On July 16th, 1988, Bruiser Brody walked into a locker room in Bayamón, Puerto Rico. Minutes later, he was stabbed in the shower by fellow wrestler José González. Better known to Puerto Rican wrestling fans as Invader I.
The events that unfolded remain one of wrestling’s darkest and most controversial stories. Witnesses recall screams, blood pooling on the tile, and an ambulance that came too late. A trial followed, but it left Brody’s family and fellow wrestlers searching for justice that never came.
This is the story of Bruiser Brody’s murder — from the tensions that built years before, to the fatal night itself, and the haunting aftermath.
Bruiser Brody in Puerto Rico: A Star Among Storms
Juan Ramón Loubriel Stadium in Bayamón, Puerto Rico
Frank Goodish, known to the world as Bruiser Brody, was not just another wrestler. At 6’8” and nearly 300 pounds, with a wild mane of hair and beard, he looked like a force of nature. His gimmick blurred reality. He was unpredictable, ungovernable, a madman who would storm through crowds swinging a steel chain, creating real panic among fans.
Yet offstage, Brody was a different man. Friends described him as quiet, thoughtful, even gentle. He loved reading novels on the road and was a great father to his young son. But in the ring, his reputation as a wild card was more than performance. He was known for refusing to lose and do business if he thought it damaged his value, and for demanding top pay wherever he worked.
Puerto Rico’s World Wrestling Council (WWC) saw Brody as a main-event attraction. The promotion, co-owned by Carlos Colón, was one of the hottest wrestling territories outside the mainland United States. Crowds packed arenas to see blood-soaked brawls and storylines that blurred the line between real violence and theater. Brody fit perfectly into that environment, but he also disrupted it.
The Growing Tension with José González
Jose Gonzalez/Invader I
The rivalry between Brody and González was more than professional. The two had history dating back to the 1970s. In one infamous encounter, Brody allegedly humiliated González in the ring, roughing him up so badly that it left lasting bitterness.
Wrestler S.D. Jones once recalled González’s chilling words:
“One day I am gonna kill that man.”
By the late 1980s, things worsened. Brody had reportedly discussed buying into the Puerto Rican promotion, a move that could have shifted backstage power away from González and his allies. For González, who was both a top heel and a decision-maker in WWC, this was more than a personal grudge, it was a potential threat to his control.
July 16, 1988 — The Fatal Night in Bayamón
The hot Puerto Rican air was heavy over Juan Ramón Loubriel Stadium in Bayamón on July 16, 1988. Wrestlers filed into the locker room, preparing for another night of the World Wrestling Council’s violent brand of entertainment. For the men who worked there, Puerto Rico was a tough territory with long drives, rabid fans, and a tense backstage environment where business rivalries simmered close to the surface.
That night, Bruiser Brody entered the stadium as he always did, quietly but with an undeniable presence. At nearly 6’8” and close to 300 pounds, with his mane of wild hair and intimidating aura, Brody drew attention even when he wasn’t trying. But those who knew him personally also remembered the other side: a gentle giant who loved his family. Before lacing up his boots, he was showing fellow wrestlers photos of his young son, speaking with pride about his kid.
In that same locker room was José González, a seasoned star in Puerto Rico, better known as Invader I. Unlike Brody, González was not just another wrestler on the card. He had influence backstage, working closely with promoter Carlos Colón and the WWC office. To some, he was a booker and a power broker as much as he was a performer. And for years, González and Brody’s relationship had been tense. Soured by old grudges, bruised egos, and business disputes.
The Call to the Shower
As wrestlers prepared, González approached Brody quietly. According to those present, his tone was calm, almost casual, as he asked Brody to step into the shower area so they could “talk business.” Brody, still holding his gym bag, agreed and followed him in.
The locker room settled back into its rhythm. Gear being pulled on, conversations buzzing. Until a piercing sound shattered the atmosphere…
Tony Atlas, seated nearby, later recalled:
“Brody turned around — he still had his bag in his hand. As soon as the second foot hit the shower I hear this sound, ‘oooowa! ooooowa!’… I looked up and I saw the knife and the blood dripping off it.”
In the cramped, tiled shower space, González had pulled a knife. Witnesses said he drove it into Brody’s stomach, slashing downward. Brody staggered, stunned and bleeding, his massive frame struggling to process what had just happened.
Chaos in the Locker Room
The room exploded in shock. Some wrestlers froze, unable to process that a “fight” in the back wasn’t part of the show. Others scrambled to intervene, but by then the damage was done.
Atlas rushed to Brody’s side. He remembered the giant clutching his side, his voice strained and terrified:
“Brother, I’m hurt. Don’t let them hurt me anymore.”
