I Met The Walrus Part 3

JERRY: Near the end of "Revolution 9" you hear a whole bunch of crowd sounds-"daa, daa, daa." I can't understand what that is.

JOHN: I don't know what they're saying, either. I just got them from the sound effects thing. And they're going sort of "ooh" and "aah." I don't know what they're saying, either. I just got them from the sound effects thing. And they're going sort of "ooh" and "aah."

DEREK: Where's the key to the big box?

JOHN: Oh, the key to the big box? I don't know. I've no idea where it is. Oh, the key to the big box? I don't know. I've no idea where it is.

DEREK: In your white jacket, maybe, from last night.

JOHN: Oh okay, I just shoved that in the black hand case there. My hand luggage there. Last night's white jacket's there. Oh okay, I just shoved that in the black hand case there. My hand luggage there. Last night's white jacket's there.

JERRY: When you decided to give the film of you singing "Get Back" to the Glen Campbell Show Glen Campbell Show...

JOHN: Did we? Did we?

JERRY: Yeah. Oh I'm glad, I thought you really thought about let's pick some nice American and so picked Glen Campbell.

DEREK: That's like the Smothers Brothers Smothers Brothers or the or the Tonight Show Tonight Show.

JOHN: What about it? What about it?

JERRY: Everyone knows I'm a Beatle fanatic and when it was on TV a friend called and said, "The Beatles are on Glen Campbell Glen Campbell," so I switched it on and they had his Ma and his Pa from Tennessee or wherever. And then all of a sudden at the very end I saw you guys. It seemed sort of freaky. Really gone. Don't you guys know where your films go to?

JOHN: We just tell them to get them on the biggest networks, or somebody like the We just tell them to get them on the biggest networks, or somebody like the Smothers Brothers Smothers Brothers 'cause we heard they were having a hard time. Otherwise we just put it on the maximum...the show that's going to be seen by the most people. Unless we particularly know and dislike the guy. I just heard Glen Campbell and he's on and everybody watches it so stick it on. It's like that. People will see it then. The Beatle people, like you, get informed that it's on. Whatever it's on. Even if it's on the news. Unless there's some specific show that we know about that we want it on we just tell them to put it on somewhere where it will get maximum exposure. 'cause we heard they were having a hard time. Otherwise we just put it on the maximum...the show that's going to be seen by the most people. Unless we particularly know and dislike the guy. I just heard Glen Campbell and he's on and everybody watches it so stick it on. It's like that. People will see it then. The Beatle people, like you, get informed that it's on. Whatever it's on. Even if it's on the news. Unless there's some specific show that we know about that we want it on we just tell them to put it on somewhere where it will get maximum exposure.

JERRY: I was just reading a book about Ed Sullivan and there was a picture...

YOKO: Here it is [the Life With the Lions Life With the Lions alb.u.m]. We'll sign it for you. alb.u.m]. We'll sign it for you.

JOHN: Oh yeah, what's your name? Oh yeah, what's your name?

JERRY: Jerry.

JOHN: Go ahead, carry on talking. Go ahead, carry on talking.

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The front and back cover of the Life With the Lions Life With the Lions alb.u.m. The front photo shows John sleeping by Yoko's side on the hospital floor after her miscarriage in 1968. alb.u.m. The front photo shows John sleeping by Yoko's side on the hospital floor after her miscarriage in 1968.

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The back is a photo from John's earlier marijuana bust.

JERRY: And he had his hands up and said, "Let's hear it...the Beatles." And I was wondering, did you like Ed Sullivan? Is he a good friend of yours?

JOHN: He's no friend. I mean a friend in as much as he's a contact. I can't describe the word for what the people are who you meet. He's not a friend or an enemy. He was just somebody who put us on his show and we were happy to be on it. When we heard about it we thought, "Great, great." You know. "We're on that show and that's where Elvis was, and we're going to be on it," and we were terrified and all that bit, and Ed Sullivan is Ed Sullivan. There's always going to be Ed Sullivans on TV. And the thing is I used to loathe him as a kid or younger. But now it's just a howl. We've got him in England. They're always there. You just mustn't let him get under your skin. He's no friend. I mean a friend in as much as he's a contact. I can't describe the word for what the people are who you meet. He's not a friend or an enemy. He was just somebody who put us on his show and we were happy to be on it. When we heard about it we thought, "Great, great." You know. "We're on that show and that's where Elvis was, and we're going to be on it," and we were terrified and all that bit, and Ed Sullivan is Ed Sullivan. There's always going to be Ed Sullivans on TV. And the thing is I used to loathe him as a kid or younger. But now it's just a howl. We've got him in England. They're always there. You just mustn't let him get under your skin.

