NEW YORK (1010 WINS) -- The night was coming to a close. I was nearing the end of a double shift — no, not a consecutive double shift, but a split shift, working morning drive eight hours, then called in for a 6 p.m. writing shift that same night. As a freelancer, you didn't say "no," and there I was, writing the overnight newscast and looking forward to going home.
But the police scanner crackled, and editor Ralph Saro was tuned in. He always kept the volume up and his ear tuned in, and if you knew the jargon, you knew what was real and what wasn't. Then, a call from off-duty anchor Lee Murphy with a tip he received.
Saro relieved John Russell, who wore many hats, among them, street reporter. What they heard, they couldn't quite believe — a shooting outside the Dakota, and according to Saro, police initially thought it was Yoko who had been shot. Calls were made to confirm that John Lennon was being transported to Roosevelt Hospital in a police car — shot multiple times at close range. Russell was dispatched to the scene and I was banging out the bulletins and running them into the anchor: "John Lennon has been shot. It occurred outside his residence at the Dakota apartments. He's been taken to Roosevelt Hospital."
Through the course of the night, our reporters were live from the hospital, from the scene, and I sat at the typewriter (yes, a typewriter, with large, bold-face print) continuously writing stories, updates and intros to live reports.
It wasn't long before doctors held their news conference to announce that John Lennon was dead. There was no time, or allowance, to internalize the information other than to get it on the air and get it right. He was murdered by a man who, hours earlier, asked for his autograph. Mark David Chapman was taken into custody at the scene. Who was he, what was the motive? Why? All that to be revealed as night turned into day. Then-news director Charlie Kaye asked me to stay on through morning drive as the writer dedicated exclusively to the story.
It was late morning when I handed the story to the next scheduled news writer; it was time to go home. That's when I turned to the radio — again — but this time, to hear the music and the moving memories. WNEW-FM did itself proud, as deejays recalled their experiences, interviews, all the while conveying their grief and disbelief. And as I listened , the emotions took hold, the pain, the loss, the magnitude of the moment was now personal. And the tears flowed.
