Friday, December 8, 2017


Yoko Ono, center, is aided by a policeman and David Geffen, right, of Geffen Records as she leaves Roosevelt Hospital in New York late Monday night, December 8, 1980, after the death of her husband John Lennon.

Today's post is about 37. 37 minutes of time, 37 years ago today, the murder of John Lennon. 37 years ago the world was left wondering, as Yoko Ono once eloquently put it, "He was an artist. Why would you kill an artist?"
Unfortunately, there is no way to consider John's life in its entirety without recounting those 37 minutes that transpired one night 37 years ago. Indeed, for a good number of those who have ever lived - particularly the famous - their lives are largely seen through the prism of their deaths. Just off the top of my head I can think of Elvis Presley, John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Michael Jackson, Liberace, Rock Hudson, John Belushi..... When you think of their lives, invariably it is often through the lens of how their lives ended more so than how they lived those lives. That is just the way it is.

So, on this 37th anniversary of John Lennon's assassination [and, let's be clear, that's what it was. Many mistakenly believe that 'assassination' is only the murder of political leaders. The Webster's definition of 'assassination' is, "to kill suddenly or secretively; to murder premeditatedly and treacherously"], I'm compelled to write about December 8, 1980.

Specifically, the last 37 minutes of his life.

The evening of December 8, 1980, was about to become a painful one for Alan Weiss. Weiss was working for WABC-TV in New York City and won two Emmy's before his 30th birthday. After a long day at work, he jumped on his motorcycle and headed home.

The evening of December 8, 1980, was the end of a 30-hour shift for Dr. Stephan Lynn, head of the Roosevelt Hospital Emergency Room in New York City. He was exhausted and looking forward to sleep. He headed home for a quick hug of his wife and two young daughters and a nice warm bed.

The evening of December 8, 1980, was just beginning for New York City Police Officers Pete Cullen and Steve Spiro, who did the night shift on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Not necessarily a 'cush' job, but better than 99% of the other ones available to a New York City cop in 1980.

The night of December 8, 1980, was a typical one for Jay Hastings, working as a doorman at the Dakota. Earlier that night, a friend of one of his highest profile residents, John Lennon, had stopped by to drop something off for the former Beatle. Hastings had seen Bob Gruen with John Lennon just a few days ago, so he took the package and promised Gruen that he would give it to John when he returned that evening. Police would later open the package - as part of their investigation - to find it containing some tapes of the The Clash that John had asked Gruen to make for him [Gruen had told John that he would love The Clash and John "wanted to take a listen"], as well as some of the negatives from a photo session Gruen had done with John and Yoko two days earlier. All of that would be later, however. For now, though, all was quiet as Hastings watched Monday Night Football on a tiny black and white television propped up on the counter of the front desk.

The lives of these five men would converge unexpectedly and suddenly in a violent collision with the last night of John Lennon's life.

The night of December 8, 1980, was the completion of a task Mark David Chapman had set out to accomplish a month earlier. He'd come to New York in November 1980, to kill John Lennon but got cold feet and returned home to Hawaii. He was back now and determined to finish what he'd set out to do. It was an unusually warm evening for early December in New York City. Despite that, Chapman stood patiently in the dark outside the Dakota wearing a winter's coat - attire not suited for Hawaii but perfect for the conditions that he thought he'd find in December on the East Coast. Instead, in the heavy winter gear Chapman stood out. Chapman carried a well-worn copy of The Catcher In the Rye, the J.D. Salinger tale of disaffected youth. In his pocket was a five-shot Charter Arms .38-caliber revolver - the ammunition provided by an unsuspecting old friend of Chapman's, whom the 25-year old Chapman had suddenly visited in October 1980.

The evening of December 8, 1980, was a pleasant and accomplished one for John Lennon. The day had been hectic - a photo session with photographer Annie Leibovitz, a three-hour interview with R.K.O. Radio, and a five-hour session at the Hit Factory Record Studios to tweak a song by Yoko called "Walking on Thin Ice".

As John and Yoko's rented limousine stopped on 72nd Street at the ornate gate of the Dakota [John had told the driver to stop there rather than inside the courtyard - and past Chapman - which was more the standard route on a cold December evening....which this was not], Lennon grabbed the reel-to-reel tapes of the evening's sessions, placed them under his arm, and followed Yoko out of the car. It was 10:50 p.m.

