When my grandpa, Vic Basinski, became a police officer, most cops had second jobs on their days off. Some were electricians, plumbers, or handymen. Grandpa’s side job was different than most: He was a professional wrestler.
By “wrestler,” I don’t mean the kind you see on television today. This was in the 20s, 30s, and 40s, and wrestling was real. When my son was an EMT in the 90s he would sometimes work the wrestling matches at the Sports Arena, or whatever they call that place now. He would see the guys in the tunnel rehearsing what was going to happen and deciding which hold or punch would signal the end of the match.
There was no such fakery for “Whitey,” nicknamed for his white/blond hair. He and his opponents sometimes carpooled to matches in various cities throughout Michigan, Canada, Ohio, and Indiana to save on expenses. But, when the bell rang, it was all business, and may the best man win.
Whitey trained at a downtown gym. This place should not be confused with the various fitness centers and other chic places we have now. There were no sophisticated elliptical machines, recumbent bikes or treadmills. Fancy weight machines hadn’t even been invented.
No, Whitey’s gym had some heavy bags and speed bags, a few dumbbells, ropes for skipping, and medicine balls to be thrust into the stomachs of the guys to toughen them up. There was a boxing ring and several mats where the guys could do pushups, sit-ups, and neck bridges, mandatory exercises for any kind of pugilist. Running, or “road work,” was done through the streets of Flint, winter or summer.
My grandpa’s first police chief, James P. Cole, didn’t mind that Whitey wrestled, believing it was good for public relations. But, as time wore on, and the matches piled up, so did the injuries. While never a champion, Vic Basinski won a lot of matches, but lost his share too. He received broken ribs, a broken nose, cauliflower ears, several sprains and a dislocation or two. His most severe injury was a broken leg that required a long time to heal.
James Wills, the chief when Whitey broke his leg, wanted him to stop wrestling. Chief Wills didn’t like the time off and “light duty” assignment for someone who should be on the street.
After the leg healed and Whitey trained enough to get in ring shape, he took on a guy who outweighed him by 25 pounds. Grandpa invited Chief Wills to the match and secured a front row seat for him.
According to an article in the Flint Journal, during the first fall my grandpa picked up his opponent, ran to the ropes and threw the guy at the feet of Chief Wills. The crowd went wild. Wills was now convinced that Vic Basinski had come back all the way and could continue to wrestle. Unfortunately, Whitey’s opponent came back to pin him.
While the matches were not fakes, there was some occasional show business involved. When the Sparks Circus came to town, the owners made arrangements with the police department to have Whitey assigned there. The in-house “circus champion” would issue a blustery challenge to “take on all-comers.”
When the wrestler issued the challenge from the ring, the crowd would chant, “Whitey!! Whitey!! Whitey!!” Conveniently, Grandpa had his wrestling tights, shoes and other equipment in his bag with him.
While he was getting dressed, the place would sell out in anticipation of seeing the big-mouthed “champion” silenced by “Whitey the Cop.” Even though the regular matches weren’t “fixed,” show business did prevail as Whitey always won. Whitey died in 1992 at age 100. What a life. What a guy.
