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Author Topic: The Mummy 1961 New Mexico
The Mystery Man
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Interesting clip. The newspaper promo has a (bust) pic of 'The Mummy'. Looks like 'The Mummy'. In know Benji Ramirez debuted 'The Mummy' in May '62 Texas but was wonderin' if anyone knew if this was him a year earlier?

"MUMMY' IN CRUCES BOUT

El Paso Herald-Post
June 29, 1961 Las Cruces, New Mexico

The Mummy invades Bassil Battah's new Las Cruces Coliseum on Tuesday's wrestling card at 8:30 pm.

According to Battah, The Mummy, who is carried to the ring in a coffin and then unrapped before the match begins, drags one of his legs while wrestling, and is one of the strongest men in wrestling.

Battah plans four other matches, including a tag team affair, in his weekly wrestling card at Las Cruces.

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Old Fall Guy
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"The Mummy" is billed here by Basil Battah ... and "The Mummy" also headlined an August 10, 1962 Dudley Field card, against Battah, when the latter's group began promoting a summer series of outdoor cards.

I would, at least initially, think it's the same guy (Benji Ramirez, as we later learned, once all the bandages came off). Only, there is a photo of him in the August 7, 1962 issue of the El Paso TX Herald-Post, which shows him wearing only a "mummy" face mask and tights. He is bare-chested, whereas The Mummy I saw in east Texas during the winter of 1962-63 (Ramirez) wore a full, body-length costume.

(I always considered this to be the most difficult of all gimmicks, working so often as he did in the sweltering heat of the southwest. In case you never saw "The Mummy," the costume also leaked talcum powder, allowing for a white cloud to arise every time he was slammed to the mat. White powder and sweat combined ... oh, you can imagine the mess he -- and his opponent -- were in every night on the walk back to the dressing room.)

Perhaps further confusing the issue is that Battah's Mummy was given the same back story as The Mummy with the full costume: that he had been so horribly maimed in an automobile accident, he needed to wear the mask (which went along with the full body costume) to conceal the ghastly scars on his face.

Best guess: The Las Cruces Mummy and the August 1962 Mummy are the same guy, and the gimmick evolved to include the full body costume when he went to work for Morris Sigel in Houston.

Speaking of Basil Battah, what can be made of the following story? I wonder if it has anything to do with the tale which circulated upon Battah's arrival in El Paso (January 1961) from Venezuela ... the story in which he is alleged to have won the world welterweight championship when his opponent died of a heart attack?

The URL is where the story may be found. I took up Google's offer to create a reasonable translation.

http://salmoscompulsivos.blogspot.com/2006/09/el-dragn-lusitano.html

Friday, September 08, 2006
THE DRAGON LUSITANO

The yellow page photograph of the event, without the photojournalist seek it, recreating the huge lifeless body of the Dragon Lusitano in his bed as is the Greco. The figure is elongated as if simulating the burial of the Count of Orgaz. Only we impact their loneliness and helpless prostration to the oppressed forever in memory, the corpse is not sheltered by a domed sky chaired by Christ, the Virgin and penitents - just what arropa a bloody bedspread while makeshift shroud -- . In the earthly plane, do not surround shocked faces of noble knights and adusto; assume that the patience of weak bitter importunada by police was the work of photojournalist: the frame and pose macabre that excite the morbidity of readers during the libation first coffee of the morning. However, the photograph mean my paradoxical tribute to my uncle, mitificado fighter in the nick sinolusitano.

