CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Classmates at Charleston Catholic High School voted him "Least Likely to Succeed."
Really?
Dozens of photos with celebrities line the walls of his rec room, pictures of him with Oprah, Magic Johnson, Pete Rose, Sylvester Stallone, several with his good friend, Muhammad Ali.
Ribfest promoter Bill Picozzi enjoys a moment with Curly, the seven-foot, 1,000-pound pig that was carved for him by a woodcrafter. The statue publicizes his annual Ribfest, which opens Thursday on the lot beside Shoney’s on Kanawha Boulevard.
A Lincoln Town Car sits in his driveway. There's a sauna and hot tub in the backyard.
Apparently, the high school wild child succeeded at something.
Born into a show business family, Bill Picozzi fought his way through school (literally) as a rough-and-tumble athlete. He served a hitch in Vietnam, then bought a bar and spent 14 years as a nightclub operator.
Eventually, he found his niche as a promoter. He started with band bookings, graduated to concerts, rodeos, boxing and wrestling shows. Now, he's probably best known for his annual Ribfest.
He can be brash, arrogant and abrasive. He knows he rubs people the wrong way. At 61, he strives daily to be a better person. If only he could be like his dad.
"I was born in a entertainment family. My grandfather was Captain Latlip and my grandmother was Marian Latlip. My grandfather owned one of the biggest carnivals and circuses in the country. They traveled in 40 railroad cars.
"My grandfather used to climb a ladder 100 feet in air, and my grandmother would climb up 40 feet beneath him, and they would dive into a 6-foot tank of water.
"My mother and her two sisters were one of the top acrobatic acts in the world. My mother sang with Judy Garland and toured with Bob Hope doing USO shows during World War II.
"My mother was in a serious car accident with my other aunt, who got killed. Mother had seven broken ribs, a broken jaw and a broken arm. It didn't end her career. She went into vaudeville.
"She met my father in Cleveland. My father was a prizefighter. He had won 40 straight fights. He'd never lost one. They would fight in clubs in those days. I have a little poster that says it cost 25 cents to watch the fight. He would fight under a fictitious name because he didn't want his mother and father to know.
"He went to war, came back in '46, got married, had me and promised not to fight anymore. My mother promised to quit vaudeville. He moved to Charleston and got into show business with my mother. They had a small carnival. Then he got into the concession business. They used to travel. They were never home in the summertime. In the wintertime, he was a plumber.
"When school let out in the spring, we started on the road. We didn't have air conditioning and there were no interstates. On Route 21 out of Charleston, it took nine and a half hours to drive to Cleveland. I traveled with them until I was 19.
"When I graduated from Charleston Catholic in 1965, I was voted least likely to succeed. I had the ability to be a good student, but all I cared about was sports. I played football, basketball and baseball and fought in the Golden Gloves.
"I really wasn't a very nice person in school. I was arrogant. I fought a lot. I regret all that now. If it weren't for my dad, I would either be in prison or dead. He would whip my butt and scare the hell out of me. That's what it took, because I was a wild kid.
"In my senior year, I wanted to be a conservation officer. I liked the outdoors. I had some scholarship offers in football and basketball, but I wanted to stay in state because I'd been dating a girl for four years who went to Marshall. So I went to West Virginia State.
"I opened probably the first reconditioning shop in West Virginia. A car dealer would give me a trade-in, and I would steam clean the engine and detail the car. I was making so much money that I dropped out of school.
CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Classmates at Charleston Catholic High School voted him "Least Likely to Succeed."
Really?
Dozens of photos with celebrities line the walls of his rec room, pictures of him with Oprah, Magic Johnson, Pete Rose, Sylvester Stallone, several with his good friend, Muhammad Ali.
A Lincoln Town Car sits in his driveway. There's a sauna and hot tub in the backyard.
Apparently, the high school wild child succeeded at something.
Born into a show business family, Bill Picozzi fought his way through school (literally) as a rough-and-tumble athlete. He served a hitch in Vietnam, then bought a bar and spent 14 years as a nightclub operator.
Eventually, he found his niche as a promoter. He started with band bookings, graduated to concerts, rodeos, boxing and wrestling shows. Now, he's probably best known for his annual Ribfest.
He can be brash, arrogant and abrasive. He knows he rubs people the wrong way. At 61, he strives daily to be a better person. If only he could be like his dad.
"I was born in a entertainment family. My grandfather was Captain Latlip and my grandmother was Marian Latlip. My grandfather owned one of the biggest carnivals and circuses in the country. They traveled in 40 railroad cars.
"My grandfather used to climb a ladder 100 feet in air, and my grandmother would climb up 40 feet beneath him, and they would dive into a 6-foot tank of water.
"My mother and her two sisters were one of the top acrobatic acts in the world. My mother sang with Judy Garland and toured with Bob Hope doing USO shows during World War II.
"My mother was in a serious car accident with my other aunt, who got killed. Mother had seven broken ribs, a broken jaw and a broken arm. It didn't end her career. She went into vaudeville.
"She met my father in Cleveland. My father was a prizefighter. He had won 40 straight fights. He'd never lost one. They would fight in clubs in those days. I have a little poster that says it cost 25 cents to watch the fight. He would fight under a fictitious name because he didn't want his mother and father to know.
