So, I want you to just picture your typical Tuesday
evening. Okay. You know, you finish work, you
punch out, you grab your keys, and you walk out
to the parking lot. It's just a normal day. Right,
totally normal. Maybe you're thinking about what
to make for dinner or catching up on the news.
Normal stuff. Sounds like a pretty lovely, peaceful
Tuesday to me. Yeah, it does. But now, imagine
that instead of walking to your car, you actually
have to wait inside the building. You have to
wait because there's this angry mob outside of
literally hundreds of people. Wow. And they are
screaming your name, just waiting to tear you
limb from limb. And the only way the only way
you're getting home is in the back of a squad
car with a police escort. See, for most people,
I mean, that's a life threatening emergency.
Yeah. But for the man we're talking about today,
that was just that was just work. Exactly. Today,
we're doing a deep dive into the life of Solomon
Weingroff or Saul Weingroff. a man who was born
in brooklyn in nineteen sixteen who somehow for
some reason Decided that his life's calling was
to become the absolute most hated man in the
American South. Yeah, the history books actually
know him better as Gentleman Saul Weimeroff.
And honestly, the word gentleman is doing a lot
of heavy lifting there. Serious heavy lifting.
We've got a really massive stack of sources today.
We do. We're pulling from biographical records.
Yeah. We have the National Wrestling Alliance
or NWA archives and quite a few wrestling history
columns. Right. And our mission here. isn't just
to look at a guy who managed wrestlers. We're
really trying to unpack the actual mechanics
of what they call heat. The psychology of it.
Exactly. Yeah. How does a guy with a cane and
a fireball, and yes, we mean a literal fireball,
how does he manipulate human emotions so effectively?
That he literally causes riots. It really is
a masterclass in psychology because we're going
to look at how he blurred those lines between
performance and reality and why, you know, sometimes
that line just disappeared completely. So let's
start with the visual. Gentleman Saul. Because
when I hear that, I picture a tuxedo, maybe a
top hat, somewhat very refined. Right. And that's
really the first layer of the trick. He did have
a very specific look. He was always seen with
this signature cane. He presented himself with
this sort of air of authority. But the nickname
Gentleman is what we would call an ironic moniker.
Like calling a big guy tiny. Exactly. It's a
classic trope. You call the biggest brute tiny
and you call the absolute dirtiest player in
the game Gentleman. But the cane wasn't just
a fashion statement, was it? Oh, no, not at all.
In the theater of professional wrestling, every
single object has a purpose. Right. The cane
is a prop. Sure, it gives him something to gesture
with, but it's also a weapon. And more importantly,
it's a symbol of power. It extends his reach.
Exactly. He can poke, he can prod, he can trip
someone right from the safety of the floor. It
makes him physically intrusive without him having
to be an actual athlete. Okay, so poking people
with a cane is annoying. I get why that makes
an audience mad, but... The sources mention something
else that escalates things from just annoying
to literally terrifying. Yes. We have to unpack
the fireballs. This is truly one of the most
fascinating aspects of his entire career. Because
when I first read fireballs in our source material,
I just assumed it was a metaphor. Like he's cutting
a great promo. Right. Like, oh, he spit hot fire
on the mic. But no, the NWA archives say he was
one of the earliest managers to use actual pyrotechnics
as a weapon. Yes. actual fire and we really need
to pause on the mechanics of this because it's
so easy to gloss over today yeah today if you
go to a major wrestling show the pyro is rigorous
It's set up by engineers. The fire marshal signs
off on it. Everyone stands 30 feet back. Right.
It's totally controlled. But Saul was doing this
in the 1960s. So how does that even work? Is
he just carrying fire around in his pocket? Essentially,
yes. I mean, usually this involves flash paper
or some similar highly combustible material that
you can conceal in your hand. You light it often
with a hidden lighter or a match that you strike
unnoticed and you throw it. And it creates this
massive blinding flash of flame. It looks completely
devastating. But just think. Think about the
risk there. You're in a crowded, unventilated
arena. There's no safety glass. And you're standing,
what, three feet from a guy covered in hairspray
and polyester. And that's exactly why it worked.
