by Shawn Inmon
Just before he put his guitar away and said good-bye, John said, “One last one before I go. I had to relearn the chords for this one, but I think I’ve got it.” He strummed a few chords, then sang Rodrigo Hart’s Forever for You.
As the last note faded, John said, “Thank you for reminding me of this song. I’m going to put it on me next album.”
“I don’t know what to say, except thank you, and how happy that would have made my dad. It would have meant the world to him to know that his song was still being heard twenty years after he died.”
“That’s the thing about music, and musicians, isn’t it?” Lennon mused. “We are temporary, but the music lives forever.”
THREE WEEKS AFTER HE was wheeled in unconscious, Joe was released from St. Luke’s. Reporters had been tipped off that Joe was being released and had staked out the lobby of the hospital, waiting to take his picture and shout questions at him.
Joe and the hospital managed to outwit most of them by taking him via wheelchair to a waiting taxi parked outside a delivery entrance at the back of the hospital. One enterprising stringer had staked the area out, though, and got a few shots of Joe as he stepped from the wheelchair into the cab. Those pictures were sold and appeared in newspapers around the world. One which clearly showed the left side of Joe’s face appeared in The National Enquirer, under the headline, “Lennon Hero scarred for life.”
When he saw a copy of that story, Joe laughed. Well, it’s true, I am scarred for life, but it has nothing to do with what happened at the Dakota.
During his stay at the hospital, a doctor had approached him about his birthmark.
“We’ve been making miraculous progress with our surgical techniques when it comes to birthmarks. Mr. Lennon has authorized us to offer to do our best to remove it for you, if you’d like.
Joe’s left hand unconsciously touched the skin on his left cheek.
What would it be like to look in the mirror and not see this? To be like everyone else?
“Thanks, doc, and I’ll be sure to thank John and Yoko, but I think I’ll stay the way I am. I know it’s not beautiful to most people, but it’s part of who I am.”
The doctor had smiled and said, “You are wise beyond your years, young man.”
The idea was never raised again.
His left arm was no longer encased in a cast from his chin to his knuckles. His new cast began at his shoulder and extended just below his elbow, giving his arm an “L” shape. That made it easier to slip into a sling, which protected it from as much bouncing around as possible.
The doctors had advised Joe not to fly right away, and John and Yoko stepped in once again. They gathered his belongings from the Empire and moved him into an apartment at The Carlyle, a luxury hotel that also rented out residential units on the Upper East Side. Joe had tried to stop them, and told them he was happy at the Empire, but they insisted, and Joe finally relented.
I don’t know how much money John and Yoko have, but I know I can live off the proceeds of a single Christmas song each year. I can only imagine what the proceeds from the greatest musical catalog of all time would look like.
FINALLY, AT THE END of January, Dr. Jenkins gave Joe permission to fly home.
Joe had been in steady contact with Stan and Claire ever since the shooting, and he called them to let them know he would be arriving back in Portland on February 3rd.
He said a final goodbye to John and Yoko at his apartment at the Carlysle then packed his suitcase and summoned a cab to the airport.
When he got back to JFK, he stepped to the sidewalk and looked around with a sense of wonder.
When I landed here two months ago, I felt completely lost. I may not be a veteran traveler yet, but I feel like I can handle what life throws at me, now.
Joe had long since finished The Sirens of Titan, so it was tucked safely away in his suitcase. He stopped at a bookstore on the concourse and picked up a paperback copy of Joe Haldeman’s The Forever War.
I read this once before, but some books are worth a reread.
In another airport, Joe’s suddenly famous and easily recognizable face might have attracted a mob. At JFK, though, not unlike LAX, people are used to the famous walking among them. Joe didn’t cause much of a disturbance, aside from curious glances. He was used to that. People had stared at him long before his picture was splashed across newspapers and magazines.
His long-delayed flight home was painful, as anyone who has ever had to fly with a cast on can attest. He hadn’t taken one of the pain pills Dr. Jenkins had given him, because he had to drive to Middle Falls when he landed. He knew he would need a clear head to manage that with only one arm.
When he touched down in Portland, the view outside his window looked unchanged from when he had taken off. Dark clouds filled the sky and rain beat against the plane’s windows as he sat waiting to disembark.
He waited until everyone else was down the aisle before he stood up from his seat. The idea of standing in a packed jostling line with his injured arm was unthinkable. When he stood, he realized how exhausted he was. After two months of inactivity, a cross-country flight constituted a lot of excitement.
What I’d like to do is curl up somewhere and sleep for an hour or two. The one thing I want more than that, though, is to see the inside of my little house in Middle Falls.
That thought revitalized him, and he walked up the ramp to the gate with more spring in his step. When he walked out onto the gate, he was shocked to see JD, Bobby, and Stan and Claire Fornowski.
Joe stopped dead in his tracks. “What in the world are you guys doing here?”
Claire stepped forward and managed to give Joe a full hug and without hurting his left arm. Everyone else just stood around with huge smiles on their faces.
Claire held Joe’s face in her hands and said, “Did you really think we’d let you sneak back into town and drive all that way with a bad arm?” She leaned in, hugged him again, and whispered, “I told you to be careful. You didn’t listen.”