Blood pooled on the shower tiles as Brody collapsed against the wall. Atlas and others desperately tried to help, but the scene was surreal. This wasn’t the scripted violence of pro wrestling, this was real.
Savio Vega, who was a young wrestler at the time, later reflected on the chaos:
“It was crazy. Nobody knew what to do. Some people acted like nothing happened, others were in shock. The show still had to go on, that’s what they told us.”
A Fight for Life
The call went out for an ambulance, but help was slow to come. Puerto Rican emergency services lagged, and when paramedics finally arrived, they were ill-prepared for Brody’s size.
Atlas recalled furiously carrying Brody himself:
“They couldn’t lift him, so I picked him up. I carried him to the ambulance. He was heavy, but he was my friend. I wasn’t going to let him lay there.”
As they loaded him into the ambulance, Brody remained conscious. According to Atlas, he clutched his hand tightly and whispered:
“Take care of my boy… take care of my family.”
The words chilled Atlas. He would later say that he knew, in that moment, Brody didn’t expect to survive.
At the Hospital
San Juan Hospital
Brody was rushed to Centro Médico de Río Piedras, the main hospital in San Juan. Surgeons operated on him for hours, trying to repair the massive internal injuries. Tony Atlas waited outside, covered in his friend’s blood, begging for updates.
But by the early hours of July 17, the news broke: Frank “Bruiser Brody” Goodish was dead.
He was 42 years old.
Wrestling Goes On
Back at the stadium, the show that night continued. Matches were held as if nothing had happened. The audience in the stands never knew the tragedy that had just occurred behind the curtain.
For Atlas, Mantell, and others who were there, it felt like stepping into a nightmare. A man had just been stabbed in the locker room, and yet the business of wrestling went on, unchanged.
Dutch Mantell summed up the surreal dissonance:
“He’s lying there bleeding, and the guys are still going over finishes. That told me right then… nothing was going to be done about it.”
The Trial of José González
Trial of Jose Gonzalez Results
José González admitted to stabbing Brody but claimed it was self-defense. He was arrested and charged with murder.
But from the beginning, the case was plagued with problems:
- The knife was never recovered.
- Key witnesses never testified.
- The jury pool was filled with Puerto Rican fans familiar with González’s celebrity status.
On January 23, 1989, González was acquitted.
Brody’s widow, Barbara Goodish, later said:
“I know the attacker did it. From what I hear, the whole court case was a sham.”
The Missing Knife
One of the most glaring mysteries was the absence of the murder weapon. Despite multiple eyewitnesses seeing González with the knife, it was never submitted into evidence.
The disappearance of the weapon crippled the prosecution’s case. Without it, they could not directly tie González’s actions to physical evidence, making it easier for the defense to argue self-defense.
For many wrestlers, the missing knife was proof that authorities were protecting one of their own.
Witnesses Silenced by Delay
Tony Atlas and Dutch Mantell were the most crucial eyewitnesses. Both were mailed subpoenas to testify in González’s trial. But those subpoenas were delivered after the trial had already ended.
Mantell revealed:
“The trial was scheduled for January 23, 1989. I still have my subpoena. It was issued 1/3/89, postmarked 1/13/89. I received it on January 24th — the day after the verdict.”
Atlas, who held Brody in his final moments, never testified. The jury never heard that Brody was unarmed, ambushed, and begging for help.
The Disappearing Records
Years later, journalists and historians researching the case discovered that large portions of the official trial transcripts and court records were missing.
This raised suspicion of a cover-up. For Barbara Goodish, Brody’s widow, the missing documents were another cruel reminder that the system had failed. Without those records, historians have been left to reconstruct the trial from memory, scattered notes, and fragmented evidence.
Exploitation in Japan
Stan Hansen receives Bruiser Brody’s chain
In Japan, where Brody was beloved, his death was met with reverence by All Japan Pro Wrestling, who held a memorial at Budokan Hall. Stan Hansen, Brody’s closest friend, was given Brody’s chain in tribute.
But not all tributes were respectful. In another promotion, González appeared in a stabbing storyline that mimicked the real-life murder. For many wrestlers, it was grotesque.
Stan Hansen condemned it, calling it an insult to Brody’s memory. To this day, it remains one of wrestling’s most tasteless examples of blurring fiction with real tragedy.
Why the Case Still Haunts Wrestling
Bruiser Brody Memorial with Family
Bruiser Brody’s death was more than a locker room tragedy. It exposed deep flaws in wrestling’s culture and Puerto Rico’s justice system. A missing knife, silenced witnesses, vanished records, and tasteless exploitation all combined into a story of justice denied.
The questions remain: Why was evidence ignored? Why were witnesses kept out? Why did wrestling move forward as if nothing happened?
For fans, wrestlers, and especially for Brody’s family, the echoes of that night in Bayamón still haunt the sport.