Snowman: the Legend Begins

Here's a brief rundown of the early life of Snowman, AKA Alex "Tugboat" Morgan, MWF Wrestler by day, superhero by night!
July 4, 1966, 4:03pm- After 37 hours of labor, June Rhodes gives birth to a bouncing baby boy. He weighs 15 lbs, 6 oz. (And his mother never lets him forget it.) Bob and June name their son Dustin Alexander.
January, 1974- After being laid off from his job at the local fish cannery, Bob Rhodes invests his life savings in a used tugboat and goes into business for himself.
August, 1977- After a stellar season, young Dusty leads the Barnes County Bobcats to victory in the Texas Junior League Football Championships, with an incredible 74 yard charge downfield. Fans swear that no less than eight members of the opposing team were dragged for the last 20 yards, but accounts vary. June starts Dusty's scrap book with a clipping describing his incredible play from the Barnes County Tribune.
1981- In spite of considerable pressure from the football coaches, Dusty joins his high school wrestling team. He can never explain why he made this decision, or why it was so important to him. Maybe it's the challenge, not only of the body, but of the mind. Or maybe it's because wrestlers get all the girls.
March, 1982- Dusty is a smash hit as the lead in his high school production of Hamlet.
Summer, 1982- Dusty spends the summer aboard his father's boat, the Bayou Lady. He learns a great deal about the Gulf and the Houston Ship Channel, and more than he ever wanted to know about diesel engines.
1983- After winning All-State twice, Dusty is voted captain of the wrestling team.
Summer, 1983- Dusty spends a second summer with his father, doing contract tug work in the Gulf of Mexico.
May, 1984- Dusty graduates Thanky Laude from J. Whilton Smith High School. He accepts an offer of a wrestling scholarship to the Univerity of Houston.
Summer, 1984- Dusty spends the summer working backstage at the Alley Theatre. He manages to finagle a bit part in Streetcar, and later as an understudy in MacBeth.
August, 1984- Dusty enters U of H as a freshman, and tries out for the Theatre department. He is quickly accepted.
November, 1984- Dusty wrestles in his first match, and wins 14 straight pins. The judges are stunned.
February, 1985- The U of H production of Godspell is a roaring success, due in no small part to Dusty's masterful performance. He seems to have a brilliant acting career ahead of him.
April, 1985- Dusty sweeps yet another wrestling match, this time the regional finals. The judges are stunned. Again.
Summer, 1985- Dusty spends the summer doing dinner theatre. They quickly place him in NON-singing roles...
September 3, 1985- It's a dark night. Bob and June Rhodes are driving home from a movie in town. With no warning, they are struck by a drunk driver at an intersection. Both are killed instantly. The driver of the other cars is never found. No arrests are ever made.

In Houston, Dusty awakens, screaming. In his dream, he hears his mother telling him that she loves him, that he will be all right, and that she will always be with him. And then her scream, cut short. In later years, he will come to believe that his mother was a "super"[1], and that this was her telepathic good-bye.

October 14, 1985- Since Dusty was their only heir, and Bob's will was up-to-date, probate clears quickly. Dusty inherits mostly debt.
October 29, 1985- With no available savings, and massive debts, Dusty is forced to sell the Bayou Lady. It is a decision he will always regret.
November 7, 1985- Dusty returns to school. He believes it's what his parents would have wanted. He takes a night job as custodian in the school cafeteria, in a vain attempt to make ends meet.
November 14, 1985- Dusty's first match after his parents' deaths. He is cited 3 times for personal fouls, and is eventually suspended from the team when he dislocates both of an opponent's shoulders.
January, 1986- Dusty is allowed to return to wrestling the next semester. He appears to have calmed considerably. At least on the surface.
February 4, 1986- Dusty's first tourney of the year. And he's not doing well. He loses his first 2 pins to easy counters, and is forced from the ring multiple times. Before his final match, he is given a sympathetic talk by his coach.

"Look, son. I know you've got a lot on your mind just now. But you've got to focus. This one is important, not just for the team, but for you. This is your last match. You've got to win." The talk doesn't work precisely as he'd hoped.