That's the heat we were talking about. It's visceral.
It's primal. When a manager trips a guy, the
audience thinks, oh, that's cheating. But when
a manager throws literal fire into a wrestler's
face. That triggers a deep survival instinct
in the crowd. Yeah, it tells them this man is
not playing a game. Right. It says he is trying
to maim people. It totally changes the genre.
We aren't watching a sport anymore. We're watching
a horror movie. Well, precisely. And that's the
absolute genius of Saul Weingroff. He understood
that to be a truly effective villain, a heel
as they call it, you can't just break the rules.
You have to violate the social contract. You
have to do things civilized people simply don't
do. Exactly. Which I guess brings us to the elephant
in the room. Or rather the... The Nazis in the
room. Yes. Because if throwing fire violated
the social contract, his choice of clients in
the early 1960s absolutely shattered it. We have
to talk about the von Brauners. Right. Kurt and
Karl von Brauner. Now, I really want to set the
scene for you here. We're talking about the early
1960s. World War II is not ancient history at
this point. It's not at all. It ended less than
20 years ago. Veterans are everywhere. The trauma
is incredibly real. Saul Weingerhoff decides
to manage a tag team with, and I'm quoting the
sources here, a Nazi -like gimmick. It was incredibly
provocative. The von Brauners wore the helmets.
They did the goose stepping. They played into
every single fear and hatred the American public
had regarding the Third Reich. Now, we have to
make it super clear. Here we are just reporting
what is in the historical archives. We are absolutely
not endorsing this kind of imagery at all. Oh,
of course not. It's strictly historical analysis.
But here is the part from the biographical records
that I just cannot wrap my head around. Yeah.
Saul Weingaroff was Jewish. He was a Jewish man
from Brooklyn. How does a Jewish man justify
managing characters that represent the exact
regime that tried to exterminate his people?
It's a profound psychological question. And honestly,
looking at the history of the business, it's
one of the bravest and most cynical moves in
wrestling history. Brave and cynical is a very
weird combination. It is, but think about it
this way. Saul knew the business inside and out.
He knew that the quiffest way to make money was
to generate heat. Okay. And nothing generated
more visceral heat in 1962 than a Nazi. By managing
them, Saul was essentially taking control of
that imagery. He was monetizing the monster.
So instead of being a victim of that history,
he's flipping it and turning it into a paycheck.
In a way, yes, but the risk was astronomical.
The sources explicitly mentioned that this didn't
just get booze from the crowd. It caused actual
riots. Real dangerous riots in major American
cities. Yes. The history columns mentioned that
police escorts were entirely mandatory for them,
not just for show to look cool, but because they
literally couldn't leave the building safely.
We distinguish in wrestling between good heat
and go away heat. OK, what's the difference?
Good heat is when I pay my hard earned money
to see you. get beat up go away heat is when
i just change the channel or leave right but
this This is dangerous heat. The audience didn't
see a performance anymore. They saw evil. And
Saul stood right next to it, poking it with his
cane and smiling. It's terrifying to think about
the thin line there. Sure. Because if one of
those police officers slips up or the squad car
doesn't start Saul and the Von Brauners are in
serious physical trouble. They absolutely were.
And that creates a unique bond between the manager
and the talent that you just don't see in other
entertainment industries. Yeah. You are quite
literally in the foxhole together against a.
thousand angry people. And just when you think
you have Saul figured out as this master of dark
crowd psychology, the source material throws
a massive curveball. Oh, yeah. In 1964, amidst
all these riots and fireballs and police escorts,
Saul decides to run for president of the United
States. Yes. The Gentleman Saul ticket. Was he
I mean, was he serious? Was there an actual platform
like free canes for everyone? It was almost certainly
performance art or what they call in the business
a work. But you have to admit, it's brilliant.
