The Daro Era in Los Angeles Ends
By Tim Hornbaker
Hungarian Louis Elias Daro, in 1923, hung up his wrestling gear and strongman act to step behind the proverbial “curtain” and promote wrestling engagements in Southern California. Bringing the likes of Stanislaus Zbyszko, Ed “Strangler” Lewis, Joe Stecher, John Pesek, and Jim Londos to enthusiasts, Daro developed his stylized grappling and fan base immensely in a short amount of time. For two years, he promoted at the Exposition Park Armory, Philharmonic Auditorium, and Washington Ballpark before making his debut as the initial wrestling matchmaker at the newly constructed Olympic Auditorium during the summer of 1925.
Initially caught up in the midst of a wide assortment of rival organizers, Daro outlasted his opponents, becoming, in essence, the Godfather of California wrestling. With a stern rule over the most striking venue in Los Angeles, the former “Great” Daro exploited his superstars using a sound booking plan and regularly highlighted the best matches in the country. The Daro conglomerate maneuvered through political disputes and national promotional wars to appease the large appetite for professional wrestling for upwards of 15 years.
Lou’s younger brother, John “Jack” (1901-1977), was a talented athlete himself, and a product of Columbia University. He migrated to Los Angeles and, in July 1928, he took over a role as a promoter for roller skating races at the Shrine Auditorium Skating Pavilion. Lou announced in late December that his brother would remain in the city to assist him, and, slowly, Jack’s role in the grappling industry increased. Thoroughly confident that his intellectual sibling could handle the duel promoter and matchmaking duties, Lou left Southern California on various vacations with his wife Jean, and business never missed a beat.
A visionary, Lou Daro chased the idea of a serious elimination tournament leading to a singular world heavyweight champion, tried to induce boxer Primo Carnera to wrestle Man Mountain Dean as early as 1935, and, for years, saw Los Angeles as the ideal place for Jim Londos vs. Ed “Strangler” Lewis. Joe “Toots” Mondt was welcomed into the fold during the summer of 1934. Formerly of New York, Mondt was a proficient booker, and planned to bridge a gap between operations in the east and west, particularly with “Trust” members Ray Fabiani and Jack Curley. Their combined efforts led to the arrangement of two “international” tournaments, one in Los Angeles and the other in Philadelphia. Ultimately, Vincent Lopez and Dean Detton were built into name grapplers, able to headline anywhere in the country with some semblance of audience support.
On the heels of the tournament and the drawing of 122,218 fans ($117,463.50) for 17 shows at the Olympic, according to the California State Athletic Commission, the Daros sought to continue their tremendous success. They commonly featured Man Mountain Dean, Dave Levin, and Sandor Szabo in addition to Detton and Lopez, and the fan base was held together through a very turbulent 1936. In fact, it was one of the few places in the United States still drawing upwards of 10,000 fans.
With great success came trouble. And the difficulties were diversified. In November 1934, Lou walked away from the boxing business after losing $20,000 in eight months. Of 24 fight shows held at the Olympic, 18 of them lost money. At that same time, considering the high-level of stress the men were dealing with, both Daro Brothers dealt with minor health concerns. In 1935, an argument between Daro and San Francisco promoter Ed Lynch at a hotel lead to an alleged assault. Lynch claimed that the ex-grappler punched him, and when the two ended up in court in December, Daro’s apology eliminated a possible trial. Other pending lawsuits and threats to shatter their influential syndicate lingered for years.
To escape the fluctuating heat, Daro often traveled. One of the wealthiest promoters alive, Lou was a steady globetrotter, venturing to points in Central and South America, Asia, and Europe. His trips were almost always a mixture of pleasure and business, and, as a talent scout, was mindful of discovering his next behemoth. His absence from the day-to-day happenings of the wrestling scene convinced many people that he was retired. Local newspapers also occasionally indicated that in reports. However, Lou’s mind was never officially out of the game.
Daro’s hiatus from December 1936 to June 1937 was not by choice. On November 30, 1936, he suffered what was called a “mild” heart attack. Bedridden for three months, Lou mustered the strength to venture to Europe, where he planned to convalesce in Italy and Germany. After a three month recovery, treated by the best doctor he could find – his wife, he returned to Los Angeles on June 25, 1937, and was as enterprising as ever. Amusingly, he even said that while he was overseas, he’d tried to land a bout between Mussolini and Hitler. Despite his unbridled optimism that felt 20 years younger and ready to bounce right back into the fray, health concerns continued to haunt him.