The whistle blows, and the match starts. Dusty is quickly pinned, and the count begins. "Come on, Dustin! Focus, dammit!" bellows his coach from the sidelines. As the count nears three, Dusty throws his opponent aside like a ragdoll, and leaps to his feet. With a roar of pure animal fury, he grabs the dazed boy from the mat, lifts him over his head, and throws him into the bleachers, some twenty feet away.

After stomping from the ring, Dusty grabs his coach by the shirt, lifts him from the ground, and yells "I WIN! You happy now?" Dusty drops his coach to the floor, and leaves the gymnasium. Nobody attempts to stop him.

February 5, 1986- Dusty spends the night wandering the campus. When he returns to his dorm room, he finds a message informing him that he is indefinitely suspended from the wrestling team. He is also to report for immediate drug testing.
February 12, 1986- The blood tests return. The good news is there were no no signs of drugs. The bad news... Dusty is a paranormal. A super. A freak. He is asked to resign from the wrestling team and give up his scholarship.
April, 1986- The next 3 months passed in a haze. Bills and school payments are past due. His grades, not particularly spectacular to begin with, slip even further. After missing his second tuition payment, the accounting office threatens to forbid him to return in the fall.

Finally, as he is resigning himself to quiting school, a small, weasely man in a cheap suit appears on his doorstep: "Fast Freddy" Flanigan, professional manager for the Monster Wrestling Federation. And he has an offer that's too good to be true. For just a five year contract, wrestling summers and weekends, he can make enough money to finish school, and have a tidy little nest egg when he's done. "Nah, don't worry 'bout the contract. I'll work somethin' up b'fore yer first match..."

June, 1986- After 2 months of training at MWF Headquarters, Dusty is finally pulled for his first professional match.

"Good luck, kid," says Freddy, minutes before the match. "Oh, wait, almost fergot... Ok... Just sign here... Here... Aaaaand... Here! All right! Now go get 'em!"

"...And the challenger, a newcomer weighing in at 280 lbs. and bench pressing an astounding 3500 pounds... Dusty Rhodes!" [2]

August, 1986- "...And nooooow. Returning after his 12th straight victory... Houston's own... Dusty Rhodes!"
September, 1986- "Look, kid," says Freddy. "I just can't spare ya' right now. Just gimme' three more months, then you can go back ta' yer school. Hey! Hey! Look, you signed a contract. S'not MY fault you din't read it."
January 27, 1986- "Wadda ya' mean I go down in five? I can take this guy in my sleep!" yells Dusty at his manager.

"Look, kid. I'll say it again reeeal slow. You... Fall... In... Five. The Rooster wins. Got it?" A greasy smile splits Fast Freddy's face.

"I don't throw fights!" bellows Dusty, taking an involuntary step towards the weasely little man.

Freddy takes a half step back before he regains his composure. "Look, boy," he says, fishing a folded contract from his pocket. "I own you." He slaps the paper against Dusty's chest. "You do what I say, when I say, and how I say. You got a contract. You do what I tell you, or you'll be living in a cardboard box. Are we crystal on this, boy?"

"...Yes."

"Good. Get in there. An' it better look good."

March 3, 1988- A hush falls over the stadium as the lights dim. The opening strains of "The Ride of the Valkyries" pipe through the much-abused sound system. In the locker room entrance, behind closed doors, stands a tall, handsome man with long blonde hair, a fake fur cape, and a winged helmet. Carelessly balanced over one shoulder is an enourmous sledgehammer, his trademark. At his side stands an incredibly beautiful blonde woman, in matching cape and helmet.

"Y'know, Cindy, sometimes I really hate this job."

"I know, Dusty, I know," replies Cindy, AKA "the Valkyrie," hype-girl extraordinaire. She stands up on tiptoe and kisses "Thor the Mighty" on the cheek. "Good luck. Be careful."

Sour smelling smoke from the Hudson sprayer seeps under the door, and distant thunder booms from the sound system.

