It's odd how some events tattoo themselves in crystal clarity in your memory.
On the evening of December 8th, 1980, my wife, Anne, our friend Kathy, and I were sitting in our apartment on West 87th Street, slightly bored. We decided to go out and find something to do. So we went out, despite the cold weather. We were intrepid New Yorkers after all, having arrived six years before from NC and Pa. Fearless city veretans, that was us.
We walked over Central Park West, flagged a cab, and rode to 5th Avenue and 32nd street to see the legendary holiday displays in the department stores in Mid Town Manhattan. We saw Lord & Taylor, Bonwit Teller, Tiffany's, Macy's, Bergdorf Goodman, Bloomingdale's, plus hundreds of smaller shops in between. It was like peeking in at a hundred different fantasies of Christmas. I tried to take some pictures. Considering that I lost my light meter somewhere on 6th Avenue, shivering in the cold, and without a tripod, you can imagine how they turned out. We still have them.
The People's Republic of China Trade Exhibition was in town. This was a big deal. It was their first time in the capacity of a trading partner of the US, not as a political adversary. (You can see, 25 years later, the sales pitch worked.) A giant fireworks show was planned to celebrate the occassion in Central Park. Cold, tired, but still intrepid, we walked into the park, took up station on some kiddy swings and watched the show. We were aware that the park at night wasn't safe, but figured that the security provided to the Chinese and the icy weather would keep the bad guys away. We were right. There were no muggers lurking to do us harm.
Dazzled by the fireworks and only a few dozen blocks from home, we set out to get warm. Our path took us to Central Park West. We walked past the Dakota and 15 blocks later, we were home. It took around 15 to 20 minutes, total. We turned on the TV to get the weather for the next day. The 11 o'clock news was coming on. The special bulletins began. John Lennon, shot in the doorway of the Dakota. Just before 11:00. At the corner of W72 and CPW. Minutes after we passed by. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. We went back to 72nd Street in shock, thinking that if we had looked at one more window, walked one more block, we might have seen the murder, might have prevented it. Yes, we were just intrepid enough to try. But the "might-have-beens" will never be. The regrets are palpable.
Instantly, people began to gather at the scene of the tragedy, some on foot like us, some from the subway tunnels. We could see hardened New Yorkers with tears freezing. We could and still can hear the quiet sobbing. For days they came, a living memorial to John Lennon, singing and crying in the street.
The loss was felt immediately then and is felt today. A sick person committed a crime against the world. We were robbed after all.
Teeb