Dragon Lusitano was one of the most outstanding figures of the Free struggle in Venezuela, the well known Catch as catch can. Only that was on the sidewalk opposite of heroes like Basil Battah, the impío side of the rudos: Manichean handling the puppets of fate through, the ex-fighter Lebanese prospered at Valencia San Desiderio to found a department store (Commercial Battah, of course), while the villain's death found behind the counter of a miserable cave-home south of the city. I had the solitary, another of our fighters who shared a poster with El Santo (so much so that with the Thousand Masks were considered the best trio in 1975 in Mexico), not that my uncle fell within the profile of evil: His silence If we want a saudade resigned, bewildered drunk bustle of the changing rooms in the New Circus. Except that when you leave and encaramarse in the ring, the severe misfortune of their silence is sublime in an explosion of illegal blows and treacherous that abatieron the best of technicians, in addition to their aullidos and escupitajos against a public thirsty stupid buffer effects and spectacle . Perhaps for this reason, taking the tension between the silence of Buddha and the noisy and degrades savagery of Mister Hyde, attenuated but tragic in its success with women (mostly prostitutes and file). My mother said that despite the modest size of his penis in a position of rest, was harassed by women regardless of any property and anytime (then suppose compensation divine and diabolical in erections of fable).

I have two very punctual memories about him: one, when they fired on us-arming children abstrusos refineries with Lego taquitos - because what the police pursued by having murdered his ******* son (conceived with a vulgar fichera, which would have been brought in the funeral of my maternal grandmother, which was not my mom never dispense) by mechanical asphyxiation and then launch a river of infected Caribs. Unfortunately, the failed attempt to escape to Brazil, was captured shortly thereafter to purge the maximum penalty in Tocoron. And secondly, when I counted to 21 and had no idea what to do with my life (as you can see, I am a haragán championship): We had taken a few beers at the Chinese restaurant where he worked, the late Dragon Tower, celebrating the procedural benefit that had cut in half the mere thirty years of his sentence. Weeks later, aware of their lie, I went to the restaurant to bar to drink depressed glasses of warm beer: the president is not granted a pardon, the Dragon Lusitano had bought his freedom in prison without the bureaucracy to follow the wise instructions: Portugal, salt in the country because if we do not envainamos all. Indeed, the police arrested in the kitchen of the restaurant, between Lumpi, Chop Suey and rice by stepping on rats.

Today, twenty years later, I bullet with this magnificent picture (bright unintentionally, like the naif surreal atmosphere of the film The Holy against women vampire), which disturbs me in the regret and pessimism of my forty - one years. Last week, another uncle of mine gave me a timely tail to my house, because I trusted their suspicions surrounding the death of his brother's soul, the Dragon Lusitano: a parricide for pecuniary reasons. We thought at first, because the legitimate child of the Dragon I fell in the balls. But on reflection, however, parricidas us all that, like Cain, we neglect to safeguard another, our kind. It is this stab parricida that this chronic sour.
Posted by Salman
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[ 09-12-2008, 10:46 AM: Message edited by: Old Fall Guy ]

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"Friends come and go, but enemies accumulate." -- Thomas Jones

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Crimson Mask from FL
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quote:
Originally posted by Old Fall Guy:
I took up Google's offer to create a reasonable translation.

Ask for your money back. I'll tackle it later.

Agree it was probably Benji in Las Cruces.

So long from the Sunshine State!

[ 09-12-2008, 10:44 AM: Message edited by: Crimson Mask from FL ]

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Anybody who says 'I'm here to solve problems, not create them' is about to create a problem.

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Crimson Mask from FL
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Here ya go. Has nothing to do with what you wondered if it did:

quote:
 -

The tabloid photograph from the crime page, if it had not been taken by a photojournalist, would recreate the enormous lifeless body of Dragón Lusitano in his bed in the style of El Greco---the figure is found elongated as if simulating the burial of the Count of Orgaz, even if we are only reminded by his solitude and the helpless prostration that oppresses him forever in our memory; the cadaver is not nestled under a sky presided over by Christ, the Virgin and the Penitents, only sheltered by the improvised shroud of a bloody bedspread; on the earthly plane, he is not surrounded by noble knights with emotional yet dour faces; we suppose that the feeble patience of bitter policemen was tried by the photojournalist doing his work: capturing the macabre frame and pose that would morbidly excite the readers while drinking their first coffee of the morning. Regardless, to me the photograph signifies a paradoxical homage to my uncle, the legendary wrestler known only as Lusitano.

