Kidman's Articles & Interviews

The Kidman Story (Part 1)

by: Mark Madden

As pro wrestling's only real journalist, I'm proud to state that I have experience in various kinds of, well, journalism. You name it, I've done it.... Scathing opinion pieces....Detailed day-to-day coverage of a pro sports team.... Obituaries. (There are a few I can't wait to write, truth be told.) Inspired, almost poetic features and biographical pieces. And I've done investigative reporting. Which is where we pick up our story.

Ever take a good look at Billy Kidman? I mean, a good look? For one thing, the guy can't be more than 20, 21. For another, there seems to be more to him than meets the eye, something inside his tortured heart, mind and soul, maybe a character flaw or severe self-loathing. He used to be in Raven's flock. He still looks and acts weird. He still dresses funny. He wrestles in denim shorts, for God's sake.

I approached Kidman to ask him about his background several times and was rebuffed on each occasion, mostly in WCW dressing rooms but once at a club called the Landing Strip near the Detroit airport, a place which has witnessed many stories and in fact witnessed one that night, but that story won't be told until the statute of limitations on what went on expires sometime in 2004.

In one instance, I approached Kidman backstage at one of the Philadelphia Nitros and was told to perform a physical impossibility. But instead of walking away directly, I lingered. (Note to aspriring journalists -- that lingering stuff is a pathway to the Pulitzer in many instances.) I saw Kidman reading a newspaper. He devoured the text voraciously and with a great deal of emotion. At one point a single tear rolled down from one eye, much like the Native American in that old commercial when trash thrown from a car hits his foot. When Kidman discarded the paper, I fished it out of the garbage -- finding a wearable NWO t-shirt in the process, I might add. The paper was the Allentown Morning Call. I had my clue.

The next day I headed to Allentown, a sleepy community about 90 minutes north of Philadelphia where they're shutting all the factories down, pulling all the coke from the ground, etc., etc. I grabbed an armful of yearbooks from Allentown High School. First I checked the current one to see if there were any pictures of hot chicks in it.

But then I stumbled over Allentown High's 1994 yearbook. Sprained my ankle pretty bad, in fact -- I'm thinking of suing. But once I picked myself up and looked at the senior pictures for the Class of '94, a familiar face jumped out at me. Not a familiar name, but a familiar face. It was Billy Kidman's face. The name: Peter Gruner. Below the picture was a chilling phrase: "Most likely to join a cult."

Bingo.

I located Peter Gruner's parents at a small, well-kept house in the low middle-class section of Allentown. There were tomato plants in the back yard, a fresh pot of coffee on the stove and a teen-age daughter who wants very badly to be a Nitro Girl leering wantonly from the sofa. I sat down with Mr. and Mrs. Gruner, asking them when the last time they saw their son was.

"Well, we see him on TV all the time," said Mrs. Gruner, her silver hair peeking out from behind a hairnet, her eyes hiding a heartsick mother's soul. "But we haven't talked to Peter for about two years, since he started at WCW's wrestling school..."

"Who the hell needs him!" interrupted Mr. Gruner, his Smirnoff-soaked breath hitting me in the face like a blast furnace. "All our lives we sacrificed to try to give that kid what he needed! Sure, maybe we locked him in the closet for hours at a time, but that was to teach him discipline and toughen him up! Maybe we beat his little brother every time Peter screwed up, but that was to teach him responsibility! Hell, he'd have never learned that shooting star press if I hadn't kept throwing him out the second-story window! And this is how he thanks us? By taking up with that Raven character? That ungrateful twerp has his mother worried half to death! Look at her! Look at her!"

At this point Mrs. Gruner was indeed in a bruised heap on the kitchen floor, but that may have been due to Mr. Gruner dumping her off her chair.

The interview went much better after Mr. Gruner passed out. Mrs. Gruner said she had tried to make contact with Peter, but every time she called WCW's office and asked to speak to Billy Kidman, an unidentified voice said, "What, you want to talk to Kidman? What about me? What about Raven?" The phone then went dead. "Mr. Madden, can you please do something?" Mrs. Gruner pleaded. "I know you see my son all the time! I know you can talk to Peter! I know you can get a message to him! I know you can help us get our son back! I know you can get through to him!"

There is nothing like a mother's love to bring out the Good Samaritan in me. So, after the Gruners agreed to my price for bringing their son back to them -- $5,000 a week plus expenses with their teen-age daughter as collateral -- I set out devising a plan. Devising a way to make Kidman normal again, to undo the mental damage Raven did. My plan? Deprogramming.

You've seen it on Hard Copy, or Nightline, or maybe NWO Nightcap -- someone snatches the cult member, takes him to a secure location, then beats some sense into -- I mean, then uses advanced psychological ploys to return the cult member to his former self.

I debated at length about who to use as my deprogrammer. I knew it would have to be someone with foolproof psychological skills. I knew it would have to someone with a drill sergeant's drive, Sigmund Freud's mind and Florence Nightingale's heart. I knew it would have to be someone with a real sense of purpose, of family, of family values. I knew it would have to be someone tireless, someone with unrelenting focus. I knew it would have to be someone affordable. My choice: Hacksaw Jim Duggan. Hey, at the very least, I can get some pro-USA sympathy going.

As this is being written, the Hacker is getting set to snatch Kidman and bring him to our ultra-secret hideout above the Cheetah nightclub in Atlanta. The time is ripe for Kidman to be deprogrammed -- he wears white to the ring now, he's clean-shaven, and he's scratching a lot less. This from a man who once said, "Scratching is important."

I really believe Hacksaw and I can undo Kidman's brainwashing and make him a normal human being again -- well, as normal as someone from a hickville like Allentown can be, anyway -- and then accomplish our ultimate goal, turning the whole story into a made-for-TV movie. John Cusack as Kidman, Dan Haggerty as Hacksaw and, since Candy, Farley and Belushi are dead, I guess Meat Loaf will have to play me.

It will be a tough road, a torturous one. My agent says made-for-TV movies don't pay real well, but you gotta start somewhere. And hey, I almost forgot, I would love to see the Gruner family back together -- it would mean a good ending for the movie.

Until then, I remain Mark Madden, pro wrestling's only real journalist. "Help" is my middle name. As long as there's something in it for me.