For what it is worth: I knew Ira Einhorn when I was a student at the University of Pennsylvania, (1957-63) where, I’ve read, he was also a student. That is maybe why I had the sense I knew him before he became the famous Hippie. I thought I knew him from Mount Airy, the neighborhood of my family home, but no one could confirm this.
When I saw him by chance at Penn, I remember being stunned by how much weight he had gained, how weird he looked, how self-impressed he was, dropping names to impress me with his connections, and how foul he smelled. He was wearing a large gray woolen cape. His beard was scruffy and filled with crumbs and vegetable pieces from his last dinner. I don’t recall how it was that he came to the apartment I shared on the Penn campus with some other students.
At one point, he said let me show you this hold I learned and I said: “You can show me the hold, but don’t throw me over your back.” He then proceeded to lock me in the hold then threw me over his back. With whatever momentum was still associated with my fall to the floor and with unleashed fury, I was somehow able to pick him up and throw him across the room where he hit a wall in our shared living room. He fell down onto a hollow core door we used as a sofa with cushions. My friends exploded in applause because I was far from the he-man that could normally perform such a manly act…and he deserved what he got.
I’m happy I caused the motherfucker some pain. He had brutally murdered that lovely Holly Maddox and kept her remains under his bed for several years. After his arrest, he escaped to Europe until he was extradited by French officials. For him I have no sympathy. I learned a few days ago he died in prison. GOOD RIDDANCE.