Then and Later

A Memoir of Transformation

Front of the Dakota apartment building, Manhattan, New York, December 9, 1980. Photo credit: Julia Dean.

In the very early morning of December 9, 1980, asleep in my Manhattan, Murry Hill apartment directly across the street from the recently bombed Cuban Mission to the United Nations, on the corner of East 38th Street and Lexington Avenue, I was stirred to consciousness by my regular 5 a.m. wakeup call from the overnight staff at our JFK offices.

"Have you heard?" Floyd asked.

"Hm? No. You just woke me. What?"

"John Lennon was killed."

I sorted through my shock as I showered. I dressed and prepared for work. Garbed in brown, 3-piece, pin-striped suit under a brown felt Borsalino hat with feathered hat band, grounded in sleek Italian shoes, finished by one among a diverse selection of silk, abstract ties, I descended the elevator with leather attaché case in hand and strode to my street-parked Datsun 280ZX to make my morning escape through the nearby Midtown Tunnel ahead of the morning tow …