We found ourselves in New York City on a beautiful day without any real plans when over beer I got the urge to see Strawberry Fields. Luckily the pretty blond waitress knew just how to get there: take the subway toward the Bronx, get off at 72th street and walk a few blocks east to the park. Once at the park it would be easy to find, she explained, as there were always people playing guitars, singing and passing out flowers. She didn’t mention that this route would take us past the Dakota.
When I realized I was passing the vestibule where Lennon was shot, my heart stopped as it had on that Monday evening a lifetime ago. I knew then it would never regain the rhythm it once had. The carefreeness of hope was gone forever.
But I mustn’t be grim. That we had him for the time we did, we should be grateful. And I am – yeah, yeah, yeah – YEAH!