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The Downfall of...The King of the Ring

Posted: Oct 23rd 2007 By: CMBurnham

Even though virtually no fan would recognize his name, John Todd Miller once was one of the most popular figures in professional wrestling. For years, he could show up at arenas confident that a backstage pass would await, plus the best seats, and occasionally an invitation to dinner at a wrestler's home.

Some of the biggest names, he said, were some of his best friends.

"Having a clinic that had steroids, you kind of get to meet a bunch of them," Miller said.

For three years, that was life for John Todd Miller, owner of the now-defunct Pasco Medical Clinic in Tampa and described by one drug investigator as "the Victor Conte of professional wrestling," referring to the czar of the BALCO steroid scandal.

Today, this is life for John Todd Miller: He's about to begin an 18-month sentence in federal prison, not for dispensing steroids to wrestlers - those charges fell apart - but for providing steroids to a 13-year-old inline skater who hoped both he and his sport would some day be in the Olympics.

The steroid business let Miller, 39, clear hundreds of thousands of dollars per year and drive a black Jaguar, according to one witness. Now, Miller's worth isn't in his driveway, but in his head. He was a key witness in the successful prosecution of James Gahan, the skater's father, believed to be the first time the parent of an athlete faced federal drug charges for providing steroids to his child.

Gahan also had a business relationship with Miller, but once that disintegrated, Gahan purchased his illegal drugs from Signature Pharmacy in Orlando. That compounding firm is at the center of a nationwide drug crackdown called "Operation Which Doctor," which included a raid of the Palm Beach Rejuvenation Center in Jupiter, Gahan is awaiting sentencing after entering a plea agreement calling for a maximum 61/2-year sentence.

Although Miller said he is bitter about receiving an 18-month sentence when he expected no jail time, he said he is cooperating in other investigations.

With little to look forward to but a call from a federal marshal ordering him to surrender his freedom, Miller consented to discuss his clinic, which he said served not only wrestlers but pro football, baseball, basketball and hockey players, plus businessmen and police officers - including one deputy who Miller said was part of a raid of his clinic.

"To compete, you've got to use them," Miller said of steroids. "I can tell you that there's probably 95 percent of the athletes out there, that are in professional sports, are using it. It's not just wrestlers."

Miller said it would be nice if all athletes were clean, but just when it appeared he would condemn steroid use, he did an about-face.

"I'd do it again tomorrow if I could," he said of his clinic. "Just to help the guys."

In pro wrestling parlance, Miller doesn't see himself as a villain, but someone helping athletes overcome the physical rigors of the job.

Recognizing that many would contest that claim, Miller concluded maybe it's time for sports to go out of business, like his clinic.

"Just stop," he said. "Not have it. It's not worth it. ... The athletes, I don't think that they deserve the beating that they get on a daily basis for our entertainment. We should watch movies instead of watching them get torn up."

Miller struggles to get out of bed each morning. Even in his living room he steps gingerly, at one point on this day bumping into an object apparently because it's too much of a struggle to twist his head and look down for hazards. Although Miller admits to having used steroids, he blames his pain on "hundreds" of crashes in his former hobby of auto racing.

A boost from Eddie Guerrero

The cartoon-like world of pro wrestling most often is relegated to a niche role on cable television, but it became the subject of mainstream debate in June when wrestling star Chris Benoit, 40, killed his wife, 7-year-old son and himself. Steroids were found in his suburban Atlanta home, raising questions about " 'roid rage," but a study of Benoit's brain said concussions and severe brain damage might be to blame.

Still, with at least 63 pro wrestlers dying before the age of 50 since 1984, and with steroid use long-suspected and well-documented, concerns about the business remain.

Miller, who said he was merely an acquaintance of Benoit's, said all wrestlers broke off contact with him when his clinic was raided in 2003. He said if he turned on a World Wrestling Entertainment telecast on a typical Monday night, which he no longer does, every wrestler he would see was on steroids, and most were his former clients. Testosterone, Miller said, was his steroid of choice to help them look fearsome for the cameras.

Records show Miller founded the Pasco Medical Clinic in 2001. About that time, a doctor introduced him to pro wrestler Eddie Guerrero. Miller said Guerrero became like a brother.

Business was about to get a shot in the arm.

