The Wilmington plane crash is the “Day the Music Died” for professional wrestling. It is the moment where the rugged, brawling style of the 1960s and 70s collided violently with fate, inadvertently paving the way for the flamboyant, “Stylin’ and Profilin'” era of Ric Flair.
The Passengers and the Flight
To understand the magnitude of the crash, one must understand the hierarchy of the passengers. The undisputed alpha male on the plane was Johnny Valentine. At 47 years old, Valentine was legendary. He was a stiff, methodical brawler who terrified opponents and fans alike. He was the top heel (villain) in the territory, and arguably the most respected worker in the NWA.
Sitting near him was Ric Flair. At 26, Flair was a rising star, a thick-bodied brawler who idolized Valentine. He had not yet adopted the robes or the “Woooo!” He was simply a talented, 255-pound powerhouse looking to make his mark.
Also on board was Tim Woods, known to the fans as “Mr. Wrestling.” He was the top babyface (hero), a masked technician who was feuding with Valentine and Flair. In the strict era of kayfabe, good guys and bad guys were never to be seen together.
Rounding out the group was Bob Bruggers, a former NFL player turned wrestler, and the pilot, Joseph Farkas, a 28-year-old Vietnam veteran.
The group had chartered the plane to fly from Charlotte to Wilmington for an outdoor show at Legion Stadium. The drive would have taken four hours; the flight was supposed to take 45 minutes. It was a luxury they paid for to save their bodies from the wear and tear of the road.
The Mechanical Failure
The flight proceeded normally until the approach to Wilmington. According to the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) report and subsequent accounts from the survivors, the pilot, Joseph Farkas, made a critical error. He failed to distribute the fuel usage between the auxiliary and main tanks correctly.
As they descended, the engines sputtered. The plane was starving for fuel, despite having gas in the tanks. Farkas panicked. He attempted to switch the tanks, but the engines stalled. The Cessna 310 became a heavy glider dropping out of the night sky.
Ric Flair, in his autobiography To Be The Man, recalled the terrifying silence. He described looking out the window and seeing the ground rushing up. Johnny Valentine, realizing the inevitability of the impact, reportedly looked at the others and said, “We’re going down.” He did not scream. He braced himself.
The Impact
The plane clipped the top of a water tower, which likely slowed it down enough to prevent an explosion, but it also sent the aircraft into a nose-dive. It crashed into a railroad embankment near a prison camp, less than a mile from the runway.
The impact was catastrophic. The nose of the plane crumpled, taking the brunt of the force. The pilot, Joseph Farkas, was thrown forward into the controls. He suffered massive head injuries and would die in the hospital weeks later, never regaining consciousness.
In the passenger cabin, the wrestlers were tossed like ragdolls. The seats were ripped from the floorboards. Luggage, bodies, and twisted metal created a claustrophobic scene of horror.
Ric Flair was thrown from his seat. He landed in a contorted position. He recalled hearing Bob Bruggers screaming. Tim Woods was unconscious. But the most chilling sound came from Johnny Valentine. The toughest man in the world was whispering that he couldn’t feel his legs.
The Injuries
When emergency responders arrived, they had to use the “Jaws of Life” to extract the men from the wreckage. The medical toll was staggering.
Johnny Valentine: His back was broken. A bone fragment had lodged into his spinal cord, resulting in permanent paralysis. The career of the NWA’s most feared villain was over in an instant. He would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
Bob Bruggers: He suffered a broken back and severe ankle injuries. A steel rod was inserted into his spinal column. While he eventually regained his mobility, he never wrestled again, retiring to work in sales.
Ric Flair: His back was broken in three places (compression fractures of the vertebrae). Doctors told him he would never wrestle again. He was 26 years old, and his life’s dream appeared to be shattered.
Tim Woods: He suffered cracked ribs and a severe concussion. However, his greatest injury was the threat to his livelihood—not because of his bones, but because of the “business.”
