Ryan Medeiros
Active Member
My memory of who and what I was begin at my first memories of life.
It began with a dream, a dream I had every night, the details never changing. I was a very small toddler, many will say there's no way an adult can remember memories of being a small child. When they're so heavily imprinted on you though those memories never leave you.
It begins with a person I know is me being driven down a long corral driveway I am seated in the back with a driver and passenger in front. I'm an older gentleman I'm well dressed I'm wearing a nice sports jacket and wraparound dark tinted glasses on my head.
I know I'm in Florida as I'm driven down a long corral driveway there are palm trees on either side of the driveway as we drive there is a body of water in the distance. At the end of the driveway we come to a white sort of bar looking building, the most distinguishing feature is the door to enter. It's like a door you would see in an Old West saloon open space on the top and bottom with two separate doors that meet in the middle. I walk through the door ahead of the men who drove me as I do the dream ends as I know it was then that I was murdered.
As I grew up I started having a strange fascination with a certain subject that really didn't make sense as to why. December 16th 1985 I just turned 8 years old. I'm sitting on the floor of my babysitters living room playing with her daughter while her father watches tv. Suddenly a special report comes on ABC news with Peter Jennings. In midtown Manhattan in front of Sparks Steak House boss of the Gambino Mafia family Paul Castellano is assassinated along with his bodyguard. The word Mafia is spoken my attention goes from the toys I'm playing with to full attention on what's being reported. I don't know how but there's something I know about this word Mafia.
Over the years as a child this is a term I thought about over and over. My uncles wife is full blooded Sicilian and her sister is married to a guy I always called Uncle Frank. There was something about him that I just loved. I'd go to his house as I was close to his daughter the house was a mansion in ground pool, video game room with actual arcade games middle of a weekday Uncle Frank is lounging by the pool working on his tan. One day I ask my Aunt what does Uncle Frank do for a living? Her reply, laughter with her only words oh that Frank. Not long after I asked my mother what is the Mafia? Her answer bad guys who kill people. I knew instinctively that answer wasn't quite right.
Fast forward to the mid to late 90's and I see the movie Goodfellas from that day on I absorbed anything Mafia. Television, movies, books, documentaries it didn't matter I just couldn't get enough. One day I pick up a book at the library called "All American Mafioso" and on the cover I'm staring at the man "me" I continually drempt about as a toddler.
Johnny Roselli is the man I'm staring at and the connection I feel is instantaneous. Reading Johnny's story confirms more and more that this was me. Johnny was murdered in Florida in July of 1976 his body found in an oil drum in Dumbfoundling Bay, I was born about a year later. Johnny grew up with his family in Boston I was born and raised about an hour away in Rhode Island. Reading about the man he was, the way he was just more confirmation that I was Johnny.
It began with a dream, a dream I had every night, the details never changing. I was a very small toddler, many will say there's no way an adult can remember memories of being a small child. When they're so heavily imprinted on you though those memories never leave you.
It begins with a person I know is me being driven down a long corral driveway I am seated in the back with a driver and passenger in front. I'm an older gentleman I'm well dressed I'm wearing a nice sports jacket and wraparound dark tinted glasses on my head.
I know I'm in Florida as I'm driven down a long corral driveway there are palm trees on either side of the driveway as we drive there is a body of water in the distance. At the end of the driveway we come to a white sort of bar looking building, the most distinguishing feature is the door to enter. It's like a door you would see in an Old West saloon open space on the top and bottom with two separate doors that meet in the middle. I walk through the door ahead of the men who drove me as I do the dream ends as I know it was then that I was murdered.
As I grew up I started having a strange fascination with a certain subject that really didn't make sense as to why. December 16th 1985 I just turned 8 years old. I'm sitting on the floor of my babysitters living room playing with her daughter while her father watches tv. Suddenly a special report comes on ABC news with Peter Jennings. In midtown Manhattan in front of Sparks Steak House boss of the Gambino Mafia family Paul Castellano is assassinated along with his bodyguard. The word Mafia is spoken my attention goes from the toys I'm playing with to full attention on what's being reported. I don't know how but there's something I know about this word Mafia.
Over the years as a child this is a term I thought about over and over. My uncles wife is full blooded Sicilian and her sister is married to a guy I always called Uncle Frank. There was something about him that I just loved. I'd go to his house as I was close to his daughter the house was a mansion in ground pool, video game room with actual arcade games middle of a weekday Uncle Frank is lounging by the pool working on his tan. One day I ask my Aunt what does Uncle Frank do for a living? Her reply, laughter with her only words oh that Frank. Not long after I asked my mother what is the Mafia? Her answer bad guys who kill people. I knew instinctively that answer wasn't quite right.
Fast forward to the mid to late 90's and I see the movie Goodfellas from that day on I absorbed anything Mafia. Television, movies, books, documentaries it didn't matter I just couldn't get enough. One day I pick up a book at the library called "All American Mafioso" and on the cover I'm staring at the man "me" I continually drempt about as a toddler.
Johnny Roselli is the man I'm staring at and the connection I feel is instantaneous. Reading Johnny's story confirms more and more that this was me. Johnny was murdered in Florida in July of 1976 his body found in an oil drum in Dumbfoundling Bay, I was born about a year later. Johnny grew up with his family in Boston I was born and raised about an hour away in Rhode Island. Reading about the man he was, the way he was just more confirmation that I was Johnny.