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Remembering the Past: Wrestling great Nelson Royal was ‘real cowboy’

Posted: Mar 28th 2021 By: Mike Mooneyham

EDITOR’S NOTE: With pro wrestling/sports entertainment playing to empty arenas, anxiously awaiting a green light to reconnect with a live audience, it’s an ideal time to take a look back at some of the greats of yesteryear who helped paved the way for those who followed.

Few in the wrestling-rich Mid-Atlantic area would ever believe that a pompous, arrogant “Englishman” known as “Sir” Nelson Royal, replete with tails and top hat, would one day emerge as a cowboy who would steal their hearts. But that’s exactly what “Nellie” – as he would become affectionately known to a generation of fans and friends – did.

Royal, who passed away in 2002 at the age of 66, first arrived in the Carolinas in 1964 as half of a heel tag team with The Viking (Bob Morse). Sporting a black beard and black vest and billed from London, England, Sir Nelson Royal was a perfect complement to his white-bearded, Scandinavian teammate.

Royal had refined his heel gimmick working in the Pacific Northwest and the Amarillo circuit, where he feuded with the territory’s owner, Dory Funk Sr. “Nelson loved Texas so much he became a cowboy,” recalled Dory Funk Jr., who had his second match as a pro with Royal in 1963 in Albuquerque, N.M.

Bringing Morse with him to the Carolinas, the two headlined against such established duos as The Kentuckians and George and Sandy Scott, but eventually went their separate ways. Morse, whose late-night, hard-living style didn’t mesh with the milder-mannered Royal, left for Kansas City, while Royal grabbed a cowboy hat, abandoned his rule-breaking ways, and hooked up with lumbering, 6-foot-9 Hugh “Tex” McKenzie as part of a wildly popular big-man, small-man tandem.

McKenzie, whom Nellie would jokingly refer to as “one big, tall sucker – he stood seven foot tall if he stood up straight” – towered over the 5-9 Royal, whose hard-nosed mat style was in sharp contrast to that of McKenzie, a jovial and easygoing performer who was all legs and arms in the ring.

“Tex would drive Nelson crazy,” recalled the late Sandy Scott. “Nelson would go halfway down to the ring, and Tex would just be coming out. Nelson would turn around and Tex would wave, ‘Hey, Nellie.’ Nelson would say, ‘Can’t you just walk to the ring with me?’ They were really a pair.”

While Royal was more than proficient in singles competition, he became a workhorse in tag-team wrestling, first pairing with McKenzie in 1966, then adding a young Paul Jones to his side in 1968. Jones, who accompanied Royal to Los Angeles in 1969 to capture the International tag-team title, tapped into his more experienced partner’s popularity to help establish himself as a solid main-eventer in the Carolinas.

“I learned so much from Nelson. We were partners for about four years and never had one argument. He was a sweetheart of a guy,” said Jones, who passed away in 2018.

Royal, who became one of the top draws for promoter Jim Crockett Sr., was a tag-team specialist in a territory known for tag-team wrestling, and would enjoy other successful partnerships with the likes of Sandy Scott, Klondike Bill, Les Thatcher, George Becker and Johnny Weaver. Between long runs with McKenzie and Jones as partners, Royal would be involved in some of the territory’s most memorable programs with noted heel combos such as Rip Hawk and Swede Hanson, The Andersons, Skull Murphy and Brute Bernard, The Masked Infernos (Frankie Cain and Jimmy “Rocky” Smith), Aldo Bogni and Bronko Lubich, The Missouri Mauler and Hiro Matsuda, and The Masked Marvels (Billy Garrett and Jim Starr).

Just how good was Nelson Royal? Royal, said Thatcher, was one of the greatest ring generals he ever encountered. “He could judge the pulse of a crowd and switch directions to emotionally pull them in as smooth as anyone I ever encountered. He was a very genuine person and gave so much to his craft.”

“Everyone talks about Ric Flair having a match with a broomstick and making it look good,” added Thatcher. “My buddy Nellie was second to no one in that department either.”

The best babyface match he ever had, said Thatcher, was with Royal in Richmond, Va.

“In that bout we went almost 40 minutes working holds, and building to the finish which saw Nelson throw the one and only punch and only illegal move of the entire match for the finish, and then almost have to fight his way to the dressing room,” Thatcher said.