"Well," says Dusty, switching the hammer to his other hand. "I guess that's us." He smiles down at his friend. "Thanks."

With a flash of strobed lightning, a peal of recorded thunder, and a roar of challenge, Thor and the Valkyrie appear...

"...THOR THE MIGHTY!!!" booms the announcer from the center ring. In the center of the ring lies a large block of rough concrete on a raised platform. For a few seconds, the cheers of the fans drown out even the boom of the thunder and the crescendo of the music. Dusty lifts his hammer and bellows an ear-splitting battlecry. Cindy smiles, waves, and blows kisses at the audience in a most un-Valkyrie-like manner. She starts the nearby fans in a chant of "Thor! Thor! Thor!" and shakes her fist in the air in time with the repetition.

Soon, everyone is on their feet, yelling at the top of their lungs in unision "THOR!!! THOR!!! THOR!!!" Dusty strides down the wide concrete stairs, hammer held high. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he takes two quick steps, and leaps high into the air. Performing a neat tuck and roll in the air, he lands with a resounding thud in the ring. Thor makes an orbit of the raised pedestal, thrusting his hammer skyward in time with the chant. Then, slowly, he turns to face the enormous block of concrete. The music builds to a crescendo. All lights but the spots on the stage dim. With a mighty roar, Thor slams his mighty hammer into the block. The strobe lamps flash in blinding unison, and the block explodes in a fountain of gravel and dust.

The audience is again on it's feet, cheering wildly, as the cleanup crew quickly clears the ring of debris. After a moment, Cindy the Valkyrie climbs in under the ropes. Even after several months, she is still a bit shaken by the hammer gag. But she's a professional. After blowing kisses and waving at the audience, she takes Thor's cape and helmet and hangs them in his corner. Then, she takes the hammer and tries not to stumble under the weight as she hauls it away. She leans it not-so-inconspicuously against the corner post, as insurance against would-be chair wielders.

Dusty smiles reassuringly at the newcomer across the ring. The outcome is never really in doubt, but he resolves to give the young man a chance to show his stuff before ending the match. The referee enters the ring and delivers the standard warnings. ("No hitting below the belt, no biting, no energy blasts...") The bell rings, and the match begins.

February 12, 1989- It was a good match. After 17 grueling minutes fighting "Dragon" Dominguez (a really nice guy outside the ring, once you get past the snarling and the scales), Dusty ends it with a superbly executed "Ragnarok Smash," followed by a full Nelson pin. It was a good, clean, even match, and the fans loved it. More importantly, nobody got hurt. Dusty left the locker room quickly, waving goodbye to Cindy, who is standing at the door, holding off the press. Conspicuously ignoring Freddy Flanigan as he passes, he heads for his reserved parking slot in the basement (one of the very few benefits of the job). It was good to be back in Houston again. As he is fumbling for his keys, a sharp pain lances into his spine. He turns quickly, but sees nothing. Three more tranquilizer darts strike him from all sides. He hears voices he cannot distinguish or understand, and then everything goes black.
March 13, 1990- Dr. Andrew Logan is driving home from an emergency call. He's one of the few doctors that makes house calls anymore. He sometimes worries about what will happen when he retires... That young upstart from County would never even consider leaving his cushy office. He is jerked back to reality by a motion in the headlamps ahead of him. He barely in time to miss the lumbering form that stumbles and falls into the street. He screeches to a halt, grabs his medical bag, and rushes to the fallen form. It takes several minutes for Dr. Logan to revive the unconscious giant.

"Who are you?" says the man who used to be Dusty Rhodes.

"Never mind about that for now. We need to get you to my office," replies Dr. Logan, as he tries to haul the man to his feet. "Oof. Listen, son, you're gonna have to walk yourself. There's no way I can carry you."

The huge man lumbers over to Dr. Logan's beat-up blue pickup, and climbs laboriously into the passenger side. The suspension groans under the strain. He is asleep before Dr. Logan can start the truck again.

March 14, 1990- The man awakens with a start, in Dr. Logan's office Waller, Texas office.