By wrestling standards, Guerrero was a lightweight, about 5-feet-8 and 220 pounds. Nevertheless, his athleticism, charisma and often-comical interview skills helped him reach main-event status. His nickname: Latino Heat.

"He was known as the best in the business," Miller said. "He could outwrestle anybody."

Guerrero, 38, died in 2005. Authorities attributed his death to an enlarged heart caused in part by steroid use.

"I cried for probably three days," said Miller, who believes painkillers, not steroids, killed Guerrero.

"I went to a lot of his matches - Michigan, California, all different places. We would get backstage passes and front-row seats and the whatnot.''

Link to 'flabby' Ric Flair alleged

Miller became a popular figure backstage, confidently answering queries on steroids but, he said, insisting on dispensing them at his clinic. Misty Waldo, Miller's receptionist, told police that when she was hired in June 2002, Miller's wife, Scarlett, told her to expect to see pro wrestlers visiting the office. It was a convenient setup, because for decades, scores of pro wrestlers have called Tampa home.

"I was the top," Miller said, meaning the preeminent supplier of steroids to wrestlers.

That sounds plausible to Orlando's Marc Mero, a former pro wrestler and ex-steroid user who now is a critic of drugs in the business. Mero, whose stage name was Johnny B. Badd, said that while he doesn't remember Miller, he remembers physicians handing out prescriptions "like candy."

"There was a doctor that was backstage that would write scripts for the boys," Mero said. "It would be a joke, like, 'I got 'roids. I got Percocet.' I remember receiving a memo saying that we're supposed to stay away from him because of the fact that it was just too blatant."

Guerrero wasn't Miller's only link to the inside. Former University of North Carolina wrestler T.J. Jaworsky, who did not wrestle professionally, told detectives in late 2003 that he was introduced to Miller two years prior by Ric Flair, who is sometimes regarded as wrestling's greatest all-around performer. Flair wrote about Jaworsky in his 2004 autobiography, To Be the Man, saying Jaworsky is "everything I'd want my kids to be" even though Jaworsky has "a wild side."

Jaworsky told police he paid Miller $1,200 for cycles of drugs to help bounce back from a wrestling injury, but when contacted recently, Jaworsky said, "I don't know anything about him. I don't recall. It happened so long ago."

Questions for Flair and WWE chairman Vince McMahon were sent to WWE publicist Gary Davis but received no response.

Also, the Hillsborough County Sheriff's Department and prosecutor Anthony Porcelli did not respond to requests for comment, leaving in question why the original 14 felony counts were dropped against Miller, including running an unlicensed medical practice and possession and delivery of a controlled substance. Miller said it's because search warrants weren't secured before the raid, a claim supported by some investigation documents but contradicted by others.

This wasn't the first time Flair, nicknamed "The Nature Boy" and "The Dirtiest Player in the Game," was linked to steroids. When his wife, Elizabeth, filed for divorce in 2005, she accused him of abusing steroids and alcohol, causing him to become "enraged, paranoid, emotionally unbalanced and violent," according to The Charlotte Observer, based in Flair's hometown. Flair, whose real name is Richard Fliehr, denied steroid use and said his wife was trying to humiliate him.

Yet in his book, Flair, 58, wrote that when his doctor detected a heart condition, "Initially, I thought that steroids might be responsible, but the doctor dismissed this theory."

Miller said he had dinner at Flair's home many times and painted Flair as a walking billboard for his services.

"When you take a guy that's that old and you make him look good, guys are going to notice that and want to know how you did it," Miller said.

And now? "He looks terrible," Miller said. "Yeah, he's gotten flabby. He's just not looking the way I had him looking."

Some thought Miller was a doctor

When Guerrero was interviewed by detectives under oath on Nov. 21, 2003, he said he met Miller about two years prior. Guerrero said he assumed Miller was a doctor, even though he never represented himself as one. Guerrero's brother Hector, a former pro wrestler, also said he thought Miller was a doctor.

Vince Arcuri, a Tampa real estate agent who knows Miller, said the raid surprised local business people, many of whom saw diplomas on the clinic walls and made assumptions.

"Everybody was like, 'Did you hear about Todd Miller? Dr. Todd's not a doctor,' '' Arcuri said.

