One summer morning when I was only 6 or 7 years old, it seemed as though every one of my mother's lady friends came calling on her, not all at once, but throughout the morning. Each one had the same horrific news to tell: "Concettina died this morning!" Each time this news was reported, my mother and the friend crossed themselves and clucked that Concettina was too young to die, and how now her beautiful vegetable garden would surely go to seed and disappear.

How could this have happened, they all wondered. The woman was not ill, and only yesterday she was working in her garden. Well, it seems that the garden itself was her undoing! While pounding in a tomato stake, it seems Concettina got a very large splinter in her arm or hand, and before nightfall was hospitalized, and by morning she was dead. No one ever really explained what happened, but a good guess is that "lockjaw" set in (a.k.a. tetanus).

As a child overhearing this, the event instilled in me a rather unreasonable fear of splinters. I walked around for weeks doing everything I could to avoid getting a splinter. My brother Nick wasn't so careful--but luckily his splinter didn't prove fatal.

When I first told this story to my children, they were not truly convinced that this wasn't a bit of exaggeration (which I admit I am prone to), but I know that the story is true--and I have a second source who can verify it! Concettina lived on Lansing Avenue, and so did Alice Vicarel Marchione. Ask her what she remembers about Concettina. The last time I saw Alice (the weekend we moved from Ohio) I asked her if she remembered Concettina. Alice replied, "Oh yes--she died from a splinter!"

And although I can't, Alice can even tell you Concettina's last name!!