"Hey, hey, hey... It's okay. It's alright. You're okay," soothes Dr. Logan from the chair where he was previously sleeping.

"Where am I?" bellows the man. Dr. Logan levers himself out of his easychair and walks over beside the couch. "You're in my office. My name is Andrew Logan. And you?"

"Uh... Dusty. Dusty Rhodes."

Dr. Logan raises an eyebrow at this. "Dusty Rhodes. Like the wrestler?"

"Yes, like the wrestler. Of course like the wrestler. What am I doing here?"

"We'll get into that in a minute, uh, Dusty. First I need to ask you a few questions. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three, but you gotta tell me..."

"Humor an old man, Dusty. Now, watch my finger." He moves his finger from side to side, watching Dusty's eyes intently. "Ok, Dusty, can you tell me what month it is?"

"February," says Dusty, impatiently.

Dr. Logan takes a moment to straighten his poker face, and continues. "Okay... And what year?"

"1989."

Dr. Logan hides his surprise by scribbling something incomprehensible in his notebook. "...Okay."

"What? Why? What's going on?" says Dusty, a rising note of alarm in his voice.

Dr. Logan takes a deep breath. "Dusty, please sit down. I want you to tell me exactly what happened before I found you last night."

Dusty sits heavily on the couch, a concerned look on his face. "Huh? Oh. Well, uh, last thing I remember, I was walking out to my car after wrestling Dragon Dominguez. I was getting my keys. Something jabbed me in the back. Then in the shoulder. Something silver and... Red. Darts! Why the hell would someone throw darts at me?"

"Calm down, Dusty. Would you like some coffee?" Dusty shakes his head. "Listen. I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to stay calm. The date is March 14, 1990." He pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues. "You've somehow lost 13 months."

Dusty stands up and starts to pace angrily around the small office. The old floorboards creak in protest. He turns and levels a finger at the doctor. "Listen, buddy, I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing here, but I'm not gonna be the butt of your joke..."

Before Dusty can work up a full head of steam, Dr. Logan simply gets his newspaper from his coffee table, and hands it to him. The bannerhead reads March 14, 1990.

"Oh... God..." breathes Dusty. "What's going..." He turns to look out the window, only to see his reflection in the glass. "My God! What happened to my face? What's happened to me?"

Late March, 1990- After considerable discussion, Dusty is finally able to convince Dr. Logan of his identity. It's not as hard as it could have been. "You can't live out here in the boonies without picking up a bit about pro wrestling."

He has to rely on anecdotal evidence, as this new body Dusty wears is much fatter, and bald[3]. Completely unrecognizable. After calling in some favors at the coroners office, Dr. Logan is able to find out that Dusty's car was found in a culvert, burned, with a body (presumed his) found inside. Dusty Rhodes has been dead for 13 months.

May, 1990- Dr. Logan tries everything he knows to help Dusty regain his memory: drugs, hypnosis, dozens of late nights talking, but to no avail. They finally give up, leaving the only potential remedy, time, to work.[4].
June 3, 1990- Dusty and Dr. Logan are sitting out on the front porch, drinking lemonade. Dusty has been living in Dr. Logan's sewing room, unused since his wife died five years ago.

"Y'know, Dusty, I've been thinkin'. Maybe y'should take this opportunity while ya' have it."

"Whatta ya' mean, Doc?"

"Well, I mean, you're dead." Dr. Logan flashes a quick wry smile towards Dusty. "Your old life is over. Dustin Rhodes is gone. Maybe, y'know, you can start over. You can be anything you want to be, do whatever you want."

"Hrmph. Yeah, I s'pose." Dusty downs the last of his lemonade in a long gulp, and leans over to get the pitcher for another glass. He winces as the old porch creaks under his weight. Getting used to his new bulk and strength has been hard, both on Dusty and on Dr. Logan's home. "'Course, being dead kinda gets in the way, sometimes," says Dusty with a sardonic smirk.

"Yeah, well, I've been thinkin' about that also. I know someone down at Austin. He works at the hall of records. And he owes me one... Don't ask."