How so? Well, if you're already the most talked
about man in the territory because of the riots,
why not capitalize on that fame? It feeds into
the eccentricity. It makes him larger than life.
It also blurs that line again, right? If he's
running for president, he's suddenly in the real
world news. But he's a wrestling villain. It
feels like he was constantly trying to break
the fourth wall way before people even knew there
was a fourth wall. That's the very definition
of a great promoter. You never turn it off. Whether
you're throwing fire in the ring or holding a
press conference for a fake political campaign,
you are always, always selling the character.
So we've got the national ambition, we've got
the riots, but we really need to talk about where
Saul actually operated. The territories. Yeah,
the outline from the NWE archives mentions the
territory days. For you listening who didn't
grow up in the 60s or 70s, can we briefly unpack
what that means? Because wrestling wasn't always
this massive global TV product like it is today.
Right. Before the 1980s, wrestling was completely
fractured. Think of the National Wrestling Alliance,
the NWA, almost like a franchise system, kind
of like McDonald's. OK, I like that analogy.
So you have a governing board. Right. But then
you have. individual territory owners, the promoters
who run specific regions. They have the exclusive
rights to run shows in Tennessee or Florida or
Texas. And Saul made his name primarily in the
Memphis and Tennessee territory. Exactly. And
Memphis, that's a very special place in wrestling
history. It is the absolute Wild West. Memphis
wrestling was known for being louder, crazier,
and way more violent than almost anywhere else
in the country. It's a pressure cooker. And Saul
was the guy stirring the pot. The sources highlight
a specific rivalry here that really defines his
time in Memphis. He managed a team called the
Spoilers, Lorenzo Parente and Joey Correa. Yep.
And they were feuding over the NWA Tennessee
Tag Team Championship with a team called the
Masked Infernos. And they were managed by J .C.
Dykes. This is your classic manager versus manager
dynamic. But it wasn't just them shouting at
each other. from across the ring. The records
say Saul actually got in the ring and physically
wrestled J .C. Dykes. Which is huge. You have
to understand, usually the manager is the coward.
Right. They run away. Exactly. He hides behind
his big, strong clients. But when the heat gets
high enough, the audience demands a payoff. They
want to see the loudmouth get punched in the
face. And Saul was actually willing to take those
bumps? He was. And that's what separated the
strictly good managers from the absolute legends.
Saul knew that eventually he had to pay the piper.
He had to give them what they wanted. He had
to get in there, look ridiculous, maybe get beat
up a bit to send the crowd home happy. It validates
the ticket price. If the villain always gets
away, the audience eventually just gives up.
Saul gave them that release. I want to look at
his client list again because we mentioned the
Von Brauners and the spoilers. But when you look
at the full scope of his career. which spans
nearly 30 years from 1955 to 1976, the variety
is staggering. It really is. It's not just one
type of guy. Take the Islanders, for example.
Yeah. Afa and Sika. These are two legendary Samoan
wrestlers. The beginning of the Inouye dynasty,
Roman reigns, the Raup, the Usos. They all trace
their lineage back to Afa and Sika. And here's
Saul, this Jewish guy from Brooklyn with a cane
managing two wild Samoans. What's the dynamic
there? How does that even work on screen? It's
the contrast. That's the secret sauce. You have
Afa and Sika who were presented as these silent,
unstoppable forces of nature. They didn't speak
much English on the mic. They were just menacing.
Right. Then you have Saul who never, ever stops
talking. He's the mouthpiece. He creates the
narrative that they are his savages, which, you
know, is a problematic trope today, obviously.
But in the context of the 70s, it was simple,
straightforward storytelling. Civilized control
versus wild violence. And the NWA records say
he led them to the NWA. World Tag Team Championship.
That's top of the mountain stuff right there.
It is. It proves he wasn't just a mid -card sideshow.
He was entrusted with the top champions of the
promotion. And the list just goes on. He managed
Angelo and Lanny Poffo. The father and brother
of Macho Man Randy Savage. Exactly. He managed
Pistol Pez Watley. He managed the Legionnaire
Jacques Duret Jacques Goulet. And Soldier LeBouf.
