Friends Carry on Dead Wrestler's Dream

Dec. 17, 2002 -- Independent circuit wrestler Jeff Peterson may never be as famous as The Rock or Hulk Hogan, but he arguably had more heart than both ring icons combined.

Like The Rock and Hogan, Peterson's wrestling character was a hero who often had to overcome insurmountable odds to defeat his opponents. But unlike his two famed colleagues, Peterson had to battle a very real life opponent — leukemia.

The illness put Peterson's wrestling career on hold for two years as he underwent chemotherapy, but he always dreamed on returning to the ring. And last April, after doctors told him his cancer was in remission, he returned for one more match. But that turned out to be his last. Peterson suffered a relapse and died at the age of 21 on the day after this past Thanksgiving.

Peterson's life has ended, but his family, friends, fellow wrestlers and fans believe his message — both as a man and a wrestling persona — lives on: make the most out of life and never give up.

Before his death, Peterson conceived and began writing a children's book designed to inspire and help young patients cope with their own life-threatening illnesses. He never had a chance to finish the book, but some of his best friends want to help make this unfulfilled dream come true.

"Not many people know this, but Jeff wanted to write a story for children and he called it Lion in Bed with Hope [pronounced 'Lyin' in Bed with Hope']," said Evan Leberstien, one of Peterson's closest friends. "It was about a lion who had this friend named Hope; never give up was the basic premise of the story. It was designed for kids in similar situations to his. He never got to finish the book … I'm not too sure what he did with the notes he kept."

Leberstien met Peterson in 1997 and portrays wrestling manager E.S. Easton in the East Coast Wrestling Association, a Delaware-based promotion. He said Peterson often talked about the children's book and writing his autobiography with him and another friend, Chuck Ristano. Finishing Lion in Bed with Hope, Leberstien said, would be a both a memorial to their friend — and perhaps Peterson's greatest legacy.

"He would talk about the children's book and [writing] his life story a lot. Those were two things he really wanted," Leberstien said. "If we [he and Ristano] could find some of the notes Jeff left behind in his parents' house in Florida, fill in some of the gaps, it's something we'd definitely like to do."

Always Battling the Odds — in Sickness and Health

In many ways, even before his illness, Peterson was a living David-vs.-Goliath story. He never had the look of a wrestler. At 140 pounds, he did not have bulging biceps or a rippled physique, and he didn't have the classic, rugged good looks that beckoned Hollywood agents.

But all Peterson wanted since he was a little boy was to be a professional wrestler, entertaining crowds. Despite his size and the naysayers, he got a chance to live that dream. His uncle, Jim Kettner, runs the ECWA and Peterson got his start by first helping set up rings and accompanying wrestlers on their road trips. He began training for his wrestling debut before he graduated from high school, and after turning 18, with the blessing of his parents, he embarked on his wrestling career full time.

"He was a slight young man. The cool thing was that he did not see that as a detriment but used that to his advantage," said ECWA wrestler Mike Womer, better known to his fans as Cheetah Master. "He just didn't give up. He never gave up. To look at him, one would have never imagined that he was a wrestler. When he was healthy and people would tell him, 'You can't do it, you can't do it, you can't do it,' but he did it. … You couldn't tell him that he couldn't do something."

Perhaps inspired by some of the light heavyweights he saw wrestling for the now-defunct World Championship Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment (formerly known as The World Wrestling Federation), and other promotions, Peterson adopted a fast-paced, acrobatic and daredevil style made popular in Mexico and Japan. He took the nickname "The All-American," dressed in red, white and blue tights and wrestled for smaller independent promotions as well as ECWA, dreaming of someday getting a break with WWE.

"Up until the time he got sick, he had dreamed of going [to WWE], as we all do," Leberstien said. "I looked at it more [for myself] as being a manager. But with the success of [150-pound wrestler] Spike Dudley in the WWE, I believe that had he not gotten sick, he would have had a legitimate shot."

Peterson had a connection with his audience. Maybe it was his fearless style; maybe it was his size and the fact that it made him an underdog in most of his matches. Or maybe it was an infectious smile that, he often joked, his father had invested so much in and had the dental receipts to prove it.