JERRY: He's turned really hip. Probably some spiritualistic change has come over him.

JOHN: Oh, has he? Oh, has he?

JERRY: Yeah, he has sideburns now and he actually does more than just talk. He'll dance or something like that.

JOHN: Amazing. Maybe he's had some acid. 'Cause he used to just stand there and say, "And...here...come...the Beatles...from...Miami Beach...." He was okay, he was never nasty or anything. A lot of them, when you haven't quite made it, treat you like scrum, and he was always kind and tried to make us feel easy. So that means he's okay as far as I'm concerned. He's not my cup of tea as far as entertainment is concerned but he was kind to us, you know, and so we respect that. Especially before you've made it. Amazing. Maybe he's had some acid. 'Cause he used to just stand there and say, "And...here...come...the Beatles...from...Miami Beach...." He was okay, he was never nasty or anything. A lot of them, when you haven't quite made it, treat you like scrum, and he was always kind and tried to make us feel easy. So that means he's okay as far as I'm concerned. He's not my cup of tea as far as entertainment is concerned but he was kind to us, you know, and so we respect that. Especially before you've made it.

JERRY: Who's your all-time favorite singer or composer?

JOHN: I haven't got one...I've got many. Yoko [laughter]. I haven't got one...I've got many. Yoko [laughter].

JERRY: How about yourself?

JOHN: Yeah, me first then Yoko. Okay. Yeah, me first then Yoko. Okay.

JERRY: Just to finish this off, my number one on my list is the Beatles, number two is Pierre Trudeau, and number three is Jerry Lewis.

JOHN: Jerry Lee Lewis or the comedian? Jerry Lee Lewis or the comedian?

JERRY: No! Jerry Lewis the cool guy.

JOHN: Oh. Who's Pierre Trudeau? The prime minister? Oh. Who's Pierre Trudeau? The prime minister?

JERRY: The prime minister. His full name is Joseph Philippe Pierre Yves Elliott Trudeau.

JOHN: I loved Jerry Lewis like mad when I was younger and going to the pictures in Liverpool. I used to see every film and howl about on the floor p.i.s.sing and crying with laughter. I loved Jerry Lewis like mad when I was younger and going to the pictures in Liverpool. I used to see every film and howl about on the floor p.i.s.sing and crying with laughter.

JERRY: That's fantastic. He's my number three guy. Anyway, thank you very much, John...

JOHN: It's a pleasure, man. It's a pleasure, man.

JERRY:...and thanks, Yoko.

JOHN: Bye-bye. Here's your alb.u.m. Bye-bye. Here's your alb.u.m.

YOKO: Good luck. And peace.

JOHN: Play that alb.u.m. And, oh yeah, peace. Play that alb.u.m. And, oh yeah, peace.

THE END OF THE INTERVIEW came about not because Derek or John stopped us, but because I realized I was taking too much of John's time. He probably would have let me go on for much longer, even though no one else got to interview John and Yoko that day as they immediately left for Montreal. came about not because Derek or John stopped us, but because I realized I was taking too much of John's time. He probably would have let me go on for much longer, even though no one else got to interview John and Yoko that day as they immediately left for Montreal.

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The interview was supposed to be about peace and that was his and Yoko's final words. Considerate and mature enough not to criticize the American people or its government, John did not even mention Vietnam. John and Yoko's campaign was directed at all countries and particularly the culture that promoted war. The messenger of love and peace wanted to conciliate and persuade, not to alienate or pontificate. He wanted a dialogue with fans, opinion makers, and the establishment. For the first time in pop history, a star took on the political responsibility of giving leaders.h.i.+p to his generation. This would not simply be a foray into politics and social commentary. Unlike his "bigger than Jesus" statement, his comments were thoughtful, pointed, and deliberate but aimed at dialogue and persuasion. That John embraced my idea-have a kid conduct an interview aimed at kids-underscored the sincerity of his objective.

And when I asked him what we could do to help him, he did not lecture me. Rather he talked about personal responsibility and being cautious: Help me by helping yourselves. If you run around violent, you get smashed. These were the comments of a thoughtful and considerate man who understood the gravity of the times and the power he wielded, and had a vision for a better future.