He had Mephisto and Dante. Dojo Yamamoto and
Sugisito, too. And Johnny Long later on. Plus
Butnik and Rocket Monroe. Yeah. And the Mask
Strangler and Sweet Daddy Watts. It seems like
if you were a bad guy working in the South, eventually
you ended up in Saul's stable. He was the kingmaker.
If you were a new heel in the territory and the
promoter put you with Saul Weingaroff, the audience
immediately knew, OK, this guy matters. I should
boo him. Saul transferred his own heat to his
clients. We also have to mention the family connection
here. The biographical notes say his son, George
Weingroff, actually became a pro wrestler, too.
Yeah, George had a very solid career. It shows
that wrestling wasn't just a day job for Saul.
It was the family business. He brought his work
home in a very literal way. So we finally get
to 1976. Saul retires from the ring. He spent
30 years causing riots, dodging chairs, throwing
fire, and probably getting spit on by grandmothers.
At least a few grandmothers, yeah. What does
a man like that do for a second act? This is
honestly the part of the story I love the most
because it's so completely unexpected. He settles
down in downtown Nashville and he opens a sign
shop. A sign shop. Like grand opening banners
and neon lights. Exactly. Wanger off signs. That
feels almost poetic in a way. But also incredibly
mundane compared to Fireballs. I think it's beautifully
thematic though. Think about what a wrestling
manager actually does. He communicates. He uses
symbols. Ah, I see where you're going. The cane,
the fireball, the swagger. Those are all signs.
He's telling the audience exactly what to feel
without saying a single word. That's a really
great point. He literally went from dealing in
the semiotics of violence to dealing in actual
semiotics, vinyl lettering and street signs.
And he didn't stop communicating about wrestling
either. The history columns mention he transitioned
into writing. He became a regular guest columnist
for magazines like Official Wrestling, Wrestling
Month. monthly and wrestling review which is
really interesting because usually the bad guys
from that era protect the secrets of the business
the most but here he is actively analyzing it
in print well he was a true student of the game
writing those columns allowed him to stay part
of the wrestling world but from a safe distance
he went from being the guy causing the chaos
to the guy explaining it right it shows he wasn't
just a performer he was a theorist He understood
on a deep level why the riots happened. Soul
passed away in Nashville on March 14, 1988. He
was 72 years old. But the wrestling world definitely
didn't forget him. No, not at all. In 2006, he
was officially inducted into the NWA Hall of
Fame. And looking at the class he was inducted
with, the Rock and Roll Express Eddie Graham.
These are absolute titans of the industry. It's
total validation. It's the industry acknowledging
that the manager isn't just an accessory. Saul
Weingroff was a main event player. He sold tickets.
People paid their hard -earned money just for
the chance to see him get his comeuppance. It
really makes you think about the modern landscape
of entertainment. We see these love to hate characters
everywhere now in reality TV, in sports, even
in politics. Saul really was the prototype. He
understood early on that negative engagement
is still engagement. If they're screaming at
you, they're paying attention to you. And he
clearly didn't care why they were screaming as
long as the building was full. Well, exactly.
Cash the check. Before we wrap up today, I want
to leave you with a thought. We talked about
the fireballs. We talked about the riots in the
streets. We talked about the police escorts.
And we talked about his wild run for president.
A truly wild ride. It makes you wonder, at what
point does the performance actually stop? When
you have a man who can incite a citywide riot
just by walking into a room who effectively requires
a paramilitary operation just to go to work.
Where do we draw the line between an entertainer
and a provocateur? That is the blurry, blurry
line where professional wrestling lives. And
Saul Wengerhoff built a house right on top of
that line. And then he probably set it on fire.
Ah, exactly. Thanks for joining us for this deep
dive into the chaotic, fiery life of Gentleman
Saul. Stay curious, watch out for flying canes,
and we'll catch you next time.