Yoko had wanted to stop for a bite to eat at The Stage Deli, but John wanted to go home. So, as they emerged from the limo, John strode ahead of Yoko as they entered the gate. He was eager to check in on his 5-year old son, Sean. While the boy would [hopefully] be asleep, John hadn't seen him for a few days, as Sean had spent the weekend with his nanny's family in Pennsylvania. After that, John would go into the kitchen to get a bite to eat - knowing that, as usual when the kitchen door opened, his three cats would come bounding forward to greet him.

There is some dispute as to whether Chapman really said, "Mr. Lennon?!" as he stepped out of the shadows about five strides after John had passed him unseen. For years that was the story; recently, though, Chapman has said he said nothing. It is possible, in fact, that he is right. John never stopped walking, nor did he turn around - headed instead in the direction of the door some 50 feet away. Had his name been called so loudly and unexpectedly in the dark of night, one would assume that the startled Lennon would have turned to face the sound.

What is indisputable is that Chapman now stood in a combat stance a few feet from Lennon and Ono with his handgun leveled at the back of John's midsection. Very quickly, Chapman fired four bullets, three of which pierced John from the back through the lungs, the chamber around his heart, and his shoulder. The fourth missed John and hit the glass window by the front door of the complex.

Although at first in shock, John immediately knew what had happened and screamed, "I'm shot!" Despite a massive loss of blood - even in just the few seconds that had passed - John started to jog forward toward the door. He stumbled up the steps and fell face first onto the marble lobby floor in the foyer, somehow leaving his glasses unbroken - albeit bloodstained - as they, too, hit the floor. Somehow, the reel-to-reel tapes he'd been carrying had stayed lodged under his arm. They now crashed to the floor beside his glasses.

Startled by the broken glass - initially he'd assumed the firing of the gun to be a car backfiring - doorman Hastings ran from behind the desk just as Lennon came stumbling through the door. Despite the blood and his own shock, Hastings knew immediately that the grievously wounded man at his feet was John Lennon, as Yoko quickly came to the door at a gallop screaming. Hastings rang the alarm that connected the Dakota to the police. He then went back to John and instinctively removed his own jacket and placed it over John's crumpled torso. Also instinctively, although he was unarmed, Hastings ran out the door to approach the shadowy figure 50 feet away who was still in a combat position. Although the gun was still in Chapman's hands, he'd lowered his arm to his side with the gun pointed toward the ground. Incredulous, Hastings approached Chapman and screamed, "Do you know what you just did?!".

"I just shot John Lennon," Chapman replied softly.

At 10:51 p.m., Officers Cullen and Spiro were the first to answer the report of shots fired at the Dakota. As he got out of the patrol car, Cullen was struck by the lack of movement: the doorman, a Dakota handyman who had run out of his basement apartment at the sound of Lennon's body hitting the floor above him, and the killer, all standing as if frozen.

"Somebody just shot John Lennon!" the doorman finally shouted, pointing at Chapman.

"Where's Lennon?" Cullen asked. Hastings pointed to the nearby vestibule in which John - with blood pouring from his chest - lay dying. Cullen ran to Lennon's side as Spiro threw Chapman against the stone wall and cuffed him.

Two other officers soon arrived to lift John up and take him to a waiting police car. As they did, one of the officers would recall his stomach sickening as he heard the unmistakable cracking of Lennon's shoulder blade as they lifted him up, the bones shattered by a bullet. As they were carrying him to the waiting police car, Lennon vomited up blood and fleshy tissue.

With Lennon placed gingerly on the backseat of the patrol car, one of the officers jumped into the back to hold his head while the other two officers jumped in the front seats and sped downtown to Roosevelt Hospital, located exactly one mile away. In the midst of the chaos, Cullen spotted Yoko Ono. "Can I go, too?" she asked as her husband disappeared. A ride was quickly arranged.

Cradling Lennon's head, the officer in the backseat of the speeding patrol car looked into John's glassy eyes. Breathing heavily, with the gurgling of blood audible to all in the car, Lennon was fading. The officer tried to keep Lennon conscious, screaming at him. "Do you know who you are?!?! Are you John Lennon?!" John - who, with the other Beatles had popularized the 'yeah, yeah, yeah' phrase 16 years earlier - uttered what would be his last word: "Yeah...." He then lost consciousness and his breathing stopped.

