The Hardcore Truth

The Bob Holly Story

By Bob Holly, Ross Williams

ECW PRESS

Copyright © 2013 Bob Howard and Ross Williams
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-77041-109-8
CHAPTER 1

BREAD, GRAVY, AND BABY FOOD

I’ve never been a fan of bullies.

I know; it’s ironic, given the way a lot of wrestling fans ended up seeing me later in my career, but the fact remains that I encountered bullying at a young age and I learned to stand up to it pretty fast.

My brother was always up to no good. We never really had a brotherly relationship when we were kids. Even though he’s only a year and a half older than me, we rarely played together. He and his friends constantly picked on me. One of them in particular liked to help him torment me. They were always together and always trying to get to me. They genuinely scared me.

If I was playing in the yard by myself, they would sneak up behind me with a gallon bucket of water and dump it over my head. It wasn’t a practical joke between brothers. It was a couple of mean-spirited little shits trying to make themselves feel big by picking on someone younger and weaker. It wasn’t a one-time thing, either. They did this again and again — more times than I care to remember.

One day, after this had gone on for quite a while, I saw my brother’s friend walking down the street with his mom. At that point I’d just had enough and had to do something. I ran over to them and asked the kid, “Where’s your bucket of water now?” He started saying a bunch of mean things, so I drilled him in the mouth, right in front of his mom. I knocked him down and started kicking him. I still remember his mother screaming at me, saying that she was going to call the police and have me arrested for beating up her kid.

I was six. I guess you could say I’ve been hardcore since then.

I figured that if nobody else was going to stand up for me, I was going to have to do it myself. Maybe I could have handled it in a less violent way but I’ll say this — after I stood my ground, those bullies quit coming near me. I didn’t have anyone to help me fight my battles when I was young. You hear stories where the oldest kid in the family stands up for the younger ones — that never happened for me. My brother was half the problem. As we got older, we didn’t fight much but we didn’t hang out or do anything together. The day after he graduated, he went off to join the Marines. I was glad to see him gone.

You could probably say I was unlucky with my dad too. My mom and dad divorced when I was young, so I didn’t really know him. I know he was a street fighter, always getting into trouble with bikers and stuff like that. He was a real jackass; he didn’t pay child support or anything.

I’ve been blessed with a great mom, though. My relationship with her has always been good. She’s very goofy, very silly, and one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet — she doesn’t have an enemy in this world. I love her to death.

She taught me all about hard work. After my dad left and my brother started school, she would take me to work with her because she couldn’t afford a babysitter. We couldn’t afford a car either, so she and I would walk to her workplace. I’d sit on the floor for eight hours each day as she soldered wires on boards. It wasn’t an ideal childhood, but she did her best for me and my brother. Every single day, we walked three miles there, she worked, and then we walked three miles back home. I remember trying to keep up with her; she walked so damn fast. I managed, but it sure was tough.

When we got home, all we had to eat were bread, gravy, and baby food. It was all we could afford and