My Take On 9.13.06: Francis Alexander Csonka
Posted by Larry Csonka on 09.13.2006
Noble fathers have noble children.
This isn't a "wrestling" column today. This is something that I have to do for me. If you decide to read on, I thank you for your time. To begin, some background if you'll allow me.
Excerpts originally written 12.29.05 for TWTF.COM.
After my last match here in NC, my father in law was telling his friends about it, and as it turns out one of his buddy's is a new "promoter" in Pennsylvania. He asked for my number and we talked, and after some haggling I got a match and a payday of $50! Big time kids. The show was Christmas Eve, and he said that there would be a "big house," which I was a bit skeptical about. But I was excited, and also got a good laugh. The name of the promotion was Washington Championship Wrestling. WCW. I was DOOMED!
I had talked to Christi and she had a great idea. You see, ever since my father had his heart attack and almost passed on, he has been a changed man. He has wanted to spend more time with us, to show us he is proud. He came from a family of 10 kids, and the parents did not throw "I love you" around all that often, so he never did. I mean never. It doesn't bother me; the man worked 2 full time jobs, almost 80 hours a week to support us, and that was love. We told him we wanted him to come to this show because I was doing some interviews and when I was done we would go out to eat afterwards. She also got my big brother to come. We are close, and thought it would be cool for him to be there.
I arrived at the SNPJ in Washington, which is a like a VWF for Slovaks. They had a lot of seats set up, and it looked nice besides the low ceiling. I went back to the closet, yeah, closet where they store the chairs, and got ready. I was nervous, performing is one thing, but I wanted to make it good for my father. I geared up and got all stretched out. I then went to meet with my opponent, "Jumpin" Jimmy Rogers. 135 lbs dripping wet, this dude was small and the good news is that I looked like a monster. This would be Jimmy's 5th match, and he was excited. He was apparently a high flyer and wanted to fit in about 50 moves in our match. I had to explain that we had about 10 minutes, including intros. We worked out a few things and were ready to go.
I went to give the sound guy my music as the 2nd match was on, we were next up. I peaked out and almost had to laugh. There had to be 100 people there (93 I was later told) and they looked like they were listening to a Kenny G concert. But that is the way things go, so on with the show it was. I spotted my father and brother with Christi, right up front as if the seats were hard to find. Jimmy was out first, and got, well, I guess you could call it a baby face pop. It was a few guys yelling "GO JIMMY!" He looked excited.
Perfect Strangers hit and it was time. I came through the curtain and acted like there were 9000 people there. As I walked to the ring my father and brother looked so surprised. I walked by them and stopped. I stared my father down and said, "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN AT OLD MAN?" As only my father could respond, "Not to damn much." That was great, and I was set to go.
Jimmy and I worked a basic match, as I beat on him for the better part of 5-minutes. I went up top for "the worst moonsault ever," hell, I might as well keep the name, and missed. Jimmy started his big comeback as he laid in the boots to my ribs, a little too well. See, I don't think Jimmy was ever taught how to kick as he laid into my ribs toe first about 20 times. I thought I was going to die…it was real painful. We worked to the end where he would get his "high flying" in and he went for an Asai moonsault. I caught him and dropped him with Totally Tremendous and for once, the crowd came to life. They hated that, as they started to buy into little Jimmy. So, I picked him up again and in the spirit of Christmas, borrowed a move and used Chris Daniels Angel's Wings and then scored the pin. Gimmick Infringement rules.
It was probably a pretty ugly match, not it WAS an ugly match; but it was fun. As I walked out I felt like hell, my ribs hurt and I was damn tired. I was getting changed and got my pay, which he tried to cut but I got it all, no stiffing Tremendous Tom. I got my gear together and headed for the car where Christi, Dad and Steve waited. My dad looked at me and chuckled and said, "Normally I would ask why would you do such a stupid thing…but you did pretty good. So, does that shit hurt, because he was kicking the hell out of you." Yeah dad, it hurts a lot.
