Chapter 20
1978 State Championship—Sudden Death
Over the next six weeks, Jimbo established his dominance in the heavyweight division, compiling an impressive 25–0 record with twenty-three pins and two superior decisions. The California State High School Association ranked him first in the state. He was in a class of his own, with no close competitors. Coach Pernelli had two returning state champions at 119 pounds and 138 pounds, and two others were undefeated at 167 pounds and 180 pounds. Coach Pingatore, from Northwestern high school, had an equally impressive squad with one returning state champion at 112 pounds and three others all ranked in the top five in the state. Coach Pingatore and Coach Pernelli had already been rivals before the infamous blown call in the state meet in 1972 that cost Coach Pernelli the state championship. Apparently, the referee had called a bogus pin when it was clear to everyone watching that only one shoulder was in contact with the mat. The referee had blocked the view of the assistant ref, so the call stood. Coach Pernelli tried to get the referee to agree that it was a blown call, but the referee stood by his call. It was that match that moved Coach Pingatore ahead of Coach Pernelli in number of state titles. Coach Pernelli never got over that.
In what seemed like a last-ditch effort to level the playing field before districts, Coach Pingatore allegedly recruited an out-of-state heavyweight. Coach Pingatore had spotted his new recruit the previous year at the summer Freestyle nationals in Colorado Springs. The kid placed third in the national tournament. In his three years of wrestling in Arizona, he went to state all three times. He was runner-up during his sophomore year and won it in his junior year. His name was Michael Evans, and he was a stud. He had a chiseled physique and the most developed calf muscles I had ever seen. He looked fearless, and his ears were grossly deformed from cauliflower ear. [xi] He also sported a crew cut, which I heard was mandated for all Coach Pingatore’s varsity wrestlers.
The Evans kid came from a family of wrestlers. His older brother, Thomas, won the Midlands Invitational at heavyweight in 1975, and he had another brother who had graduated the previous year as a junior college state champion at 180 pounds.
Coach Pernelli petitioned the California State High School Association, citing illegal recruiting practices by Coach Pingatore, but his request was not even acknowledged. Just prior to the district qualifier, the state rankings were republished. Jimbo was ranked second, and Mike Evans was in the top spot. Mike’s wrestling record from Arizona did not carry over (he was 12–0 there, all pins), and his record in the state of California was 13–0. However, had been ranked fifth nationally the previous year, which I believe the tournament officials took into consideration.
Both Triton and Northwestern cruised to easy victories in the districts and sectional qualifiers. The sports media were in a frenzy of speculation about who had the most dominant team. It was split about 50–50 by the sportswriters and pundits who followed wrestling, although the magazine Young Wrestler gave the edge to Northwestern.
I also made it to the state championship…as a spectator in street clothes. My teammate Tommy and I were district champions for Westside, but we didn’t advance beyond sectionals. After the first three rounds of wrestling, there was an intermission. Jimbo was in the bottom bracket, and Mike was in the top bracket. Both sailed to the semifinals.
During the intermission, I asked J. P. how he was feeling. He said he felt great, and he asked me to walk with him to see who he would meet in the semifinals.
When he found his next match on the bracket sheet, he smiled at me.
“I got this,” he said confidently.
“What?” I said as I looked at the bracket sheet. J. P. was up against Mark Aguillar from Westinghouse, the guy who had ended his undefeated streak last year. I saw J. P. getting psyched up, so I wished him well and headed back to the bleachers. I wanted to see this grudge match. Jimbo was hungry for payback.
The referee called both wrestlers to the mat. They shook hands, and then I heard, “Wrestle!” I wanted to get some pictures so I reached in my bag to grab my camera, but the film wasn’t loaded. By the time I got the film loaded and set, the match was over. I hadn’t seen anything; I missed the whole match, all 15 seconds of it. J. P. had recorded the fastest pin of the tournament.
