Jimmy De Pierro, known for decades to Vermonters for his colorful personality, his string of unusual occupations, and, more recently, the strange and tragic tale of his famous dog, Mr. Cheeseface, died on Thursday, June 18, in West Burke, following an undisclosed illness. He was 79.
De Pierro grew up in Queens and landed in Vermont in the 1970s. In the ’80s and ’90s he owned a Montpelier pool hall, Jimmy’s Rack N Roll, and also operated a food cart, Jimmy’s Italian Ice, that inspired his signature nickname, “The Iceman.” The fiery Italian with a handlebar mustache was also a founding member of the Vermont Blues Society and, in 1996, ran for Vermont secretary of state as a member of the Grassroots Party, finishing second on a pro-marijuana platform. Later, he made a living as a professional gambler.
But De Pierro’s legacy will be forever tied to his beloved dog, Mr. Cheeseface. De Pierro adopted Mr. Cheeseface as a puppy in California on a road trip in 1969. Working as a messenger in New York City a few years later, dog always in tow, he made a delivery to an animal talent agency. In addition to dropping off headshots of other dogs, De Pierro pitched Mr. Cheeseface, a striking black-and-white mixed breed with a harlequin face whom, with typical De Pierro flair, he described as having “personality up the ass.”
That pitch led to a now-famous and perhaps foreboding gig with the humor magazine National Lampoon.
Mr. Cheeseface was hired as the cover mutt for the mag’s January 1973 Death Issue. He’s pictured from the chest up against a blue background. To the right, the hand of an unseen assailant holds a handgun to the side of the dog’s head at point-blank range. Mr. Cheeseface’s body language, especially the way he side-eyes the gun, gives the uncanny impression that he’s aware of the imminent danger. A caption reads: “If You Don’t Buy This Magazine, We’ll Kill This Dog.”
National Lampoon writers obviously didn’t shoot Mr. Cheeseface. But three years later in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, someone did. The dog’s death remained a pop-culture mystery for four decades, until De Pierro set the record straight in a November 2018 Seven Days cover story.
A topsy-turvy tale of love, drug-addled hippies and a famous, rifle-wielding artist, the true story of Mr. Cheeseface’s murder was wilder than even the internet conspiracy theorists who speculated on it could imagine. And even 40 years later, De Pierro was still racked with grief over it.
“I’m gonna talk your ear off. I digress a lot,” he warned in a 2018 interview, prefacing his story. “And I’m probably gonna cry.”
Wherever De Pierro is now, here’s hoping Mr. Cheeseface is, too. Rest easy, Jimmy.
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