The Hardcore Diaries (13 page)

I called my contact at UNICEF with the idea and assumed it was a no-brainer.

Well, of course, it wasn’t, as I learned while driving to the White Mountains last fall for a weekend Santa’s Village sojourn. My wife said it looked like I was being kicked in the stomach when I received the news on my cell phone. It had been decided, I was told, that UNICEF couldn’t have anything to do with WWE.

My initial impulse (which I had the good sense to repress) was to start running down their goodwill ambassadors, pointing out the violent or sexual shows they’d appeared in. Hell, if they held movie stars to the same criteria that WWE was apparently being judged by, Angelina Jolie would have been laughed out of the UN offices—the vial of Billy Bob’s blood around her neck, making out with her brother at the Oscar’s, appearing in
Hackers.

But she’s been a godsend for the United Nations, drawing attention to refugee crises, almost single-handedly raising awareness about international adoption, nailing Brad Pitt. Honestly, I think she should be given some kind of award from God, for making the most out of what she has been given.

I admire people like her, people who take a stand. People who honestly believe that to those to whom much is given, much is expected. People like Bono, who’s doing so much to help with the multitude of devastating problems facing the African continent. People like Paul Newman, who with his big heart and his Newman’s Own products has not only raised $150 million for children’s charities but helped create and inspire a network of camps for children with cancer and other life-threatening illnesses. And people like Julia Roberts, whose volunteer work at Newman’s “Hole in the Wall Gang” camp raised her status in my eyes from great actress to great person.

But I guess there has to be a limit to what celebrities should say or do. I mean, I used to be a Dixie Chicks fan before they badmouthed George W. Bush, saying they were embarrassed to be from the same state as the president. Now I’m a
big
Dixie Chicks fan.

I know UNICEF has done some wonderful work around the world for decades, since 1946 to be exact. I just wish they would have let WWE be a part of it.

Following my figurative kick in the gut, I focused most of my international attention on Christian Children’s Fund. They seem to like me, even giving me the honor of addressing most of their staff at a luncheon at their home office in Richmond, Virginia. And in one of my biggest personal achievements, I was featured in the Summer 2006 issue of
Child World,
their quarterly donor magazine.

One of the things I’m enjoying about writing this book is that I’m never really sure where a particular entry will take me. I really thought this one would be about the local Ring of Honor (ROH) show, including my talk with Brian Gewirtz, who happened to be there as a fan. Hopefully I’ll get to ROH later. But I certainly didn’t begin writing tonight with the idea of covering topics of bullying, my own self-doubts, Angelina Jolie, or the Dixie Chicks. All that stuff just kind of came out.

It’s about 3:30
A
.
M
., so I’ve been writing for three and a half hours, during which time I’ve written about 2,500 words. Which is a pace of about twelve words a minute—pretty brisk, considering I’m doing it by hand. Granted, most of the words are small, maybe even monosyllabic, but you get my point. Don’t you? I’m moving quick, kind of going in whatever direction my heart and pen take me.

I hope this entry wasn’t a downer. Just in case, I’ll try to make the next one a happy one. But as long as I mention Christian Children’s Fund, I’d like to insert an entry from my blog, written February 22, 2006, en route to the Philippines, where I would be meeting my sponsored child, Herma Grace, for the very first time. Hope you like it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a child’s bunk bed to climb into.

Herma Grace

Trish Stratus, a longtime WWE Diva, is among my best friends in the wrestling business. So when Trish sat down at my table at the Philippines Air lounge, she seemed like the perfect person to ask a question I had asked myself many times before: “Does it seem weird that one of my biggest inspirations is a little girl in the Philippines whom I have never met or talked to?” I then told her about Herma Grace, who refers to me as “Dad” and who has become a beloved part of the extended Foley family.

Herma Grace is a child I have sponsored through Christian Children’s Fund for the past five years. I first began my affiliation with CCF back in 1992, a time when I was too caught up with WCW wrestling and first-time fatherhood to really commit much time to thinking about others, no matter what their situation might be.

I really can’t remember why I called CCF. I imagine it was one of those Sally Struthers appeals that I had seen literally hundreds of times, but I’m not sure. A few days later, a letter came in the mail that included a photo of a child, Nida, age nine, who was in need of sponsorship. Well, my life may have revolved around wrestling and family, but I was not completely without a conscience, either. So I wrote that first small check fourteen years ago.

Nida wrote to me almost every month for nine years. I think I wrote to her a total of five times. I didn’t realize at the time that the CCF sponsorship program is about so much more than writing monthly checks. It’s about establishing relationships with children in need. It’s about letting children with very little in their lives—through no fault of their own—know that someone out there cares.

Christian Children’s Fund has been caring about these kids since its inception in 1938—now assisting more than 10 million children in thirty-three countries regardless of race, religion, or gender. In addition to monthly sponsorships, CCF’s donations support literacy training, vocational training, health and immunization programs, water and sanitation development, early childhood development, and emergency relief.

The mysterious missing piglet photo.

Courtesy of the Foley family.

Unfortunately, they can’t force a grown man to write letters. So one day, I received a letter informing me that Nida had turned eighteen and had graduated from the sponsorship program. Included in the letter was a photo of another girl, nine years old, from the same part of the Philippines, who was in need of a sponsor.

She was a tiny thing with big brown eyes filled with sadness. Never would I have guessed that the child in the photo would touch my heart, give me such joy, and perhaps most importantly have the deceptive strength needed to unbolt the Foley checkbook and turn those small checks into larger ones.

