4:00 a.m. sometime in the winter of 1975, at a party: a former boyfriend of my roommate's flame all of a sudden materialized. Honestly, no one can remember the guy coming into the apartment. He was very hostile. My roommate discretely exited the scene. The next thing I knew the guy was behind me with a chef's knife at my throat demanding to know where my roomie had disappeared to. There were two dozen or so people watching, none of whom made a move for about what seemed like a half hour (although it was probably but a minute or two). He told the assembled drunks and druggies that he was going to slit my throat unless "Frank" was produced, pronto. When another fellow finally made a move to break up the situation, the dude grabbed me harder and dragged me across the room. I honestly thought I was living the last few moments of my life. I was so surprised by the whole thing that I offered no resistance, which seems like a very wimpish reaction as I look back on it. Within a few more minutes, the guy finally was talked into some level of sanity and released me and dropped the knife. I heard later that this dude ended up ending his life by slitting his own throat a couple of months after this episode.