"Okay, and then what, Doc?"

"Well, I think he can set you up with a birth certificate, new name and all that. From there, it oughta be easy. Get you a drivers license, social security number, you know the drill. Then it's up to you. You just have to pick a name."

"Well..." starts a confused Dusty. This is a possibility that never occurred to him. "I always liked Alex..."

"Okay, Alex," says Dr. Logan. "And what are you going to do with your new life?"

Dusty stands and leans carefully against the porch railing. "Well, I guess we can safely assume my acting career is over," he says, in a flat, quiet voice. The old doctor just looks at him sadly, stands, and puts a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. They both just stand there for several minutes, watching the passing traffic, and the sunset. Dusty, no, Alex, takes a deep breath, and lets it out is an explosive sigh. "Doc, I'm going back. I'm going back to the MWF." Dr. Logan looks at him, the start of a protest forming on his lips. "But this time..." Alex turns and looks down at his friend. "This time I do it MY way."

July 4, 1990- With a backwards wave at the figure in the rearview mirror, Alex drives away from the small town doctor's office, towards the highway that leads back to Houston. In the seat beside him is a manila envelope. Inside is a copy of a birth certificate, with the name Alex Morgan on it. He and the doctor finally resorted to picking a last name out of the phone book. A social security card and a drivers license from the Waller DPS are in his wallet, along with $50, all Dr. Logan could spare. He's driving in an ancient blue pickup truck, "Miss Agnes," also given to him by the old doctor...

"Listen, I can drive Martha's old Dodge just fine, and you can't very well walk back to Houston, can ya'? Humor an old man."

"Okay, Doc. Thank you. Not just for this. For everything."

"You're welcome, son."

July 17, 1990- "Yeah, well... Koff-koff. I'm glad ta' get ridda all that crap," says the apartment manager, an old lady in a tattered bathrobe. She's lighting her fifth cigarette in the last 10 minutes. "When that wrestler guy disappeared, some blonde chippy give me 500 bucks to keep all this crud here for a while, 'case he came back from the grave or somethin'. I tried ta' tell her he was gone for good, but some people... Hack-wheeeze... Some people jus' don't listen. I was gonna throw it out soon anyway. So how long didja' know Dusty?"

"Oh, pretty much all my life," replies Alex, as he hoists the stack of boxes onto his shoulder. The scrapbooks were still intact. That was most of what he wanted. The rest was too much to hope. "Oh, wait, almost fergot somethin'" says the old woman as she disappears around the corner to the boiler room. She returns dragging an enormous sledgehammer. "I been usin' it ta' hold that ol' fire door open."

Alex can't help but grin. "There it is! Thank you!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just get all this... Koff. Crap oughta here."

November 24, 1990- "C'mon, man, 'Alex Morgan?' What kinda wrestler name is that? Y'need somethin' big, an' strong. Somethin' that says 'I'm big, I'm bad, don' mess wit' me!'" The announcer looks up at him, gesticulating wildly to make his point.

"Yeah, you're prob'ly right," replies Alex, trying not to laugh. He's waited 3 months on the substitute list before finally being called for tonight's match. "Call me Tugboat."

"Tugboat?" repeats the announcer. "Tugboat... Hrmm... Yeah, yeah I like it! 'Tugboat Morgan!'" He claps the wrestler on the shoulder. "All right! Break a leg!"

Alex grins. "Hrmph. I'll try not t'take that lit'rally."

December 3, 1990- Another saturday night circus. A good match, fair for a change. It was a close call, but Alex finally won with a leaping Suplex and pin. As he is dressing in his street clothes, a small, weasely man in a cheap suit appears behind him.

"Hello, there, champ! My name is Fast Freddy Flanigan, manager to the stars," says the man, offering a handshake with one hand and a business card with the other.

Alex ignores both, in favor of grabbing Freddy by the belt. Before Freddy can react, he lifts him into the air. With his face an inch from Freddy's own, Alex says simply "No," before dropping him back to his feet and stomping out.