Years earlier, Daro dreamt of pitting Londos and “Strangler” Lewis, and, in late 1937, was consumed with the idea of matching Londos with footballer Bronko Nagurski at Los Angeles’s Wrigley Field. The two did finally wrestle for the championship, but in Philadelphia on November 18, 1938 before 10,000 at the Convention Hall. Londos went over. Of all the wrestlers to ever wrestle for him, Lou considered Londos his all-time favorite, and the Greek superstar rode a strong wave of popularity on the Daro marquee through 1940.
Jack Daro kept wrestling booming with relevant feuds and leading athletes from booker “Toots” Mondt. There wasn’t always symmetry between the Daros and Mondt, but when their system was working, large crowds responded. Fortunately for their outfit, Mondt disregarded any urges that may have tempted him to injure his old enemy, Londos, because “Jeemy” was now the leading heavyweight of the national syndicate. Londos was again making him money,
and any personal gripes were secondary to that fact.
Known explicitly for his contributions to numerous causes and good will, Lou Daro’s reputation was about to take a major hit. Allegations were sprouting up that couldn’t be buried along the usual channels, and the Daros would forever be tainted because of it, Lou included, even if he wasn’t directly engaged in the con.
But how couldn’t he be? The years in question, as noted by a special committee on athletic affairs for the California State Assembly, ranged from about 1927 to 1938. The three man panel, headed by Chester Gannon, launched their investigation into both wrestling and boxing in March 1939, and were pulling no punches from the very beginning, immediately subpoenaing promoters Jack Daro and Joe Malcewicz.
Infuriating officials right off the bat, Daro skipped the first scheduled conference in
Sacramento on April 19, but appeared the next day. Once they had the ability to question him, Assemblyman Gannon and his co-horts focused on the financial records of the Daros, and asked about the payments of more than $126,000, over a four year period, to sports writers in the Los Angeles area. Daro replied that those transactions were for “advice and suggestions” related to matchmaking and advertising. None of the financial dealings were to gain favor or to influence positive articles. It was all for legitimate reasons.
The council had reason to doubt Daro’s statements. They pressed further, examining alleged payments to lobbyists, specialized contact men, candidates for judgeships, district attorneys, sheriffs, and, even more clandestine, monies to an unknown figure named “Mr. Q,” whose identity could have been anyone. When asked point blank the names of some of these individuals, Daro conveniently couldn’t remember. He did acknowledge annual spending of $20-30,000 for publicity, and, in one year, squandered more than $75,000 on offerings to various people in the political, sports, and radio fields.
John Clark “Jack” Kipper (1866-1944) was said to be a contact man for Daro’s business. Formerly employed as a chief inspector for the California State Athletic Commission, Kipper was hired as general manager of the Olympic Auditorium in March 1937. Statements were made accusing the Daros of exploiting Kipper’s 20-year friendship with commission member Dr. Harry Martin, and utilizing that personal connection to obstruct any possible competition in the region. While Kipper was unable to testify due to illness, Martin explained that he had never received any money from his friend or the Daros to perform any of the said allegations.
Another witness came forward to speak about his plight to promote outside of the walls of the Daro monopoly. Fred Young claimed he tried to run a small time operation in 1931, and was told that a whopping $25,000 cash payment was needed to obtain a license from the athletic commission. Needless to say, he never received a permit.
Joe Malcewicz, San Francisco’s promoter since 1935, also testified, but affirmed that he never paid a sports writer anything. He did say that his initial contract to use heavyweight grapplers in the state, of which the Daros ruled, contained a clause to give the latter siblings 50 per cent of his profits and a 5 per cent public relations fee. Following the two month State Assembly investigation, Malcewicz broke his deal with the Daros, which was another obvious sign that the wheels were falling off the wrestling monopoly.
On June 19, 1939, the Gannon report on wrestling and boxing in California was released. In it, the licenses of Malcewicz, as well as Jack and Lou Daro, were recommended for suspension. The Daros were cited for their refusal to clarify why thousands of dollars were spent and for being generally uncooperative. Additionally, the commission said that both Martin and George Payne should resign from the state athletic commission, and that the California Attorney General should open up an inquiry into the practices of all parties involved in the Olympic Auditorium grappling scene.
