Wrestling the Hulk Read online

  Wrestling the Hulk

  MY LIFE AGAINST THE ROPES

  LINDA HOGAN

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One: California Dreams

  Chapter Two: Two Blondes Walk into a Bar . . .

  Chapter Three: Ringside

  Chapter Four: Coast to Coast

  Chapter Five: Oh Baby!

  Chapter Six: The Other Woman

  Chapter Seven: Guilty Pleasures

  Chapter Eight: Going Through the Motions

  Chapter Nine: Welcome to Miami

  Chapter Ten: The Liar’s Den

  Chapter Eleven: End of an Era

  Chapter Twelve: Cougar Unleashed

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Photographic Insert

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  I AM DIGGING. THE GROUND IS HARD. THE DIRT IS heavy. I keep pushing forward with my shovel, digging deeper and deeper and deeper. But this is nothing new to me. I’ve been digging myself out of holes my entire life, and I’ve played many roles while doing it. Linda Hogan, wife of the wrestling icon Hulk Hogan. Linda Hogan, mother to Brooke and Nick Hogan. Linda Hogan, television personality. And now Linda Hogan, farmer?

  Yes, sir. I am standing in a ditch at my avocado farm in California, Sunny Girl Avocados. My newest role is a reminder of my freedom. When you endure the public and private battles I have and survive, you’re lucky to be the one holding the shovel! And it’s not a coincidence that I am growing avocados. They have one of the thickest skins of any fruit, and early on I learned the importance of having a thick skin.

  Since the divorce became final two years ago, people have often asked me when I was going to tell my side of the story. Friends, family, colleagues, and even strangers on the street would come up to me and ask what really happened. I was married to an icon, and I was fiercely loyal to him and to my children. Then, after the two decades we spent building an empire together, that empire crumbled. The family that was my life force for so long seemed to be taken away in a flash. My husband was gone. My son was in jail. My daughter lived in Miami. The ensuing divorce battle has now become Hollywood folklore.

  It took a long time for me to realize that I needed to leave. Or maybe he just wanted me to leave. Either way, I knew that I had to make a decision and probably face the battle of my life.

  Sure, I had access to the media to tell my story as the divorce was unfolding, but I never took advantage of it. I was dealing with Hulk Hogan, somebody with a huge ego. Somebody who doesn’t like losing at anything. He shot back at me in the media when I wasn’t even shooting in the first place. If you let the fire smolder, it will eventually go out, I thought. I knew that there would come a time when it would need to be discussed publicly. That time has come. That time is now.

  It’s the end of the day. The sun begins to set with deep gold and orange tones across the mountains. I put down my shovel and sit on a rock after an honest day’s work. Honest is an interesting choice of words. My husband wasn’t being honest in our marriage, and it was time for me to be honest with myself. This is my story, an honest account of my life that I hope will offer others inspiration to move on in their own lives in a more positive way. I was forced to learn these lessons the hard way, but as the saying goes, “Without the lows, the highs wouldn’t be so incredible.” Now that I’ve had my hardships, I am much more grateful for the new doors God has opened for me.

  I hope this book will help you learn from my mistakes and find all the joys I found once I summoned the courage to take the first step toward happiness.

  Chapter One

  California Dreams

  TERRY GENE BOLLEA, AKA WRESTLER HULK Hogan—born in Tampa, Florida, Thunderlips in Rocky III—this was the guy I would end up spending my life with, I thought. After a stormy divorce from Terry that for two years served as a platform of entertainment and drama for the tabloids, our marriage was over. I’ve seen myself through a lot of things, but this was something that I thought I would never have to face. In retrospect, the reality of this happening was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through in my life personally and publicly. Starting over again at fifty has been life-changing, an uphill climb, and a test of endurance. It was my choice to move on, ditch the drama, and start living again.

  I needed to start my whole life over and I needed to be with my family on the West Coast for a while. California has always been my real home, but I ended up staying in Florida full-time until the divorce was settled. Another arrow in my heart. While distance from Terry would’ve been nice, I stayed strong during the two years when my divorce was tried. And when it was all over, I was finally able to spend some time in the place I loved.

  California, here I come. Surf’s up, bitches!

  As I’ve spent more time here again, I feel like the old Linda. Actually, I feel like a young Linda—the one who doesn’t just live life, but lives to live life. Family has always been such an important thing to me, and my parents have set a solid example. They have stayed together through thick and thin and just celebrated their fifty-second wedding anniversary.

  IN 1957, MY MOTHER, GAIL, MET MY FATHER, JOE, IN THE GRANDSTANDS of Hollywood High. My mom was in tenth grade and my dad was a senior. There was an immediate attraction between the young couple. My mom said my dad looked like James Dean. And he proved to be a rebel with a cause: to offer my mom a better life.

  Dad came from a big, warm family with an older brother and a younger sister. His father was a police officer and his mother, a nurse. My paternal grandfather was German and English, and my grandmother was a full-blooded Swede. My father’s side of the family were all blonds, so obviously I look like them, but I definitely get my energetic personality from my Italian mom.

