Washington Calhoun

There was a gentleman in the neighborhood when me Pops was growing up with the somewhat regal American gothic name of Washington Calhoun. He was a nice man, Pops opined, great towards everyone among family and friends. If he had a vice at all, it was devotion to wrestling.

When television came along he could feed that vice with regularity. His wife, Mrs. Calhoun, who is all Pops knew her by though one hopes she may have had a name fitting to her husband's, declared that it was almost comical to watch Wash (as she called him) watch wrestling on TV. He'd leap from the couch punching air at the spectacular throw of one competitor by another and yell bloody murder when the heel, the bad guy, would commit some heinous act when the referee's back was turned, unable to believe that the ref could miss such atrocity. 

"A mule couldn't take the beatings those guys take," he once remarked, amazed, apparently never sensing the real reality of televised wrestling. 

The day came however when Mrs. Calhoun had to ween Wash from wrestling. 

If you're familiar with wrestling at all you've likely seen the move where a wrestler would climb to the top of the turnbuckle at the corner of the ring and do a body slam, diving off the turnbuckle with a flying prone pose (arms and legs spread out to form a giant human X) onto an opponent lying flat on his back on the floor. It's a pretty common thing, and often meant to end a match.

Mrs. Calhoun woke up late one night to see her husband climbing the bedpost at the corner of their bed. As he spread out his arms before her shocked eyes, she realized what he was doing. In his sleep, he was preparing to body slam whomever he was wrestling in a dream. "Washington Calhoun!" she screamed.

But it was too late. Fortunately for her, he was aimed away from the bed. Unfortunately for him, her yell was not enough to save him from crashing full on onto the bedroom floor, rattling the windows and causing the house to shake.

Mr. Calhoun wasn't hurt too bad. His nose was bloodied but that was about it. But his wrestling watching privileges were severely curtailed. By order of, shall we say, the management.