“What did I do to add to the match? I listened to this master ring general call every move and spot, and added my facials, timing and body language, and just maybe asked him to tell me a spot again once or twice as I didn’t hear it correctly. He was one of the greatest ring generals I have ever had the pleasure to work with, and one of the classiest, sincere human beings I have ever had the privilege to know.”

Hall of Famer Abe Jacobs also worked with and against Royal. “Nelson was as good a pro as there was in the business,” said the New Zealand native. “He was a good heel and a good babyface – he could work either way. He was maybe one of the best all-around performers in the business.”

Royal, as scrappy and tenacious as they came, could “go” with anyone. The late Dutch Savage (Frank Stewart), who teamed with Royal in Oklahoma and Japan, called Royal “a human dynamo.”

“He was constantly going,” said Savage. “He worked a completely different style than I did. I was a slow, methodical, center of the ring guy. Nellie was all over the place. He was a whirlwind who just never stopped.”

Paying the price

Born Nelson Clark Combs (he later added the name Royal) in Wheelwright, Kentucky, on July 21, 1931, Royal started wrestling at the age of 17 under the watchful eye of Indian star Don Eagle, a regional world champion wrestler from Canada. For nearly two years, he trained with Eagle and wrestled in nightly events held at National Guard armories for $5 to $10 a night. He was told by promoters that he would never make it to the main event due to his height. Undaunted, Royal broke in with Al Haft’s prestigious Columbus promotion, and quickly hit the road to Idaho, New Mexico, Washington state, Oregon, Maryland and the Carolinas.

Royal found the area to his liking, and put an end to most of his travels, though he occasionally slipped off overseas.

With men like six-time NWA world champion Lou Thesz at the helm of the business, a young wrestler couldn’t help but be inspired, Royal would say. “I wrestled Lou years and years ago when I was young in the business. He looked at me and said, ‘You’d better go after me, son.’ And I did.”

Royal, who came from a background that emphasized tough, realistic mat work, would achieve his own level of success for his realistic, hard-hitting style. One of the most respected technicians in the business, he held the world junior heavyweight belt several times between 1976 and 1988. For that style, though, Royal’s body would pay a price.

He once said there wasn’t a rib in his body that hadn’t been broken, and if it weren’t for anti-inflammatories, he would never be able to sleep.

“I’ve got more stitches in my head than I want to think about,” he said. Royal, however, considered his numerous scars and ring injuries a badge of honor. He longed for the days when wrestling meant wrestling.

“Few of them today know a hammerlock from a padlock,” he would lament.

Perhaps nobody went at it harder and longer than Royal and the late heel Rip Hawk (Harvey Evers). Hawk was one of Royal’s fiercest rivals in the ring, and the two battled hundreds of times over their careers, leaving blood spilled on mats throughout the Southeast.

“Nelson and I really wrestled,” recalled Hawk, who once broke Royal’s leg during a singles match. “There were no cartoons or anything like that. Nelson was great as a single wrestler or in tag teams. He was a leader and he was fun to wrestle. It was hard, but it was fun. The people couldn’t believe some of the moves we made. Nobody could ‘see daylight.’ It was all very tight.”

Hawk recalled working a 60-minute match with Royal “in a little, old hot gym at a YMCA in Lexington, N.C.,” when the timekeeper decided to give them 10 more minutes.

“We went those extra 10 minutes, and we ended up wrestling 90 straight minutes. We both wanted to kill the timekeeper, but we were both in decent shape and it didn’t bother us. I loved working with Nelson. We just jelled. We had a lot of great matches that we drew money with. And I never had an argument with him. He was a great wrestler and a great friend. Not only to me, but to a lot of people.”
The learning tree

As capable a worker Royal was in the ring, his greatest gift may have been as a trainer and molder of talent. With former ring adversary Gene Anderson, Royal helped break in a number of young wrestlers, including rookie Ken Shamrock, who moved with his dad to Royal’s ranch in Mooresville, N.C., during the late 1980s while Royal was training wrestlers and running his Atlantic Coast Wrestling promotion after Jim Crockett Promotions folded. Royal and Anderson, whose tag-team rivalry in the ’60s and ’70s was fierce and bloody, joined forces in training aspiring grapplers in an aluminum building on Royal’s property with no heating or air, and on a ring that was rock hard.

