The last time I was in New York City, which was in early 2000, I was walking around one evening with my friend, who was showing me around. My friend, David, was big on the “non-touristy” stuff, the stuff that only someone who lives in New York would like to see, and he showed me some places I won’t soon forget. But one moment stands out in my memory.
We were walking through Central Park, on the Upper West side. My friend had us cut through, and cross the street that bordered the Park. He was going somewhere deliberately but I had no idea where. I forget the conversation, but I was rambling on about something. Suddenly David stopped me, just as we were going to cross the street.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Um… Central Park? Manhattan?”
In a low voice, he said, “You’re standing on the spot where John Lennon was murdered.”
“Ohmighod.” I spun around and looked at the building behind me. “The Dakota?” Sure enough, there it was. I made us circle back to see the entrance. It is a striking building on its own merits. But a place now haunted by a tragedy.
I was saving this one for next week, but was reminded that today is the 26th anniversary of John Lennon’s murder.
Remember – war is over. If you want it.