They Day They Shot John Lennon…I was There

#2 in a series of stories drawn from my memoirs

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“This subscription newsletter serves a demographic of highly intelligent readers, deep thinkers, life hackers, preppers, entrepreneurs, and survivalists. I especially focus on those with a passion for ideas, critical thinking, self-awareness, healing, the arts, personal development, and a desire to understand the world around them.

Readers of my posts are usually tired of being patronized elsewhere by fact-less, opinionated know-nothings, misinformation, conspiracy theories, and fake news.

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This is #2 of a series of true stories from, what I am told has been a very interesting life.

Here is the Introduction to this series - life story.

Against the Wind - The Memoirs of Lewis Harrison.

We All Have Our Best Life Stories to Share - This is Mine

Maybe this will motivate you to begin writing your own memoirs?

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On a personal note: Please excuse grammatical errors, typos, repetition, and any general nonsense, and such in this post. I am getting a bit older now, and I have about 20,000 pages of information that must get published before I leave the mortal coil. I simply write and publish more than my humble editors are able to correct. If you find enough errors you are welcome to contact me about being an editor of my work.

Thanks for sharing this newsletter with your friends and associates -

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A 3 minute read

It’s never a positive memory, to recall being at a place and time where a tragedy occurred. I know, for I have experienced this.

December 8, 1980 began like any other day. It had been about 18 months since I moved to my new apartment off of Central Park West, directly diagonal to the Dakota apartments.

The Dakota is a cooperative apartment building at 1 West 72nd Street on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. The building is a National Historic Landmark as well as being designated a city landmark by the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission.

Occupying the western side of Central Park West between 72nd and 73rd Streets the Dakota apartments has historically been home to the rich and famous, including many artists, actors, and musicians. John Lennon and Yoko Ono lived there.

Each day I would walk across Central Park to my office between 5th Avenue and Madison Avenue at 13 East 71st Street. As I did this walk, I would usually pass in front of the Dakota apartments where a large crowd of teenagers and tourists would be gathered waiting to see the former Beatle, John Lennon and his wife Yoko Ono who lived in the building

This was an unusual day for me. Usually I would go to the office early in the morning and then return late in the evening. The walk from my home to office was only about 15 minutes. On this particular day, I only had three clients, spread out from morning to evening. With one early client, another in the afternoon, and the final one in the evening. So spread out, were they that I decided to walked back and forth across the park three times. Each time I did this I would pass on the Dakota side of the street. I would watch fans crowding the sidewalk waiting for the Lennons to come and go. I must have walked within feet with the man who, with Catcher in the Rye in hand, would murder John Lennon in a few hours.

When my workday ended I walked past the Dakota yet again and went for my dinner at a restaurant across the street named Hisae’s.  Hisae’s was one of those places that rate high with  hipsters, after a write-up in the New York Times, or in a slick GLBT magazine. Soon the lines form around the block and you need to make a reservation, and wait behind a velvet rope as to eat there.

The place, which had an understated elegance about it, was run by Hisae, a very sweet older Japanese woman with a thick accent who had combined a type of Asian Fusian natural food menu, with a Surf and turf list for those inclined towards that style of eating. My favorite dish was the bean sprouts and Broccoli on a bed of brown rice with melted cheddar cheese dripping in and out of it. Hisae had opened a number of these places in the City, one in Greenwich Village, another on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, and still another down the block from my new apartment. This entrance of the last one sat directly across from the main entrance of the Dakota.

On this particular evening, I ordered my usual dish with a ginger ale, cranberry and pineapple juice spritzer as my beverage. As I waited patiently for my meal to arrive, I noticed, about 20 minutes after ordering that the entire dining room was empty of staff – there were no bus boys, no waiters, and no Matrie‘d. All of the many patrons looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders in wonder.  It seemed very strange. Where had the staff disappeared?

With my patience wearing thin, I arose and walked over to the front of the place to possibly learn where everyone was. There was no staff to be found. Frustrated, I decided to leave, and that is when I saw the entire staff, waiters, bus boys and girls, bar tenders, and even the kitchen crew in chef hats crushed together in the front of the restaurant, bobbing their heads over under, and around other each other competing to stare out of the front door. Behind them a few staff members were crying, or sitting in a crouching position, with backs against the wall and faces buried in their hands.  An older waitress was sitting cross legged on the floor heaving and wailing.