I feel that it was important to dive back into my pre-411 archives and share that story with you all. Late in the evening of September 11th 2006, my Father Francis Alexander Csonka passed away at the age of 68. One and a half years after my mother passed on, three days after I talked to him last on the phone. We talked on Saturday after my run. The weekly call we always shared. He had just came up from the lobby of his apartment building, and was preparing a snack so he could be energized to whoop the old peoples ass in poker like he did every week. The man was a true card shark.
During high school our relationship was "good." I worked with him during his second job to make some money, but we didn't spend much time together otherwise. My senior year was as busy as ever. I was on the golf and soccer teams in the fall, and marching band of course as I worked towards a music scholarship. I wanted to be a music education major. Frank had never been to a game during the 6-years I was in band, not even when I played football. Not because he wanted to miss, but because he worked. Senior day came, and I knew what was going to be. I walked across the field as they read my accomplishments and met my mother at the 50-yardline, just her. Frank was at work. After half time we hit the bus and drove to our championships, we were close to going to East Coast Championships. We hit the field and gave our performance, which was really great. My solo work was on and I was so proud of it. I always knew where mom was in the crowd, and as we matched off I saw her, crying as always. We stopped behind the bleachers of the stadium and all the seniors gathered for one last time…and I looked up at the gate area at a friends urging and there was Frank. Cup of coffee in his hand, cigar in his mouth and he nodded and left. In between his 2-jobs, he drove 45-minutes out of his way, bought a $15 ticket, watched me perform for 10-minutes and left. Once again without saying it, he told me he loved me.
As I mentioned above a few years ago my father came down with severe heart problems, and we almost lost him. It happened while Christi was pregnant with Hana, and she was so close to delivering that I couldn't be with the family and him. Thankfully he pulled through and from that day he was a changed man. He was never touchy feely, he hated to hug. He never was an "I love you" guy due to the way he grew up. When I would call to talk to him and mom he would pick up and say, "Hey what's up, good? I'll get your mom." That was it. But all of the sudden we had phone conversations. On the fourth of July Christi's parents had a party. My mom was out of town visiting other family, so I decided to go and pick Frank up, all us kids called him Frank, and bring him to the party.
So I drove the 30-minutes to get Frank, and normally I would have dreaded the drive with him because it would have been silence. This was different. We talked about everything and everything. We argued about football, for some reason Frank was a Dallas Cowboys fan. I being a good Pittsburgh boy loved the Steelers. As we drove through "Hopewell" on the way to the party, he had me take a detour on this odd straight away of road I have never been on. "Larry, back when I was a kid…we used to drag for pinks here." Sweet Christ almighty, Frank went from being the stern Dairy Manager of Khun's grocery store to Danny FN Zucko from Grease in a matter of seconds! He regaled me with stories of winning three races, selling the cars and paying for the wedding to my mother and the down payment on the house I would grow up in. Frank was the FN man.
He was never "supportive" of wrestling and I. When I was a kid, he hated when I watched "that garbage." When I was older and had PPV parties, he hated when I watched "that garbage." When I did my training and started doing matches, he hated that I was learning "that garbage." When I began collecting VHS and DVD's, he questioned why I would want "that garbage." When I started writing about wrestling, he wondered why I would write about "that garbage." But last Christmas when my brother showed him 411, he told him, "The boy knows a lot about that garbage." The funny thing is why he never liked it, he knew I loved it and over the years it became a joke with us. He respected me, and I appreciated it.
My mother passed on 18-months ago, and now my father is gone as well. As I write this early Tuesday morning (9.12.06), before I decide to post this column, I have to think about how to tell my 4-year old daughter that "Pap-Pap Frank" isn't here anymore and there will be no more sharing bacon with him at Eat ‘N' Park. I have to call friends and tell them the news. I have to get affairs straight so I can travel to Pittsburgh and in all of that I have to prepare to preside over the funeral service. I am going to be gone for a few days kids. I wanted to share this because in all honesty, writing has become my life more than you know. This is the only way I know how to deal with these things. If you have read this far, I appreciate it more than you will ever know. Take care, hug your loved ones and raise one up high for Frank, Killians if you have it; he loved it.
In closing, they say that noble fathers have noble children. I hope to God above that this is a truth, because my father was the noblest man I have ever met; and if I am half the man, half the friend, half the father he was, then and only then have I succeeded in life. Thanks Frank.