"Geez. What's his problem?" says Freddy, before straightening his polyester suit and walking down to the next guy on the bench. "Hello there. Freddy Flanigan's the name... And have I got a deal for you!"

March 3, 1992- A hush falls over the stadium as the lights dim. After a short pause, the starting strains of "Popeye the Sailor" pipe through the sound system. In the locker room entrance, behind closed doors, stands a tall, fat, ugly man, bald as an egg. He's wearing blue tights with a white anchor emblazoned on the front, and a black captain's hat. At his side stands an incredibly beautiful blonde woman, in matching tights and hat.

"Y'know, Cindy, we've really got to get a new theme song.

"I know, Alex, I know," replies Cindy, AKA Cap'n Cindy, hype girl extraordinaire. "Y'know, sometimes you really remind me of someone."

"Oh, who's that?" says Alex, trying not to let the alarm into his voice.

"Oh... Someone I used to work with. And a good friend. Nevermind." She stands up on tiptoe and kisses Tugboat Morgan on the cheek. "Good luck. Be careful."

Sour smelling smoke from the Hudson sprayer seeps under the door, and the low bleat of a foghorn blaats from the sound system.

"Well," says Dusty, forcing the concern from his mind. "I guess that's us." He smiles down at his friend. "Thanks."

A bright spotlight pins the doors, the doors are opened, and with a bellow of "Aaaah-OOOOOOOOgaaaaaaahhh!!!" Tugboat Morgan and Captain Cindy appear...

April, 1992- It's been a good year. Tugboat Morgan is very nearly a household word. He's even done a couple MWF Royal Rumble videos. Things are looking good. He's put on a little more weight, but that has been happening steadily since the good doctor found him. Nothing to be concerned about, and this isn't really a lifestyle conducive to good health, anyway. Parties every night, drinks 'til dawn. Except before a match... Well, okay, a couple won't hurt. And if he drinks enough, sometimes, just sometimes, he can forget who he was, and what he's become...
June 17, 1992- Alex awakens in a dark alley. Not for the first time, and probably not the last. He stands, and brushes the dust from his clothes. It takes a long time. He is covered head-to-toe in a course white powder. It coats the ground around him, like gritty snow. It kicks up in low clouds as he walks away. "Jeeeezus. Nohd aghain..."
January 1, 1993- The New Year's Bash. The title bout: Tugboat Morgan vs. World Heavyweight Champion the Blob. Tugboat and Cindy are waiting behind the doors, as they have a hundred times before.

"Alllll right! Let's go! Woohoohoohoo!"

"Alex? Are you okay?" asks Cindy. "You've got to focus here. This is the one you've been waiting for."

Alex bends down to look Cindy squarely in the face. "Why's ev'rybody keep tellin' me that? I hate it when people tell me that. I know what I'm doing!"

"Oh, God, Alex... You've been drinking! How could you... This was your big cha..."

"Don' worry, Cindy. Just a little. No big deal."

Cindy heaves a sigh, while Alex just returns to his hooting. As the doors to the stadium open, she stands on tiptoe and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck, Alex... Please be careful."

Alex starts down the stairs. "Uh... Yeah, Cindy. You too... WaaaaaaaaOOOOOOOOOhhhgggaaaaaaa!"

Six minutes have passed since the match started. The Blob is at the top of his form. Tugboat Morgan is scrambling for every save, and has been pinned for a two-count multiple times. Tugboat is operating on instinct and luck. Finally, he's cornered at the turnbuckles, and out of both. With contempuous ease, the Blob throws him to the mat and drops for the pin. The count reaches one... Two... As the referee lowers his hand for the three count, a deafening roar escapes, unbidden, from Alex. In a show of brute power, he lifts the Blob above him, and stands. He turns once, twice, and throws the Blob from the ring. He bellows "I WIN!"

A hush falls over the crowd, as the Blob arcs high above, to land in the fifth row stands. Stunned silence reigns for several seconds before the screaming starts...

