Gallo Port[al] to Hell!

Another True Confession: It was summer-time, I think – 1969 or 1970. I don’t recall my Dad being around, and he died in January, 1970, so it was probably that year, though I do recall that I was 17, so that puts it in 1969. So, I have no clue, but somewhere around then. The last thing I remember was being on my knees on the Makowski’s front lawn. I woke up the next day in my bed. About 5 of us had gone down to Hook Creek, along the Belt Parkway, with a gallon of Gallo Port. Later, we went down to Butch’s basement where we drank some more – some homemade stuff his grandfather had made. Awful, I might add. Then, I was on my knees and everything was spinning. Before I arrived in my bed, my cohorts – and, I have no recollection of any of this – all I know is what was recounted to me – walked and/or dragged me up to the McDonald’s about a mile, or so away, and tried to get me to drink coffee. The cops arrived. They thought I’d been using drugs. They put me up against a wall and shined a flashlight in my eyes. They checked my arms for needle tracks. They let me – and us – go. My cohorts walked/dragged me back to the neighborhood. Was Neil Facci there? James Dougherty & Frank Lima decided to try to carry me in through my front door and up the stairs to my room. Trouble is, my Mom had fallen asleep watching the TV waiting for me to come home. Lord knows what time it might have been. So, Doc & Bean, drunk themselves, tried a stealth maneuver to slip in the foyer, past sleeping Mom, and get me up the stairs. They dropped me, made a commotion, and my poor, dear Mother awoke to 3 stumbling, bumbling, drunk kids, one of whom was her son in a deep stupor. It’s funny now, but I’m sure it wasn’t to her back then. She exclaimed something to the effect of, “Is he on acid?!?” Oh boy, so sorry, Mom. What times those were. Don’t remember a thing. Just woke up the next day in my bed with a major hangover. It was maybe 35 years later that I was able to SIP wine again.

Addendum from one who was there:

Louie Dulci was also on that “attempting to sober Federici” expedition. As I recall, Butch was not because he never made it out of his basement. We brought you to McDonalds to attempt to get coffee into you but had a difficult time getting you to stand upright. Of course by then the smell of the homemade port subsided and being that the immediate area in Rosedale was a big drug users hangout, the police couldn’t believe that you had only wine dancing through your bodily tubes. I am very suprised that they let us walk (carry) you away.
In the end, although I considered myself a pretty good fast talker, I could not calm your mother. (Frank ran as soon as your mom stirred.) So I left you in a heap on the stairs and rambled on apologeticaly walking backwards with my hands up in a defensive posture while your mother screamed. Essentially, being that we could do nothing more, you were left for dead……either from the grape poison or from your mom. My greatest fear was that she would scream the chant. of death…’JIIIM!!!”‘
The following morning I remember searching for Eddie M’s shoes along Brookville Blvd. I didn’t ask then and I will not ask now how he lost his shoes.
~~~ Jamie Doc

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