“After G.L.O.W.”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserve(8-18)

The 80’s.

It has become a popular decade to relive. Especially for those who experienced youthful abandon in that span of years, before entering an adult world of regrets and responsibilities. In print, in song and in the visual arts, it is a subject often touched upon with fondness.

For this writer, that focus was shifted a bit by chronology. I graduated from high school in the 1970’s, so the time that followed has always seemed more ‘recent’ in nature. The soundtrack of New Wave and Heavy Metal tunes provided a tonal backdrop for my first family experience, raising a son with Wife 1.0. Working many long hours at one job, or two, or even three for awhile.

I had little time to ponder that era.

But years later, when children in the family were grown and I had burned through two marriages and several stops on the real- job, retail-management-rollercoaster, a lightning bolt of energy struck from that distant time. Unexpected and yet welcome.

Hollywood and Lightning, to be exact.

Terry & Tiffany DuFoe, the creative duo behind Cult Radio A Go-Go, posted on their Facebook page about an upcoming episode of their nationwide Internet radio broadcast. It would feature two celebrities from the bygone ‘Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling’ program. ‘Hollywood’ (Jeanne Basone) and ‘Lightning’ (Cheryl Rusa) were slated as guest hosts, with several other show veterans to be interviewed on the telephone.

I was struck by a flash of recollection. My wife had been fantastic as a mother and steward of the household. Incredibly adept with handling money. Only one nagging issue stained our marriage. Jealousy. She was given to fits of irritation and suspicion with any hint of misbehavior. I learned quite literally to keep my head down, as looking innocently in the direction of a female nearby could arouse an argument that might last for hours or more. I had to be discreet with my purchase of magazines dedicated to the motorcycling lifestyle. Explicit record album covers could be a topic of furious debate. I was careful not to linger on videos for Heart, Lita Ford or Vixen when they appeared on MTV. Rhonda Shear could only be enjoyed when I was ‘Up All Night’ after a long shift at work. With everyone in bed, I sometimes had dinner and a six-pack of brew alone, with the TV as my companion.

Those moments were happy, even liberating to enjoy.

As parents, neither of us had much time to discuss current events with our kid. He depended on the helpful embrace of his grandparents, who lived up the road. But at some point, he mentioned having become a fan of a series popular with other students at his grade school. One with which I was not familiar.

G.L.O.W.

On a Saturday afternoon, as my wife busied herself in the kitchen, our precocious boy asked if I wanted to watch his new favorite show. I had worked overnight and slept only a couple of hours. Groggy clouds still cast shadows across my brain. But, I did not have to work again until Sunday morning. With a bottled beer in hand, I took a seat next to his revolving, bamboo chair. I expected some sort of cartoon adventure, or a mirthful video descendant of H. R. Pufnstuf. But instead, the screen brightened with attractive, athletic women who had big hair and wore sheer, shiny outfits.

I choked on my brew.

My wife did not notice at first, being content to enjoy a day away from her position as supervisor of personnel matters and the store cash office. I kept peeking around the corner to be certain we were safe in watching the program. There was lots of hairspray, makeup and spandex flying around the wrestling arena. The kid cheered and snorted and giggled over each match. I took a more serious view, appreciating the limber nature of each colorful competitor, while sipping my beverage.

I knew pro wrestling, having grown up with an uncle who watched such programs in the black-and-white era. My aunt gave us RC Cola and bologna sandwiches for lunch while we enjoyed these performances. The bombastic, blue-collar nature of this sport was perfect for us as children. And for my relatives as humble, working-class folk.

Yet what I saw on that day was wholly different in nature. Not loud and crude but instead, glamorous, chic and erotic. Sort of an extended music video with acrobatic flights of fancy. I could not help but wonder if other dads were also in front of their TV sets, feeling as confused and entertained as myself. These ladies jumped from the ropes, flipped and flopped, twisted arms and bit noses. Things that were expected in the genre. But seeing it happen with the glitz and sheen of appealing curves in stretchy attire had me stunned.

Gorgeous ladies, indeed! They were fierce, fearless women, as well.

Predictably, my wife appeared from the other room before long. Her distaste for the broadcast was immediate. “What… are… you… watching??”

“Mom!” our kid protested. “It is called G.L.O.W., the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling!”

She seemed to throw up a little bit, inside her mouth.

“He wanted me to check this out,” I pleaded in my own defense. “Have you ever heard of this show? It is nothing like watching Classy Freddie Blassie or Harley Race.” My uncle the baker would spill his RC Cola.”

She was not amused.

I pretended to have no further interest in the show, and followed my wife into the kitchen. The moment of carnal joy had passed. More brews followed, while I received a lecture about watching “women who thought they were pretty.” Later, I mentioned the incident to friends on the crew at my store and many confessed to being avid fans.

I felt stupid for needing our son to introduce me to the series.

In modern times, Terry & Tiffany had sparked a new reflection on this yonder tale. I brought up the 1985 pilot episode of G.L.O.W. and watched it on YouTube. Coffee was my beverage of choice instead of Miller or Budweiser. Yet the images remained compelling. Strangely, Matilda the Hun evoked a look and disposition similar to my mother-in-law with Wife 2.0, a completely divergent take on the show. I did not want to dwell on that fact, however. Now, I was middle-aged, retired, and twice divorced. Safe to see such sights without fear of scolding or shaming. 

After watching for an hour, I wanted a beer. And a time machine. In that order.

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