Meanwhile, I was also keeping an eye on Mike Evans. None of his matches went the distance either; he was a beast, and he was fearless. Mike was a master technician, and you could see the confidence of an entire generation of wrestlers in his eyes. He didn’t make mistakes. I watched three of Mike’s matches and couldn’t find a particular takedown that he favored; he was excellent at all of them. He had his own cheering section of his family and friends from out of town. The press followed him to all his matches wanting interviews, but Mike wasn’t about talk.
Heavyweights are always the last to wrestle in tournaments, so the tournament was winding down as the showdown for the most hyped match of the evening approached.
Northwestern had already crowned two state champions, and had one placed sixth. Oddly, their defending state champion never made it to the semis. Triton had one state champion at 119 pounds and two runners-up at 126 and 132. The winner of the heavyweight bout would decide the team state championship. Although I didn’t make it to state as a wrestler, this was as good as it got. I was on pins and needles, pulling for my boy J. P.
Before the match began, the lights went out over the unused mats. Only the light over the center mat was on. This was the last match of the night, and although Northwestern was slightly ahead in points, a win by Jimbo would give Triton enough points to overtake them and win the state championship. The final call came from the announcers table.
“Will Joshua Pernelli of Triton and Michael Evans from Northwestern please report to the scorer’s table.”
Both wrestlers approached the table. Jimbo was assigned the red anklet, and Mike was assigned the green anklet. After a few words at the scorer’s table, both wrestlers ran onto the mat. This was the match everyone had been waiting for. Both wrestlers stretched and stared each other down, each trying to psych the other out. Jimbo and Mike shook hands, and the referee blew his whistle. Immediately, Mike advanced forward and locked up with Jimbo. Bam! Mike hit him with a duck under and took him down, scoring two points. Immediately, Mike threw his legs in and began riding Jimbo. I just sighed. Mike then put Jimbo in a guillotine, bringing him to a near-fall position and scoring another three points. Jimbo seemed lost—really lost. The period ended 5–0 in favor of Mike.
In the second period, Mike chose the top position and let Jimbo escape, giving him a point. Mike again advanced, locked up with Jimbo, and hit him with another duck under! As before, Mike threw the legs in and went for the guillotine. This time, Jimbo was nearly pinned. I was getting bored; this wasn’t the match I had expected to see. Jimbo was falling for the same moves, and he couldn’t figure Mike out.
The second period ended with a score of 10–1. It was embarrassing; all of Jimbo’s might and strength counted for nothing in the biggest match of his life. This match emphasized that finesse and flawless execution render strength ineffective, just as his dad always said.
Just prior to the third period, Coach P. began tearing into Jimbo in front of his teammates and the opposing team. Personally, I thought it bordered on being disrespectful. I wanted to go home at that point. From the coaches’ corner, Coach P. told the referee that Jimbo would take the top position for the third period. As Jimbo left his corner and approached the mat, Coach P. yelled something to Jimbo. It must have incensed him; he stopped in his tracks looking back at his dad, and the referee had to call him to the center of the mat twice. Immediately, I could tell Jimbo was ticked off. Jimbo mounted Mike, and the referee yelled, “Wrestle!” Jimbo let Mike up, giving up another point. Was this some sort of strange protest on Jimbo’s part? It seemed as though he was deliberately throwing the match to deny his father the championship.