Half an hour later, they had collected Joe’s suitcase and car. Bobby and JD fought over who got to drive the Grampamobile from Portland to Middle Falls. They finally agreed to split the drive in half.
Meanwhile, Joe climbed into the back of Stan’s Chevy Caprice, where Claire had laid out pillows and blankets for him. He was asleep before they got out of Portland.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Joe enjoyed being back in the cocoon of his little house for a few days while he recuperated from his adventure. Dr. Jenkins had tried to refer him to a doctor in Portland for his follow-up visits and the removal of his cast, but Joe had no interest in that. After his trip to New York, he was more than ready to just hang out in Middle Falls.
He asked Claire for a referral to a local doctor and made an appointment with him for a follow-up in two weeks. Joe was hoping the cast would come off then. Stan advised Joe to have the doctor be extra careful in removing the cast. Not because he might hurt him, but because among the signatures on it were those of John Lennon and Yoko Ono.
Joe had laughed. “What, are we gonna find a way to display this stinky old thing?”
“Damned straight, I am,” Stan had answered, and Joe had no doubt he would do so.
Word spread through Middle Falls that the hometown hero had returned, and soon enough, the reporter for the local Middle Falls Gazette phoned for an interview. Joe put her off and put her off, but she was persistent. He finally gave in and agreed to let her come by his small house.
When she arrived, she had a photographer in tow. Joe had been reticent to be in photos all his life—all he ever saw was his birthmark—but decided it was a new life, and time for new choices. The photographer had Joe sit at his kitchen table and moved around him like a fashion photographer, taking pictures of him at all angles.
That done, the photographer left, and the reporter—Shannon Harris—sat down to interview Joe. Joe, meanwhile, busied himself in his kitchen, making coffee, asking how Shannon li
ked her coffee, and pouring the coffee. Many coffee-related activities that meant he didn’t have to sit down and bare his soul to this attractive reporter.
Maybe I should just blow her mind and tell her the truth. That I flew to New York because I knew John was going to be killed, and I know Reagan will be elected President next, and A Flock Of Seagulls aren’t going to have any more hits. That last might be self-evident, though.
Shannon Harris was twenty-eight years old, with brownish-red hair that fell loosely at her shoulders. She wore retro cat’s-eye glasses that marked her as still young enough to have a little fashion rebel in her. The rest of her outfit, though, fit the conservative, small-town reporter mold.
When Joe finally finished fidgeting in the kitchen and sat down opposite her, Shannon met his eyes with steady frankness. She readied her notebook and asked, “What made you go to New York?”
“What, no fluff questions to get me warmed up? What was my first pet, or who’s my personal hero?”
“Would you want to read the answers to those questions?”
Joe laughed. “You’ve got me there, but I wouldn’t want to read about somebody like me, period.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. We’ve been getting heat at the paper all week for not having an interview with you already. You’re the most fascinating thing to happen to Middle Falls since the mayor’s wife caught him in bed with another man and shot him.” She took her glasses off and stared at him. “Well, all right, you’re not quite that interesting. But, as these things go, you’re pretty hot news around here.”
“A fifteen minute conversation with me should dissuade you from that notion.”
Shannon took a deep breath. “Back to the question. Why did you go to New York?”
“Because I wanted to see the Statue of Liberty.”
Shannon frowned. “And what did you think of Lady Liberty?”
“Never saw it.”
Shannon put her pen and pad down and fixed Joe with a baleful glare. “Look, Joe. It’s hard being the only woman reporter at a small town paper. It’s doubly hard when you’re the only reporter under thirty at a small town paper. I had to fight to get this interview. If you just blow me off and give me smart aleck answers, I’ll never get another big assignment. You don’t know me, and you don’t owe me anything, but how about if we drop the act and just talk to each other?”
You know what, Shannon Harris? I would love to just talk with you. You are a lovely woman, and even though you’re not as old as I am, you’re not a teenage girl, either. I’d like to take you out for coffee, or to see a movie, or to just stay in and grill you a steak. But, how likely are you to agree to any of those things?
“Fair enough. I’ll do my best.”
Or maybe I should say, I’ll do my best to tell you a story you can print, and believe.
“One more time, then. Why did you go to New York?”
“My mom passed away a few years ago. She was only forty-four. She never went anywhere. She never saw anything. She stayed here in Middle Falls and raised me, which I am grateful for. At the same time, I feel awful that she never got to experience life. So, I decided that whenever I could, I would travel, and see things. New York was the first place on my list, and it was quite an adventure.”
“That it was. As I’m sitting here with you, your left arm is still in a cast from a gunshot you suffered saving the life of John Lennon. What can you tell me about that?”
Excellent question, Shannon. What can I tell you about that?
“First of all, it wasn’t me who saved Mr. Lennon. That was Scott Mckenzie, who was smart enough to disappear before all the reporters converged on him.” Joe blew on his coffee, took a sip. “When I first got to New York, I went for a walk around Central Park, because my hotel was right across the street from it. On my walk, I happened on this old building that looked interesting. There were people gathered on the sidewalk outside, like they were waiting for something.”
