South Dakota strongman Jim Slade should have been professional wrestling’s biggest star, but he seemingly vanished into thin air in the mid-1960s

Not much happens in Dahlia, South Dakota, after the sun goes down. In a world where cattle ranching and truck driving are a way of life, the folks around here get used to solitude. They’re quiet people, for the most part, unless you get their dander up. Then, a fight might break out, and it would be up to the biggest ol’ boy in town to settle it.

In Dahlia, that man used to be named Jim Slade.

With a population of just over 800, Dahlia is the kind of speck on the map where you’re more likely to get drunk than get rich. And the top spot in town to wet your whistle is Finch’s Tavern, which has been open out on the edge of nowhere and run by the same family for four generations. It’s there that the old men still sit around, drink their whiskey or beer, and talk about the conquests of a man who left town decades ago.

The ones who are still alive and remember Slade discuss his prowess, not just as a bar brawler, but in the ring, as well. He could twist opponents into a knot, but also do eye-popping tricks like backflips and cartwheels. At the time, it was an amazing athletic accomplishment: People in those parts had never seen anything like him. No one in the world had.

A skilled bareknuckled boxer and backwoods wrestler, Slade began earning extra money in the mid-1950s while still just a teenager by fighting behind Finch’s for fistfuls of cash. And even though Dahlia is the kind of place that no stranger could seemingly find, every now and then, a greenhorn would run afoul of the young warrior. On some nights, Slade would make $500 just by being the biggest and the toughest.

But Slade also had a warm and even funny side to him. His charisma made you almost forget that he was a beast of a man. He was loved by children, adored by women, and idolized by men… all right there, in that little postage stamp of a city.

Word of his exploits traveled quickly, and Slade began working at local carnivals and charity events. One day, the phone at his mother’s house rang. Jim, who was still just 19 at the time, answered and took a call that would change his small-town life forever. He was asked by the caller if he wanted an opportunity to be a professional wrestler.

“Is this Jim?” the voice on the other end of the line asked, as Slade then told him he did, in fact, have the right number. “This is Mr. Plimpton from the offices of the Professional Wrestling Alliance. Have you heard of us? Good. Because we have received some letters about you and a newspaper article. We think you’d be a great fit for our television program. We’d like you to come to our offices in Detroit, so we can meet you and discuss your future.”

Within days, Jim Slade packed up a handful of belongings, kissed his mother goodbye, and walked out the door of their rickety, two-bedroom shanty. Still just a kid inside, he looked to the future and all the possibilities that lie ahead, before taking one final look at his childhood home. Next thing you know? He was on a train to The Motor City, looking to leave behind the dusty Dakotas for the shining lights of stardom.

He never returned.

A House of Games

When Slade arrived in Detroit, it was bigger than anything he had ever seen in his life. He checked into the hotel room that the office worker had arranged for him, then called home to let his Mom know he had reached his destination safely. Then, it was off to the local gym, where he would meet up with the promoter, a larger man and former grappler himself, Phillippe Renard.

A French-Canadian star, Renard began promoting events in the Windsor, Ontario, area during the dawn of television and parlayed it into a small empire. Now, he was convinced he had just discovered his next superstar. In the powerful and explosive Slade, the showman saw an even bigger and more athletic version of himself. And that was a huge compliment, considering that Renard had previously been an amateur boxing champion and an alternate on the Canadian Olympic Wrestling Team.

Jim Slade was different. He was ruggedly handsome, the kind of guy who might play a soldier or a cowboy as the hero in some afternoon flick at the local bijou. He was also as light on his feet as a gymnast, capable of doing stunts that belied his 6’3″, 260-pound frame. After pen was put to paper, it became official; Jim Slade would shock the world by becoming the area champion in his very first pro match.

Everything went off without a hitch, and before you knew it, word was getting around about Renard’s protege. However, the promoter chose to limit access to his champion, allowing Jim to only do a couple of radio appearances. Most of the time, Renard would do the talking, while Slade would sit there, patiently awaiting his next set of instructions.

The weeks turned into months, with Slade easily defeating his hand-picked opponents as his legend grew. He made multiple appearances in his home area of Wyoming, Idaho, and, of course, the Dakotas, but the tour never swung anywhere close to Dahila. So, only a few friends and family ever made the long journeys to watch him wrestler. And as time went on, that isolation began to grate on the young prodigy.

Despite his success, he was lonely — a stranger in a strange world. Slowly, he began to rebel against Renard, often citing that he was the star of the show while all his promoter did was sit back and “print money”. He began drinking and smoking marijuana in his hotel room, never going out and engaging with the public. And for a span of two years, save for his time in the ring, Slade was a total recluse.

As he continued to work the cowtowns of Canada and the outskirts of America, he dominated like no one ever had in the squared circle. Late, great regional wrestler Sparkplug Johnson once said that Slade could wrestle all night and never break a sweat. There was no doubt about it: Jim Slade had become professional wrestling’s best-kept secret. If he ever took the leap to the big time, he would become a household name like the Beatles or President Kennedy.

Unfortunately, it seemed everyone wanted that except for Jim, who had grown increasingly disenchanted with the whole thing. He didn’t care about the title, the attention, or the unsteady money he was making. It was the Summer of 1963, he was still just 24 years old, and he was already suffering from burnout. It literally felt like he had been fighting his entire life.

Around this same time, Slade got word that his mother had passed away. It had been two weeks, but no one had been able to reach him, save for a message from the office. Renard swore to Jim that he never got the word, but Slade didn’t believe him. He thought Renard held it from him to keep him on the road. Just then, all of the young wrestler’s frustration and rage came to a head. One country whippin’ later? Renard was on his way to the hospital, and Jim was out of a job.

From there, details about Slade’s life get pretty sketchy. According to those in the know, he never approached another promoter for a job, and no one can ever recall seeing him wrestle again. For someone who was considered the next big thing, Slade became just a footnote. A flash in the plan that never quite lived up to the billing.

The Legend Lives On

The last time anyone can remember seeing or hearing from Jim Slade was 1965, and his story has largely been ignored over the years. But it’s one with an unsatisfying conclusion. Rumors abounded that Slade had joined a hippie commune or possibly fled to Canada to evade being drafted for the Vietnam War. Another story said that he drunkenly killed a man in a street fight and was sentenced to life in prison. Yet another, more far-fetched theory, was that he changed his name and became a bagman for the New York mob.

But back home in Dahlia, the folks who congregate at Finch’s see things a little bit differently. They think Jim Slade likely dropped out of sight and spent a modest, quiet life somewhere in the middle of nowhere. They say that it’s more in his character that he would go find a plot of land and farm it. He probably had a wife and houseful of kids, they reason, and just didn’t want to be bothered with all the attention anymore. At least, that’s what they want to believe.

Still, they gather at the old pub every single year, on this very day, to celebrate the birthday of their favorite son.
That’s right, Jim Slade was born on April 1st.

April 1st…as in April Fool’s Day, ya know?

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