Meanwhile, back at the Dakota, Officers Spiro and Cullen were trying hard to remain professional. Avid Beatles fans, both had often seen John, Yoko and Sean walking the neighborhood. Although they'd never spoken to John, both felt as though this was a family member or friend that Chapman had just shot. Trying to control the urge to hit Chapman, Spiro thought of the only thing he could think of: "Do you have a statement?!" Chapman pointed with his cuffed hands down to the ground nearby where his copy of Catcher in the Rye lay. Spiro opened the book and saw the inscription, "This is my statement." Spiro fell into a brief shocked daze at the scrawl. He was startled back into reality when Chapman - answering a question that hadn't been asked - said, "I acted alone."

Cullen and Spiro then roughly loaded Chapman into their car for a trip to the 20th Precinct. "He was apologetic," Cullen recalled in a 2005 interview - but not for shooting Lennon. "I remember that he was apologizing for giving us a hard time."

Nearby, unnoticed and - for the next 12 hours, untouched - was the copy of Double Fantasy that Lennon had signed for Chapman six hours earlier. Chapman had placed it in a large potted plant at the side of the gate, where it would be inadvertently discovered by one of the scores of officers who would be called to the Dakota for crowd control as word of Lennon's shooting spread.

Dr. Stephan Lynn's 30-hour shift at Roosevelt Hospital had ended twenty-five minutes earlier when, as he had literally just walked through the door and sat down on the sofa, his phone rang. Picking it up, a nurse asked him if  he could come back to the hospital to help out. A man with a gunshot to the chest was coming to Roosevelt.

Lynn walked back out the door and hailed a cab to the hospital. It was 10:55 p.m.

Meanwhile, at Roosevelt Hospital at that moment, TV producer Weiss was lying on a gurney wondering how his night had turned so shitty so quickly. An hour earlier, Weiss' Honda motorcycle had collided head on with a taxi. Somehow, Weiss seemed to have escaped with what he suspected to be cracked ribs. It was as he was lying on the gurney in an emergency room hallway contemplating his ruined evening and awaiting x-rays that Weiss was about to get the news scoop of a lifetime.

BOOM! The doors of the hallway where Weiss lie burst open with a gunshot victim on a stretcher carried by a half dozen police officers, who passed Weiss as they brought the victim into a room nearby. As doctors and nurses flew into action, two of the police officers paused alongside Weiss' gurney. "Jesus, can you believe it?" one officer rhetorically asked the other. "John Lennon?!"

Weiss was incredulous. He immediately rose from the gurney and grabbed a nearby hospital worker. Realizing he couldn't walk, Weiss shoved $20 into the man's hands and told him to call the WABC-TV newsroom with a tip that John Lennon was shot. As it turned out, the money disappeared, and the call was never made.

By 11:05 p.m., Weiss was doubting the news instincts of the bribed hospital worker. As he was contemplating this, Weiss was startled by what he later described as a strangled sound. "I twist around and there is Yoko Ono on the arm of a police officer, and she's sobbing," Weiss recalled in a 2005 interview.

With the sight of Yoko, Weiss decided he had to make the call to WABC-TV himself. He finally persuaded a police officer to help him up and walk him to a hospital phone, under the ruse that he had to call his wife to tell her he was in the hospital. Instead, out of earshot of the officer, Weiss reached the WABC-TV assignment editor with his tip about John Lennon. Before hanging up the phone with Weiss, the editor on the other end of the phone was able to check and confirm a reported shooting at Lennon's address.

By 11:10 p.m., Lynn and two other doctors had been working on the victim for nearly ten minutes. The man lying on the table had no pulse, no blood pressure, and no breathing. Lynn did not know that the man on the table in front of him was John Lennon. "We took his wallet out of his pocket," Lynn recalled in 2005. "The nurse immediately chuckled and said, 'This can't be John Lennon'. Because it didn't look anything like John Lennon."

Whether or not it was Lennon, Lynn was not quite sure. What he did know, though, was that, "He was losing a tremendous amount of blood," Lynn remembered. "And he had three wounds in his chest. We knew we had to act quickly. We started an IV, we transfused blood. We actually did an operation in the emergency department to try to open his chest to look for the source of the bleeding. We did cardiac massage - I literally held his heart in my hand and pumped his heart - but there was complete destruction of all the vessels leaving his heart."