  My mother’s grandparents came from Italy to the United States for a better life. After my grandfather sold his share in an Italian market he owned with his brother in Michigan, they settled right in the heart of Hollywood, California, on Sunset Boulevard and Highland Avenue. Since my grandfather (whom I never knew) understood the grocery business well, he got a job working at Ralphs, which would eventually become a popular chain of supermarkets on the West Coast.

  Just as infidelity would eventually take its toll on my marriage to Terry, it also affected my family several generations prior. My grandfather ended up having an affair with a woman who was a cashier at Ralphs. My grandmother was not only devastated but also torn. While Hollywood marriages come and go, back then if you were Catholic, it was almost unheard of to get a divorce. However, the faith that my grandmother had in my grandfather had been destroyed. It was impossible for her to save the marriage.

  My grandmother got divorced and eventually landed a job at Bank of America to support her two young children. Often, my great-grandmother would watch the children during the day while my grandmother was at work. My great-grandmother was used to the old country in Italy where children had more freedom to run and play. However, this was Hollywood—a whole different world. One afternoon, tragedy struck. My great-grandmother was watching my mom’s four-year-old sister, Linda (whom I was named after). She was playing in an alleyway where the delivery trucks would go. A delivery truck was parked nearby, and Linda played in a planter by its back bumper. The driver got in and never saw Linda. He put the truck into reverse, and accidentally ran over Linda and killed her.

  This horrific accident sent the family and my mother into an even more difficult phase of their lives. My mom became a latchkey kid and attended nine schools in twelve years. When she met my father, his normal upbringing and solid family unit were a breat
h of fresh air. She was longing for a stable family life and was strongly drawn to him.

  My mom married my dad when she was seventeen and he was nineteen, which was not unusual for that era. Almost immediately after they got married, my mom got pregnant. I was their first child, and I was born on August 24, 1959. My dad went off to serve in the army and was stationed in Texas. During the first two years of my childhood, I didn’t see much of him. My parents were devoted to each other and to their new little family. They had so little financially, yet they had so much dedication in their marriage.

  I dreamed of one day having a marriage like the one my parents had. They have always had a mutual respect for each other. Sure it was stressful with my father working to support three children, but my mom had this uncanny ability to always see the glass as half full. They genuinely loved each other, and I think that has helped them weather many storms. My mother was very attached to having a family because she grew up without one. She swore she would do things differently, and she did. I think her influence of not dwelling on the negative in the marriage and the ability to keep turning to the next page in life helped me stay in my marriage with Terry for over two decades.

  My mom and dad presented a united front when it came to us kids. As my marriage to Terry evolved into us raising children, I have always wished that we would have had the same mind-set that my parents did. Instead, I was always the disciplinarian and he was always the good guy. Whenever I had to reprimand the kids, Terry would mock me behind my back as if he was one of the kids, too. This made me out to be even more of a bad guy than I really was. Even when he knew my decision was the right one, and better for the kids, safer or whatever, he’d still go against me, mimicking me and starting arguments between us. Even if it wasn’t the right thing to do for the kids, he just loved pushing my buttons, confusing the kids and trying to be the cool parent, so he could win the “popularity contest.” If I said black, he said white.

  Kids need parents to maintain a united front. It shouldn’t be the parents’ priority to be their kids’ friends first. They have friends at school. It really made it so hard for me, trying to rear them with his senseless game playing and button pushing, that I frequently wished my marriage could’ve been more like the one my parents had. No matter what happened when I was growing up, if I was in trouble, my mother backed my dad up and vice versa, regardless of whether either parent was right or wrong.

  WHEN MY DAD GOT OUT OF THE ARMY, MY MOM, DAD, AND I MOVED back to California. We settled in North Hollywood. Within that first year, my younger sister, Christie, was born. She was a shy, skinny, towheaded girl, and I welcomed her company. But before she turned four months old, my mother announced that she was already pregnant again! Nine months later, my littler brother, Joey, came into the world. My mom had always wished for a boy, so I guess that’s why they tried again, and bingo—Joey! Joey was a little rug rat, not a Swedish blond as my sister and I are. He looks Italian! Little Joey was cute with a round face and giant brown puppy dog eyes. And boy was he feisty. I love having built-in friends in my siblings. We’ve always been very close, and to this day I call them both daily. I still wish that I hadn’t had to live in Florida for twenty-five years, where I was so far away from them and where it was difficult for my kids to see their aunt and uncle regularly.

  In California, my father worked as an officer with the Los Angeles Police Department. He was an integral member of the force until he retired in 1985. Prior to that, he had become an experienced airplane pilot during his tour of duty in the army and eventually got his helicopter license. Dad started the air support division within the LAPD—the first of its kind in the United States. He ended up becoming the chief pilot and trained all of the new arrivals to that division on the force. He held this position for twenty years.

