I was twenty-two years old, and Vince McMahon flew me and my lawyer out to Connecticut. As soon as we landed, there was a limousine waiting to take us to the WWE world headquarters in Stamford. The place was a little different from the gymnasiums I was used to, and looked like a rock concert that had collided with a wrestling museum. There were televisions everywhere showing WWE highlights. Heavy metal was playing over the sound system. Posters of “WWE Superstars” lined the walls. There was a state-of-the-art gym and weight room, a full-service cafeteria, and a television production studio. For a farm boy from South Dakota, it was all pretty impressive. For those of you who don’t know, Vince McMahon is world famous, and he is rich. Very rich. Since the 1980s, he has appeared on national television every week in his own programs, and he is the face of the WWE. But in addition to the “role” of WWE chairman he plays on TV, he is also the owner and creative mind behind the entire company.