"His ability as a wrestler really doesn't matter compared to the man's life, but I don't want to lose sight of the fact that he was a really good wrestler," said Womer. "He really knew what he was doing in there. … Part of his character was that he gave and gave and gave and they [the fans] recognized that, and they gave back. I think they felt that, and he did too, and when you feel a crowd reacting to you, whether with cheers or boos, as a performer that's powerful."

The Beginning of the End

Peterson's wrestling career was just beginning to bloom when, after a match in January 2000, he felt the first inklings that something was wrong inside of him.

His breath was short and could not get his wind back. It felt like flu symptoms, but they persisted, and Peterson was soon shocked by his doctor's devastating diagnosis: He had leukemia.

"He told me he was scared, but in the beginning he saw it as something he was going to beat, " said Leberstien. "He acted as if it was something he was going to beat and then come back as an active wrestler again."

Peterson's in-ring career was put on hold as he underwent intensive chemotherapy. Besides conceiving the idea for Lion in Bed With Hope, he began pursuing a physical education degree at St. Petersburg College in Florida. Peterson also coached children in various sports at his local YMCA and worked at his father's nightclub in Clearwater, Fla.

However, Peterson always eyed a return to the ring. He talked with his uncle, Kettner, daily, kept tabs on what was going on in the ECWA and found ways to participate in a couple of their largest shows in a non-match capacity.

Earlier this year, Peterson's doctors told him his cancer was in remission, and he urged his uncle to let him return for a match. Peterson desperately wanted the match because his cancer had been in remission before, only for it to return. This window of time, Peterson suspected, might be his only opportunity.

But first he had to convince Kettner.

"He returned against my wishes. I was scared because of his health, but he wanted it so badly. … He had a way of talking me into things," Kettner said. "I think the only time I saw him cry was when I told him [earlier] I didn't think he should do it, which I could have kicked myself for. I think he knew that this would be his last match."

Peterson was victorious in his return match on April 6 in Wilmington, Del. Fueled by a standing ovation from the crowd, Peterson, Kettner said, beamed when he heard his name announced for the match and was thrilled to see his name on a banner in the front row. Peterson was forced to be less acrobatic than he had been before his illness, but he was no less daring. No one had even expected him to be wrestling a match at this point.

"It was just remarkable that he was able to perform," Womer said. "I was just concerned that he wouldn't be able to stand up."

"There were a lot of us who thought that this was the start of his comeback [as a wrestler]," said Leberstien. "But it wasn't too long afterward that he got sick again."

A Tribute and Promise of Hope

Less than a month after the match, Peterson learned his cancer was no longer in remission, and he needed a bone-marrow transplant. He was in and out of the hospital in the months that followed, and his body began to stop fighting.

"There was something different about the last time he got sick. It's like he got tired," Leberstien. "I remember talking to him and he said to me, 'If this bone-marrow transplant doesn't take, I'm going to die.' He said it just like that, and it hit me hard."

Peterson received his bone-marrow transplant, but it could not save him. He died Nov. 29, a week after the transplant. At a prescheduled show the next day, his uncle and fellow wrestlers honored him with a 10-bell salute.

Peterson is survived by his parents, Gerald and Carol, his sister, Jill, and his niece and nephew. His death is just the latest hardship for the Petersons, who have lost Jeff's other brothers, Jack and Jamie, in accidental deaths in recent years.

Peterson was buried in his ring gear — a warrior in more ways than one to the very end.

"The beast of cancer is that it strips people mentally and physically, of their ability to do things, their will to live. Jeff never lost his will," Womer said. "People say he lost his battle with cancer, but he didn't really lose. It was just time for him to move on. His body gave in but he didn't. He gave everything he had, up until the very end."

In the end, Peterson's fans gave back to him: Even a Delaware snowstorm could not prevent several of them from coming out and saying goodbye at his funeral.

"One of the things Jeffery wondered was whether people would remember him. 'Will anyone remember me? You think anyone will remember me?'" Kettner said. "But several fans came out during a snowstorm up here to say goodbye, and that was pretty cool. I can almost imagine Jeffery seeing this and saying, 'Geez! They didn't forget.'"

Indeed, they did remember. And maybe, with a little help from some friends and a children's book, many more people — healthy and sick alike — will remember Jeff Peterson and lie in bed with hope.