On a scorching Friday afternoon in early June, Sal’s townhouse stands identical to the other homes that form a maze of a neighborhood. From the outside, nothing suggests that the person who lives there is unusual.
But the inside tells an uncommon story. Photographs adorn the four walls on the ground floor. Framed on the left of the door, Sal stands beside supermodels, actors, and actresses like Kathy Ireland, Carrie Fisher, Nick Nolte, and Nicole Kidman.
A desk in the corner is buried underneath more photographs. A pizza chef statue stands proudly. A black leather couch stretches out beneath a window; on either side, Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe is mounted onto the wall. And framed newspaper clippings are scattered across the remaining wall space, each featuring the same name somewhere on the page: Sal Ruffino.
Sal Ruffino, 74, has lived in Durham since 1977. It’s been nearly 50 years—and yet, his origins leave no room for ambiguity. If you saw him, you would recognize his Italian roots immediately: tan skin, dark features. If you heard him, the New Yawk accent would catch your attention.
He’s a man who has lived many lives. He’s opened restaurants, dabbled in real estate, and appeared in about 20 movies and television shows, including The Sopranos.
So, how did The Sopranos character, Chucky Signore, end up at the front desk of Duke University’s Brodie Gym?
Sal grew up in 1950s New York City, as it was experiencing a building boom. Each morning, he followed his father to work on construction sites. Back then, construction workers could drink on the job, and Sal would fetch the empty bottles and collect their deposits—a big bottle was five cents; a small bottle was two.
Eventually, Sal earned enough to buy a shoeshine box and made himself busy attracting customers. “I messed up a lot of socks back in those days,” he says.
He worked in pizza parlors in Brooklyn until he opened his own restaurant in New Jersey in 1972. It was a one hour commute each way, every day. Soon, he opened more restaurants, including pizza places on Broadway and in Grand Central Station. He and his wife, Linda, ran a beauty salon.
“He knew when the time was right to get involved in something,” says his daughter Danielle Bagley, “and he also saw the writing on the wall when it was time to move on.”
In other words, he’s a man of opportunity. That’s how we got his first acting job, too.
On August 22, 1972, Sal was driving down Ocean Parkway with his brother-in-law. Cop cars whizzed past them, streaking down the boulevard. Curious, the pair followed until they arrived at the Chase Manhattan bank, which was swarmed with activity. Someone had taken the employees hostage.
A year later, Sal was driving in his neighborhood. A camera crew on Prospect Avenue caught his attention, and so, once again, he stopped. They were filming “Dog Day Afternoon,” a movie based on the earlier bank robbery. It starred a young Al Pacino. Sal volunteered himself as an extra.
But, mostly, his mind was on his businesses, and he wanted to move his restaurants into shopping malls. He heard of an opportunity in Durham, sold what he had on the East Coast, and brought his wife and three-year-old Danielle to North Carolina.
Sal opened pizzerias, Italian eateries, and Subway franchises, among others.
“I was very ambitious growing up, always very motivated. Not so hungry for the old almighty dollar, but to want to—.” He pauses. “Come on down here,” he says, descending, once again, into his cave of wonders.
Pulling a folder from a cabinet, Sal sits on the leather couch. He is gentle as he lifts the newspaper clippings and old photographs.
Nobody down here was making pizza, he says. So, he made an advertisement in the Italian newspaper in New York for “pizzaiolo,” or “pie men” in English. Sal brought Italians down to North Carolina—pizza chefs who knew the trade—gave them room and board and paid them well.
“They would come down here, but they were all running from something,” he says. “They were running from the mob, they were running from the law, running from their wives.”
These sorts of men weren’t unfamiliar to him. He grew up with mafia families in Brooklyn: the Gambinos, the Gallos, the Columbos.
“They were friends,” Sal says. “They were.”
When he moved to North Carolina, he started taking acting classes at Raleigh Theatre and got himself an agent.
If you met Sal, you would understand why acting beckoned him. He holds himself tall, and he is muscular. He’s well dressed—his shorts and shirt are crisp, not a crease. He is a charismatic, commanding storyteller.
“Every time they had a picture with any kind of mob element to it, my agent would call me up: ‘Sal, get your suits,’” he says. “I was right out of Brooklyn. I can relate.”
Actors who played mafia characters often hung out in bars in Greenwich Village. Casting directors were told, “If you ever need wise guys, go to Mary Lou’s,” Sal says. And naturally, he himself was familiar with the bar. One evening, Tony Sirico told him about a new role he’d landed.
“I got The Sopranos,” Sirico told him.
“What the f— is The Sopranos?” Sal asked. “You don’t sing.”
Once he realized it was about crime and not a choir, Sal slipped a headshot under the casting director’s door.
He played Chucky Signore in season one of the show. A member of Junior Soprano’s crew, he does Junior’s dirty work. But as much as he tries to hide it, you can still see the softness in his eyes.
Sal wasn’t sure how many episodes he would get, so he was delighted every time he was given lines for another. He featured in three.
But in the (unlucky) 13th episode of the season, the show’s main character, Tony Soprano, shot down Chucky and dumped him over the side of a boat.
Sal was disappointed when he got word of Chucky’s fate. But he still laughs as he shares stories from his time on set.
In episode 12, they were filming a scene in a real funeral home. (They liked to be authentic where possible, Sal says.) The owner, apparently offended by the coarse dialogue, said: “Hey, hey, hey, hey, you can’t be cussing at my funeral home.”
For three hours the owner and the producer hashed it out. But the owner refused to allow them to keep filming. In a matter of hours, they had the crew moved to Silvercup Studio in Queens—casket, flowers, and all.
Eventually, Sal moved on from his businesses and acting career, and retired with Linda. Five years ago, she passed away. “I was just beside myself,” he says. “We were married 52 years. She was my honey, my sweetie pie.”
He explains how he courted her, that he worked hard for her. “And she was every bit worthy of it,” he says. Eyes glassy, he sinks into the couch and looks away.
A friend suggested he work at Brodie Gym—something to keep his mind busy, and anyway, he likes the gym. And so, four days a week, you can find Sal at the front desk, cheerfully greeting students and Durham residents.
“At first, we were like, ‘What the hell?’” Danielle says. “We’re Carolina fans.”
Sal knows the regular gymgoers by name, and as he makes a headcount, he stops to ask how they are doing. He’s on the gym floor helping people with equipment. When Sal’s at work, it feels less like a gym and more like a community.
Outside of work, Sal spends time with his family. Images of Danielle and her younger sister Sabrina are scattered around the living room. Danielle lives in Chapel Hill, and Sabrina in Raleigh—so he sees them often. They talk every day, too.
He also is dedicated to his four grandchildren, who call him “Nono.” The oldest—Gabby, 19—says he attended every one of her high school soccer games. On Sundays, Gabby and her younger sister have dinner with him. He even watches Gossip Girl in his spare time so that he can debrief with the girls afterwards.
But the folks at the gym are family too. When his day ends at Brodie Gym, Sal gathers his things and trades seats with the person coming in for their shift. As he makes his way around the desk and through the front entrance, he pauses. “Arrivederci!” he says, with a wave.
Ellery Rodriguez, a colleague of Sal’s and a Duke undergraduate student, says he “reminds me of my own grandpa.” Sal, she says, “breathes a spark into a job that doesn’t require you to have one.”
Pictured above: Sal Ruffino poses with actor Nicole Kidman. The walls of his home are dotted with photos of him with celebrities.