Early on in the interview I noticed that the few other people in the room, Derek Taylor (who would bob in and out), a Capitol Records public relations man, and the CHUM disc jockey formed a circle around John, Yoko, and their young fan. They were listening in on probably his most unusual interview. Within minutes of the exchange, John invited Yoko to answer. She began, but quickly deferred. I have often looked back at that moment and understood it when it happened. Though the peace campaign was inseparable from Yoko, she was quick to let the young fan have all the time with his idol. Those moments must have been very difficult for her and yet I remember her generosity of spirit. She sat by and watched and smiled as I had my life-altering encounter with her husband and partner.

After about some twenty-odd minutes, I realized that no one, let alone John, was stopping me, and I became acutely aware that I was monopolizing his time. I stopped the interview so abruptly that John said, "Don't forget your alb.u.m," and handed it to me. It was Life With the Lions Life With the Lions, the latest John and Yoko release, hot off the press, and his very own copy. "It'll blow your mind," he told me.

The deejay started putting his equipment away-unplugging the recorder, taking out the tape reel carefully, and putting it into a box. I found it incredible then and now that he had not uttered one word to John. John would have undoubtedly answered some questions, and he too would have had a scoop. Yet he must have been either so taken with what he had just observed or simply could not summon up the courage to speak.

Rather than ask me to leave, John and Yoko continued chatting with me. I told them again how much I liked their music. I asked him about the alb.u.m cover and what the photos were. Yoko told me that the black-and-white photo-John valiantly clutching a distraught Yoko surrounded by London bobbies-was when the police charged them for drug possession. "It was terrible," she said, shaking her head. Turning the cover over, I asked what the colored side was. Yoko was silent, and John told me it was when she'd been in the hospital. That is all he said. I came to know later that it was when Yoko suffered a miscarriage and John slept on the floor next to her. The alb.u.m itself included three songs about that experience: "No Bed For Beatle John," which had John and Yoko singing out newspaper clippings about them; "Baby's Heartbeat," an actual recording of their child before the mishap; and then "Two Minutes Silence," which was just that.

At that moment, Derek Taylor popped in again. "John, Mary Hopkin has flown in and is opening for Engelbert Humperdinck tonight here in Toronto. She sends her love." "Send it back," John said, looking at Yoko and then chuckling to me. Mary Hopkin was the seventeen-year-old protege of Paul. He had seen her on a British talent show called Opportunity Knocks Opportunity Knocks in 1967, and for her, opportunity knocked big time when he invited her to an audition in London. Taken with her voice and innocence, McCartney produced "Those Were the Days," which became a ma.s.sive worldwide hit. Sweet and lovely, pretty and poppy, it was precisely not what John was into at the time and his reaction made clear to me, months before we would learn of the real rancor and artistic disputes within the Beatles, the tension that existed between John and Paul. in 1967, and for her, opportunity knocked big time when he invited her to an audition in London. Taken with her voice and innocence, McCartney produced "Those Were the Days," which became a ma.s.sive worldwide hit. Sweet and lovely, pretty and poppy, it was precisely not what John was into at the time and his reaction made clear to me, months before we would learn of the real rancor and artistic disputes within the Beatles, the tension that existed between John and Paul.

"You want to go in me place?" John asked me with a twinkle in his eye. "Sure thing!" I replied, amazed that I was still being treated to such gifts by my hero. He motioned the Capitol Records PR man forward. "The lad here will go in me place to the Engeld.i.c.k concert to see Mary Hopkin. Make sure he gets a good seat and give him the VIP treatment." The PR man nodded deferentially and stood waiting for other commands. I stood up and then so did John and Yoko. "Thank you so much, John. I'll never forget it," I said staring into his kind eyes. "Thank you, Yoko." "Pleasure, man," John said smiling, picking up the alb.u.m because I had forgotten it again.

Yoko left the room, and John put "The Ballad of John and Yoko" on the turntable again and playfully danced with Kyoko. The PR man gave me his card and on the back wrote a note for me to give to someone at the theater. "I'll see you there later. This will get you in to the show and to the party afterwards." He barely finished his sentence when a jolting thought went off in my brain. "John!" I shouted, somewhat startling him. "How do I get in touch with you?" He smiled and took a calling card from the PR man. On its back he wrote: [image]

The "secret code" John gave me to be able to contact him.

