Al Petraglia was looking forward to his Christmas-week visit to Rao’s. He’d get to see his childhood buddy, Ron Straci, and share some memories and some chicken scarparielli.
But he ended up getting more than he bargained for when gunplay chilled the warm, festive atmosphere of the exclusive East Harlem eatery.
Petraglia, 57, chief clerk of Nassau County Surrogate’s Court, landed in the hospital with bullet fragments in his left foot – and some painful new memories to share with his lifelong friend.
He had dropped in at Rao’s after a busy day that included a stop at St. Raymond’s Cemetery in the Bronx to visit his parents’ graves.
After exchanging hugs with his pal Straci, 67, he sat down at the bar, where he sipped Pellegrino and swapped small talk with bartender, Nicky “Vests.”
It was about 9 p.m., and opera singer Michael Amante had just finished entertaining guests, when two diners got up from their table near the entrance.
Petraglia and Straci sat down and started reminiscing and talking about their families and their holiday plans.
They were so tuned in to their conversation, they didn’t hear Broadway singer Rena Strober perform “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” or reputed mobster Albert Circelli heckle her from the bar, or local hood Louis Barone defend her and then go ballistic when Circelli turned on him.
They first realized there was trouble when they heard a shot and saw Circelli heading their way just ahead of Barone.
“He ran past me, he hit the wall right behind me and spun around and fell onto his back at my feet,” Petraglia said. “When I looked down at him, that’s when I heard the other shot that hit me in the foot.”
“Then the other guy, the shooter, came running past like a blur. There was a cop car right on the corner . . . so when the guy ran out I assume they jumped out and caught him.”
Petraglia’s eyes were glued to the body of 37-year-old Circelli lying motionless at his feet.
“I knew he was pretty much gone. His eyes were open, his mouth was open,” said Petraglia.
“When the cops got there, they opened up his shirt and there was no blood. The only blood on the floor was mine!
“The bullet had stopped in his chest. They rolled him over while I was sitting there, and there was a clean hole in his back. I heard one of them say, ‘It looks like this guy is gone.’
“He was staring up at me and I was staring down at him. I felt sorry because I was going to the hospital and I knew he was going to the morgue.”
Petraglia couldn’t believe the pain in his foot. “It was like someone driving a spike with a hammer through your foot,” he said.
He spent four hours in an operating room at Metropolitan Hospital, where several bullet fragments were removed and some were left in.
When Petraglia called his wife, May, to tell her he’d been shot, he started by saying, “Hi, Slim. We’re not going to see the tree tomorrow.”
Petraglia went home Wednesday on crutches, his foot in a cast.
“I think we all feel that it could have been a lot worse,” he said.
“If the guy had decided to empty that gun, if he had opened up and started spraying the place, I can only imagine what would have happened.” (p. 7 Metro)