Chris Benoit and Troy Raymond
These are two people I remember from my past. The former was a professional wrestler and the latter was my 6th grade math teacher. They lived completely different lives when compared to each other. But for me, they create wonderful moments that have not left my mind for years. They were both good people in their field of work. Friends and family of the two were known to have been in good terms with them when they were alive.
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Up until his death, Chris had a family consisted of his loving wife named Nancy, who was a manager for various wrestlers in numerous promotions during the 80s and 90s (who even met Chris while working in the business), and a son named Daniel, who was born in 2000. He had a family and his career was going smoothly. He
won a lot—and I do mean a lot—of championships in a plethora of companies such as WWE, WCW, NJPW, ECW, Stampede Wrestling, and much, much more.
In the week before his death, he was scheduled to wrestle at a WWE pay-per-view event named
“Vengeance: Night of Champions” against an up-and-coming youngster named C.M. Punk for the ECW Championship. Coincidentally enough, the event was supposed to take place in the city of Houston, Texas, my home town. On the night of June 24th, when the PPV actually happened, Chris no-showed and wasn’t seen anywhere near the Toyota Center.
Chris was always known to be a very physical wrestler. The moves he made in the ring were so stiff his opponents later recollected that they were bordering on the line of being very painful. He was a warrior, but he was reckless at times, too. One of his finishers he always used was the diving headbutt, a move that occurs when you climb up to the top turnbuckle on the corner of the ring, jump off of it, have your arms spread out, and land horizontally on your front side with your head being the first thing to hit your opponent, rendering him “unconscious” under the disguise of
kayfabe. Every time after Chris executed the move he would
blench around with his arms covering his head as a way to cope with the pain inflicted upon it by the impact of its landing. Repeating this move over and over again eventually took a toll on his head, and as he sustained concussion after concussion for long periods of time, he unknowingly developed dementia which further aggravated his brain.
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I didn’t know much of anything about Mr. Raymond before I became his homeroom student. He looked very scary thanks to his large intimidating build and height. He had the face of an old veteran who went through serious battles during his military career and didn’t want anyone to talk to him about it and the demeanor of an authoritarian dictator. He looked menacing every time I passed him in the morning on my way to the cafeteria to eat my daily breakfast. I wanted to have no part with him when I was in the 5th grade.
In my next year (6th grade), I was put in a language arts homeroom class with one teacher named Ms. Ramos. Everything was fine and normal a few weeks into the school year until the class was getting filled with new students—transfers, exchange students, all of that jazz. With that happening, it was clear to the administrators of the school that a few kids would have to leave Ms. Ramos’ class to make room for the newbies. You can already see where this was going, reader.
Faced with this predicament, I, being the chivalrous boy that I was, decided to change classrooms for said newbies. I was being polite so I had no choice but to do it. Why would I not do it? C’mon, I was the preeminent good guy. In reality, though, I was forced to change, so any grievance I uttered afterwards were to be heard by deaf ears. In other words, it was pointless for me to say no. And guess whose homeroom class I was put into, reader. That’s right, it was Mr. Raymond’s.
“Shit,” I thought. “I now have to be in his class? God damn it. I didn’t want to be in his class in the first place and now I’m here. Great. Just fucking great.”
These were the kind of thoughts I was thinking the moment I first met him. I was scared to shake his hand when he extended his own upon meeting me. I thought he was going to eat me when he approached me. People of his size weren’t supposed to be in a small intermediate school like where I was currently in. So, when he welcomed me with open arms and a friendly attitude, I was taken aback. It was so surreal I even thought I was being punk’d by Ashton Kutcher, who would then emerge out of nowhere with a mirage of cameras swarming at me to capture my reaction.
A couple of weeks would pass after my first meeting with him and I later realized that he was a cool teacher after all. He cracked jokes with the class. He was friends with everyone. He was a good teacher who made sure all of us students understood whatever lesson he was teaching on any certain day. He later became a good friend of mine, surprisingly enough. Often times he would call me “Planko” in jest as a way of teasing me. I’d get mad as a result and tell him to stop but he never listened to me and my orders. To add insult to injury, he called more stupid names like “Pablo”, “Pancho”, and “Paco”. I hated that. Regardless, he was very good to me that year.
