Ferrillo and the Hot Dog

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Growing up in what was essentially a small town, I'm often struck by the patterns of relationships between people. I'm moved by the fact that so many folks know people who I know or whom I have heard of or who my parents and grandparents knew. All kinds of connections (close and distant) to all kinds of people make up the structure of this world.

Sometimes this knowledge goes back ages and has to do with events in the history of our lives. Here's an example of an experience that drove home to me with a jolt the unexpected tenacity of shared knowledge.

When I was about nine or ten, my grandmother said to me, "You shouldn't eat right before you go to bed. It's not good. There was a man, Joe Ferrillo, who ate a hot dog, went to sleep and died."

I didn't know who Joe Ferrillo was, but I imagined that he was some old-timer who lived on the southwest side of town and was numbered among my grandparents' minor acquaintances. The only reason I recalled the name "Ferrillo" is because there were a couple of Ferrillos in my class and because the name was not uncommon in the area.

Through the years, what my grandmother told me has stayed in my mind. I can't say that I thought about it a lot and I can't say that I've always taken her advice not to eat before going asleep. It was just a "factoid" that comes to me, maybe once every few years, for whatever reason: "Joe Ferrillo ate a hot dog, went to sleep and died."

That's it - one sentence, deep inside the haze of my childhood. I had never mentioned it to anybody. Why should I? It may never have happened. Who knows? Who cares! It was not important, even if I might be the only person alive today who had heard of Joe Ferrillo and the hot dog. It's probably lost in the depths of history.

One evening, about thirty-five years after I'd heard of Ferrillo's death-by-hot-dog, I was over my friend Nicky Addeo's house. A couple more of my uncle Danny's childhood friends were present - Louie Scalpati, Sal Beredesco (these guys are a few years older than I am). I don't recall what made me say what I did - perhaps it was late and Nicky offered me something to eat. Or perhaps someone said they were going to save some food for later. I said, almost as a dumb private joke or utterance, "You don't want to end up like Ferrillo who ate a hot dog, went to sleep and died." Sal immediately chimed in: "Naw, Ferrillo ate some bad meat - that's what killed him."

And so - miracle of miracles - Ferrillo lives - he had always lived - outside my own mind - along with his fateful dog.

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