"He went to war, came back in '46, got married, had me and promised not to fight anymore. My mother promised to quit vaudeville. He moved to Charleston and got into show business with my mother. They had a small carnival. Then he got into the concession business. They used to travel. They were never home in the summertime. In the wintertime, he was a plumber.
"When school let out in the spring, we started on the road. We didn't have air conditioning and there were no interstates. On Route 21 out of Charleston, it took nine and a half hours to drive to Cleveland. I traveled with them until I was 19.
"When I graduated from Charleston Catholic in 1965, I was voted least likely to succeed. I had the ability to be a good student, but all I cared about was sports. I played football, basketball and baseball and fought in the Golden Gloves.
"I really wasn't a very nice person in school. I was arrogant. I fought a lot. I regret all that now. If it weren't for my dad, I would either be in prison or dead. He would whip my butt and scare the hell out of me. That's what it took, because I was a wild kid.
"In my senior year, I wanted to be a conservation officer. I liked the outdoors. I had some scholarship offers in football and basketball, but I wanted to stay in state because I'd been dating a girl for four years who went to Marshall. So I went to West Virginia State.
"I opened probably the first reconditioning shop in West Virginia. A car dealer would give me a trade-in, and I would steam clean the engine and detail the car. I was making so much money that I dropped out of school.
"Three months later, I got drafted and went to Vietnam with the 61st Assault Helicopter Company. We would take airborne units on copters and land them. They would set up ambushes on Viet Cong. When they would get under heavy fire, we would kind of rescue them.
"I thought it was a very worthwhile war. If we were put in a situation where Communists were ruling our lives, I would certainly want some superpower to come in and save me and my family. When I came back, I saw so many people demonstrating against Vietnam. They treated us as if we did something bad. I resented that.
"I'd always wanted to buy a Mustang and the Anchor Club on the West Side. There were two Anchors, a pizza joint in Kanawha City and a neighborhood bar on the West Side. So I bought the Mustang, then I bought the Anchor Club for $10,000. That was 1971.
"From there, I bought other clubs. I was in the club business 14 years. I bought the old Capitol City Jamboree from Jim Cunningham. That's when I really started finding my niche in life.
"I used to hire a lot of bands. I had all the top artists come in. Friday was country night and Saturday was bluegrass night. I started getting calls from people who needed a band. I went to Ned Guthrie, president of the Musicians Union, and asked him how I could make some money on that. He said a union agent could make between 10 and 20 percent commission on band gigs. So I started the Bill Picozzi Booking Agency. I had over 100 bands under exclusive contract.
"Then I started doing concerts and shows. I've done everything - boxing, monster truck shows, rodeos. Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, Dolly Parton, REO Speedwagon, the oldies groups. They've all worked for me in concerts.
"When I was younger, I would take some chances I would never take now. I did this wrestling match, had all the big stars. In this type of event, you have 98 percent of your ticket sales in walk-ups. A storm came through, and there were only 211 people there. I lost $18,000. I've lost as much as $70,000, but it goes with the territory. As time went on, I learned to pick the winners.
"I did the sports shows at the Charleston Civic Center. Back then, Don Nehlen hardly ever made public appearances. I called him and called him. Finally, I got tired of hearing no.
"So I asked my mom to drive to Morgantown with me. I walked into his office unannounced. He said, 'You don't give up easily, do you?' I said, 'Don, I'd like to introduce you to my mother.' He appeared at my next show and for four years straight.
"Jerry Pauley, a former chief of police, was associated with the Golden Gloves. Jerry said they were having a tough time and needed some extra revenue. I located Muhammad Ali's personal manager for appearances. Then I went to different sponsors. The racetrack put up $10,000. Joey Holland put up some. I got Ali to come in.
"Ali's first professional opponent was Tunney Hunsaker, chief of police at Fayetteville. I brought in Tunney and he and Ali got together in the ring and fooled around. I feel a little bit like a part of history getting them together.
"The Huntington police wanted me do the same for them. Not only did I bring Ali in, when Buster Douglas knocked out Mike Tyson, his second appearance in the U.S. was for me with Ali down in Huntington to raise money for the Golden Gloves.
"We became very close friends. On two occasions when I had shows that I promoted, Ali did not charge me an appearance fee and even flew in free. When he would come in for one of my shows, he would stay five or six days with me. He loved West Virginia.
"The Ribfest is the biggest thing I do. I only do two shows now, the Ribfest and the Hunting and Fishing Show. I used to do 30 or 40 a year. And who knows? This may be my last year. I'm getting old.
"I'm just happy doing my gourmet cooking, gardening and cutting the grass. Being a promoter, people think I'm a people person. I'm not. I'd just as soon be isolated. Thank God I married Lisa, a lady who doesn't like to be out in public either.
"There's nobody luckier than me. I haven't missed a thing. You're looking at a guy voted less likely to succeed at Charleston Catholic. I can't believe sometimes how God has taken care of me, not only to have a few things in life, but to have my health.
"I know a lot of people don't like me. It has a lot to do with my demeanor. I'm just the opposite of my father. I have this roughness about me. I'm brash. People don't like that. I've been trying to break this habit of being brash.
"Bad habits are hard to break, but I work on it every day. I say to myself, 'Today, you be a nicer person than you were yesterday.' That's what I work on. That comes with age, doesn't it?"