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The deaths of both these men gave me a great deal of shock when I first heard of them. I mean, I knew it was going to happen eventually, but I didn’t think for a long shot that it would happen way too soon in their lives. They were in their mid-40s when they died. The news came out of nowhere. I couldn’t believe it at first glance. They were gone, both Benoit and Mr. Raymond.
The shock later morphed itself into sadness. The sadness was then converted into questioning. I questioned why it happened on both occasions.
“What happened?”
“Why did it happen?”
“When did it happen?”
“Who did it?”
“Where did it happen?”
It was only then when I watched the news on the television and computer that I later found out what truly happened in both cases.
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On
June 24th, 2007, after not communicating with anyone outside of his household (friends, co-workers, and family) for a few days, Chris Benoit killed his wife and only son in his house by the form of asphyxiation, or strangling. A short while later, he hanged himself and committed suicide.
On the
month of August in 2011, Troy Raymond strangled his wife and killed her in their home. He would then “vanish” from the face of the earth after local police discovered her body lying dead in the crime scene. A few hours later, in a hotel in New Orleans, Louisiana, he shot himself in the head and died, committing suicide.
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My questioning later turned itself into unease in the two times I found out what really happened. I asked myself the kind of questions you would expect to say yourself if you faced this same dilemma as me:
“Why?”
“How could this have happened?”
“WHY!?”
I couldn’t accept it at first, but I eventually came to terms with it. It happened and now they’re dead. I couldn’t do anything to help bring them back so I resigned to that fact of the matter. They really were gone. Such is life. It isn’t fair sometimes.
The more I looked back at their deaths the more it became clear to me. Their deaths were so………
…….alike.
They killed their loved ones and then themselves. They’re a spitting image of each other. It’s still uncomfortable and grim for me to think about even now, even after 10 have passed from the first incident and 6 years have passed from the second.
Their deaths, instead of giving us conclusive answers to their motives and actions, have only opened up more questions, questions in which we have no answer to. The questions I’ve asked myself when digesting the news a long time ago are still being uttered around their lives today. What were their motives? Did anyone notice any irregularities in their behavioral patterns in the days before their deaths? Were they hiding something? Et cetera, et cetera…..
The passing of time has slowly but surely helped us in uncovering just a few answers to the endless stream of questions. When brain analysts examined Chris’ brain to find any abnormalities, they discovered that
he possessed the brain of an 85-year old Alzheimer’s patient, which, in broader terms, translates to a bad brain.
According to Troy Raymond’s sister, the couple had
“marital issues” a bit before the crime was committed. In fact, it was Troy’s wife who wanted to file for divorce so that she could split up with him in the first place. This, in turn, only opened up even more questions from skeptical people like myself.
If Chris and Troy genuinely had problems with their loved ones, why did they show themselves in public with the appearance of a loving family who yielded to virtually nothing? I didn’t understand. On paper, they were one thing, but from behind the scenes, they were another. That’s what it looked like to me anyway. I still didn’t get it. It didn’t seem right to me. It was idiotic for me to think of them like that. Man, I was very naïve back then.
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In March of 2004, at
WrestleMania XX, after defeating Triple H and Shawn Michaels in the main event for the World Heavyweight Championship, Benoit was embraced by his family to bask in his massive accomplishment. It was a sight for us wrestling fans to witness. Beforehand, he was congratulated by Eddie Guerrero, a longtime friend of his and fellow world champion—WWE Champion to be exact at the time. And when they hugged each other after the final bell had rung, confetti started raining down on the how stage and the wrestlers. It was the absolute peak of Chris’ illustrious career. At long last, his hard work finally materialized to this
one great moment of triumph.
In May of 2009, my class was getting ready for a school-wide event named “Sports Day”. It was a day where the students of the entire 6th grade faced off against each other with their classes to see who was the best of the pack. It was organized into various contests. Everyone in my class participated. If I remember correctly, I participated in 3, which was: a 100-meter relay, tug o’ war—where everyone and their momma was eligible--, and a three-legged race. I swear I had so much fun. Outside of these activities, I was allowed to buy candy from stands around the school and eat it in the event. It was all fun. My class was having fun. Mr. Raymond definitely had fun too. To make it better, his wife came to the school to visit us and her husband. She brought some treats for us to eat in-between the activities of the event. They were delicious. That was the only time I saw her when I was in intermediate school, and, according to my intuition, she looked to be in high spirits. You couldn’t sense anything remotely contrary to happiness had you been there at the school, reader.
