Here in Tampa Bay, Hulk Hogan was our #1 hometown celebrity. Along with Winter the Dolphin (RIP), the Bucs, and Scientology, Hogan was our most famous export.
(Way more popular than Scientology, too.)
Everyone here has a Hulk Hogan story. (I personally know about a half-dozen people who’ve gotten drunk and/or stoned with the Hulkster.) For whatever reason, Tampa is home to a lot of wrestlers: Hogan, Randy “Macho Man” Savage, the “Big Show” Paul White, Ric Flair, John Cena, and more. (I’ve been to Billy Kidman’s Tampa home, back when he was married to Torrie Wilson, and a buddy of mine who’s in his 60s is VERY proud of getting beat-up by Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat in an '80s-era Tampa Bay bar fight.)
But I actually met Hogan for the first time when I was going to law school in D.C. There was a Gold’s Gym in Arlington, Va., and one afternoon, in walked Hogan, Macho, and the guy who played the character of Brutus Beefcake (I can’t remember the name he was using at the time). They were wearing their nWo clothes and spandex; Macho was working out while wearing sunglasses. (I think there was a WCW TV taping later in the evening.)
When Hogan and the ex-Beefcake were talking in the corner, Macho was sitting all alone by the bench press. So I approached him:
“Hey, buddy. Do you need a spot?”
“No, thank you!” Macho roared, never once changing his deep, menacing voice. “My brothers have me covered! Ohhhhhhhh YEAHHHH!!”
(Everyone at Gold’s cracked up and applauded. It was pretty awesome.)
Later on, I did PR for Big3 Records, the Tampa-based label that produced Macho’s rap album. (Yes, the Macho Man made a rap album. That really happened.) The owner of the label told me how Hulk Hogan — and his ex-best friend, Bubba the Love Sponge — would try to sabotage Macho’s local shows by distributing pro-Hogan signs and shirts. (Tampa is a weird town.)
After Macho died, I was authorized to buy his Macho Madness website. (Pretty cheaply, too. I think we only paid $5K.)
After hearing about Hulk Hogan’s fatal heart attack today, I couldn’t help but wonder, what’ll happen to Hulk’s websites?
On TV, he played the part of the all-American action hero. But in real life, he was just like everyone else: He had big-time family problems, too.
Especially with his son, Nick Hogan.
For a long time in Tampa Bay, the late Barry Cohen was the attorney you hired when you actually did the crime. He died seven years ago, but in his heyday, he appeared on “Oprah” and “Larry King Live,” representing a slew of high-profile clients. (Henry Hill, the mobster whom Ray Liotta portrayed in “Goodfellas,” was a former client. Coincidentally or not, after representing Hill, Cohen had a bulletproof door installed in his office and kept a gun in his desk.)
So in August 2007, 17-year-old Nick Hogan was drag racing on a Tampa street, lost control of his Toyota Supra, and crashed into a tree. His passenger, John Graziano, suffered severe brain trauma. Charges were filed; the Hogans needed an attorney.
Hulk reached out to Barry Cohen.
Almost everyone assumed that Hogan would hire Cohen. After all, nobody else had Cohen’s reputation as a legal magician. But it never happened.
Now that all the participants have passed away, I can reveal the real reason why Hogan and Cohen didn’t work together: Cohen demanded a $3 million flat fee to handle the case.
And I know this, because Cohen would put his private conversations with Hogan on “speaker,” so I could listen in!
Hogan had absolutely no idea I was eavesdropping. I’m pretty sure what Cohen was doing was illegal. (Full disclosure: I have a law degree, but never took the Florida Bar and DO NOT have client-attorney privilege.)
Hulk sought a more traditional legal structure: He wanted to pay by the hour, based on Cohen’s billable rates. But Cohen rejected that, telling Hogan that it doesn’t matter how many hours he works — what matters is that he’s the best guy in Tampa Bay to save Nick’s bacon from legal jeopardy. So, either put up or shut up.
Ultimately, Hogan rejected Cohen’s proposal and chose another attorney.
That deeply disappointed me because I was in charge of Cohen’s PR, and I was thoroughly convinced we could’ve generated a few million bucks worth of media coverage through the trial. Potentially, there were interviews, feature stories, documentaries, book deals, and so much more.
In my opinion, Cohen got greedy. He figured Hogan would be desperate and capitulate.
After all, Hogan was in deep despair. By then, his marriage was on the rocks, and now his son was facing jail time. He might’ve played the part of the invincible superhero, but he was painfully human.
I could hear the anguish in his voice.
In 2008, Nick pled “no contest.” He was sentenced to eight months in county jail and five years of probation, and he lost his driver’s license for three years. (Nick got out of jail early for good behavior.) The Hogans also reportedly paid $1.5 million to the Graziano family.
Did Nick Hogan learn his lesson? Probably not: Sixteen years later (Nov. 16, 2023), he was arrested for driving under the influence (DUI) in the same city in Tampa Bay.
Still, the anguish in Hogan’s voice stayed with me. I can still hear it ringing in my ears. And today, I can only imagine how anguished his family, friends, and loved ones are feeling. To us, he was an icon — a cartoon character come to life.
But to them, he’s Dad. Or a friend. Or family.
RIP, Hulkster.
