Frank Stallone is Dead.

  I was playing baseball in 5th grade, up the block from my house. There was about 6 of us in a  kid named Wayne Buttner's backyard. The ball was pitched and hit over the stockade fence separating Wayne's yard from the yard behind. Wendy (Wayne's little sister) climbed the fence to see where the ball landed and yells, "Hey guys!!! There's someone sleeping back here!!!"

  We all ran and up the fence we went, 6 kids looking down. Sure as shit, there was a grown man in the fetal position on the ground. He was laying in between the fence & the neighbor's garage. The baseball only inches away. We were in shock. Speechless. Frozen.

  After a minute, I sputtered,  "Hey! Ma..ma..ma..Mister. Wake up!"...and he didn't move. So I said,  "Get me a rock." Wendy hopped down, retrieving a stone, she handed it to me. I looked and all eyes were on me. I counted, "One, two, THREE!!!"...and launched the thing right at his head. We all panicked. Dropping off the fence we ran up the driveway into the street. Regrouping, catching our breath..we slowly walked back into the yard. Hestitating about 20 feet from the fence. Saying nothing, I grabbed another rock, climbed the fence and launched round two, this time only ducking and not jumping off. Slowly, I peered over and down. He still had not moved. I called to my friends to get me a stick.

  Everyone climbed on up, staring down at this man in army fatigues. I climbed higher, with my waist on the points of stockade wood jamming into me, I stretched, arm extended. I poked, my heart pounding in my 11 year old chest. I poked again.  I turned and said, "This guy isn't sleeping. This guy's DEAD! Wayne go get your father."

  Wayne calmly looked at me and said, "No. I can't tell him. I'm not allowed to climb on the fence."

  "What?! Go get HIM!!!"

  "NO!!! My Dad will freak. I'm not allowed to climb on the fence. The only way we could've found this guy is by climbing the fence. I'm gonna get in trouble."

  I couldn't believe it, so I again hopped down. This time running, faster than I had ever ran, down the block and into my house. My mother was making Sunday sauce. I screamed, "Mom!!! Mom, I found a dead guy!!! I found a dead guy!!!"

  My mom, still in her Bel-Air Nursing Home uniform turned, bewildered, "Huh?"

  "A dead guy!!! Me and my friends, we found a guy. He's dead. Behind Wayne's house!! I swear!!!"

  At this moment in time I saw my mom move faster than any other time in my life. Out the house, up the block, over the fence. She touched the guy. Shaking him. Cool as a cucumber, looking up at 6 pairs of eyes wide open. "Wayne, tell your dad to call the police."

  "No, I'll get in trouble.

  "Wayne, get your father, now!!!!!"

  A few minutes later the neighborhood was buzzing. Police cars, fire trucks, an ambulance. Later, a reporter from Newsday even showed up taking statements.

  It ended up that this guy was a Vietnam vet, he had come out to Long Island to surprise his aunt & uncle. They weren't home so he went behind the garage, shot up some dope and overdosed. His name was Frank Stallone.

Not this guy. This guy is still alive.