larger grocery stores were replacing the neighborhood Mom ‘n Pop stores.

     At its grand opening in the 1960’s, Lilywhite’s parking lot was filled with kids, parents, teenagers, music, rides, and an assortment of activities. There were local rock bands, a kiddie roller coaster, and exhibitions, the most popular, “Victor, the Wrestling Bear.”

     Victor wasn’t a full-sized bear, more like a cub, but definitely fully formed and taller than five feet on his powerful hind legs. Declawed and muzzled to avoid tearing or biting anyone, Victor could still slide his long, wet tongue through the muzzle and lick away, slobbering all over an opponent’s face, as if adding insult to injury, once he dispatched each enemy.  

     Like many California black bears, Victor didn’t look particularly ferocious, but looks, as they say, can be deceiving. His handler offered to pay anyone in the audience $10.00 if he or she could pin Victor to the mat for at least five seconds. Of course, all takers had to pony up a “buck” just to step into the barred enclosure with Victor.

     We had come to the grand opening to listen to the rock bands and meet girls, not to wrangle with Victor, who would eventually draw some knucklehead, usually an older teenager out trying to impress his friends. It only took a little taunting before some sucker would cave to the pressure. Most of the time, it was a guy who thought himself the toughest kid in the neighborhood. 

     Of course, the first kid didn’t last more than a few seconds before he’d go flying through air, Victor falling on him and pinning him to the matt, as if read to say, "Next." It was pretty much the same with anybody who tested Victor’s prowess, his handler reaping the rewards and walking away with the spoils, as well as the kid's dignity. You know, just like in Vegas, “The house always wins,” or in this case, “Victor never loses.”

     Our friend Marco had been a battler all through junior high and entering high school, a string of victories behind him, with his fists or wrestling. He thought it was pretty cool, a wrestling bear. Other than at a county fair or at the Long Beach Nu-Pike did you get a chance to see that. We all could see Marco sizing up Victor, even as each of Victor’s opponents went down to defeat. Somebody finally challenged Marco to get into the cage with Victor. It didn't take much.

     Short in stature but more muscular than any of us, Marco stepped for a closer view of Victor, who, incidentally, had the same name as Marco’s father and older brother. We recognized the expression on Marco’s face. He had no doubt he could kick the wrestling bear’s ass, but he just needed a little encouragement, so we gave it to him. I’m sure Marco liked the idea of reveling in glory and walking away with the prize money. It would make the news at schools from Venice to Santa Monica, across Mar Vista, and on to Westwood, where kids knew Marco’s name, usually because he had whupped somebody from their neighborhood.

      Marco was no slouch. His older brothers had taught him to bob and weave, to lead with a jab, find openings, and throw combinations, hard “rights” and “lefts.” He knocked out a 21-year-old bully who had given Marco' friends a bunch of shit. The guy was on his back before he even got off one punch. Marco was strong, and tough, losing his mother at barely twelve, his dad working all day and playing guitar in a Mexican trio at night, Marco’s three older brothers raised him to fend for himself.

     He had whipped some of the toughest guys in town, even bigger than him, from nearly every junior high to high school in the area, a few of the older guys, too, but Marco, like his dad, and one older brother, had the heart of an artist, a romantic, the guitar and singing his true passions, and the reason we were all at Lillywhite, to see our friend, Joe Ramirez’s band, the Mojo Dave’s, perform on a stage in the parking lot turned street fair.

     Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that Marco went looking for trouble, but more like trouble would often find him, even when he was just minding his own business. By fifteen, he was like one of those old gunslingers in the television westerns. He’d built a reputation for himself, and the younger gunslingers wanted to see if he was as “bad” as everyone said, so they had started to come around to test him. Of course, he hadn't won every fight, but that never stopped him. That’s why we figured he had as good a chance at beating Victor the bear in a wrestling match as anybody. Though, the omnivore’s name, alone, should have been an omen.