Anthony Fawcett c/o J & Y c/o Apple 3 Savile Row London W1S "It's a code," he told me, handing me the card. "This way [image]

John opens up about peace, love, war, music, and the fate of the Beatles. Jeff Goode/Toronto Star.

"Whatever you write will get to me." "Thanks, John," I said. "I won't let anyone else know." "That's the lad," he replied, nodding his head with an approving smile.

The deejay asked if I was all set, and I said yes. I did not want to go, but I knew that I had to. I waved good-bye to Derek Taylor who reciprocated as he walked towards me to escort me out. John looked at him and motioned with his head, as he put his hand on my shoulder and walked me to the door himself. He opened it and faced the long row of silent reporters who gazed at this incredible sight.

"Thanks again, John. I'll write to you!" I announced as the row of salivating correspondents turned their heads towards me in unison. I flashed a peace sign backwards and John corrected me by doing it the right way, and closed the door. Everyone stared at me.

John and Yoko did not stay to meet with any of them. They left abruptly to catch a plane to Montreal. The following story appeared in Toronto's Globe and Mail Globe and Mail describing what took place shortly after John closed the door and said good-bye to me: describing what took place shortly after John closed the door and said good-bye to me:

FANS AMBUSH BEATLE, OUTWARD BOUNDJohn Lennon sat back in the taxi and gave a sigh of relief late last night, on his way to Malton to catch his flight to Montreal. Moments before he had been engulfed by Toronto teenagers who had pushed past police and descended on him.

He had hoped to make a secret exit from his Toronto hotel. He had left phones ringing, carnations littered over beds and rugs, unopened letters, fans screaming from behind burly policemen along the hotel corridors.

Down some sort of fire escape we had fled, any moment expecting to be deluged by fans. It didn't happen until we were almost out of the building.

Rus.h.i.+ng out of an elevator, they were suddenly on us. Somehow the police regained control, we were shoved into the cab, the garage door opened and we drove out. Fans climbed onto the car but they jumped or fell off as the cab gathered speed. Lennon looked tired. Yoko didn't seem to care. Lennon, all in white, sighed again and said: "I think Ringo [Starr] was right about not touring."

Ritchie Yorke/the Globe and Mail Globe and Mail

In fact, given the timing of their return from customs and their quick exit from the King Edward, I realized later that John and Yoko might very well have stood up the entire Canadian and American media to sit down and talk with me.

I walked down that hotel hall and turned the corner towards the elevator. The deejay, whom I have since tried to track down unsuccessfully, walked with me. He still had nothing to say. The cordoned-off crowd of kids had ballooned to five or six times the size it had been just a couple of hours earlier. They were screaming, being held back by tired and bewildered police. "Did you see him?" "What was he like?" "Oh my G.o.d!" They were shouting at me and gasping. There was desperation in their eyes. "He is the greatest," was all I could say. I meant it and got into the elevator.

"When can I have my tape?" I asked the deejay, and he said probably the next day. "We'll play it on the news tonight and tomorrow." "Thanks," I said and I made my way through the mini-riot that was happening in front of the hotel. The crush was enormous. Kids, photographers, crazies, and the curious, waiting to catch a glimpse of the greatest star on earth. My salvation was that I was walking the other way. I was going to see a show thanks to my benefactor. Luckily, the theater was just a few blocks away, and I was eager to sit down, put my mind on hold. Take it all in.

I cannot remember whether I called my parents or not. I probably did, but either way, I was not in the mood to brag or shout about what had just happened. I knew that this was transformative and that it required reflection. It was not really a choice. Nothing in my life before or since had fit so perfectly. Every moment-from the time I heard about the rumor to walking to the O'Keefe Centre-had fallen into place with fatalistic precision. And it was not over yet.

Engelbert Humperdinck was a star then. Hailing from Leicester, England, he was the smoother version of Tom Jones. Not my kind of star or popular with the kids. He was a crooner with outlandishly parted black hair, sprayed wavy curls, and sideburns the shape of Italy. In fact the irony of the gift John gave me, which no doubt did not escape him, was that Engelbert's "Release Me (And Let Me Love Again)" was so huge that it kept "Penny Lane" and "Strawberry Fields" from reaching number one in the UK charts. That was unprecedented.