Mr. Wrestling and the Lie
In 1975, kayfabe was religion. If the fans found out that Mr. Wrestling (the hero) was sharing a private plane with Johnny Valentine and Ric Flair (the villains he was supposed to hate), the territory would die. The illusion of conflict would be destroyed.
As Tim Woods lay in the wreckage, groggy and in pain, he made a decision that defines the old-school mentality. He began to recite his real name, George Burrell Woodin, to the paramedics. He identified himself as a promoter, not a wrestler.
When the news broke, fans were told that Ric Flair and Johnny Valentine were in a crash. Rumors swirled that Mr. Wrestling was also on board. To kill the rumors, Woods did the unthinkable.
Just two weeks after the crash, despite his cracked ribs and concussion, Tim Woods returned to the ring. He wrestled a match in agonizing pain simply to prove to the fans that he wasn’t on that plane. He reasoned that if he had been in a plane crash, he wouldn’t be wrestling. The ruse worked. The business was protected.
The Tragedy of Johnny Valentine
The loss of Johnny Valentine created a massive void in the Mid-Atlantic territory. He was the anchor. He was the man who sold tickets.
Valentine’s transition to life in a wheelchair was difficult. He had lived his life as a physical specimen, a man who commanded respect through strength. To have that stripped away was a psychological blow as severe as the physical one.
However, Valentine refused to be pitied. He remained involved in the business for a time and eventually accepted his fate with a stoic dignity. He famously told Ric Flair in the hospital, “Don’t you quit, kid. You make it for both of us.”
The Evolution of Ric Flair
Ric Flair spent months in the hospital and in physical therapy. The doctors were adamant that contact sports were impossible. Flair was adamant that they were wrong.
During his recovery, Flair realized he had to change. Before the crash, he wrestled a power style similar to Valentine or Dick the Bruiser. He was nearly 300 pounds of muscle. The back injury meant he could no longer take the flat-back bumps required for that style. He could no longer rely on brute strength.
He dropped weight, slimming down to 235 pounds. He focused on cardio and endurance. He adopted a style based on movement, technical wrestling, and “taking care” of his body by bumping on his side or hip rather than flat on his back.
This forced evolution birthed the “Nature Boy.” He began to rely more on his charisma, his promos, and his ability to wrestle 60-minute matches (Broadways). The crash stripped away the brawler and revealed the performer.
The Return to the Ring
Ric Flair returned to the ring in early 1976, mere months after breaking his back. The crowd reaction was primal. They had thought he was gone forever.
Because Johnny Valentine was gone, the territory needed a new top heel. Flair, with his new look and new lease on life, slid into that spot. He began his feud with Wahoo McDaniel, capturing the Mid-Atlantic Heavyweight Championship.
The crash had accelerated his push. Had Valentine not been paralyzed, Flair likely would have remained a protege for several more years. Instead, he was thrust into the main event. Five years later, in 1981, he defeated Dusty Rhodes for his first NWA World Heavyweight Championship.
The Butterfly Effect
The plane crash of 1975 is one of the greatest “What If?” scenarios in wrestling history.
If the plane doesn’t crash, Johnny Valentine likely holds the NWA World Title or dominates the territory for another decade. Ric Flair might have remained a heavy brawler, never developing the stamina and style that made him the 16-time champion.
If Tim Woods doesn’t protect the business, kayfabe might have died in 1975 instead of the 1980s, changing how promotions booked their feuds.
If Ric Flair had been sitting one inch to the left or right, he might have been paralyzed or killed, erasing the Four Horsemen, the steamboat trilogy, and the inspiration for generations of wrestlers.
Conclusion
The wreckage of the Cessna 310 in Wilmington serves as a grim monument to the price of the wrestling business. It cost Joseph Farkas his life. It cost Johnny Valentine his legs. It cost Bob Bruggers his career.
But from that wreckage emerged a singular force. Ric Flair walked out of the hospital with a broken back and a new philosophy. He took the tragedy and used it as fuel to become the greatest wrestler of all time. The crash broke his body, but it built his legend. Every “Woooo!” heard in an arena today is a ghostly echo of that night in 1975, a reminder of the thin line between tragedy and immortality.
