I was living in New York City in the Village with my very young daughter, newly divorced, alone, and quite broke. Christmas was going to be meager, or so I thought at the time, which was around 1970.
I barely had any friends in the city but around December, I met John and we quickly became friends. John was from England, kind of an offbeat free spirit and reminded me of the Beatles, who, at the time, were very popular, having recently visited New York. I would take walks and have long talks with John, who like me, seemed somewhat of a loner.
My most recent graphic design job had ended with a layoff, as had many advertising jobs around that time. Freelance graphics jobs were fewer and farther between. My financial situation required frugality, to say the least.
So Christmas Eve found me alone with my daughter, just glad to be with her. At some point there was a buzz at the door, and after buzzing back, and a bit of wait to see who it was (I lived in a 2nd floor walk up), John appeared, and with him a magnificent Scotch Pine, having dragged it through the streets of Manhattan, when some tree seller threw it out. We put it up and I had a tree, a friend and a Christmas filled with warmth and cheer, as well as spirit. I’ll never forget that Christmas, or John—who since then has enjoyed many Christmas’ with my daughter and I.
