Life Imitates Art

A major influence in Big Pete’s life was Mario Puzo’s, “The Godfather,” a famed novel about the Corleone Mafia family. Coincidentally, it was also a book I knew well, having particularly recalled the gruesome “horse’s head” in the bed scene. Every Sunday Pete and I spoke for three hours or more while I interviewed him at length about his life as Boss of the Chicago Outlaws Motorcycle Gang. We discussed “The Godfather,” the Mafia, and the symbiotic relationship between The Outlaws and The Outfit. And, as often happens when writing about biker gangs and the players involved, life imitates art.

​
Shortly after finishing The Last Chicago Boss and delivering the manuscript to St. Martin’s for editing, I was startled awake at midnight.  I heard a shuffling outside my front door. I flipped on the hall light, my heart hammering in my chest, and peered through the keyhole. There, on the front stoop, lay a ripped UPS package. I opened the door, stared dully at the plastic wrapped animal skull resting on the top of the box. Antlers poked from the plastic. I stared at the package for several minutes not wanting to flip over the box to study the address for fear of smudging fingerprints. Should I call the cops? And tell them what? There’s a skull on my front porch?  Should I text Pete? Wake him up in the middle of the night? And ask him “what the hell”?  Who would play such a sick joke on me? Don’t my neighbors know what I write for a living?  I paced my hallway in the dark contemplating my options. Finally, I braved flipping over the box. I stared at the return address: China? China? I stared at my address and relief washed over me: the numbers had been transposed. Phew! The box was meant for someone else. Now I was really irritated. What if it was delivered to the wrong neighbor and that neighbor opened it by accident and just assumed it was meant for me? Who in the hell would deliver the animal skull to my front stoop at midnight? It couldn’t have waited until morning? What kind of freakish neighbors do I have anyway? Now I was really pissed. I was more worried about my neighbors now.


I decided to wait until morning to address the skull. I left it on my porch in exactly that condition overnight. I left it there the next morning while I went to work. The freakish bone white skull with the antlers rested on top of the box for the next three hours. I felt a little sick, I felt a little …..like the fictional Jack Woltz who wakes up to the horse’s head in his bed. I texted Pete a photo of the head, along with a “WTF?” in all caps. Pete and I immediately discussed the meaning of the head, reviewing possible scenarios, what did it mean? Who would be sick enough to do blah blah blah. ….finally I summoned the courage to read the name on the address….the head belonged to my neighbor! And when I marched next door with the open box and the skull, she exclaimed, “there it is! I’ve been looking everywhere for that head!”

​