“What's going on?” I asked the first person who looked at me as I approached.

“John Lennon's just been shot.”

I joined the crowd looking out the glass door, and being taller than most of them I and could see an ambulance across the street with its red lights flashing. A few cops were walking back and forth trying to get a sense of the situation, as a crowd formed.

One of the other restaurant guests asked me what was happening, and I repeated what I had just been told.

“John Lennon has just been shot!”

I worked my way, slowly and politely to the door and I left the restaurant, feeling I had been transported into an episode of the Twilight Zone. I shuffled home, and turned on the television. Of course, the shooting was the main story on every news station. I didn't know the details about the killer, or why he had shot Lennon. I only knew that this hero to millions had been shot, and according to the news report, was now dead. His expiration had transpired during the time it took me to walk home, and ride the elevator to my apartment. About five minutes total.

I have been a major fan of The Beatles since I was a kid. Though I lived across the street from him, I had never seen or met Lennon, though many locals had.  Many autographed pictures of him were displayed in the windows of the local merchants.

Over the next few days Lennon’s murder was the dominant story on every front page. On every news story, on radio, and television. It was everywhere, repeated endlessly with new data points added to the story as they appeared. I could give you details about the killer, and his “so-called motivation” but why give him any more attention than is necessary. Of course, you can easily learn more now. You can Google it. There was no Google in 1980.

By the following morning 72nd street between Central Park West and Columbus was already filled with mourners, and curiosity seekers, and was getting fuller by the second. By the end of the day there were thousands of people on the, now closed off street crying, sharing their favorite John Lennon and Beatles stories, and singing “Imagine” in unison.

Within Forty-Eight Hours this crowd had spilled over into Central Park with thousands and thousands of people having formed a community of grief for beloved John.

Cafe LaFortuna

A few weeks after John’s assassination, I walked into the small Italian Café, “LaFortuna”  that I often frequented, after I finished dinner at Hisae’s. Cafe LaFortuna was a special little place at 69 West 71st Street. Run by an Italian born, American postal worker, with a passion for his home country, opera, and fine Italian desserts, it consisted of a 30’ by 20’ main room and a ten for long passageway that led to a lovely outdoor garden.

John and Yoko Ono, myself, and many of the artists and their fans who performed at Lincoln Center, about five blocks away, came here for the desserts, authentic Sicilian hot chocolate (bitter sweet and thick as mud), and everything else La Fortuna had to offer in vide and ambience.  In the corner of the main room was a big screen television, that played videos of the great operas beginning at opening time (about noon) to closing, which was usually about 2:00 am.

The cafe, which opened its doors in 1976, had a photograph of John and Yoko in the window, and really had a sense of a small village cafe in the big city. There were of course the regulars. The great ballerina and choreographer Suzanne Farrell, lived a block away, and could often be found there.

At La Fortuna you would also find various painters, actors, singers, sculptors, writers, poets, and opera singers, schmoozing. The place was loud and quiet at the same time.  One of favorite patrons was a very tall blonde woman; a decade past college age, who would sit for hours, by the side wall that was covered  with sepia-toned, autographed photos of the opera greats. There she sat, looking up for just a moment and nodding to me, as she sipped an espresso, and returned to reading one of the very long classics that seemed to be her passion. She would slowly turn the pages of “War and Peace”, “Artamène ou le Grand Cyrus”, or “In Search of Lost Time”, as Caruso’s voice filled the room over the sound system.

Then there were the high school kids on their first dates drinking icy cappuccinos, and sharing ricotta cheesecake, and other indulgent pastries in the garden. One of the secrets I was told by a waiter was that pastries were always from Venerio bakery
that still remains today on the lower east side.

Right next to these kids might be a celebrity hiding from the paparazzi, next to loners filling the pages of their journals, and on the next table a hipster poet with a gray goatee and beret, talking about his days at Columbia University hanging with Allen Ginsburg, William Burroughs, and the other “Beats”.

Two weeks after John was killed I walked into La Fortuna for my regular triple chocolate treat, or should I say triple chocolate threat; chocolate ices, with a scoop of dark chocolate gelato on top, and a cup of what I call their Sicilian Hot Chocolate Mud beverage – Thick, slightly bitter-sweet, and magnificent.