     Marco was fearless. If he had any hesitation at all, it was embarrassing himself in front of the hometown crowd, and all the pretty girls watching. As a fighter, Marco wasn’t a brawler. He was strategic, always looking for an opening, a weakness in his opponent. Marco loved reading history, his nose in the Encyclopedia Britanica, and he could tell you exactly how Attila the Hun, Alexaner the Great, and Genghis Khan marched their armies across hostile territory and defeated their enemies. Marco was also analytical, played the odds, like assessing if Victor had beaten all comers, where had they gone wrong? He realized they had no plan of attack.

     So, Marco stepped up to meet the challenge, man over beast, brains over bawn. He handed over his money and strutted into the cage, eyeing Victor, who had a few inches on Marco, but bigger opponents never intimidated him. Marco looked into Victor’s eyes, and snarled, a method he always employed with a rival. Marco must have seen Victor had no emotions, nothing but darkness in his eyes.

      He considered how easily Victor had tossed his prior victims around like rag dolls because they tried wrestling Victor by clamping down on his arms and taking him down, little by little, but Victor’s arms, or upper legs (The technical anatomical term unclear) were way too strong, and his short lower legs gave him a strong center of gravity, like a catapult, shooting his adversaries into the air before they’d hit the ground, where he’d fall on them, lick their faces with his long tongue, and pin them to the mat.

     Marco’s strategy was to rush Victor, get under his arms, and ram into his chest, like a fullback crashing into a linebacker, Marco’s position of the high school J.V. team, get Victor onto the mat, wrap him up, and pin him, as quickly as possible, utilizing the age old “element of surprise”. So, right at “Go!” Marco flew across the ring, like metal to magnet, and he drove his shoulders into Victor’s chest, taking him down, not only surprising Victor but surprising himself and everyone watching.

     Marco hung on, tight, a barnacle to a boat’s hull, so tight, the bear couldn’t wiggle loose. Marco had his arms wrapped about the bear’s strong body. After a minute, Marco felt victory was his, that is, until the bear’s short legs, made their way under Marco’s stomach, and like a medieval contraption for lobbing boulders over castle walls, Victor catapulted Marco so high into the air, Marco could only watch as the matt came speeding towards him. All he could hear were Victor’s triumphant growls. When he hit the ground, Victor pounced, licking Marco’s face and slobbering all over him, and pinning him to the canvas. The handler said, “My gawd! Victor likes you.”

     With no coaxing from us, Marco reached into his pocket, pulled out another dollar, and paid his fee. At Go! he went at Victor again, this time, thinking he had the wily champ figured out, aware of the short, powerful legs. Marco stuck to his game plan. He again had Victor on the matt, Marco’s face buried in the thick, furry blanket. He’d last longer than any of Victor’s other adversaries. Marco thought he had the bear beaten this time. He stayed clear of the legs.

     Marco’s confidence soared, his past achievements flickering through his mind, a strong, bulky, linebacker in football, a baseball catcher, a junior lifeguard, and water polo player, Marco had stamina. He could feel the bear going limp. Marco gripped Victor’s hide to spin his massive upper body to the mat and pin him, except, Marco, something wasn’t right.

     Marco could feel the muscles under Victor’s hide, but when he went to turn Victor, his hide shifted, as if he was wearing a coat. Marco readjusted his arms and hands, and, again, the fur rolled, at the same time, Victor’s little legs slid under Marco’s belly, and the next thing Marco knew, he was sailing, looking down at his friends, an astronaut entering earth’s atmosphere, and Victor, letting loose a loud growl. Again, when Marco landed back on earth, Victor was there to greet him, licking his neck and face, Marco hollering, and adding quite a few curses, for the handler to get the bear off him.

     Of course, we all had a great laugh, Marco, a true showman, whether singing lead in a band or wrestling a bear. When he dusted himself off, metaphorically speaking, Marco tried explaining the damn bear’s hide rolled like had wheels, but nobody was really listening. Marco said, “The guy should warn people about that, or I would’ve had him.”