Those who survived the training would become better men – and women – for it. And that included Royal’s two sons and his daughter.

“Dad was very tough on us,” said Shannon Lloyd Johnson, who worked as valet Sha Sha in Royal’s Atlantic Coast Wrestling promotion. “I wanted to be a valet like Baby Doll, but Dad told me I had to learn how to wrestle first. Before I could become a valet, I needed to learn the moves.”

Johnson, who was athletic and worked out regularly at the gym with her parents, may have been “daddy’s little girl,” but that didn’t give her a free pass. “I’ve never been as sore in my life. Dad had to help me get out of the bed the day of my high school graduation practice. I could hardly walk.”

Johnson, who trained alongside another second-generation performer, Rockin’ Robin Smith (daughter of the late Grizzly Smith), said the experience gave her “a whole new perspective” on what her dad did for a living.

Royal pushed her, and others, to their limit. “I had watched him be hard on my brothers on the living room floor, and they’d get so intense I’d have to go outside. Dad was hard on them because he wanted them to be good. But he totally loved what he did, and it was serious and it wasn’t a game. When I learned exactly what he went through, I really get mad now when I hear people say wrestling is fake. You have to be an athlete to do what those men do.”

Neither Johnson nor her two brothers would make wrestling their livelihood, although the experience would last a lifetime.

“I gained a new respect for him and wrestling. I wouldn’t trade any of those days in the ring with him. Besides having my children, that was one of the best times of my life,” she said.

Brad Anderson, son of co-trainer Gene Anderson, who passed away in 1991 at the age of 52, also earned his stripes at the camp.

“Dad would usually be on the outside and tell us, ‘Looks like (crap), do it again,’” recalled Anderson. “We bumped our (behinds) off, learned wrestling holds, learned to listen in the ring to who was calling the match. The whole time the ‘psychology’ of how to put a match together, how to get heat and how to sell was introduced and reiterated over and over.”

Making it through the grueling camp would be no easy task, learned trainees such as Johnny and Mark Laurinaitis, Rikki Nelson, Curtis Thompson, Todd Champion, Robbie “Stro” Kellum, Tommy Angel, Trent Knight, David Isley and the late Colt Steele and Jammin’ Mitch Snow.

Isley, who was a member of Royal’s first camp in 1986, has nothing but fond memories of Royal, who once asked Isley to take daughter Shannon to her high school prom. Royal knew fully well that his trusted student would take care of her and make sure she got home safely.

“Nellie trusted me and I would have never done anything to break that trust,” said Isley. “He was very protective of his daughter. I saw guys at times come try to pick her up for a date, and he did everything he could to run them off,” he laughed. “Hey kid, you like breathing?” Royal would ask potential suitors. “If you do, you’ll have her home at 10 o’clock like I tell you. If you bring her home one minute after, you’ll answer to me.”

“I didn’t even go the prom my senior year,” said Shannon. “I went to a wrestling show instead.”

The training was grueling, Isley recalled, and consisted of running laps through rows and rows of unplowed cornfields and putting fellow trainees on your back and going up and down a steep hill, followed by freehand squats, pushups, sit-ups, and then getting stretched on the mat.

“It was probably one of the toughest things I’ve ever done in my life, and I knew if I could get through that, I could get through anything,” Isley said.

It wasn’t just wrestling Royal was teaching, said Isley. “He taught us about life. He told us that this business would open up our eyes to so many things and to people in general. It does because you live this carney life. He was giving us life experiences that taught us things we never would have learned anywhere else. He also taught us how to take care of ourselves in the ring. He taught us not to let guys push us around and to give it right back to them if they tried.”

If Nelson Royal trained you, you were as good as gold, said Isley, who recalled being part of a group of Royal-Anderson trainees booked to work some WWF shows.

“They were so amazed at how good we made their guys look ... Bobby Heenan came up to us and said, ‘Guys, I just want to tell you something. We haven’t had any good guys come through here in a long time that got our guys over and made them look so good.’ He took a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and told us to split it amongst us and grab some beer on the way home, and that he really appreciated our efforts. That’s the kind of respect we got.”