After nearly 30 minutes, the three doctors gave up. It was 11:27 p.m. The damage was too great. Lennon was dead. Lynn recalled that Chapman's marksmanship was extraordinary. "He was an amazingly good shot," Lynn recalled. "All three of those bullets in the chest were perfectly placed. They destroyed all of the major blood vessels that took the blood out of the heart to all of the rest of the body." As a result, "there was no way circulation of blood could take place in this man and there was no way that anyone could fix him."

Weiss continued watching in disbelief as the doctors frantically worked on Lennon. It took him a moment to realize the song that was playing on the hospital's Muzak system - the Beatles' "All My Loving."

Meanwhile, Dr. Lynn made the long walk to the end of the emergency room hallway where Yoko was waiting in a room with record mogul David Geffen, who had rushed to the hospital after receiving a call that John had been shot. It was now Lynn's job to deliver the word that John Lennon, Yoko's soulmate and spouse, was dead.

"She refused to accept or believe that," Lynn recalled. "For five minutes, she kept repeating, `It's not true. I don't believe you. You're lying."' Lynn listened quietly. "There was a time she was lying on the floor, literally pounding her head against the concrete, during which I was concerned I was going to have a second patient," Lynn remembered. "Many, many times she said, 'You're lying, I don't believe you, he's not dead,' " he added. "[Geffen] was helpful in getting her to calm down and accept what had happened. She never asked to see the body, and I never offered. She needed to get home [to tell Sean], and she did."

By the time Yoko left the hospital, Weiss' tip had been confirmed and given to Howard Cosell, who told the nation of Lennon's death during Monday Night Football.....which was still on the screen of the little black and white television on doorman Hastings' front desk counter.

This brought a throng of reporters to Roosevelt Hospital, leaving Lynn to inform them that Lennon was gone. "John Lennon...," Lynn began before pausing for a moment. He then went on, "....was brought to the emergency room of St. Luke's Roosevelt Hospital...He was dead on arrival." With that, a collective groan emanated from the normally cynical assembled media.

After finishing with the media, Lynn returned to the emergency room. Thinking remarkably clearly - and with great foresight - Lynn arranged for the disposal of all medical supplies and equipment used on Lennon - a move to thwart ghoulish collectors. "I said, 'Not a piece of linen with Mr. Lennon's blood is to leave this department except in a special bag,' " Lynn recalled. "I had to tell the nursing staff that they could not sell their uniforms, which might have been stained with John Lennon's blood." He personally supervised the disposal of everything.

By the time Lynn was done, it was 3:00 a.m. He decided to walk home, heading up Columbia Avenue. "I was afraid that someone would run up to me and say, 'You're the doctor who didn't save John Lennon and allowed him to die,' " Lynn said.

Back on the 25th anniversary of the murder, Lynn stated that he believed that - despite medical advances in the ensuing quarter century - John's gunshot injuries would still be untreatable in 2005. "There was no way of repairing that damage then and, to my knowledge, there's no way to repair that amount of damage today," Lynn said. "There was absolutely nothing we could do."

For days afterward, up in Apartment 72 of the Dakota, whenever the kitchen door opened, three cats came bounding forward to greet a man who was never coming home.....

Sunday, December 3, 2017

John Lennon's Last Interview - Part III

John and Sean celebrate their birthdays [above], October 9, 1980 - John's 40th, Sean's 5th. John donned an oversized birthday hat while allowing Sean to do the "heavy lifting" in blowing out the candles.