January 2, 1993- The spin doctors and legal team moves with blinding speed. Fortunately, there were no fatalities. The Blob appeared to have landed across empty seats and the aisle. An absolute miracle. While the incident is ruled accidental, Alex is severely reprimanded by the MWF, as well as fined. The incident scares the hell out of Alex. He swears that night that he will never drink again.
January 21, 1993- Alex awakens in a dark alley. Not for the first time, and probably not the last. He stands, and brushes the dust from his clothes. It takes a long time. He is covered head-to-toe in a course white powder. It coats the ground around him, like gritty snow. It kicks up in low clouds as he walks away. "Jeeeezus. Nohd aghain... Dammit! What the hell is happening to me?!?"
February 8, 1993- With a minimum of fanfare, and no public statement, Alex leaves the MWF. Several wrestlers, including the Blob, wish him well.

"Are you sure, Alex?" asks Cindy. Both stand next to Miss Agnes in the parking lot.

"Yeah, I am. I gotta put myself back together again," replies Alex with a gentle smile. "Before I start losing the pieces."

Cindy stands up on tiptoe and hugs Alex as hard as she can. Alex returns it gently. She wipes a tear from his eye, and her own, kisses him on the cheek, and whispers "Good luck, Alex. Be careful." She turns, and runs back inside.

Alex climbs in Miss Agnes, puts the key in the ignition, and sits. It is a long time before he starts the old truck and drives away.

May, 1993- "Hi, my name is Alex Morgan. I'm an alchoholic."

"HI, ALEX!"

"It's been 4 months since my last drink..."[5].

June, 1993- "Okay, I'll see your $50 and raise you... $100," says Alex, with an evil grin.

There's a collective "Oooooooooh," from the other players around the table.

"You are so bluffing," says John, whose plays next.

"Well, there's just one way to find out..." replies Alex, his poker face revealing nothing.

"Y'know, guys," starts David, who has folded out for the twenty-third time last round. "I just don't play this game right sober. I need a beer."

Everyone gives a sympathetic grunt.

"Hey, just chug another Coke and pretend," suggests Meyer, a 12-stepper from way back, and an impromptu father figure for the group. "You just have to take it one self-delusion at a time."

"So, in or out, John-o?" prods Alex.

"Oh, I'm in," replies John, a boat dealer and a new addition to the group. "I'll see that and raise another... $200." Alex merely stares at John, stone faced, as he wordlessly pushes all of his remaining chips into the pot. He wonders to himself, for the umpteenth time tonight, if he has merely traded one addiction for another.

"HOLY SHIT!" bellows Steve, who had previously been watching this exhange in complete silence.

"You're bluffing, 'Lex." says John. "I know it."

"Raise, call, or fold."

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn," curses John. "I... Fold."

"Yes!" exclaims Alex, his previously expressionless face finally splitting into a wide grin.

"And that, gentlemen, is the end of the night, I think," says Meyer, with his typical good sense. He collects the cards, with a dealer's flourish that always makes the other players a bit nervous.

As the other players cash in their chips and settle their respective debts, John pulls Alex aside. "Listen... Er... 'Lex? I seem to have been a bit... Um... Over exuberant... And..."

"You can't cover the pot, can you?" says Alex, mildly, already halfway expecting this. "Listen, don't worry about it..."

"No, no. I wanna make it good. Tell ya' what, I got this gem of a boat in on trade. It's worth twice that, easy."

"Now what am I gonna do with your boat, John?" sighs Alex. "Aw, what the heck. 'Kay, John. I'll take it. Maybe we can use it for fishin' or somethin'. But you really gotta watch your chips a little closer."

"Yeah, you're right," says John, as he shakes Alex's proffered hand. "I just get carried away in the excitement sometimes, and kinda throw common sense out the door."

"Yeah. I can relate. Believe me."

Twenty minutes later, Alex and Meyer are in Miss Agnes, driving Meyer to his nearby house. After several minutes of companionable silence, Alex speaks.

"Okay, Meyer. I can't take it anymore. What'd John have?"

"Why, Alex, whatever do you mean?"

