BASED ON A TRUE STORY:
In 1989, Tommy Clifford passed away at the age of 20, and his former co-worker, Rick Ciccone, believed it was a suicide. Two years earlier, Tommy, a summer hire at a land surveying company, experienced the tragic death of his...
"She was no help," Rick said with a huff as he pulled into the parking lot in front of his apartment building. A minimalist, Rick remained in the same apartment he shared with Rachele before the break-up. He could afford bigger and better - even a McMansion, but he only needed a place to sleep, shower and prepare his meals. Most of his time was spent at Rage Fitness. It was the same attitude he had on the road when he was wrestling. As Jimmy Kent told him, give half his earnings to his mom. Not only was he saving up for the gym, but also for a house for himself and Rachele.
Rick knew every youth hostel in the U.S. and Canada, every YMCA, where he could get a room for $9 per night, $10 if he wanted air conditioning. He'd eventually upgrade to a decent motor inn once the six figure ICW contracts kicked in.
The death of young Tommy Clifford had troubled him all day. Friends and family told Rick many times over the course of his life that he had the memory of an elephant. His attention to detail was so incredible that he could make a short story long and a long story even longer.
As much as he was delighted to have run into John "Tex" Daly, he was beginning to wish he hadn't. He kept thinking about what happened between himself and Tommy, which led him to this moment. He could not shut it off.
****
July 6, 1987.
The crews were filing in to work Monday morning. It had been a long weekend due to the 4th of July Holiday. There were the sordid details of the Adam Charleton/Pat Brady blow out on July 3rd. Rick was asked about his wrestling match that Friday night in Reading, PA. Rick described it in two words, "It sucked."
Rick's opponent was greener than he was at the time and froze on him in the ring. Earlier in the evening, his opponent encountered his estranged father, who showed up drunk and finagled his way into the locker room. The match was slow, sloppy and an embarrassment. It would be years before he'd show anyone footage of that match. But that was Rick, 35 years later and still reviewing matches in his head, wondering what he could have done better. The same thing was happening to him in the present regarding young Tommy Clifford.
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Above: Reading Municipal Stadium, July 3rd, 1987.
As the bull sessions continued, the phone rang. Ken Turner answered. "Vernon and Reese...Cliffy...what's shakin'? Okay...what? Oh, wow." Ken was shocked by what Tommy Clifford was saying on the other end of the line. "What happened? Uh-huh...listen...take as much time as you need...you'll be in tomorrow...you sure? Okay. Hey Cliffy...you'll be working with Rich Collins and his crew down in Elk. It's heavy woods. Bring a sweatshirt with you...yeah I know, but you'll get torn apart and chewed up in there, lots of poison ivy. Right. Take care of yourself."
Ken hung up his phone and walked over to the group. "Alright, listen up, campers! Tommy Clifford called out."
"Still stewing over that trip he had to bail on?" Adam Charleton sniped, sipping on his tea.