There I was amidst couples and groups of women crowding into the O'Keefe Centre to see Engelbert. The O'Keefe was the place big celebrities and shows would come to in Toronto. Richard Burton, who played King Arthur in Camelot Camelot, Harry Belafonte, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and Count Basie all played there. I doubt anyone bought tickets just to see Mary Hopkin. The last time I had been there it was to see Danny Kaye with my family a few years back. My Dad took us to the side of the building to catch a glimpse of him. When he came out the stage door to a gaggle of mostly elderly fans, he did not stop and his bodyguard pushed them, including my father, away. I was having a radically different celebrity experience that day. At the front door I showed the Capitol Records card, and the usher called someone on his walkie-talkie. Within minutes a matronly woman arrived and I was whisked through the line and seated in the center seat, front row. No one will ever believe anything I say about this day, I thought.

I flipped the pages of the program and focused on Mary Hopkin. She was part of the Beatle family even if John preferred Yoko's music. The lights dimmed and the familiar intro to "Those Were the Days" began and out walked the pale, blonder-than-blonde Mary Hopkin. She sang that song to rousing applause. Sitting there on top of the world, I really believed the life ahead of me would be glorious. "My next song," she softly said into the huge microphone "was written by my friend Paul McCartney and is my new single." The audience burst into applause, oohs, and aahs. For the second time that day I was hearing an Apple release in the presence of the artist. Mary Hopkin was no Beatle, but Paul's unmistakable upbeat melody was there when she sang "Goodbye." There was a short break between the acts, but I stayed glued to my seat. What would Engelbert be like, I thought. He was scary-looking on TV. I wondered if he was scarier in real life.

"Ladies and gentlemen," an announcer boomed to the sound of timpani drums. "Mr. Engelbert Humperdinck!" I laughed out loud when he and his tuxedo oozed onto the stage carried by a sweltering orchestra. Women responded to his debonair style with shouts and threw their panties at him. "Release Me." "There Goes My Everything." "A Man Without Love." "The Last Waltz." I knew all of those songs-they got serious radio play. Impatiently I sat there, bouncing my legs as I did when I was nervous, wanting the time to pa.s.s by quickly so that I could go to the after-party.

At the end of his set, Engelbert faded into the curtain to the sound of adoring women. I got up and dashed to the PR man waiting in the wings. "Having a good time?" he asked, rubbing his hands and broadly smiling at me. He was balding in a George Costanzalike way, smelled of cologne, and wore a s.h.i.+ny gray suit. "Sure am!" I replied. "Well let's have some more fun. We're going to the party and you can be my photographer." He took my arm and led me through the exiting stream of post-o.r.g.a.s.mic women to a party room where there were hors d'oeuvres, canapes, champagne, oysters, shrimp. I had seen things like this on TV and in movies, but had never been exposed to it. Chopped liver on a Ritz was as fancy as it got.

People were lounging about the bar and at the center food table when a mad cl.u.s.ter of people blobbed through a door. Flashbulb bursts and applause greeted the great Engelbert as he entered the room. Autographing, hugging, and posing, he flowed through the room with that same cl.u.s.ter. The Capitol man asked me to take pictures of Mr. Humperdinck with a few people. Sam the Record Man was one of them. "Hmmm," I thought. My picture would probably end up in the store somewhere in the endless row of celebrities.

After a while it started to get boring and late. I was thirsty and walked around to see if there was water somewhere. The bar was packed and I did not feel like fighting the crowd. I went to the other end of the room and saw Mary Hopkin sitting alone at a round table sipping ginger ale through a straw. The commotion was for the headliner, not for her.

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After spending a day with John, he treated me to a night on the town with popular recording star Mary Hopkin.

"Hi," I said, as a fourteen-year-old would. "Hi," she answered. "Have a seat." "Sure thing," I said, and with that plopped my tired body down beside her. "Great show," I told her. "Especially your part. I'm not a big fan of you know who." She smiled, thanked me, and shrugged her shoulders. I had never seen anyone like her. She was a natural blonde with a full body in a tight minidress. Her skin was translucent and she smiled in a naturally shy way that covered some uneven teeth. Her accent was Welsh and there was a real gentleness about her.

"What brings you here?" she enquired and I was glad to fill her in. "I just came from meeting John and Yoko. They're here you know. Here in Toronto." "That is so exciting," she said and seemed rather happy for me until I took out the Two Virgins Two Virgins alb.u.m. She had a pained look on her face and erupted into a nervous giggle. "He signed it over here, and Yoko did too. And look they gave me this new one. alb.u.m. She had a pained look on her face and erupted into a nervous giggle. "He signed it over here, and Yoko did too. And look they gave me this new one. Life With the Lions Life With the Lions they call it. That's Yoko in the hospital." Mary was the first person I could tell the story to and I gushed with details. She was polite and listened attentively. they call it. That's Yoko in the hospital." Mary was the first person I could tell the story to and I gushed with details. She was polite and listened attentively.