Then Jimbo buckled and fell to his knees; Coach P. calle
d an injury timeout. It looked as though Jimbo might end up forfeiting, as he used up almost all of the injury time. Apparently, Jimbo was suffering from a severe migraine, and his vision was impaired. Coach Pingatore accused Jimbo of faking injury to catch a breather. Jimbo managed to shake it off and report back to the center of the mat. But when he got back into his stance, I noticed Jimbo was leading with his left foot instead of his right. He was trying a completely different style, I guess to try to confuse Mike. Then Jimbo did the unthinkable: he began to lock up with Mike. Some people never learn. Mike had killed him from the locked-up position throughout the last two rounds. I could not figure out why Jimbo didn’t shoot a double-leg or a single-leg takedown. All of his teammates just kind of bowed their heads, not really watching, and Coach P. paced nervously along the sides of the mat, screaming at the top of his lungs. I saw it coming as if it was in slow motion. Mike was getting ready to hit Jimbo with yet another duck under. I started to gather my things because I wasn’t going to watch it anymore. But before he could throw it, Jimbo executed a perfect fireman’s carry! It was done with such a level of precision that I could not believe what I was seeing. Jimbo somehow got Mike in headlock pinning combination, and the crowd went hysterical! Mike was on his back trying to ride out the clock, as he was ahead on points. The electronic timer was down to ten seconds, and the timekeeper was poised to throw the towel to end the match. The referee was looking to call a pin, but Jimbo had not quite sunk it in yet.
Coach P. yelled, “Finish him!”
With two seconds left on the clock, the ref slapped the mat, and pandemonium broke loose. J. P. was the new heavyweight state champion! Coach Pingatore threw his clipboard on the floor in disbelief as he saw his championship slip away during the last few seconds of the match. Coach P. raised both hands in victory and threw his clipboard into the air. Within the last few seconds of the match, Triton had sealed yet another state championship.
Coach P. was now in sole possession of the long-awaited distinction of being the most successful high school wrestling coach in the state’s history! Triton supporters threw confetti bombs high into the air. What an amazing comeback! Everyone was on their feet applauding, even some of the Northwestern supporters.
But there was this one little detail. J. P. had not responded to the whistle. He continued to choke Mike in the headlock, despite the ref’s efforts to end the match. All of a sudden, the audience fell silent. Something was wrong. Coach Pingatore and Mike’s parents ran onto the mat to stop J. P. from choking Mike. Coach P. jumps in, too, but no one was strong enough to break J. P.’s grip. Mike tapped the mat to signal he was in trouble. Then his legs begin twitching, and his face became pale. Both teams converged on the mat to assist. J. P. was just too strong. Then it looked as though Mike just went to sleep. Moments later, J. P. released Mike. The security staff swarmed J. P. and took him away.
The ref and assistant ref met briefly at the scorer’s table and decided to disqualify Jimbo for flagrant misconduct. Mike was revived, carted off the mat on a gurney, and taken to Loyola Hospital. In a reversal of fate, Coach Pingatore overtook Coach Pernelli for the state record. Coach P. ran to the scorer’s table. In a fit of rage, he began pushing the referees around and swearing at them. Eventually, he had to be restrained by Tony Staples, the team’s co-captain.
Threedayslater,theEvansfamilyfiled aggravated assault charges against Jimbo Pernelli and initiated litigation against the California High School Athletic Association (CHSAA) for failing to provide a safe environment. The civil charges against J. P. and the lawsuit against CHSAA made local headlines. Meanwhile, J. P. was under psychiatric care at Loyola, the same hospital where Mike Evans was undergoing physiotherapy for neck injuries he sustained during the finals match. The Evans family did their very best to publicize their plight by retaining a high-powered attorney, speaking to the press and contacting at least two city officials.
One week before graduation, Mike Evans went to Loyola, but this was not for a scheduled medical appointment. Mike went to visit J. P. in the psychiatric ward, Peartree Ward. J. P. was in light-blue hospital garments watching television when Mike strolled into the wardroom escorted by a nurse. J. P. was at a loss for words as he leaned forward in his chair, looking up at Mike.
“You know…we never did shake hands at the end of our match.” Mike said with a smile.
Instantly, a calm settled in the room, as Jimbo puts it. Despite what had happened, the two had great respect for the other as wrestlers. The reason Mike had no fear in his heart was that it was filled with compassion. The boys sat in adjacent chairs and chatted for almost an hour. During a lull in the conversation, Mike abruptly stood up and reached into his pocket. In his hand was the heavyweight state championship medal he had been awarded for his match against J. P.