“And that was the Dakota, right?”
“Right, where a whole bunch of famous people live, which is what caused the crowds to gather. While I was there, I got lucky and saw John Lennon as he was leaving for a recording session. That was so cool, I hung around for a few hours, hoping to see him again. Just as I was getting ready to leave, a limo pulled up and John and Yoko got out. I was pretty star-struck—the most famous person I’d ever met before was J.P. Patches, when he came to open the new supermarket.”
Shannon rolled her eyes a little at him, and he liked her all the more for it.
“Anyway, I was just hanging around, watching John Lennon, when I saw this guy pull a gun out and aim it at him. I didn’t even think about it, I just pushed John out of the way and ran at the guy.”
“And that’s when he shot you.”
“Yep,” Joe said, hoisting his cast an inch off the table.
“You say, ‘John,’ as in ‘John Lennon’ the same way I might say ‘Jim the butcher.’ Would you say you’re close to him now? Friends?”
“John and Yoko were so kind to me. They were just like regular people to me, not celebrities. It wasn’t what I expected. But, from the moment I got shot until now, nothing has been like anything I’ve ever experienced.”
Shannon dug around through Joe’s life for another half hour, then asked a few background questions, and was finished.
“Thank you, for taking this seriously and giving me honest answers.”
If only I could. Then, you’d have a scoop. I can see the headline now: Middle Falls Time Travelers Saves John Lennon. And what would be next after that? Nothing good.
“No problem.”
Shannon folded up her notebook and stood to leave.
It’s now or never.
“Shannon, I know we just met, and I know I look like I’m a little younger than you—“
“You are a lot younger than me.”
“Right. But, anyway, I was wondering if you would go out with me sometime? Maybe dinner?”
Shannon looked at him. Contemplated him. She shook her head, but handed him her business card. “I’ll tell you what. Let me get my story written and published, then give me a few weeks and give me a call. I wouldn’t date a story source, but once this blows over a little bit, you won’t be that anymore, unless you’re planning on saving any more rock stars.”
Joe shook his head.
“So, call me in a couple of months. Maybe you’ll get a different answer, then.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
In April, the clouds parted and spring arrived in Middle Falls. There was the occasional surcease in the barrage of rain, and on a few days the sun actually came out. The residents of Middle Falls emerged from their houses, blinking at the strange, shining object in the sky.
On April 12, 1981, two events occurred which greatly impacted Joe Hart, although the happenings were separated by more than three thousand miles.
The first happened exceptionally early on that date—less than an hour after midnight. On a lonely stretch of highway outside of Middle Falls, a ’67 Camaro went off the road and smashed into a boulder. The driver of the car, JD McManus, died when his chest was crushed by the steering wheel. The passenger, Robert “Bobby” Stuckey, was thrown free from the vehicle and suffered a broken neck. The medical examiner said both were killed instantly. The first officer to respond to the scene reported smelling alcohol and marijuana in the car. As there were no other casualties or serious property damage, the question of driving under the influence was never pursued.
The second event happened on the other side of the United States, in the Dakota apartments. John Winston Ono Lennon suffered a massive heart attack and was dead before Yoko could pick up the phone to call for help. He was rushed to St. Luke’s, where doctors once again did their best to revive him. He was pronounced dead at 4:59 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time.
JOE HART LEARNED OF the twin tragedies in the reverse order in which they occurred. He was in his tiny home and had just prepared a dinner of pork cho
ps and asparagus for himself. As he often did, he turned on the television to watch the evening news as he ate. There was only one story the newscast was focusing on—the death of John Lennon.
More than once, the broadcast replayed the footage they had of John at the Dakota on the night of the assassination attempt.
Joe pushed his dinner plate away untouched.
Oh my God, no. Oh, John. Oh, Yoko.
Joe’s chin dropped to his chest.
Please let this be wrong. We saved you, John.
He walked across the room to his telephone and dialed the number that rang into the apartment in the Dakota, but put it down before it even rang.
I remember what all the chaos was like when I was in the hospital, and I had people protecting me from it all. I don’t want to add to that noise. Later. I’ll call her later.
Joe turned the television up and sat numbly on the couch, watching as the newscast look for any new angle to announce. They showed clips of John, Paul, George, and Ringo, arriving on the tarmac at JFK in 1964, waving exuberantly at the crowd gathered to greet them. They showed John—older, thinner—in concert with Elton John in New York. Finally, they showed Yoko, stunned and shell-shocked, emerging from St. Luke’s in an eerie echo of the same scene in Joe’s first life.
Does this have something to do with me? Did I save John, just so he could die a few months later? Or, more likely, was he somehow fated to die, no matter what anyone did, and this is the culmination of that? Is this whole life for naught? Can I not make changes?
These thoughts swirled around Joe’s mind as the television regurgitated the same scenes over and over. A snake eating its own tail.
A quiet knock on his door brought Joe out of his reverie. Joe opened the door and saw it was Claire, her face pinched with worry.
She took one look at Joe and said, “Oh, Joe, I can see it on your face. You already know, don’t you?”
