The pseudonymous chap behind the Sump Plug blog has been doing some excellent blogging on wider Savileana. Try this, on his Transpennine nightclub empire:
Isn’t it supposed to be the heavies on the door who put the squeeze on the management? Not under Jimmy Savile’s regime. He had a whole crew of moonlighting miners, Eastern European bodybuilders — the one at the Mecca in Leeds was called László — and wrestlers at his permanent beck and call. Proper wrestlers they were, an' all, not mere dilettantes like Savile was during his stint as a novelty grappler. ne of the three wrestling Crabtree brothers, Shirley, was among them — then still a sheer cliff of muscle billed as Blond Adonis or Mister Universe, many years before he turned to fat and reinvented himself as Big Daddy. Whenever trouble broke out on the dance floor, Crabtree would pick up the miscreants, bundle one under each arm like rolls of carpet and carry them outside. "Yow've been naughteh boys. Very, very naughteh boys.”
My Mancunian late nighters were two or three decades later, but the atmosphere is utterly familiar. It's always been a hard city, in a way that doesn't necessarily mean though never actually excludes physical violence.
Anyway, if that's not enough here's a reminescence of the days when Jimmy used to hang out with J Paul Getty and Arnold Schwartzenegger. There's also a special guest appearance by Kenneth Anger, though I think that's chucked in out of sheer exuberance.