El Dragón Lusitano was one of the outstanding figures in Venezuelan wrestling, the well named Catch as Catch Can, except he was to be found in the opposite corner from heroes like Basil Battah---that of the Godless band of the Rudos: through the Manichean manipulation of the marionettes of Destiny, the Lebanese ex-wrestler prospered in Valencia de San Desiderio by founding a department store (Comercial Battah, of course), while the villain found his death behind the counter of a miserable little live-in grocery store in the south of the city. I was told by El Solitario, another of our wrestlers who worked on cards with El Santo (with Mil Máscaras, they were considered the best trío of 1975 in México), that my uncle did not fit the profile of a villain: his silence, as if he preferred a resigned homesickness, disconcerted the drunken bellicosity in the dressing rooms of the New Circus. Only upon leaving and climbing into the ring did the severe fatalism of his silence sublimate into an explosion of illegal blows and treachery that gave pause to the best of the Técnicos, and screaming and spitting on a stupid audience thirsty for comic opera and spectacular effects. Maybe it is that reason, the habitual tension between the silence of Buddha and the noisy and vile savagery of Mr. Hyde, that diminished him into his tragic destiny of success with women (above all prostitutes and floozies). My mother said that despite the modest size of his virile member in its resting state, he was accosted without consideration by women of all types at all hours (we then assume the divine and diabolic compensation of erections of mythical proportion).

I have two very pointed memories of him: one, when they shot at us---children innocently and ingeniously armed with Lego waffles---then the police pursued him for having murdered his b*stard son (conceived with a vulgar slut, who he brought to my maternal grandmother's funeral; a thing my mother never forgave) by mechanical asphyxiation then throwing him into an infected river that led to the Caribbean Sea. Lamentably, he failed in his attempt to escape to Brazil and was captured shortly after and served the maximum sentence in Tocorón. And the second, when I was 21 and had no idea what to do with my life (as you all see, I am a champion layabout): we had drunk a few beers in a Chinese restaurant where I worked, the now extinct Dragón Tower, celebrating the beneficial legal process that had cut his 30-year sentence in mere half. Weeks later, aware of his lie, I went to the bar of the restaurant to drink depressing glasses of lukewarm beer: the president had not shortened his sentence at all, el Dragón Lusitano had bought his freedom from the prison bureaucracy without following the wise instructions: Portugee, leave the country or you will have no protection. In fact, the police arrested him in the kitchen of the restaurant between lumps of chop suey and rice that had been trampled on by rats.

Now, twenty years later, as I blind myself with this magnificent photo (brilliant without trying to be, like the naif surrealistic atmosphere of the movie 'El Santo contra Las Mujeres Vampiro'), what perturbs me is the anxiety and pessimism of my 41 years. Last week another uncle followed me to my house, then confided his suspicions about the death of his soul brother, el Dragón Lusitano: a patricide for reasons of money. I believed him at first, then who the legitimate son of El Dragón is hit me in the balls. But, thinking on it, we are all patricides who, the same as Caín, do not take care to safeguard the other, our fellow man. God help me with this patricide by stabbing that is this chronic sourness.



[ 09-12-2008, 01:25 PM: Message edited by: Crimson Mask from FL ]

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Anybody who says 'I'm here to solve problems, not create them' is about to create a problem.

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The Mystery Man
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I have a '62 Texas newspaper interview that someone did with The Mummy. I'll try and post it here if I can find it. One of the questions asked, thru an interpreter, was, "how often do you ... uh ... wash the rags?" *pause* Interpreter: *pause* *shrug, shakes head* "Hardly ever." The reporter said that was more than he thought.

Here's a clip with The Mummy going a ONE HOUR main with Keomuka on the 4th of July. Bof hadda look lak sumpn whin hit wuz oveh.

