The following is an edited first-person recollection by Tom Zenk. It reflects his own memory and perspective.
I started bouncing at The Leaning Post aged twenty-one, with Scott Doring, Dennis Morin and Jeff Hassel. Dennis and Jeff got me the job. Just like the wrestling business—just like life—you had to know someone. Dennis had worked at the Seventh Street gym with Eddie Sharkey as one of his trainers. It was a tight little scene.
After the Seventh Street gym closed, Sharkey worked at Grandma B’s, over Northeast on Marshall by the river. Wrestling had taken off in Minneapolis with Verne Gagne, Hulk Hogan and Jesse Ventura. Joe Laurinaitis, Michael Hegstrand and Rick Rood kept asking Eddie how to get into the business. Eventually he opened a camp. Laurinaitis and Hegstrand became the Road Warriors, Rood became “Ravishing” Rick Rude, and Barry Darsow reinvented himself several times over.
In 1984 I was competing in bodybuilding when Road Warrior Animal came to see me after a contest. “Hey Tom,” he said, “we could use a babyface like you in wrestling.” I guessed he meant the good guy. “If you’re interested, go and join Eddie Sharkey’s camp.” I already knew where it was—off Lake Street in an old church, close to our hangout at Butler Drug.
Eddie was a master of the con. If I had a Fagin, it was Eddie. He was small and barrel-chested, with salt-and-pepper hair, and he carried the reputation of a shooter, a street fighter and a man who had survived every rough corner of the old business. He had wrestled carnivals, run clubs and small businesses, mixed with hustlers and characters, and learned to live by his wits.
I joined his camp in the summer of 1983 with Brad “Nailz” Wacholz, Glen Lieske, Rick Renslow and Marc Kroman. We set up the ring in Glen’s backyard in St Louis Park. For three months Eddie taught us to hit the ropes, leap frog, one tackle, drop down, drop kick and take bumps. He charged $1,000 for the camp. I paid $330 and he let me off with the rest. I was still the shits in the ring, but I had learned enough to know I was a natural for the business.
Eddie only half-smartened you up. Maybe he filled in the rest if you stayed around long enough. Before I left, he gave me one last piece of advice: “Wrestling’s not much of a living, Tom, but it’s one hell of a hobby. Have your fun—and when you leave, don’t burn your bridges. Blow them up, so you never go back.”