Herma’s first letter to me started a small stir in the family, instigating an event I will call “The Case of the Missing Piglet Photo.” The photo in question was Herma, age nine, bathing a piglet. On the back she had written, “Take this photo as a simple remembrance of me.” Vowing to be a better sponsor the second time around, I taped the photo to the refrigerator. It was missing a day later. Had it fallen off, or had it been stolen? But who would steal a photo of a tiny child…and why?

Maybe I should have been a detective, for when asking my kids if they had seen the photo, I couldn’t help but notice a slightly odd look on my daughter Noelle’s face; a guilty look. Noelle, it turns out, had taken Herma’s photo because she had referred to me as “Dad” in her letter. Noelle, seven at the time, was suffering through her first bout of jealousy. To this day, the Case of the Missing Piglet Photo remains a touchy subject in our home.

Despite having vowed to be a better sponsor, I quickly slid back into my non-letter-writing way. It may surprise people to know that despite writing towering best sellers (as well as a few that didn’t loom quite so large on the sales chart), I am a notoriously sluggish letter writer. I don’t write often, and when I do, it’s not all that good.

Well, over the course of the next several months, Herma Grace made it clear to me that not writing was not an option.

“Dad, why don’t you write to me?”

“Dad, it’s been four months since I have heard from you!”

“Dad, how could you lose to Tiger Ali Singh in Kuwait?”

Okay, I made that last one up.

So I started writing steadily, and I found that corresponding with this child, who came from so little, was giving me so much. For anyone who hasn’t received a letter from a child asking God to “shower you with more blessings, give you better health and a harmonious family life,” my next statement might seem unrealistic, like a big exaggeration, but it’s not. Because in my life, I have known what it’s like to hear twenty thousand people chant my name: “Foley, Foley, Foley, Foley!” I also know what it’s like to have a child I’ve never met draw me a picture of Mickey Mouse and thank me for “being kindhearted and generous to people in need.” Please trust me when I say the feelings I get from each are almost identical.

Little Mick is featured in this photo album, which was created by Herma Grace.

Courtesy of the Foley family.

I’m not downplaying the incredible rush that I get from a live crowd; I’m just trying to explain how this child’s letters make me feel and how thankful I am that she has been a part of my life.

She is no longer a little child. I received a photo several months ago, and Herma Grace, soon to be fourteen, is turning into a beautiful young lady. About a year ago, I began to look into the possibility of visiting Herma in the Philippines. Unfortunately, her province is home to much conflict, including sporadic violence and the occasional kidnapping of foreign tourists. It is not a place CCF feels comfortable taking their donors for a visit. Instead, they suggested arranging a meeting in Manila.

I had been debating the “sixty hours by plane” for several months when the phone call from WWE came. Keep in mind that I had been more or less retired for six years, and during that time, I had never been asked to participate in an overseas trip. (Okay, I was on a one-day trip to England when I was commissioner, but I’m not counting that one.) Let’s just say it was unusual to receive such a call.

“We have a couple of trips you might be interested in,” Ann Gordon said. Ann has been working at WWE Talent Relations since sometime before the dawn of history, and she told me the first trip would go to Bangkok, Thailand, and Japan.

“Hmmm,” I said, trying to figure out how to put my next thoughts into words befitting a seasoned wordsmith.

“Um, do you think if I went over there that I could, maybe, you know, get my own flight to the Philippines? Because I sponsor a girl there who I would really like to see.”

Ann actually started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Well,” she said. “The Philippines is the next trip I’m going to ask you about.”

So, here I am on Philippines Air Flight 103, an hour before touching down in Manila. I think about this child I never met or spoke to, realizing that fact is about to change. I made sure that her entire family (mom, dad, two brothers, and two sisters) will be there, as I would hate for this special meeting to be a cause for resentment among her siblings.

A month earlier, I had completed an exhausting four-day whirlwind promotional tour of Manila. Before leaving for the tour, I asked Christian Children’s Fund if it would be okay to mention the child and the fund, as they were the sole reasons I was going on the trip. I had even pledged to donate the money I made on the two trips to CCF projects in the Philippines.

I don’t even pretend to understand how my mind works when it comes to finances and what constitutes acceptable and unacceptable expenditures. Will I spend $70 for a hotel if the wake-up call is less than four hours away? No way. It’s off to the airport for me. But will I travel a total of 120 hours and spend several days 10,000 miles from home for free? Yeah, if I feel strongly about the cause. And I do feel strongly about this cause. And to my surprise, CCF felt strongly about letting me tell the story—my story, and theirs.

Philanthropic organizations can be a little funny when it comes to wrestling. Some, such as Make-A-Wish and the Muscular Dystrophy Association, openly embrace us. Some choose to keep their distance or avoid any relationship at all. I will always be grateful to CCF for accepting me and embracing me—even referring to me as an unofficial ambassador in one of our correspondences.

I’m not sure why it took me so long to make that call back in 1992—why it took hundreds of appeals like tiny hammers tapping away at my conscience until I finally picked up that phone. I think perhaps it’s because global poverty can seem so intimidating as to appear insurmountable. But for CCF and groups like them, successes are measured one child at a time.

Helping Herma Grace and getting to know her through her letters has been not only a joy, but one of the great honors of my life. And that honor costs less than a dollar a day. I would consider it an honor if anyone reading this would even think about sponsorships as a result of my words.

Here is the contact info:

Christian Children’s Fund Official Web site:

www.christianchildrensfund.org/sponsorship

Phone: 1-800-776-6767

Tell them Mick Foley sent you.