"C'mon. I'm not nearly as stupid as I look."

"No, I don't suppose that's possible, is it?"

Alex favors his friend with a dark look, as he slows the truck to a stop in front of Meyer's home. "I know you look. You always look when you pick up the cards. What did he have?"

"Alex! I am shocked and insulted that you would even insinuate such a thing!" says Meyer, as he steps out of the truck and makes a hasty retreat.

Alex grins and shakes his head as watches Meyer fish out his housekeys and opens the door. Alex waves and starts to drive away. Just before he enters, Meyer turns, and yells after the truck. "I can't believe you won with a bloody busted flush!"

November, 1993- "Make $3000, $4000, even $5000 a week or more!" said the ad. "Order our complete course in underwater salvage! Learn salvage law, the best recovery techniques, how to read weather conditions and currents, and so much more! Order now..."

The Busted Flush[6] came with some hoisting equipment, a cargo capacity of several tons, and was even almost water tight, so Alex decides to give it a try.

May, 1994- After months of research, Alex attempts his first salvage operation. Things seem to be going well. The correspondence course seems to have lived up to it's hype. He is able to locate and dive for a large piece of an old trawler at the mouth of the Ship Channel. It weighs two tons at least, worth several hundred dollars in scrap value. He spent the last few hours surveying the area with a very used sonar rig, and the last thirty minutes setting the lifting gear. (Things go much easier when you can lift the scrap by hand. Being a super has it's perks.) He is about to hoist the enormous bow assembly, easily a ton of steel and iron, onto the deck when disaster strikes. As the scrap iron swings overhead, the cable starts to fray. There is a shudder, and it snaps with an almost comical twang. From ten feet above, the mass of metal falls, directly towards Alex.

Before he can even consciously react, Alex's body takes over. With a sensation like tiny firehoses spraying from his pores, a blast of white foam covers his body, and hardens into a thick shell.

Then, in a fraction of a second, it is over. Alex finds himself pressed underneath the mass, but miraculously unhurt. With surprisingly little effort, he rolls the metal from atop him, and stands to his feet. With a feeling of dread, he looks down at himself. His vision is partly obscured, but he can see he's now covered in what appears to be a snow-white coating of super-dense styrofoam.[7]

"This is what it was all for? This is why they took my life?" Alex laughs for a very long time, until the casing cracks and falls away.

November, 1994- The first person he could think to tell about his newfound "powers" is Dr. Logan. The old doctor, unflappable as always, lends his sharp mind to this problem as well. He knows no more than Alex about how this all works, but can make a few guesses. Alex's body seems to produce the substance, which is not unlike a super-tough version of styrofoam, as a byproduct of his muscular activity. Why, or by what mechanism, is beyond him. The two elect not to pursue it much further, to avoid unwanted attention. They spend the next 6 months exploring his abilities, learning to control them, to suppress them.

Eventually, Alex leaves Dr. Logan again, and returns to his simple life, to puzzle out the ramifications of his new abilities.

March, 1997- Alex has made a small success, or at least a decent living, at professional underwater salvage of sunken vessels and cargo. He has learned that he can breath indefinitely underwater in his shell, as well as lift over 4 times what he can normally. He has earned a reputation both for quick results and for shrewd dealings. One day, after a particularly successful week of salvage, and the first successful use of the "Raise the Titanic" trick[8], Alex is sitting in a seedy diner just off the docks, reading the paper and drinking the acidic coffee. A full page ad leaps off the page at him. John Talfort[9], of Talfort Oil, is sending out a call to all supers, to join a new crimefighting team.

"Defend Truth, Justice, and the American way. Insurance plan and full benefits!"

He will later attribute it to lack of sleep[10], this being his 4th straight day without so much as a cat-nap (not all that unusual when you are the only crew on a salvage boat, at least not for him), but this strikes a chord within him.

"Maybe, just maybe, I can make sense of all this now. Maybe there can be a reason after all," he thinks. With that thought, he slaps two dollars on the counter, waves at Darlene the waitress, and walks out, into a new life.