WRESTLING

The San Antonio Light
San Antonio, Texas
Wednesday July 4, 1962

A special Fourth of July grapple card will be presented at the Wrestlethon Wednesday night as Duke Keomuka, the veteran Japanese wrestler, returns to clash with South America's weird mat ace, The Mummy, in a 2-out-of-3 fall, 60-minute main event.

Super heavyweights battle in the 1-fall, 20-minute semifinal event as Art Thomas, the 6-5, 262-pound Negro muscleman, goes against Tarzan Tyler, a 6-3, 254-pound lumberjack from Canada.

In the three special events of 1-fall, 20-minute time limits, Bull Curry tackles Portugal's Carlos Rocha, the masked Cyclops faces a newcomer, Dick Madrina, and France's Andre Drapp meets popular Nick Kozak in the 8:30 p.m. opening event.

...the results:

WRESTLING

The San Antonio Light
San Antonio, Texas
Thursday July 5, 1962

In last night's action at the Wrestlethon, Duke Keomuka and The Mummy battled to a 1-hour draw in the main event.

In the semifinal event, giant Art Thomas won via disqualification over Tarzan Tyler.

In the prelims, Wild Bull Curry defeated Carlos Rocha, masked Cyclops topped Ed Rodriguez and Andre Drapp edged by Nick Kozak.

Duke Keomuka joins Wild Bull Curry to go against The Mummy and Cyclops in next Wednesday night's 2-out-of-3 fall main event at the Wrestlethon.

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Steve Yohe
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I saw Benji The Mummy many times in LA and he was always a jobber type. He was well known before comming in & I was surprised at the lack of push. Guess their wasn't much you could do with him. I always wondered how he washed his suit and where was the zipper.

My Mexican wife's 93 year old father died last week and his ashes are in the garage (next to my Conan comic books) or maybe still in her car. When she gets time, the plan is to take them to San Francisco & dump them in the bay. Guess to be near Meltzer. Maybe we can mail them to Dave & let him do the job. I don't want anything to do with it, I saw the movie THE BIG LEBOWSKI. You guys want a photo of the can?--Yohe

[ 09-15-2008, 03:38 AM: Message edited by: Steve Yohe ]

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Ken Viewer
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quote:
Originally posted by Steve Yohe:
I saw Benji The Mummy many times in LA and he was always a jobber type. He was well known before comming in & I was surprised at the lack of push. Guess their wasn't much you could do with him. I always wondered how he washed his suit and where was the zipper.

My Mexican wife's 93 year old father died last week and his ashes are in the garage (next to my Conan comic books) or maybe still in her car. When she gets time, the plan is to take them to San Francisco & dump them in the bay. Guess to be near Meltzer. Maybe we can mail them to Dave & let him do the job. I don't want anything to do with it, I saw the movie THE BIG LEBOWSKI. You guys want a photo of the can?--Yohe

If you have one, sure.

Ken

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Old Fall Guy
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My Portuguese wife's 90-year-old mother died not too many months back and we were in Half Moon Bay a couple of weeks ago, not to be near Meltzer, but to throw the ashes into the sea next to a beach where her family often visited some 55-60 years ago.

I, too, saw "The Big Lebowski" so I took up a position about 35 yards back and let my wife do the honors all by herself. She was smart enough, too, not to throw them up in the air, but just sort of dropped them, near her pant legs, rather like the prisoners in "The Great Escape" when they were getting rid of the tunnel dirt out in the exercise yard.

Apparently, Mrs. Yohe's family crematorium and my wife's family crematorium are different, as well. These ashes were in a cardboard box, not a can.

I don't have any pictures of any of this, let alone the box. You'll just have to take my word.

P.S. -- Come to think of it, I suspect I should amend my will so that my ashes can be dropped in Meltzer's driveway. That, I think, would be a fitting conclusion to an ill-spent life.

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"Friends come and go, but enemies accumulate." -- Thomas Jones

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