The concerted effort to damage the reputations and business of the Daro Brothers was working. Attendance was down and Lou’s health problems reportedly had him back on board a ship to Europe. Sensing blood, Ed “Strangler” Lewis abandoned several months of booking at the Olympic as manager of Hard Boiled Haggerty and Arthur “Tarzan” White, and jumped to the Legion Stadium in opposition. There, he’d work as a wrestling matchmaker for heavyweight grapplers. On June 22, White wrote a letter to the Daros, saying that he was no longer affiliated to their syndicate, and followed Lewis to Hollywood. White was a headliner at the Olympic and a former claimant to the California State Title. Lewis’s abandonment was a jolt, but White’s double-cross was not going to be ignored.
White missed two dates for Jack Daro, on June 30 in San Bernardino and July 5 at the Olympic, but wrestled at the Legion Stadium on July 10 versus Ed Payson. Three days prior to the appearance in Hollywood, White and Daro were joined by their lawyers before the California Athletic Commission to determine the status of White’s contract. The commission decided not to interject on that subject since it was a civil matter, but the body, led by the Daro’s alleged insider Dr. Martin, agreed to suspend White for 60 days for running out on the two scheduled shows. The suspension was effective after the July 10 program, and despite a plea in court and a reversal in one of the athletic commissioner’s opinions, was upheld. White left the territory, having no effect on the budding wrestling war.
Lewis was attempting to turn his newfound Hollywood venture into a combine of his own, reaching out to independent promoters in other parts of California. In the meantime, Governor Olson accepted the resignations of Dr. Martin and Payne, and the California State Athletic Commission reviewed the State Assembly report and other documentation to determine whether or not to revoke the licenses of the Daros.
Despite the fact that wrestling continued operations at the Olympic, the future of the Daro Brothers in Los Angeles remained in question until a meeting of the athletic commission on December 22, 1939. Chairman Jerry Giesler agreed to furnish Jack Daro a license for a six month probationary period. Jack, according to the Los Angeles Times, “swore he was sole operator at the Olympic, explaining that Lou Daro had retired and sold his interest” to him. He also denied that there was any monopoly, and agreed to give up his booking office.
Daro and “Toots” Mondt attempted to revitalize the territory with numerous promotional gimmicks. They staged tournaments and shows featuring between seven and nine matches. Programs spotlighted grapplers such as Londos, Detton, Szabo, Lopez, and Lee Wykoff, who won an “international” tourney in May 1940. Nevertheless, houses continued to diminish, and more skeletons were dragged to the surface.
Complaints from the wrestlers themselves that they were not being paid for matches at the Olympic were vocalized right about the same time Daro’s temporary license was going to expire in July 1940. That crooked tactic added to the mounting pressure on the state athletic commission and Olympic owner Frank A. Garbutt to open the door for new wrestling operators in the territory. On July 26, the commission issued a booking license to Nick Lutze, and shortly thereafter, a sublease for the Auditorium was granted to George Zaharias.
Decades of achievement, entertainment, and wrestling triumphs were crushed by the unscrupulous deeds performed in the Los Angeles wrestling office run by the Daros and Mondt. Schemes to make money by overselling their arena’s capacity, threats to wrestlers to keep them in line, allegations of assaults, powerful connections to athletic commission officials, and spreading tremendous amounts of money around – were enough evidence to prove that these men were committed to remaining in control of the wrestling business in Southern California no matter what.
In his last 17 months at the Olympic, Jack Daro was $70,000 in debt - $22,000 for the first six months of 1940. Although he wanted to continue promoting after getting his finances in order, it was clear that a new era was dawning. In fact, the Daros were finished. For his brother Lou, his unceremonious exit from the wrestling stage was not on par with what a luminary of his stature should have received. It was a sour disappearance in the midst of illness and controversy. Sports writers constantly dropped his name into press reports labeling him the “czar of California wrestling,” which during the different investigations was more of a negative implication than anything. Interestingly, a second Los Angeles monopoly sprouted later in the 1940s, and, like the Daros, controlled the grappling industry with an iron hand and shallow conscience.