John Lennon - The Last Interview - December 8,1980

Laurie Kaye: “I want to ask you about getting the urge to make music again….”
JOHN: [Using affected deep but effeminate voice]: “Oh, it came over me all of a sudden, love. I didn’t know what came over me!"
Kaye: “I know, like you were possessed…”
JOHN: [Still using affected voice] “I was possessed by this rock and roll devil, you know! [Back to using regular voice] I’m sorry, did I interrupt you? Was that the question?”
Kaye: “Uh, you got it!”
JOHN: “Why suddenly, and all that? Well, partly because suddenly I got the songs. You know?”
YOKO: “You never know, you know? Those things just come to you.”
JOHN: “Just suddenly I had like – if you'll pardon the expression – ‘diarrhea’ of creativity. And, uh, in fact we went into the studio and cut about 22 tracks and cut it down to 14 [for Double Fantasy] to make the dialogue. They were all dialogue songs, meaning that we were writing as if it were a play and we were two characters in it. But it’s real life – but not real as well because on a song or a record it can’t be real. I mean, we could’ve taken it a step further and made this record so that maybe she would be called Ziggy Stardust and I would be called Tommy, and then you would call it a ‘rock-opera’. You see? But we always work from our own selves as near as we could. So the album, the work we did on this thing is really a play, but we’re using ourselves as the characters. And what we sing about in the record and the songs are real diaries of how we feel. But always, it’s not really really real, because it’s a song, and it’s on a record, and you project it in a different way. But we started this thing...and I started getting these songs. And I called her...we had discussed going back in the studio. But I didn’t have the material. But I wasn’t worried about it because I thought, ‘well, I haven’t done it in a long time , maybe if I switch into that, there’ll be something there.’ But it just sort of came. And I called her, because I was in Bermuda with Sean, and she was here in New York and I called her and I said, ‘Well, look: we were talking about recording and it must have triggered something off here because I’m gettin’ all this stuff.’ And I started singing it to her down the phone, or playing the cassette. And she would call back two hours later and say, ‘Well, when you sang that – (I'm) Losing You – or ..’ she’d come back with (I'm) Moving On or something. And I’d say, ‘Oh, Movin’ On? Ok’ and then, I’d be swimming and then suddenly something else would come, like (Just Like) Starting Over. I would say, ‘Hey, well look this is what happened …’ and it started working like...coming out like that. So, then, I couldn’t wait to get back [to New York] and start then. I suddenly had all this material. After not really trying, but not not trying either, for five years. I’d been so locked in the home environment and completely switched my way of thinking that I didn’t really think about music at all. My guitar was sort of hung up behind the bed – literally. And I don’t think I took it down in five years."
Kaye: “Yoko was telling us [prior to John's joining the interview] about the emotional impact of hearing your songs to her for the first time. How did you feel hearing her material?”
JOHN: “It inspired me completely. I soon as she would sing something to me or play the cassette down the phone I would, within 10 or 15 minutes, whether I wanted to work or not – if you call it work. I would suddenly get this song coming to me. And I always felt that the best songs were the ones that came to you rather than...I do have the ability to sit know, if you ask me to write a song for a movie or something. And they say, ‘it’s about this’. I can sit down and sort of make a song. I wouldn’t be thrilled with it, but I can make a song like that. But I find it difficult to do that. But I can do it. You know, I call it craftsmanship, you know? I’ve had enough years at it to sort of put something together. But I never enjoyed that. I like it to be inspirational – from the spirit. And, being with Sean, and switching off from the business sort of allowed that channel to be free for a bit. I wasn’t always ‘ON!’ It was switched off. And when I sort of switched it on again, 'ZAP!' all this stuff came through. So now we’re already half...well, we did enough material for the next album and we’re already talking about the third. So we’re just full of [putting on deep voice] VIM AND VIGOR!”
Sholin: “Did you know, after you heard the album, did you know it was going to be accepted like that?”
YOKO: “No, we didn’t know anything, really.”
JOHN: “You know you go through two ways. Sometimes you think, ‘Wow, yeah. This is great' when we’ve done it. And then the next time you hear it...well, she’s not as quite the same as...I’ll think, ‘Oh, this is not working, this is not right’. So I would go ‘yay’ and ‘nay’ on it all the time. But I think, uh, basically we thought if people will listen to it for what it is and not listen to it with preconceived ideas of how it ought to be or as compared to something else, then if people could listen to it just as if it wasn’t even John and Yoko. Just that it came over the radio. And you accepted it or not accepted it as you hear it, not as you expect to hear John Lennon, or expect to hear Yoko Ono, or expect to hear an ex-Beatle, or expect to hear: whatever. Or, having read some good review or a bad review, forget about that. Just get it on the radio, I thought, and it’ll be alright."