As I walked through the small table lined hall that connected the main room to the garden I saw my friend Gerard sitting with a small Asian women. I knew Gerard from a decade earlier, where we had attended a small community college in upstate NY. I greeted him and he returned the greeting. It took a few seconds before I realized the woman he was sharing the table with was Yoko Ono.  Gerard introduced us.  I felt a bit awkward, and simply said what came naturally to me in the moment. “I'm so sorry for your loss. John’s death was a great loss for the entire world.”

“Thank you. Would you like to join us?”  I sat with them for about ten minutes. I don’t recall much of what was said other than her asking me how I knew Gerard, and a few questions about what I did in the world. I thanked her for inviting me to join them and repeated my condolences, as I left them

I later learned that the cafe owners had reserved that table for Yoko after John’s murder.  This was a favorite table that she and Mr. Lennon would sit at.

Gerard gave me his phone number and invited me to reconnect with him. We spoke a few time over the coming months and then moved onto our different path. He told me, that what had happened was that the chauffeur for John and Yoko had resigned a few days after John was killed. At that time Gerard was building his career as an actor in New York, and was also working for a limousine service. Yoko had hired him to replace the previous driver that was when I met them at La Fortuna. Over the years I would run into Gerard on the Upper West Side, and learned that he had eventually become Yoko’s assistant, and later her art buyer.

He worked for her for a number years.

The Years Pass

As years pass, the murder of John Lennon has become one of those dates where if you are old enough, you may be asked, as with the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, “where were you and what were you doing when you heard the news.”

A number of songs have been written by friends of John Lennon concerning their sense of loss. Two of the best are “All Those Years Ago” by fellow Beatle George Harrison, and “Empty Garden” By Elton John.

Here are the links to these songs with lyrics. Bring a hanky to listen to them so you may dry tour tears.

“All Those Years Ago”  -

“Empty Garden” -

Five years after John’s murder Strawberry Fields a 2.5 acre area, garden, and harmonious space was created as a living memorial, and to pay tribute to him. It is in Central Park and is one of the most visited attractions in NYC. Located near Central Park West between 71st and 74th Streets. Fashioned similarly to the original flowing design of the park, Strawberry Fields is lined with tall elm trees, shrubs, flowers and rocks. This area is designated as a quiet zone in Central Park.

Strawberry Fields officially opened on October 9, 1985, the 45th anniversary of John Lennon's birth. Annually, on this date, as well as on the anniversary of John Lennon's death, visitors and fans from all over the globe flock to Strawberry Fields to pay homage to this Beatles' legacy.

Within Strawberry Fields is the circular Imagine Mosaic, named after Lennon’s song Imagine.

You can listen to the song here, with lyrics.

Visitors can see The Dakota apartment building in the background from the Mosaic. The view is purposeful: It’s a few hundred yards from the spot where John was shot and killed on Dec. 8, 1980. Today, Ono still lives there in the home they shared.

Over the years, living just a block away, I have explored Strawberry Fields hundreds of times. My wife often loved to sit and listen to musicians perform Beatle songs, busking on the benches near the mosaic.

Once or twice, I have seen Yoko with her son Sean sitting quietly, on the grass in the garden, undisturbed and enjoying what I would call a “sacred space”.

Here is an article about Hisae’s Restaurant.

https://www.nytimes.com/1979/06/01/archives/restaurants-hisaes-fish-house-hisaes-chelsea-place.html

Here is an article on the 2008 closing of La Fortuna. A victim on NYC gentrification.

https://gothamist.com/food/john-lennons-local-favorite-cafe-la-fortuna-to-close

Thanks for your time and interest in reading this piece about my life.

Lewis Harrison

AskLewis.com

If you enjoyed this article you may also enjoy this recent one on writing you memoir.

The Best Way to Write Your Memoir

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Author: Hey there. My name is Lewis Harrison, and I created this newsletter. I am a transformational writing coach, teacher, and prepper. I am a proponent of entrepreneurism and also an author and seminar leader. The author of over twenty books, and numerous self-improvement, business success, and personal development courses, I am the former host of a talk show on NPR Affiliated WIOX91.3 FM.

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