  We had a growing family, and his work was often dangerous. When I was twelve years old, he was flying over the airport training a colleague when something in the helicopter malfunctioned. Whether it was the helicopter or the new student he was training, they were going down! He stayed calm and focused on strategically steering away from the airplanes parked on the ground, which were full of fuel. Dad took control of the chopper as best he could, steered it to an opening, and just missed hitting two airplanes. When he crashed, he suffered a couple of bumps and bruises and some deep gashes on his legs. His student was shaken, but alive.

  Being the wife of a police officer, my mom realized the dangers of my dad’s job early on and let out a sigh of relief every night her husband came home safe and sound to his family. She never took his safety for granted, especially now that they had three kids.

  My father was not only a man of the law at work, but he also laid down the law at home, too. I had a strict dad; he definitely kept us in line and respectful.

  That was when we were young. As we got older, he could still be an intimidating force, especially when it came to dating. When guys would come to the door to pick me up for a date, he would give them the once-over and say, “Are you going to have my daughter home by eleven?” And they said, “Yes, sir.” He had some kind of an air about him that the guys I dated knew not to mess with. And so did I. On Hogan Knows Best, when Terry shot the dating scenes with Brooke and the guys came to the front door, it reminded me of my dating years except Terry made friends with the guys. Although at times Dad seemed a bit overprotective of us kids, I realize now that he just wanted to make sure his daughters and son were safe. As a veteran police officer of twenty-five years, he had seen the ugly side of life—incidents the general public rarely hears about. My father brought home books full of crime scene photos that only police officers were allowed to see. He sat us down and made us look at photographs of murdered female hitchhikers—back in those days hitchhiking in California was the thing to do. The books had grizzly photos of victims found in the woods with decapitated heads, fingers cut off, and other atrocities. Not exactly warm and fuzzy bedtime stories for us kids. However, it surely made a point and we never hitchhiked.

  It also gave us the kind of knowledge I think we needed for survival. It taught us how to have protective eyes, which my dad called “learning how to watch your ass.” My sister and I always watched our surroundings and made sure nobody was following us. He taught us what to do if we were ever forced into a situation where we ended up in a car with a stranger. He told us to kick, scream, scratch, punch, poke—whatever we had to do to get away from that person. We hoped that we would never have to rely on this advice, but it gave my sister, brother, and me a different edge over the other kids we knew. Later on in life, if I ever argued with Terry, I think my reason for often just giving up and leaving rather than getting into it with him was a “fight or flight” mentality. Antagonizing and getting the last word in during an argument were never the answers with him. It was a lot safer to remain quiet and just disappear. My siblings and I were wise about many things thanks to our father. Being the child of a police officer was a different way of life, but it worked well for our family. All of the kids turned out with good morals and values.

  My mother brought a creative vision to our family, one that I think rubbed off on me. She’s an extremely gifted interior designer and over the years has helped many people around Los Angeles with their homes. She was a stay-at-home mom who dabbled in designing until I was eighteen years old and she opened up her own interior design shop in Westlake Village, California—a suburb of L.A. My mom was and still is today a prominent interior designer in the Los Angeles area. Television and movie stars often live outside of the hub of Hollywood. They have big monster homes and land in places like the Valley. Many celebrities have used my mother’s services because she offers high-end upscale design.

  One day, to my mother’s surprise, legendary Italian actress Sophia Loren walked into her shop. Sophia has always been a symbol of great beauty and elegance combined with a salt-of-the-earth quality. My mother went to Sophia’s home to help her put the finishing touches on an old, lavish ranch house that she had
owned for years. Although she was humble, a quick look around her home reflected that she was indeed Hollywood royalty. There was Sophia in framed photos with everyone from leading men like Cary Grant to world leaders like Mikhail Gorbachev. Sophia had exquisite taste in art and there were some breathtaking paintings on the walls, including some Rembrandt etchings. My mother was a bit taken by a particularly morose-looking painting that was one of the largest pieces on her walls. Because it was filled with dark colors and ugly faces, she felt it was a real downer and had to go immediately. “Sophia, why don’t we take that one down and put something really colorful up on that wall?” my mom said.

  “Gail, there are only two in the world and the other one is hanging in the Louvre,” Sophia responded, nonchalantly.

  “Wow. Okay, it’s a keeper!” Mom responded and began to admire the painting.

  My mom eventually furnished Sophia’s home with sofas, beautiful wall coverings, and distinctive bookcases, “bibliotecas” as Sophia liked to call them. Working for Sophia still stands as one of the crowning moments of my mother’s career. With her talents, she could make a person’s home look warm and classy. But they needed to add a touch of their own class to pull it off. Sophia projected class through and through. In essence, she and my mother complemented each other well and were a good team. It was exciting that my mother worked with somebody who was so famous and so classy, and, to top it off, she was Italian!

  Even though my mom and dad were busy with their careers, they were never MIA as parents. They were there to help us with homework, hobbies, rides to school every day or to friends’ houses, and home-cooked meals. We didn’t have a lot of money, but my parents still found a way to make holidays and birthdays special with tons of presents and lots of love. One year we received new bikes, only to find out twenty years later that they were used and my dad had painted them! Even today at fifty-one years old, I can call my mom and dad anytime of the day or night and they’re always there for me. After all, that’s what family is for.