Said Miller: "I'm not a doctor. I just owned the clinic. Yes, I was trained by a physician to give injections and I did give injections when he wasn't present, but I didn't do anything that he didn't order."

That's not the business plan Dr. Hilmer Siek laid out for police. Siek, who has since died, told investigators he was a Miller family friend who agreed to take over as the clinic's medical director after the original doctor left. Siek said his responsibility was not to see patients, but to review clients' files every couple of weeks, although he admitted he signed charts without reviewing them. Siek said he was to be paid $1,000 a month and was unaware Miller was ordering or dispensing steroids in his name.

Eddie Guerrero told investigators that Miller gave him injections and shipped him drugs when he was on the road. Guerrero said he paid $100 per week for injections and $200-$300 for other drugs. Hector also received injections from Miller. Hector's form of payment: He gave Miller videos of Eddie's matches.

As the Hillsborough Sheriff's office widened its investigation, more wrestlers' names surfaced. Among those questioned were Jody Simon, who wrestled under the name Joe Malenko; Pete "Billy Kidman" Gruner; Dan Spivey, who often used his real name; and Paul "The Big Show" Wight.

Simon, Gruner and Wight could not be reached. Spivey told investigators he received weekly injections from Miller but wasn't charged because he helped Miller move the clinic to Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard in Tampa.

Although Spivey told police that Miller represented himself as a doctor, when contacted recently, Spivey said the opposite was true.

"I was just surprised," Spivey said of the raid. "I didn't think anything illegal was going on."

Acknowledging that several officers also were using Miller's clinic, Spivey said, "They were victims just like I was."

Asked if what he received were steroids, Spivey said, "No. That's as much as I want to say."

Even Miller had concerns about legality.

"It was pushing the envelope but I always figured if something happened, it would be the doctor, not me" who would be in trouble, Miller said. "He was the one ordering everything that I was doing. You go to work, you follow directions. But I did own the office, so ... "

Boy, 14, caught using steroids

The office fell apart after he and Gahan tried to branch out into hair removal. When their relationship soured, Gahan alerted authorities of illegal activities at Miller's clinic.

Gahan told police Miller had given his son, Corey, steroids without his knowledge, but two months ago, Gahan entered a plea agreement in which he admitted lying. In truth, Gahan was so set on Corey using steroids that after they left Miller, Gahan turned to Signature Pharmacy for drugs for Corey and himself from December 2004 to March 2007.

Miller said when he first saw Corey, "It scared me to death."

"He was at 22 times the adult level of testosterone as a 13-year-old kid," Miller said.

"And what people don't understand is that when you're not done growing, your growth plates and your long bones can be closed up by testosterone. So he could have had one longer leg, one longer arm. I did nothing but help that kid and protect him from what his father had been doing to him."

In court documents, James Gahan conceded that Miller helped manage Corey's testosterone level.

In 2004, Corey, then a 14-year-old national record-holder, failed a test administered by the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency, which tests American Olympians. In April 2006, Corey accepted a two-year ban.

Travis T. Tygart, chief executive officer of USADA, said his organization had never before uncovered a steroid case involving someone so young.

"It's one of the scarier situations we've ever dealt with," Tygart said. "It shows what bad people will do, even to their own son."

Tygart said USADA had a "slam-dunk case" against Corey Gahan based on three positive drug tests, but Miller's information led USADA to require counseling and medical testing as prerequisites should Corey Gahan seek reinstatement. "We felt he was being truthful to us," Tygart said of Miller.

More troubles

In August, the WWE suspended 11 wrestlers for violating its "wellness policy," which includes a ban on steroids. That month, Tampa's Brian Adams, 44, a former WWE wrestler known as "Crush," died of a mix of prescription drugs that did not include anabolic steroids. But at least one wrestler, Gruner, told police Adams referred him to Miller's clinic. Miller described Adams as having "been through a lot in his life."

Today, Corey is a skater without a sport, his father is in prison and their steroid supplier is headed there. Even after serving time, Miller has been ordered by a judge not to work in the medical field, even as a consultant, during four years of supervised release.

Yet Miller is going down fighting.

"I'm not a bad guy," he said. "I'm not the big monster that they made me out to be."

Tags: WWE, Ric Flair, Hector Guerrero