Where the ‘Buffalo’ roams

Wednesday, Oct. 28, 1998 | 11:49 a.m.

Spandex is not for everyone.

That was among the prevailing impressions unveiled at Buffalo Jim's Pro Wrestling School on a recent night. It was there that a throbbing mass of nearly 1,000 bloodthirsty pro wrestling fans crammed into the school's sweltering "arena" to witness an exercise in testosterone featuring a dozen of Las Vegas' most promising practitioners.

The free event (in the school's giant garage on Industrial Road) was held to draw attention to a man who, in the world of pro wrestling, needs no introduction: "Buffalo Jim" Barrier, a free-spirited mountain of a man who hopes his Buffalo Wrestling Federation can one day leap into the ring with vaunted pro wrestling heavyweights such as the World Wrestling Federation and World Championship Wrestling.

If Bellagio has classic art, the BFW has classic Jim, a wild-haired, scraggly- bearded local caricature who owns a 13-foot-high, 20-foot-long Fiberglas buffalo on display near the business entrance.

Barrier hoped to enter the one-ton beast in the Helldorado parade over the summer, but, to his dismay, the event was canceled.

But there is always wrestling.

"We have dreams, very high goals for what we're doing here," Barrier said from his office at Allstate Auto and Marine Electric, next door to the BFW practice facility. "I'll tell you something: When Buffalo Jim says something is going to come through, it comes through."

To the surprise of no one familiar with Barrier's unrelenting bulldog persona, the school opened in early August. Fifteen students of all shapes and sizes (including "portly") have enrolled, plopping down a $1,500 initiation fee and paying $25 to $50 per class. Instructional sessions are held three times per week and usually last a couple of hours.

Eventually, Barrier hopes to promote regular (if that term can be applied) wrestling cards in Las Vegas. The Silver Nugget, near what Barrier has called the sport's core fan base in North Las Vegas, is a possibility. So is the Orleans.

As it stands, the BFW's lone permanent site is just a couple doors down from the Crazy Horse Too on Industrial Road, forming what might be known as one of the city's more, ahem, distinctive business districts.

"We need more space because of the popularity," Barrier said. "We need to branch out."

On a national scale, the obvious Las Vegas-wrestling connection is through the former Debbie Reynolds hotel-casino. The WWF, which routinely sells out some of the largest stadiums in the country, purchased the resort in August and announced plans for the first wrestling-themed casino in Las Vegas, a kind of Circus-Circus for Hulkamaniacs.

"We hope to supply them with students," Barrier, a buddy of WWF founder and president Vince McMahon, said. "Right now, we're like the minor leagues. But we can give (McMahon) some students right here in Las Vegas who are well-trained and can perform."

But the WWF venture, Barrier said, is at least a year from opening.

"We're concentrating on the school right now," Barrier said. "We know the interest is there. We just have to tap into it."

BWF classes are conducted by one of the few men on the planet who can actually dwarf Barrier: gargantuan former pro wrestler Yokozuna.

"Check out Yoko," Barrier barked. "Is he a huge man or what?"

Huge. Yokozuna, who weighs 580 pounds, offers both name power and experience for up-and-coming wrestlers. He also possesses what has to be one of the most massive posteriors in the world.

Yokozuna was among the most famous of the WWF's colorful stable of superstar wrestlers. He traded figure-four leg locks with Hulk Hogan, beating the Hulkster for the WWF championship in 1993.

Yokozuna's career was halted two years ago by a bout with pneumonia that caused him to balloon up to 800 pounds. Now healthier and lighter, Yokozuna plans a return for the next WWF "Wrestlemania" event, scheduled for April in Philadelphia.

But until then, Yoko is linked to the BFW.

"I'm here to teach the proper techniques," Yokozuna said. "We want to bring real pro wrestling to Las Vegas."

As does Barrier, the brains behind the brawn.

A master of self-promotion, Barrier has even recorded a collection of Christmas songs and is always happy to oblige interview requests. His office is a shrine to one of the more curious phenomenons in American culture, filled with photos of wrestlers and celebrities who have wafted into the sport over the past two decades.

"Karl Malone (of the Utah Jazz) said he's always wanted to be a pro wrestler," Barrier said in his booming, ear-numbing voice. "(Like) Dennis Rodman, a lot of athletes realize that this is a great thing to be a part of."

Some of Barrier's wrestling-related business promotions have not worked out. One of his first students was former heavyweight boxing champion Michael "Dyanamite" Dokes, whom Barrier was using in TV ads. Dokes was forced to withdraw from the school in September after being arrested on assault charges stemming from an altercation with his former fiancee.

Current students are less famous -- and less infamous -- but dream of stardom. The most physically imposing of Barrier's proteges is 6-foot-4, 265-pound Gary Mills.

"I've been watching this since I was a little kid," said the 26-year-old Mills, who owns a tanning salon business and first met Barrier as a customer. "I'm not doing it for the financial aspect, but I could get a little publicity and it's a lot of fun."

Mills acknowledges that casual observers often deride pro wrestling on two fronts: It's staged, and it appeals to the most guttural of human instincts.

"People can say it's fake and is mostly showmanship," Mills said. "But if I'm jumping off the ropes and landing on a guy, I'm really landing on him. That's not fake."

So fans accept, or ignore, the obvious fakery inherent in the sport. For example, common logic tells us if you were to heavily stomp on a man's face with a thick-heeled leather boot, that man would not likely be able to instantly rise and perform a flying leg kick.

Or even eat strained yams.

"You have to be into the yelling, the theatrics," Mills said. "That's really what sells. Look at Hollywood (formerly Hulk) Hogan. If you were to rate him as a showman, he'd get a nine (out of 10), but as a wrestler, he'd get a one.

"I heard that in his first day of practice, (Hogan) got his leg broken. But he's a showman and he's famous because of that."

Student Dameon Bird possesses the theatrical training needed to stand in front of a live microphone and belt out threats such as, "When I get through with Austin, they'll need dental records to identify his body, baby-doll!"

"I've been involved in theater for eight years," the 25-year-old Bird, who studied drama at UNLV, said. "It helps a lot. You're a performer as well as an athlete. If you want to get famous, you have to be both."

Mike Gauthier, who works as a sales and installation representative for Circuit City, also said he joined the school to fulfill a dream.

"I saw it on TV and then started hanging out with my uncle and we'd mingle with people after (live) shows," the 23-year-old Gauthier said. "I want to become No. 1, like Hulk Hogan or Rowdy Roddy Piper. I came to pay and play, and I want to do it as long as I possibly can."

All of BFW's members proudly tout the sport's fervent fan base, which is undeniable. But one of the more unfortunate by-products of the faux-violence taking place in the ring is it turns normally well-mannered children into miniature Rick Ruuds.

On a recent night, several pre-teen kids shouted profanities toward the performers in the ring, who were happy to goad the throng into behavior more befitting a cockfight.

But it's all part of the show.

"We work very hard at what we do, and it's a fun experience for everyone," Mills said. "It's been around for generations, and now it's here in Las Vegas, in our own back yard."

Like it or not.

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