The Ballad of Kevin Von Erich
The Ballad of Kevin Von Erich
They say the Pacific holds no memory–
he considers this, here in paradise,
on one of the great Hawaiian Islands,
where tides wash away the past.
His name is Kevin Ross Adkisson,
but the world knows him as Kevin Von Erich,
the barefoot boy in a family of gods,
Texas royalty in spandex and sweat,
cheered by thousands under golden lights.
His family was the Kennedys of Texas:
smiling, handsome, all-American–
rock-star celebrities, cheered and beloved,
a professional wrestling dynasty
from the heart of the American Southwest.
Once he was the second of six brothers–
now he is the last who remains.
Jack, the oldest, drowned at age six;
David passed far from home
while performing in Japan;
Kerry, Mike, and Chris lost their silent battles,
all victims of pressure and fame.
When David died overseas in 1984,
the state mourned:
schools closed, the legislature recessed,
thousands lined the streets
in solemn, stunned procession.
When Kerry passed in 1993,
he did so alone:
by a .44 caliber bullet
on his father’s ranch
in the hush of a golden field –
no crowd, no cameras,
just open Texas sky.
Fame has a way of making one less:
the individual consumed
by the vision of the crowd.
Some never recover,
while others are left to heal.
On Sunday, now in his 60’s,
Kevin climbs barefoot up his favorite tree,
carrying a well-worn machete,
to gather and enjoy a fresh papaya.
He calls this his “office”;
it’s where he goes to think.
On Monday, he goes scuba diving
and lies at the bottom of the ocean,
surrounded by quiet, living peace.
On Tuesday, he pauses by an old photo:
an image of him and his brothers–
a match with the Fabulous Freebirds
on Fort Worth, Texas on July 4th, 1984.
He recalls how hot it was that day,
and how smoky-yet-sweet
the barbecue was after the show.
On Wednesday, he rises to a peach sunrise
on the early morning,
and dines on Kona crab in the evening.
On Thursday, he herds sheep
in the sublime green pastures
of the lower meadow.
Friday, surrounded by his grandchildren,
they wade and play
on the waters of the Kalihiwai River.
Their laughter eases his soul.
On Saturday, he watches his sons
wrestling in the jungle:
strong like his older brother,
handsome like his little brother,
quick like he was in his younger days,
smiling like he and his brothers once did,
and he wonders–
They claim what took his brothers
was “the Von Erich Curse”.
He thinks about that, here in paradise,
living off the land,
with three generations near,
and considers:
sometimes the bravest thing to do
is simply to live.