After Randy died in 2011, I got obsessed. Couldn’t sleep right for weeks. Kept thinking about that last picture – the one he took just days before the crash. Everyone talked about it online, but nobody had the damn story behind it. Just that grainy shot of him standing by his Jeep, looking tired. Felt like a ghost haunting me. Started digging hard.
The Hunt Begins
First thing I did? Spent maybe a hundred hours online. Scrolled through every wrestling forum buried deep. Posted questions everywhere. “Anyone know who TOOK that pic? Where EXACTLY was he? What was he doing?” Mostly got crickets. Or worse, other fans arguing about his weight in the photo. Useless. Got desperate. Reached out to a wrestling podcast guy I knew casually from Twitter DMs. Hit him up late one Tuesday.
Our DM exchange went like this:
- Me: “Hey man. Dead serious. Any leads on that last Savage pic? Driving me nuts.”
- Him: “Bro… maybe? Heard a rumor. Florida. Some tiny indie promoter. Name might be Jimmy? James? Something.”
- Me: “Florida? That’s it?”
- Him: “Worth a shot. Crazy Savage fan down there used to run shows behind a flea market. Haven’t heard his name in years tho.”
Florida. Big damn state. Zero last name. Almost gave up. Then, six months later, pure luck struck. Was down in Tampa visiting my sister. Walking near Ybor City, saw this beat-up wrestling poster plastered on a pole. Faded pic of some 90s jobber. Behind it? Smaller print: “Promoted by Jimmy ‘The Hook’ Vance”. That name sparked something. Hook? The podcast guy said “something”. Could it be?
Tracking Down “The Hook”
Googled that name like a madman right there on the sidewalk. Found NOTHING recent. Just ancient message board posts talking about his flea market shows. One mentioned he ran a bait shop now. Didn’t say where. Spent days calling every damn bait shop between Tampa and Orlando. Asked for “Jimmy Vance”. Mostly hung up on.
Finally, this raspy voice answers somewhere near Weeki Wachee: “Yeah? Who’s asking?” My heart thumped. Explained I was a Savage historian writing a book. Bullshit, obviously. But he bought it. Told me to come Saturday morning.
The Meeting & The Story
Place stank of minnows and sweat. Jimmy looked old, leathery skin, but eyes still sharp. Bought a bucket of shrimp I didn’t need as an “entry fee”. Sat on a cooler behind the shop. Got him talking about the old days. His eyes lit up remembering Savage.
Then he spilled it all:
- “Yeah, took that picture. Right here in this parking lot.” (He pointed to the cracked asphalt lot beside us).
- “It was late. Wednesday night, maybe? He rolled up alone in that green Jeep everyone saw.”
- “Wasn’t here for no show. Randy came down to buy an airboat Jimmy wanted from my cousin Roy. Always loved boats.”
- “He looked rough, man. Exhausted. Thin. Said he was headed back to Seminole to see his mom before driving north.”
- “Asked me to snap that pic quick. Said ‘Just gotta prove I made the trip for the old man.’ Meaning Jimmy Snuka, I guess? Weird. Seemed distracted.”
- “I snapped a couple fast. He said ‘Thanks Hook’, got in that Jeep, and peeled out. That was it. Never saw him again.”
Felt chills. Jimmy rummaged behind some tackle boxes. Pulled out this crumpled manila envelope. “Here,” he grunted. Inside? The negatives for the famous shot. AND another print nobody had seen – Randy turning away, halfway into the Jeep, looking back almost… sad. Raw. Real.
Why I Sat On It
Got home. Scanned everything crystal clear. Felt heavy. That look on his face? Haunting. Saw all the vultures online trying to cash in on rumors. Bloggers twisting his death. Couldn’t do it. Didn’t post anything. Not yet. Wanted the real story preserved, not turned into clickbait trash. Jimmy? Didn’t care. He just wanted his boat customers. Kept it locked down for years. Now feels right. The full story.
Why finally share? Because those “sources” popping up lately are full of crap. Saw some “documentary” teaser getting details dead wrong. Nah. Needed the truth out there before more lies stick. Plus, those vultures wanted the negatives bad last month. Offered Jimmy stupid money. He just laughed. Threw shrimp guts at me and said, “They wanted it NOW? Tell it your damn self.” So here it is. The whole, ugly, beautiful truth. All thanks to rotten bait and pure stubbornness.