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So then, why?
Why?
Why did you do it, Chris Benoit?
Why did you do it, Mr. Raymond?
Upon further questioning myself, it finally hit me.
They were hiding something. That must be it. That was the conclusion I was able to rationally come up with on my own. There must have been things roaming around in their minds that bothered them to the point where they committed those acts of murder. That could be the missing link to both of these mysteries. Perhaps that can explain why Chris didn’t reveal the extent of his head injuries by the use of his brash wrestling moves like the diving headbutt just for the sake of creating a show for the fans, which caused him to have behavioral problems that ultimately killed his family and self. It can also explain why Mr. Raymond killed himself when the police found his wife’s body and suspected him of being the perpetrator. After the fact, they named him a “person of interest” in regards to the case, further proving the suspiciousness behind his actions.
To know the things they were hiding is another mystery in and of itself, so we’ll never truly know what were their legitimate motives. In Benoit’s case, people have theorized countless of times about how he died. Some say
he was killed and somebody else must have killed his family instead, others speculate he sustained unreported concussions which damaged him to the point where he acted aggressively at random moments(the most acceptable for a large crowd), and a few have even concluded in their minds that
steroids played a major role in the crime.
For Troy’s case, it is much more simple and direct. His verbal bouts with his wife must have had a clear cause to which they engaged in conflict. However, the clear cause will probably never be revealed by either side of the case out of sheer respect for each other’s privacy, and that’s fine. I don’t want to reignite a forgotten flame, so it’s best for me to not have them reminisce any bad memories.
Whatever the case, their last moments on this Earth ruined their legacies for countless of years to come. Even my memory of them has been permanently affected by this. Superficially, Chris Benoit and Mr. Raymond were good and kind men. They were one of a kind. But if you dig deeper into their lives, they were probably hiding something, and they didn’t want anyone to find out what that thing was. Whatever that thing may be, I simply don’t know. Now, when I think of both of these men, I can’t help but remember their deaths. It’s a thing I CAN’T IGNORE.
I will not ignore.
I will never ignore.
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth every time I remember. I hate it, but I can’t avoid it.
When Chris Jericho, another close friend and fellow wrestling comrade of Benoit, was
asked in a Q&A session on Reddit about the possibility of him entering the WWE Hall of Fame—a sort of legend’s club for wrestlers—he replied:
- “Never…. But that notwithstanding, you know, putting that aside, it tarnished the rest of life. I mean, you can’t say the name Chris Benoit without, uh, thinking about that. At least I can’t…There’s no way. I mean, how—first of all, how could you go up there and, you know, do a speech for him? How could you put together a video package and completely ignore all that had happened?”
His thoughts echo that of mine. It’s because of their resoundingly similar deaths that I can’t remember them as ever-loving saints from the past anymore.
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To conclude, I’d like to write a couple of small letters to the two protagonists of this piece:
To Chris Benoit,
You were a hell of a wrestler. You attained many championships. You were highly regarded as a master of your craft. Everyone loved you. You had a great life. I still don’t completely understand why you did what you did in such an atrocious manner. You should’ve looked after yourself better. Your health was imperative to your well-being. Yeah, being an “old-school warrior” is a good title to have as a wrestler, but was it really worth it? I know this is futile since you’re already gone, but I can’t help saying it regardless. It’s just—you should’ve done more.
To Mr. Raymond,
Killing your wife was not the answer. It just wasn’t. The memories we shared within your classroom were very precious to me. I’m sure they were precious to you too when you were alive. They were, were they? Anyway, I believe I’m the only person as of now who has written about you and your death. Doing this helped put me at ease because I was finally able to break through my indecisiveness about writing this piece and allow my feelings to translate itself onto my notebook and let it speak for itself. In a way, I think of this as something befitting that of closure. I faced head-on the harsh reality that was your death and the details surrounding it. Additionally, your death has given me a learning experience, believe it or not. I learned to never judge a person based on only their looks. You taught me that lesson when we first met and you taught me that again when you pathetically died. So—good bye.
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A large black cloud floats atop their names accompanied by the sheer shadow of enigma raining down on them. Thanks to their questionable actions, it will never go away.
