Reading Group Guide

I’ll never forget the day I met Chris Kanyon. I was a newspaper journalist, sent to cover National Coming Out Day in 2006 at the local university. The day — October 11 each year — was one of celebration for those who wanted to announce their sexuality and celebrate their choice while feeling comfortable and confident among peers in a supportive environment. Kanyon was speaking at Northern Kentucky University, and I was there to cover the speech for the local newspaper, the Cincinnati Enquirer. Why was Kanyon so important? In the late ’90s he had been one of the most famous wrestlers on the planet. He’d appeared on national television multiple times a week, made more than a million dollars and even had his own action figure. He was a legend in the professional wrestling world. That is, until 2004 when he let everyone in on his secret: He was gay. He was a gay professional wrestler. Kanyon spoke to a large group at the university that day, and his story was riveting. I am not a gay man, and I am not a huge fan of wrestling, but I know a good story when I hear one, and Kanyon’s was full of passion and rage and sadness and something else — hope. Kanyon wanted others to avoid the pain he had endured. He wanted those who are gay to be honest with themselves and others, to celebrate who they are and not have to live in fear of the repercussions. I approached him afterward. He was tall, and still fit even though he’d been away from wrestling professionally for a couple of years. He had long, black hair, pulled back into a shiny ponytail. But the first thing you noticed was his easy smile. Kanyon could talk to you and make you feel important. He was someone who didn’t seem like he’d ever been famous — he looked like he could be your lifelong friend. I complimented him on his speech and asked him where his book was — surely, I said, anyone with a story this good had a book in the works. He told me he was talking to several people about writing a book. I gave him my card and said I wanted to write it. I’d already been involved in writing another sports book, and I have friends who are editors in the publishing world. I told him he could have a deal done that week. We parted ways, and he promised he would keep in touch. Over the next few months we kept in touch via email, and it led to us agreeing to write his book. For the next 18 months, both in person and over the phone, Kanyon shared his life story with me. I recorded much of what he said and took notes on the rest. Together we crafted his story, which I quickly realized was going to be a tragedy. Even though Kanyon grew up to achieve his dreams, he was destined to fall, because his success was dependent on being someone he wasn’t. He was trapped in a world of false realities. In his professional life he played a role, and in his personal life he played another role. Rarely, if ever, could he truly be himself. To make maters worse, he began to realize he suffered from manic depression, a serious mental affliction that swung him between high points of energy and happiness and the lowest lows of severe depression. Even after revealing his secret, Kanyon was still dealing with the new life of being an out gay man in a society that is anything but comfortable with such honesty. For decades Kanyon had kept his secret to himself, for fear that he would lose his job within the ultra-macho world of pro wrestling — and that’s exactly what happened. Before coming out, he was forced to participate in skits mocking gays, and when he did announce he was gay he was let go from his job in World Wrestling Entertainment. Kanyon always said he was shunned because he was finally honest about being gay. The rejection by the industry he’d dedicated his life to fueled his illness, leading to madness and suicidal impulses. On April 2, 2010, Chris Kanyon committed suicide. Just a few months prior he and I had agreed that his book was finished. He seemed in good spirits. he talked of starting a wrestling school. Sadly, Kanyon became another of a long line of wrestlers to die tragically by age 40. Whether felled by suicide, heart attacks, strokes or drug overdoses, an alarming number of wrestlers hadn’t reached that age. Not only did I lose someone I now count as a friend, but of much lesser importance, I wondered what we should do with his book. It’s written in the first-person, and the story’s tragic conclusion threatened to shift the focus from one of courage and determination to one of defeat. But no. That isn’t Kanyon’s legacy. It isn’t about the last lost battle, but about the fight itself. The fight against depression and the fight to be honest about who you are. Even now, I’m haunted by a question: If Kanyon had felt more comfortable about coming out sooner in his life, would he still be alive today? There’s no way to be sure, but I know it would have given him more of a chance. This is the chance he wants to pass onto others struggling with their sexuality. These are Kanyon’s last words — his story, in his voice, the way he wanted it told on the page. Finally, he got to define his own reality. I only wish he’d had more time to enjoy it. — Ryan Clark, August 2010