I Met the Walrus_ How One Day With John Lennon Changed My Life Forever - Jerry Levitan [14]
The CHUM Chart, a weekly listing of the most popular songs of the day. Doug Thompson/CHUM archives.
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I MET THE WALRUS
I was taking a shower on Sunday evening, May 25, 1969. Steve had a portable radio with large, built-in speakers that he let me use from time to time. It was blaring away on CHUM-FM. I do not remember what was playing when that particular deejay ended the cut with this statement: “Someone called to say he spotted John and Yoko at the Toronto airport. Wild news if it’s true. We’ll try to check it out. In the meantime, let’s have some ‘Rain.’” Ringo’s famous staccato drum beats pounded away and John’s song began. An electric shock went up my spine.
It was the fastest shower I ever had. I don’t remember telling anyone what I just heard. Dried and clean, I went straight to my room. Without thinking, I picked up the phone and called all the high-end Toronto hotels. I called the Royal York Hotel first. “Hello, is John Lennon there?” I asked. “One moment please,” was the reply. I waited. “There is no John Lennon here.” I then called the King Edward Hotel. That was where the Beatles had stayed when they came to town on their last tour in 1966. “May I speak to John Lennon please?” The clerk hung up on me. With such an abrupt reaction, he must be there, I thought. “I should look like a reporter,” I told myself.
I took out my deep purple, quadruple-breasted jacket that I wore for my sister’s wedding. My brother-in-law, Haim had made me a dark green suede bag that I carried over my shoulder.
On it, with black magic marker, I had written:
The Beatles
Pierre Trudeau
Jerry Lewis
In the bag I put my Two Virgins album, a small pad of paper, and a pen. I would be a reporter. But I needed camera equipment to perfect the ruse. I borrowed my sister’s Kodak Brownie, a fairly cheap model that wasn’t very impressive, but it would have to do. Steve had a new Super 8 camera. I snuck into his closet and took it. I was ready. I would not go to school the next day. I would get on the bus and find John Lennon.
My alarm was set for 6:00 A.M. but I woke up earlier. There was never any real plotting or doubt about what I was going to do. It was as if I was drawn to the King Edward Hotel. My hero might be in town. How could I pass that up? Not meet John? Just let him drift through without saying a word? It was as if he answered my letter, looked at the map I drew with the arrow pointing at Toronto, and got on a plane. My mind and my life had been so consumed by the Beatles that it really seemed like fate. What would he look like? Would I get to talk to him? Oh, the secrets he could tell me, about Beatle songs, about the world. I had to tell him how much I loved the double White Album. And Yoko! Would I meet her too? She should know that I stood up for her and played Two Virgins for everyone. All these thoughts were racing through my mind as I rode the bus all the way downtown.
It was still pretty early when I got there at about 6:30. Rush hour had not even begun. I nonchalantly walked through the regal stone doorway of the King Edward Hotel, into the grand lobby, and towards the elevators. Pressing the top floor button seemed like the right thing to do. I got out and just started knocking on doors. Most of my victims were awakened and went right back to sleep after I politely apologized. One room had a tray on the floor in the hall, the remnants of last night’s room service. A bottle of soy sauce was lying on its side amidst the dirty plates and uneaten food. “He must be here!” My innocent fourteen-year-old mind presumed that Yoko’s influence with John included his seasonings. Knocking with pride and a sense of accomplishment, I was taken aback when a man with a large belly held in place by a white cotton sleeveless undershirt and striped boxers opened the door and yelled at me. Clearly not John