“This belongs to you, my friend.” Mike said as he placed it around J. P.’s massive neck.
“I don’t care how the ref called it after the fact; when time expired you were the champion, not me.”
J. P. was momentarily speechless by this extraordinary act of kindness and forgiveness.
“Dude, I can’t accept this.” said J. P.
“Too bad—I insist. There’s not enough room in my trophy case anyway.” Mike said with a smile.
Mike firmly shook J. P.’s hand and saluted him as he departed the ward.
Against his families’ wishes, Mike dropped all charges against J. P. and withdrew the lawsuit against the CHSAA. Mike’s parents gave one last press interview regarding their case. They indicated they were going to press forward, but they couldn’t because Mike was eighteen at the time and exercised his legal rights as an adult.
Chapter 21
Final Exam
Three weeks after Mike’s visit, doctors convened to discuss the results of the battery of psychiatric exams that J. P. was subjected to. These were the doctors’ findings.
On 4 March 1978, a panel of four psychiatrists conducted a Multidisciplinary Assessment to establish a mental health profile for Mr. Joshua Pernelli.
Neuroimaging Results
*Higher than normal levels of memory encoding
*Parietal lobe diminutive
*Abnormal cerebral blood flow
*Altered states show distinct physiological markers
*Abnormal hippocampal volumes
*Abnormal amygdala volumes
Induced altered states (hypnosis) revealed the following: Subject displayed two latent separate and distinct personalities.
Psychiatrist’s Comments: Subject is most susceptible to Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) episodes when confronted with intense emotional duress or trauma. These episodes appear to be preceded by headaches followed by a degree of memory loss. Personality splits may be successive. Recommend further testing and evaluation.
MPD Profile: Conclusive: Dr. Mark Blumstein.
* * * * *
For all of us who knew J. P., the doctor’s findings did not change how we felt about this kind soul. Doctors had been wrong before. When he was a child, his doctors told his mom his muscle-growth disorder would have no effect on his heart. They were obviously wrong, because no one had a bigger heart than my friend Joshua Pernelli.
Jimbo was allowed to switch to special education while an inpatient at Loyola. He was tutored three times a week under his new program, and school officials allowed him to graduate with his class in June. In July 1978, he transferred to outpatient care.
Chapter 22
Return to the Rock
As I packed my clothes in my hotel room, I glanced at the pictures on my digital camera with a smile. I checked the clock. As I was about to call Martin to pick me up, I saw him pull into the circle drive at the main entrance. As I made my way out of the hotel to the sedan, Martin was standing there, impeccably dressed and waiting with a smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Thompson. I hope your stay was pleasant,” he said.
“Absolutely wonderful,” I said.
“Did you see all of your o
ld classmates?”
“Yeah, I did, actually, except for one. It would have been nice to have seen him, but I think he dropped off the face of the earth. There are a couple of stops I would like to make before I head to the airport. I’d like to get some flowers first.”
“Anyone special?”
“Yeah, my parents. I would like say goodbye before I leave. We have plenty of time.” I stopped by the nearest florist and got the nicest bouquet of flowers in the window. When the florist asked me if I would like a card, I just replied, “No, thank you. The flowers will be just fine.”
After about a thirty-minute drive, we pulled into the cemetery where my parents were laid to rest. I told Martin to wait. There was a large cross almost in the middle of the cemetery, which I used as a landmark to find my parents’ graves. As usual, the finality of it all hit me right in the stomach. My legs wobbled on the short journey, and my eyes welled up. As I approached their side-by-side graves, I let out a big sigh and stared up at the sun, which was beautifully masked by overcast clouds. I reminisced about what wonderful parents they were and how much I loved them.
I could hear my parents’ voices crystal clear in my head. “How are you, young man?” “Okay, love you, dear. Bye.”