Hey, there's micro. This is the way I heard it's the only podcast for the curious mind with a short attention span: hey if you already picked up my book the way I heard it. Please accept my heartfelt thanks. I am grateful and if you liked it I'd, be grateful again if you took a second to review it over at Amazon by publisher, says the reviews are really important and I'm trying to impress my publisher if having picked up a copy, you can find one at micro, dot com, slash, book. The book itself is a combination of stories from this podcast interrupted by a series of story.

From my own misspent youth and dubious career in the world of nonfiction television, eight brag, but it is New York Times best seller and my mom says it's. The feel good hit the holiday season had an about that, but we do have a few autographed copies left at micro, dotcom, Slash book and I'm told they would make ideal Christmas presents hashtag just say and pick up a copy micro dotcom, Slash book stuff me in somebody stocking I'd, be grateful this the wired, it was cold in Manhattan. The way it often gets in the early part of December when the wind whips across central park and down the streets and avenues of the Upper West Side, Larry, however, was filled with a warm glow. Lee because he was inside sipping, some better than average bourbon and power

Lee, because his name was on the cover of Esquire magazine, his first cover story and exhaustive fight thousand word expos, I was in new, stands all over the city, a delightful minder on every block that his future as a journalist was all but guaranteed and other bourbon, sir. Why not said Larry? Why not did Larry glanced down at the magazine? He brought with him and had to admit beloved seeing his name in print. It was just above the iconic photo of his famous subject: a rapacious capitalist. If there ever was on an just below and enormous headline that posed the question: where are you? Yes, it did feel good to see his words in print and yes, he had been hard on his subject very hard, but but not unfair. Besides, what was I supposed to do? The subject refused to be

interviewed refused even to return his calls. Larry explained all of this to the reader in the first few paragraphs of his story, quote the search for my subjected, come down to false leads dead ends and witnesses. No more credible than a hare restoration at. Ultimately, he wanted to remain hidden and how the means to stay that way. So I d I did to look for things that could not be hidden. Things like his mentions, of which I found for like his prized cows, of which I found hundreds one Holstein alone worth over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? I found his pastures and his swimming Pools and his lawyers signature on millions of dollars of deeds and mortgages. I tried like hell to find his yacht, but ultimately more of his possessions. I found the happier I was too not find the man himself, because he was

no longer the man I thought I knew, in other words, Larry's conscience was clear: he'd, given his sub yet every opportunity to tell his side of the story and try to reach him in every way imaginable again. What was he supposed to do? He was a journalist. After all, a journalist with a deadline. Larry took another pool of bourbon, just as a car backfired down the street, causing him to jump. That backfire was followed by another, then another, after that it was only after the fourth explosion that Larry

began to wonder if maybe the backfires were something else. One month earlier, a weary traveller boarded a plain bound from Atlanta to New York City and collapsed into a window seat. He was discouraged. The signs in Georgia had all been negative. His former girlfriend refused to see him. His former teacher had been stand office and his former best friend had seemed. Oddly distance was the universe, tried to tell him something that was it possible. The man he sought was not worth seeking. If so, this trip to New York would be no more productive than the last one but drink before take off, sir, no thanks said the man I'm too tired to drink. The weary travellers

slept through taxi and take off dreamed, fitfully and awaken somewhere over South Carolina when his eyes opened his gaze settled onto the seat back in front of him inside there was a safety pamphlet, a description of the plane. He was on and a vomit bag, but there was also something else. A magazine left behind by the previous passenger. On the cover of the magazine was an enormous headline that red: where are you and beneath that headline? Was a face and iconic face a familiar face? The face of the man he'd been seeking, The weary traveller no longer weary snatch the magazine from the seat back and stared in wonder how had he not noticed an earlier rifling through the pages he found the article and read about the disturbing behalf,

If you're of a man who had abandoned his principles in favour of his possessions, a lazy hypocrite with mansions yachts, livestock art collections and a one hundred and fifty million dollar fortune, a rapacious capitalist, if there ever was one, the article verified everything, he suspect More importantly, the synchronicity of the moment was undeniable. I mean what are the odds that a passenger would leave me. Hide a random magazine that profiled the very person he'd been seeking justice. He was beginning to second guess the viability of his quest. Surely surely the universe was trying to tell him something, and this time he would he'd every word he would do plain in New York City. He would find the man on the cover of Esquire

magazine and save him from himself, and so he did much- has changed over the years and much has not. Choir is still around. So too is the famous address on Manhattans Upper West side, just across the street, from the quiet zone in Central Park, renamed in honour of the famous entrepreneur that Larry Profile all those years ago, a man whose empire is now worth a whopping eight hundred million dollars. As for Larry, piecemeal writing, but he's done with, journalism and almost never speaks publicly about that terrible night in December. However, thirty five years later on the anniversary of the incidents Esquire published. The only interview Larry has ever given about the unintended consequences of his very first

of her story. I loved seeing my words in print. He said, but I learned that there is a huge responsibility that goes with putting anything out in public, because there are crazy people out. There understanding that made me want to step away from journalism and right funny made up stories stories that didn't engage with the wider world, and so he has twenty novels so far, four of which are best sellers and seven of which have been option for movies. I read one of his books on a beach a few years ago, one of those key West crime, capers called Florida straight

I loved it. It was smart, laugh out loud funny. Most of all, it was unlikely to inspire anyone to do anything crazy. It's an understandable goal for the former journalist who found himself one block away from the Dakota Apartments on December. Eighth, one thousand nine hundred and eighty right across the street from the quiet zone of central park. We now call strawberry fields. On the same night, a weary traveller name Mark David Chapman finally found the man he'd been seeking the man on the cover of Esquire magazine and delivered to that man, a message from across the universe for slugs fired at point. Blank range so ended the life of amused. Go genius who inspired and frustrated millions. The fiercely combat

If artist, who begged the world to give peace a chance, the other although Jeddak Idealist, who dared his fans to imagine the world with no possessions even ass. He went on to accumulate quite a few, a rapacious capitalist if there ever was one named John Lennon anyway. That's the way I heard.