Some Thoughts on the 99th Annual Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy

Sausage and peppers sandwich

Having worked the San Gennaro Feast in Little Italy for the past several years, I’ve seen a side of the celebration that most visitors never stop to consider.

It’s easy to criticize the festival, and the complaints aren't unfounded: the noise is relentless, the crowds overwhelming, and the prices seem to go up every year. The common refrain is always the same: “It used to be better.” “It’s not like it used to be.” “The neighborhood has changed.” And in many ways, all of that is true. But what often gets overlooked is the deeper reality: after 99 years, the Feast of San Gennaro is still alive, still vibrant, still carried forward with the same devotion, fire, and joy that gave birth to it nearly a century ago.

More than just food, I found a statue of San Gennaro at the Italian American
Emporium and a copy of Gaetano Cipolla's Giovanni Meli: Social Critic
(Legas, 2020) at the Italian American Museum 

Yes, there are vendors and hustlers chasing dollars, but there are also people who show up out of pure devotion to the saint, pride in their heritage, and love for the tradition. You see it at the Mass, in the grand procession, and at the musical stage where our favorite Neapolitan songs mingle with American standards, bridging generations and cultures.

One thing that rarely makes it into the conversation is how deeply people depend on the festival. Behind the flashing lights and carnival barkers are small business owners whose livelihoods hinge on these eleven days. One longtime shopkeeper confided to me that 80% of his annual income comes from San Gennaro. Without it, his store would close for good. For him—and many others—the feast is not just a tradition, but survival.

(L) I've noticed an increasing number of "shoulder buddies" weaving
through the crowds with snakes, parrots, lizards, and whatever the heck this
strange creature was. (R) Radio Man with my good buddy Nicky "Cheese"

There’s an immense amount of blood, sweat, and tears poured into making it all happen. From the crews setting up and managing the stalls to the society volunteers organizing the sacred elements, it’s a monumental effort fueled as much by grit as by faith.

Then there are the characters. Every year brings its own parade of not just floats, but people—some famous, some infamous, all unforgettable. In the span of a few days, I crossed paths with a couple of B-list celebrities, one A-list actress, an NFL quarterback, a former porn star (along with a very creepy fan stalking her), and a steady stream of influencers documenting every fried-dough bite. I even met mayoral hopeful Curtis Sliwa, in his trademark red beret.

Soppressata and provolone panini

Celebrity culture doesn’t impress me much, but I can’t help but marvel at how star-struck others become in these moments. In fact, if not for the fans' reactions, I wouldn't know who half these people are. What surprises me more is how often these public figures turn out to be approachable, even humble—reminding us that behind the stage lights and Instagram filters, they’re just people trying to enjoy the feast like everyone else.

Despite all the criticisms and all the ways the feast has “changed,” I can’t help but feel grateful that it continues at all. In a city where so many traditions have vanished under the weight of rising rents and shifting demographics, San Gennaro remains—imperfect, yes, but enduring. It’s a living reminder of the Italian spirit, of faith woven into food and community, of devotion dressed up with neon lights and sausage smoke.

Philly cheesesteak sandwich

As we look toward its 100th anniversary next year, I hope people see beyond the carnival surface to the deeper story unfolding in Little Italy every September: a story of resilience, devotion, and the messy, beautiful persistence of tradition. Evviva San Gennaro!

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 19th, The Feast of San Gennaro

(L-R) Charm displays range from simple to ornate

(L) Unable to visit the cemetery, I set up a small shrine at work to honor
my late mother on the anniversary of her death. (R) I'm eagerly anticipating
reading The Sicilian Puppet Theater of Agrippino Manteo (1884-1947)
by Jo Ann Cavallo (Anthem Press, 2022)

Steak and provolone panini

Blood sausage (morcilla) sandwich

(L-R) Deep-fried Oreo and zeppole

Sfogliatella

Brioche con gelato