The Capitol man came by with some industry people and Sam, and asked for some more photos. He motioned Mary to stand up and she obligingly posed with the group. I took out the Brownie camera once more and snapped away acting like a big shot in front of my new friend, "Would you like one too?" she asked, and I jumped at the chance. Someone took the camera and snapped. At the same time someone else called her name and she looked away. But I looked straight into the camera beaming and proud of that moment and the last sixteen hours of accomplishment.

Engelbert had left the room and it began to die down. It was 11:00 P.M P.M. and I was ready to go. "Here is my card," the Capitol man said. "When the photos are ready, give me a call. I'll give you some records." I threw my bag over my shoulder and told him I would call him right away. As I was about to say good-bye to Mary she burst out, "I'm being treated to a night out tomorrow at a posh nightclub. Would you like to come with me?" "For sure! Yeah, for sure!" She smiled shyly again and said, "Wonderful. It's a place called the Electric Circus. Be there at 8:00." "Electric Circus. Eight o'clock. I'll be there. Thanks, Mary." I waved, I smiled, I waved again, tripping on my own feet as I walked backwards. I made her giggle as I played up my clumsiness, b.u.mping into tables and chairs.

I left the room and walked onto the plush carpet of the theater. Cleaning ladies were vacuuming and the place was empty. It was dark outside and I was alone on the streets of downtown Toronto on a warm spring night. Union Station was a ten-minute walk and luckily, I'd remembered to bring bus tickets. There were not too many people on the bus when I sat down in my favorite solitary window seat. It was, after all, late Monday night. There was work and school tomorrow for my fellow Torontonians. What was in store for me? I wondered. Would anyone believe me? I had no pictures or the tape yet, just autographed alb.u.ms. Anyone could have signed them. I could have signed them. I began arguing with detractors in my mind.

The time went by quickly. I had replayed every moment. I remembered the way John smelled. The ashtray. How Yoko looked. "The Ballad of John and Yoko." I embraced the alb.u.ms. The caricature of John and Yoko was amazing. "I have a cartoon of John and Yoko, drawn by John!" Wondrous. Unbelievable. It was a day that was planned in heaven. I believed in G.o.d. I believed in the Beatles. And I believed in the greatest hero of them all, John Lennon. It was quite a few blocks to my home from the bus stop. Was it midnight yet? I did not bring a watch. Turning the corner onto Searle Avenue I could see that all the suburban bungalows were dark. Except one. My mother and father came running out when they saw me, my mother crying with worry. "I'm okay. I'm okay," I repeated to them. "I was with John Lennon. I really was. This has been the best day of my life!"

[image]

I had no idea what to expect when I played John and Yoko's gift to me. The alb.u.m started with a live performance by Yoko. "This is a piece called 'Cambridge 1969,'" she says softly in front of an attentive crowd before they witness her remarkable vocal display and accompanying feedback from John's guitar. That went on for twenty-six and a half minutes. Listening to that alb.u.m over and over again, the record player on repeat, it was as though I had taken a crash course in the abstract, the bizarre, and the experimental. John and Yoko's gift to me played all night long and was still playing when I woke up, reminding me that this was not a fantasy. It was real.

The next morning I told my brother everything that had happened. He alternated between laughing and staring. Was I telling the truth? I was always given to hyperbole, even outright fantasy. He inspected the alb.u.ms with the eye of a physician. "The cameras!" I shouted out. "Is there film in the cameras?" Steve checked out the Kodak Brownie. "There's film in here," he said as he rewound it and took the cartridge out. Then he looked at his Super 8. "Film here." This was all too good to be true. There was a chance I would have pictures and a film of John and Yoko! In those days it could take a couple of weeks to get still pictures developed and longer for film. "The tape! The tape!" And then I remembered, "CHUM has the tape and they will use it on the news!"

We tuned onto 1050 on the AM dial and waited for the news. It was almost 8:00 A.M A.M. Then news came on with this announcement right off the top:

JOHN LENNON.

IN AN EXCLUSIVE WITH CHUM HAD THIS TO SAY ABOUT WHAT YOUNG PEOPLE SHOULD DO FOR PEACE:.