by Evan Ginzburg
Have you ever met someone and immediately liked them?
Boyd Pierce was that rarest of individuals.
The man was warm, funny, and humble. In fact, I enjoyed talking to him so much, that I asked him to do an interview that very day.
"Oh, why would anyone want to hear what I had to say?"
Ironic, coming from a great announcer.
Boyd was my first famous subscriber. Back when subscribers were few and far between, the fact that someone in the business took this "outsider?s" words seriously enough to pay for them, meant so much to me.
We started talking on the phone. Unlike many in wrestling, he never asked for anything. Not a plug. Not a comp. Nothing.
"I read a lot of wrestling newsletters," he?d tell me. "But Wrestling- Now and Then is the best."
Sometimes he even got the name right. I always had the feeling he said the very same thing to all the editors, but it touched me nonetheless.
One day, Boyd sent me a large package of old mint condition programs from a variety of territories. Unsolicited. "Oh, I have tons of these," he stated nonchalantly, as if giving away treasures were the most natural thing in the world.
And any time I saw him at a convention or spoke on the phone, he turned down that interview. I never pushed.
Boyd bought everything I ever published. Everything. When he got sick and his subscription lapsed, I sent it anyway. For a year. He had more important things to deal with, I figured.
It was the least I could do.
Boyd was one of those people you could never get a read on as far as their health. I heard through the grapevine he was "very ill" and "it didn?t look good." Boyd?s version was "better" or an enthusiastic "fine." Boyd just wasn?t the type of guy to bring anyone down.
Boyd also sold lots of wrestling gimmicks. Hats. Cups. Even little $3 megaphones for the kids to scream through at house shows. Most of them read, simply, "Wrestling--King of Sports."
Appropriate coming from announcing royalty.
I found out about Boyd?s death from announcer John Pantozzi who was a long-time friend of his.
When he told me about his death, I got choked up and John?s eyes got misty.
"Boyd was a good guy," he said simply. I nodded in agreement.
For a second, I thought it "funny" that two thirty-something New Yorkers could love an old man from Texas. But we did.
I never did get that interview. It?s something I?ll always regret. But I did get to know a remarkable guy, a lovely human being.
I?ll miss his support. I?ll miss his calls.
I?ll miss my friend.