YOKO: “The way I looked it was probably its an album that’s not gonna do too well. But, in the end, you know, maybe like two years later or something, people will say, ‘ah, that was good.’ Because I knew that the theme was good, I knew the dialogue was important, et cetera. And each song was alright, you know? So I had a feeling that even if it takes a long time, people would know about it. But I didn’t think it was gonna be that instant, you know?”
Kaye: “You went on a limb with this, though. You took a lot of very personal love songs and laid them out for everybody. How does that feel to you? How do you feel about – after five years of silence – bearing yourselves to people in interviews, through music?”
JOHN: “Because, even as I put it in my last incarnation Everybody Has [Got] Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey, it means really that one can not be absolutely oneself in public because the fact that you’re in public makes have to have some kind of self defense, or whatever it is. But we always tried from, whether from Two Virgins through Imagine though anything we’ve done together, the films we made together, we always tried to get as near to the uncensored, as it were, for what we are. Not to project an image of something that we’re not. Because having been in that sort of pop business for so long and tried to retain myself throughout it but obviously not always being successful at that. It was most uncomfortable when I didn’t feel I was being myself. You know, when I would have to smile when I didn’t wanna smile, and it became like all like being a politician, you know? And what I really got through these five years is: I’m not running for office. I like to be liked. I don’t like to offend people. I would like to be a happy contented person. I don’t want to have to sell my soul again – as it were – to have a hit record. It’s...I’ve discovered that I can live without it. It’d make it happier for me, but I’m not gonna come back in and try to create a persona who would not be myself. Does that explain it?"
Sholin: “Do you think the confirmation of removing yourself from the music scene and also the artist that has to deliver an album every six months, ‘Ok, it’s time’...”
JOHN: “Yeah, well, I went...”
Sholin: “...and the you just gotta sit down and crank one out. Did that stall the creativity that you were...”
JOHN: “Yes, yes, it was to’s like the channels on the radio were jammed, you know? I was not getting clear signals. And after ten, fifteen, almost twenty years of being under contract, and having to produce at least two albums a year and – at least in the early days – and a single every three months, regardless of what the hell else you were doing. Or what your family life was like, or your personal life was like – it was like nothing counted – you just have to get those songs out. And Paul and I turned out a lot of songs in those days. And, uh, it was easier because it was the beginning of our know, relationship and career. Paul and I developed in public, as it were. We had a little rehearsal in private, but mainly we developed our abilities in public. But then it got to be format. And, sort of, not the pleasure that it was. That’s when I felt that I’d lost meself. Not that I was on purpose, purposely being a hypocrite or a phony, but took took something away from what I set out to do. I started out to do rock and roll because I absolutely liked doing it. So, that’s why I ended up doin’ a track like (Just Like) Starting Over. It’s kinda tongue-in-cheek. You know it’s [puts on Elvis-like voice] ‘w-e-e-e-e-l-l-l-l-l, w-e-e-e-e-l-l-l-l-l’. [Back to normal voice] It’s sort of a la Elvis and that; and I hope people accept it like that. I think it’s a serious piece of work but its also tongue-in-cheek, you know? I mean I went right back to me roots. All the time we were doin’ it I was callin’ it ‘Elvis Orbison’, you know? And it’s not going back to being Beatle-John in the sixties, it’s being John Lennon who was...whose life was changed completely by hearing American rock and roll on the radio as a child. And that’s the part of me that’s coming out again, and why I’m enjoying it this time. I’m not trying to compete with my old self, or compete with the young new wave kids, or anything like that that are comin’ on, I’m not competing with anything. I’m trying to go back and enjoy it, as I enjoyed it originally. And it’s working.”
YOKO: “Oh, that’s another thing. Yes, we both enjoyed it so much. And that’s, you know, really good isn't it?"
JOHN: “Yeah, to have a...I was saying to someone the other day, there’s only two artists I’ve ever worked with for more than one night’s stand, as it were: Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono. I think that’s a pretty damned good choice. Because, in the history of the Beatles Paul met me the first day I did Be-Bop-A-Lu-La live onstage, okay? And a fr...a mutual friend brought him to see my group, called The Quarrymen. And we met, and we talked after the show and I saw he had talent. He was playing guitar backstage, and doin’ Twenty-Flight Rock by Eddie Cochrane. And I turned around to him right then on the first meeting and said, ‘Do you wanna join the group?’ And he went, ‘Hmmm, well, you know...’ And I think he said ‘yes’ the next day, as I recall it. Now, George came through Paul, and Ringo came through George, although of course I had a say in where they came from, but the only person I actually picked as my partner – who I recognized had talent, and I could get on with – was Paul. Now, twelve, or however many years later I met Yoko, I had the same feeling. It was a different feel, but I had the same feeling. So, I think as a talent-scout I’ve done pretty damned well!”