That respect, said Isley, would later open doors for him and others. “I got a lot of my breaks on down the road because of who trained me. It opened a lot of doors for me, including extra tours like All Japan, because of Nellie. They all knew we were trained the right way. Nelson taught us locker-room etiquette.”

“Nelson was a great teacher and a great friend,” echoed Don Kernodle, who held the NWA world tag-team belts with Sgt. Slaughter during the early ’80s. “I learned a lot about wrestling from Nelson, and he meant a lot to this business.”

“Nelson was a mentor to me and one of my closest friends. It’s a shame there isn’t a lot of footage of his matches for the current generation to watch and learn from,” said Thatcher.
‘Genuine cowboy’

Royal took pride in the fact that he was a legitimate tough guy and a real cowboy. It wasn’t a gimmick.

“He was a real cowboy, and if you actually were to question his toughness, all you had to do was watch him on the back of a ton of bucking, snorting bull to realize that was more than a show as well,” said Thatcher.

“Nelson was a real cowboy,” said Hawk. “And a pretty tough one at that.”

Royal loved his horses and his ranch. “He was always riding when he was home,” said son David Combs Royal. “He had two or three stallions at different times, and showed on the circuits and so forth when he had an opportunity.”

“All you had to do was watch him wrangle the stock on his ranch in Mooresville, N.C.,” recalled Thatcher, “or better still, watch him ride a 1,500-plus-pound bull out of the shoot in a rodeo arena, and you knew that pound for pound this was one of the saltiest gentleman you would ever meet. But he never pushed that side of his character. Wrestling against him was a day off, and as his partner a sweet easy night at work where you continued to go the school of pro wrestling and learn the true art of the business.”

“I loved Nelson,” echoed longtime NWA referee Tommy Young. “He was a great guy and a genuine cowboy. And like most cowboys, he was one tough son of a gun.”

“Nelson Royal was a tough guy who didn’t take (stuff) from anybody,” Young added. “You just knew not to mess with him.”

As aggressive and relentless as Royal was inside the ring, he was just as kind-hearted and giving outside it.

“He was nice to everybody,” said Hawk. “Some guys feel like they’re big shots and too good to shake hands with somebody or talk to some kid. Nellie was never that way. He was always courteous with people and a real fan favorite.”

“You couldn’t find a better guy. He’s probably the best human being I ever met,” said Ronnie Garvin, whose nickname for his friend was “Grandfather.” “He called me ‘Grandson’ for years,” he joked.

Garvin recalled Royal holding a rodeo at his ranch back in the early ’70s to benefit a child who was undergoing spinal surgery. “I remember getting up on a Brahma bull, and that big old thing sent me sailing 30 feet up into the air. I never got on one of those again. Jerry Brisco got hurt that day, and missed about a week of work.”

‘A real hero’

Royal, who was involved in a number of community efforts such as the DARE drug awareness program and Crime Stoppers, operated his popular western supply store in Mooresville for more than 30 years, selling boots, belts and saddles, and raising horses. The store remains in operation today.

Alzheimer’s disease slowed Royal in the latter years of his life, but he continued to work in his store, where fans and old wrestling buddies would drop by to talk about the old days. Royal died at the age of 66 of a massive heart attack on Feb. 3, 2002, after returning home from church one Sunday morning.

“He was a real hero,” said his daughter. “He’d never turn away a fan who wanted to talk to him about the business. No matter how tired he was, no matter what we might be doing as a family, he always had time for his fans. It got hard sometimes to share your dad with the fans, but he always told us that they loved wrestling just like he did and they paid for what we had.

“Of course, when you’re young, sometimes you’re jealous and you’re angry because you don’t want to share your dad. But as an adult, you look back and see what a great man he really was. He wasn’t just someone who wrestled and didn’t want to talk to the people who came and watched it.”

Nellie was as well-liked in his North Carolina community as he had been during his 30-plus years in the wrestling business. A devoted husband and father, a respected businessman and a true wrestling hero, Nellie had changed little over the years, unlike the business he had devoted most of his life to. But he packed a lot of punch into those years.

“I can say one thing. He lived a full life,” said David Crockett. “Nelson was one of those guys who helped build the groundwork for what wrestling is today.”