Oh Captain, My Captain: Hanging Out at Church With the Late, Great Lou Albano
When I was a kid, Captain Lou Albano, who died on Wednesday at the age of 76, belonged to my church. On a good day, my family would arrive for the twelve o’clock Sunday mass at St. John’s Church in Mahopac, NY, at about 12:20, but more typically around 12:30, just before the communion wafers were handed out. We always stood in the rear of the church to make it less obvious how lame we were. The good Captain was always back there too.
Like the rest of the kids there (and a few dads), the first couple of times I saw the Captain there my reaction was: “Holy Sh*t!! What the F*ck is Captain Lou Albano doing here?? In my church!!” I suppose the experience of standing next to a celebrity, especially an especially strange celebrity, in such an out of context and, well, mundane setting can be somewhat disconcerting. We didn’t know what to make of him, whether it would be OK to approach him, whether it would be OK to even acknowledge him.
By the time I curried up the strength to actually go up to him to wave my hand and say, “Hi,” I was 12 years old! By this point he was sort of just another guy at church, even though he was always Captain Lou. Not a big deal. Sort of.
Of course, this was before he became a rock star. Cindy Lauper put him in her megahit “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” MTV video, and from there he basically launched the insane spike in hipness of pro wrestling that continues — but boy, in such a completely different way — to this day. Miami Vice, movies and Super Mario came next.
You can read the many obits that detail the history of his career, and most of them focus on his post wrestling career on the small and big screen. You’ll learn that he was a pretty obscure mat bloke himself before becoming the legendary ring corner screamer that among wrestling fans is what he’ll always be remembered for. He wore rubber bands in his beard and tacky Hawaiian shirts on his torso. He sure was a character.
That’s not how I remember him, though. When I learned of his passing, what flashed in my mind was my darting furtive glances as he stood, hands folded respectfully in front of his, yeah, big fat stomach, his eyes ever focused on Father Brady’s dreary sermon. Wearing an outfit that was completely white toast. Simple pants, shirt and tie, along with a restrained black leather jacket. Humble, kind, and friendly when we smiled at him.
On those Sunday mornings, he’d leave the rubber bands and loud Hawaiian shirts back home.
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