One of only a few pics I have of me with Stephan
Stephan was a wrestler, a singer (with an old-school punk shout-of-a-vocalist), a wild lover, an artist, and a trickster. He had a quick wit and was usually the man on top when jokes were dealt.
So of course, I think of that rare moment when the impromptu joke was on him.
Stephan in Anarchy mode versus Físico Nuclear
We were wrestling on an Incredibly Strange Wrestling show in San Francisco in ’95, back when Johnny Legend and Audra Morse were still working the shows together. This was the first time we appeared at a club called The Trocadero, and the dressing room was a small fit upstairs with artistically correct black and red painted walls and ceilings. Such an intimate fit was never a problem with us (anybody who has wrestled even for a short period of time has a story to tell about his or her most unique dressing room setting).This evening Stephan was dressed in his Anarchy gear; black mask, blue jeans, t-shirt that read “Go Die!” and his trademark FEAR baseball cap (which was eventually autographed by FEAR member Lee Ving with the words “Stephan. Go Fuck Yourself”)
Like most wrestlers with a keen gimmick, Stephan’s persona known as “Anarchy” was rooted in his musical and political idealism. Normally, he was a man for all seasons, that outgoing kind of cat who could find common ground with anybody and spark up an enthusiastic conversation. But he was rarely compromising when it came to his liberal politics and his disdain for musical groups who “sold out” to press a gold record.
While my politics were similar to Stephan’s, we saw music in a different light. This was the era when the million-dollar CD movers like Green Day, The Offspring and Nirvana were topping the charts. While I loved these groups to the core, Stephan would rant against these “pseudo punk bands” and the corporate music world.
So in this cramped dressing space on that evening in San Francisco, sat these monolithic speakers blaring backstage music for the wrestlers’ entertainment. Stephan, Frankie Dee, Fisico Nuclear, Bill Judd, Ron Hed, JR Benson, Sergio “The Unholy” Baez, Mistress Brenda, Stacy Synn, Stephan and I drank in the tunes blaring. The entire dressing room simultaneously broke into a singing & headbanging fest when Rancid’s “Time Bomb” played; we were so into it we nearly blew-up before we hit the ring to go to work!
As we cooled down as the song wound up, there was a unanimous glow on all our faces.
And then we heard the next tune open with the lyrics “And the sky was made of amethyst…”
You know? The song “Violet?”
“And the stars were just like little fish…”
You know? That hit song by that platinum album group Hole, sung by Courtney Love?
“You should learn when to go…”
Stephan frowned and cursed “No, not this piece of shit song by this worthless drug-addled group!”
“You should learn how to say no!”
Ah, but Stephan found himself outnumbered that night. The rest of us were shaking with complete abandon to grace and rhythm to the achy voice of Ms. Love.
“Could somebody turn this fucking shit off?” bellowed Stephan.
And when it came to the line where Ms. Love’s voice explodes into rage, every one of us burst out along with her “GO ON! TAKE EVERYTHING! TAKE EVERYTHING!”
Stephan crouched against the stairwell, clapped his hands hard against his ears, and started shaking his head in protest, screaming “NO! NO! NOOOOOO!” oddly reminding me of Ron Moody playing “Fagin” during the “I’d Do Anything” number in the musical “Oliver.”
Needless to say, this coerced the entire lot of us to sing the lyrics louder to our friend, and nearer to his face.
Dear, sweet, Stephan! By the time the song ended, we were already forgiven. This speaks volumes for his kindness, since singing along to corporate sell-out music was a huge sin!
Stephan DeLeon partied like crazy, but he himself was “the drug.” He detested drinking or getting high, though he never judged the wrestlers and musicians he knew who partook. His only “fast-living” consisted of getting into fights with skinheads, and riding his motorcycle.
I had no idea he even owned a motorcycle until Riki Ataki called me on the afternoon of April 6, 2004. He told me that Stephan was riding his motorcycle on the 405 freeway, and was clipped by a taxi. He died instantly.
Stephan was thirty four at the time of his passing. When Elena and I attended his funeral, we were awestruck by the huge crowd of people from so many walks of life that came to pay homage: numerous family members, his fiance, the wrestling community, musicians, exotic dancers from the club he worked… so many folks that not everybody could fit into the chapel. Amongst those who eulogized Stephan were his art mentor Gilbert Hernandez and fellow wrestler Billy Anderson. His right-hand wrestling buddy Riki Ataki was one of the pallbearers.
I left his funeral service sad, but simultaneously awestruck. The diverse crowd of people attending the service spoke volumes about the impact Stephan had on their lives. He spread so much love and passion into those thirty-four years. And knowing his upbeat nature, I think he left this earth with regrets.
Aside from the motorcycle, the other thing that I never knew about Stephan was his love of “Voyage Into Space,” the late night TV movie (which was actually a Japanese TV series dubbed into English, and later cut & spliced into a full length film) featuring the adventures of a boy named Johnny Sokko and his gigantic Flying Robot. Stephan loved this series so much that he bought a six-foot replica of the Giant Pharaoh-esque Robot, and told people close to him that when he died, he wanted to be buried with this cult-movie pal.
His brother fulfilled his wish.
We miss you a lot, Stephan DeLeon. Keep the stars up there twinkling, and help Giant Robot protect the galaxy from evil.
