Winter 1971

Memphis, Tennessee

The Greyhound bus pulled up to its stop in downtown Memphis, and Glen nervously looked out the window. There was a small group of people milling about, and some were excitedly huddled waiting for the bus’s passengers to disembark. Glen smiled when he saw that his parents were two of those people, standing off to the side in quaint middle class, midwestern clothes.

He wished his sister, Sarah, could have been here, but he had been told in advance that she would be off on assignment as a flight attendant.

Glen heard the whoosh and clank of the bus door open, and with a handful of other passengers he stood, and grabbed his green US Army duffel bag. The departing passengers made their way off the bus one-by-one, and Glen was the last of them all.

Before taking a final step down onto the pavement, Glen adjusted his US Army uniform, just to be sure he was presentable before his folks.

After stepping off the bus, he glanced over to where he saw his folks standing and smiled toward them. His mother beamed at the sight of her son, while his father made a half-happy face. Considering the man rarely showed any emotion, Glen took that as a sign of pure joy.

He walked up to his parents and dropped his duffel bag to the ground before embracing his small mother in a tight hug. Glen was a full 6’8” now and dwarfed everyone in the vicinity.

“Oh, Glen!” his mother, Patricia, exclaimed before holding on for an extra moment in their hug.

The jungles of Vietnam hadn’t taken her boy, as she feared it would.

Glen released his mother, stood straight, and gave his father a strong, US Army salute.

Henry Miller, the stoic World War II veteran, took the same posture and returned the salute before pulling in Glen for a hug.

His father had never showed this sort of emotion, or ever gave Glen this kind embrace, even when Glen had been shipping off to boot camp.

After letting go of the hug, Henry Miller took a step back but kept his hands on Glen’s shoulders. He looked Glen up and down with pride, and then across Glen’s chest at the medals he had received.

While the Medal of Honor that Lt. Colonel Simms promised never happened, Glen was awarded the Silver Star for surviving his heroic solo trek through Vietnamese jungle. Henry eyed the beautiful medal and then looked back up at his son.

“Glen,” the old man said strongly. “I am so proud of you. Welcome home, son.”

The two parents pulled Glen back into a group hug, which he obliged by wrapping his large arms around them both.

Summer 1973

Memphis, Tennessee

23-year-old Glen’s leather boots tapped and thudded as he walked down the Memphis sidewalk, and the light gym bag he carried chafed against the top of his shoulder. It was another hot summer in “Grind City,” and Glen had been doing just that.

Grinding.

Life had not been glamorous since Glen’s return from Vietnam, but he considered himself lucky for what he had.

A family that loved him, and a stable job at a local Memphis factory.

However, Glen did feel like there was something more in life that he wanted, and he frustratingly couldn’t figure out what it was. Deep down, despite being thankful for the makings of a good life, he yearned for more.

He would think back to his time in high school leading the high school football and wrestling teams to state championships. He reminisced about when he was the talk of the town, about when everyone’s eyes were on him. He missed winning.

That is why today Glen had an extra hop in his step.

He turned the corner onto another street and approached the front door of a large, one-story building. It looked like a warehouse, but Glen knew it was anything but.

Mattison’s Mat

Glen took a good look at the sign to the wrestling school, and then back down at the piece of paper he held in his hand; it was a flyer looking for local talent interested in modern professional wrestling.

Without another thought, Glen pushed through the door and into the large, open room of the building. Two guys in shorts grappled inside the wrestling ring at the center of the room while a middle-aged man leaned against the ropes shouting instructions.

“The elbow! The elbow!” the man yelled. “No! No! No!”

The man threw up his arms in frustration and hopped off the side of the wrestling ring, and then suddenly saw Glen standing in the doorway.

Glen could tell that the man was struck by the sight of Glen’s impressive and powerful 6’8” build. He smiled broadly before doing a light jog over and extending his hand out to the potential recruit.

“Kirby Mattison, owner of Mattison’s Mat,” said the man before noticing the flyer in Glen’s hand. “Ah! Looks like this caught your eye!”

Glen shook Kirby’s hand back and smiled, “Yes, sir. I’ve seen some of the wrestling programs and thought it might be a good time.”

“A good time!?” exclaimed Kirby. “Son, I don’t know what your name is, but if you train with me, it ain’t gonna feel like a good time.”

Glen smiled at the honesty.

“I understand, sir,” Glen replied politely. “My name’s Glen Miller, local to Memphis here my whole life.”

Kirby stepped back and squinted his eyes as if in deep thought.

“Glen Miller… Memphis High School state football champion, ‘66 and ‘67?”

Glen’s eyes lit up the familiar rush of being recognized from when he was a high school star.

“Yes, sir! How could you possibly remember?”

Kirby smiled, “I remember all the good ones, Glen. Listen, you don’t need me to tell you that you’ve got the looks and the ability. But do you have the guts?”

The large, still-young Vietnam veteran knew he had the “guts,” so he confidently nodded back to Kirby.

“Alright then, Glen. Let’s make you a star.”