Central Manhattan late afternoon, two weeks out from Christmas, was no place for a frail old lady, one whose entire possessions barely half-filled the rusted shopping trolley she trundled before her on the sidewalk. Not immediately obvious to the occasional on-looker, but her wheeled companion served its purpose as much for support these days, as for its meager storage capacity.

Cataracts had eroded Lucy’s vision to the point she had to squint hard to make-out objects in shop windows. Crossing Madison Avenue at 59th Street was a risky prospect at the best of times, conferring the onus of road safety on the driver rather than the elderly pedestrian, as she made inevitably slow progress towards 5th Avenue, where she turned the corner and headed south.

She looked up as a few flakes of snow drifted on to the already cold handle of her trusty old cart. She stopped under a nearby shop entrance and withdrew a pair of threadbare woolen gloves from one of the supermarket bags in the cart, that she slowly wriggled her old weather-beaten hands into.

More than a foot of snow had been forecast by the bureau to fall that night and she knew she had to find shelter somewhere soon – most likely her old standby – a subway station, always assuming some kindly disposed citizen would help her down the stairs with the cart. She was a fixture at many such locations and more often than not, ticket collectors who knew Lucy, would allow her through the gate and on to the platform area to rest-up for the night.

Shuffling then, slowly along 5th Avenue, she was crossing 53rd Street and saw the entrance to Paley Park nearby. She decided to make a brief detour and take a rest on one of the seats near the waterfall there, It was a peaceful oasis in a vast metropolis of little peace. There were few people about and the skies overhead were darkening as the snow clouds moved in. She felt the onset of hunger, but tiredness overcame her.

“Wake up, wake up Lucy,” She opened her eyes, her mother was shaking her.

“Better get moving girl,” she said. “It’s almost 8 o’clock and you have to be at school in forty minutes.”

Amazing how fast a fifteen-year old girl can move when she has to. Her older sister “Kathleen,” was in the kitchen clearing away her breakfast plates and looked up as Lucy flew in the doorway.

“Looks like you might need a lift to 31st Lucy, right?” she giggled. “Grab some cereal, there’s some toast here already. I’ve just got to go put on some make-up for work. You’ve got six or seven minutes.”

Lucy mumbled a “Thanks sis,” and reached up for the cereal box over the sink. She could hear the Everly Brothers singing “Bye Bye Love” in the background.

Exiting the house that their Grandfather had purchased new in Woodside, Queens, back in 1902 on 57th Street, the girls climbed into Kathleen’s ‘54 Buick Skylark – now three years old but in exemplary condition still. In less than eight minutes they arrived at William Cullen Bryant High School and even as her sister called out through the open window “See you tonight Lucy,” she caught the strains of Paul Anka extolling the virtues of his “Diana” on the car radio. Currently number one on Billboard.

Lucy opened her eyes, the images and sounds faded into the ether. Tears stung her eyes now at the memories. Kathleen would be what? eighty-three this year, had not she been taken from them at just twenty-two years of age by a drunk driver on 49th Street.

With the temperature dropping rapidly, and her old coat losing the battle to keep its owner warm for much longer, she got up and steered the cart back to 5th Avenue where she once again navigated the corner right at the 53rd street subway station. She paused, wondering whether or not to make this her night’s stopover, but was dissuaded from the notion by the presence of so many people tramping down the subway entrance – the tail-end of rush hour she realized.

Continuing south along Fifth Avenue, she was in sight of 51st Street when the wheel of her cart struck a small uplifted portion of the sidewalk, the inertia from which caused Lucy to stumble heavily, pretty much in front of the entry to Longchamp Leather Goods store. For a few moments she was stunned then she felt arms gently lifting her to her feet.

“Are you alright Mother?,” enquired her rescuer. She turned to look at the man who had evidently just exited the leather store as she fell. A kindly face, whose owner was a man in his fifties and who right at that moment was obviously concerned for the old lady’s well being.

“Yes, I’m fine sir,” she answered. “Thank you very much for helping me up – they should do something about that pavement.” She glanced downward at the offending ridge. Though her eyes were capable of seeing little detail.

“Indeed they should Madam,” replied the man. “Are you alright to continue?”

“Yes, I’m good to go thank you,”

she replied and turned towards her cart. He smiled at her obvious humor.

“Look, I don’t mean to offend in any way dear lady, but are you hungry by any chance? I would be honored if you would let me buy you something to eat. I’m sure you are still a little shaken up by the fall and I just thought maybe some take-away and a drink might hit the spot?”

She looked back at him and was silent for a moment. His mention of food recalled to mind her empty stomach and even emptier purse.

“That is extremely kind of you Sir,” she replied, “and I hope you take no offense, but yes, I would love something to eat.”

He pointed towards 51st Street. “I have my car parked just over there. Allow me to get you seated out of the cold and I can just drop into Bill’s Bar and Burger the other side of the street, and get us both something to eat ... a burger, some fries and a drink sound OK?”

“Sounds more than OK to me,” she smiled – something she hadn’t had any reason to do for a long time.

He then escorted her just around the corner of 51st Street, assisted her into his recent model Lincoln Town Car and parked her shopping cart under a nearby awning where she could see it.

The warmth of the car was luxury and the leather seat just so comfortable.

A cacophony of sound gradually assailed her ears.

“C’mon Lucy, “D” section is right in front of us.” Jenny, her best friend from work, was dragging her by the hand. Looking up, she saw a turbulent river of young girls flowing to all points of the huge building. Shea Stadium in Flushing Meadow – opened just sixteen months earlier and what was to be the home of the New York Mets for 45 consecutive seasons. Today though, Sunday August 15th 1965, it was something else. A day that no-one who was there would ever forget – long into the twenty-first century. As they took their seats in row twelve, the decibel level rose and the sense of anticipation in the stadium took on an awesome aspect. Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Marvin Gaye and a host of other celebrities were there – so were 55,600 other people.

“There they are” someone screamed, as the four culture-defining British lads – kids really - ran on to the field. Up in the stands, famed TV host Ed Sullivan had a hold of his microphone and intoned into it, “Now, Ladies and Gentleman, honored by their country, decorated by their Queen and loved here in America, here are The Beatles”

That was the last anyone heard of anything that day. The Beatles themselves could hear neither their instruments or their own singing as the screaming of multiple thousands of young girls obliterated literally all else. The words of “Can’t Buy Me Love,” “A Hard Day’s Night,” “I Feel Fine,” “Ticket to Ride,” “Help” and “She’s a Woman,” may as well have been sung in Hindu for all anybody could have known.

The ringing in her ears gradually faded ... someone was knocking on the car window. Lucy opened her eyes and saw her companion standing there with several bags. She let down the window. “Sorry she said, I must have drifted off,”

“Not to worry,”he said cheerfully, handing the deliciously aromatic food inside the car. He then walked around the other side and opened the driver’s door.

“So, er, I never asked your name I’m sorry. I’m Richard,” he said.