In the summer of 1944 the world was at Lucien Carr's beck and call. The slender nineteen-year-old's popularity at Columbia was everywhere to be seen. He was also one of Lionel Trilling's brightest students at Columbia—a fact not lost on scores of students, including Ginsberg, who adored the famed English professor. Beyond Ginsberg and Kerouac, all sorts of young, male literary types—John Hollander and Herbert Gold, among them—trailed after the dashing sophomore. William Burroughs, though older (he was then thirty), had also fooled around with Lucien, having spent time with him in St. Louis and Chicago, and now in New York. Indeed, Lucien was at the hub of the circle of friends that only later would become known as the Beats. Jack Kerouac's girlfriend, Edie, an art student he had first met while a student at Columbia, introduced him to Carr, who introduced Ginsberg to Burroughs, and then Burroughs to Kerouac, who afterward met Allen at Lucien's urging.

Kerouac was captivated by the boy's literary imagination. He was drawn by Carr's knowledge of the dark side of Nietzsche and the mystical side of Yeats. But Lucien caught more than Jack's mind's eye. Jack looked on with a trace of envy as others trailed "Angel Boy," as Lucien was nicknamed. Admitting his own hounding of Lucien, Jack confessed, "I'm sure I ruined his grades at Columbia. When he wasn't around, I went chasing all over town after him, asking everybody where he was." One of the many involved in the contest for the boy's attention and affection was David Eames Kammerer. William Burroughs knew Kammerer back from their school days in St. Louis. David was one of Bill's best friends there; the two got along because they both were homosexual and shunned conventional societal norms. In 1933 they cruised Paris's Rue de Lappe "Apaches" neighborhood together.

David was fourteen years older than Lucien. He first met the boy in St. Louis, when he was Lucien's supervisor in various junior high school activities. Clearly, the former English teacher and physical education instructor became emotionally obsessed, pursuing him with a passion. David doggedly chased after Lucien from school to school, from St. Louis to Bowdoin College in Maine to the University of Chicago to New York. Carr didn't seem to mind the attention from his tall, red-haired friend since Kammerer had a good sense of humor. In time, David's infatuation led to a reduced social status, as he took menial jobs to pay the rent. The aim was always the same: to be with or near Lucien. And, if necessary, Kammerer would even occasionally prostitute himself in order to earn more money to lavish on his boy.

As the young Adonis walked across the Columbia quadrangle, it was not uncommon to see poor Kammerer following like a pitiful shadow. There were other times, however, when Lucien took the lead, as when he once asked Professor Lionel Trilling if he could bring his bearded friend to class. In this way and others—as when the two traveled together or when Lucien made a point to save David's many letters to him—Lucien revealed another more accepting side of his feelings toward David.

Kammerer was insanely jealous of anyone who had anything to do with Carr. Predictably, David found himself in amorous competition with Jack and Allen, among others—including Lucien's Marlene Dietrich–like girlfriend Celine Young, the half-French Barnard coed whose mind and flesh charmed the impressionable Lucien.

While Carr was sometimes ambivalent in his reactions toward Kammerer, Kerouac was not; he was open in his disgust of "Mother" Kammerer. Responding to that, the jealous Kammerer once tried to kill Kerouac's cat and would have succeeded were it not for Bill Burroughs' intervention.

Although he continued to send mixed signals, Lucien became increasingly intolerant of David's pestering presence. "Gotta get away" from Kammerer, Carr would say to Kerouac. Jack imagined that the two eventually might ship off to Paris to get away: "We'll write poetry, paint, drink red wine, wear berets," he mused.

That never happened. But things did get more intense between Jack and Lucien. On the Sunday evening of August 13, 1944, the two were drinking at The West End, a bar on Broadway across from the Columbia campus. They mulled over what to do with their lives . . . and David's. When Lucien got into an intense existential argument with someone else and became testy, Kerouac left. Walking home, Jack passed through the campus. As he did, David approached in the gloom, and asked, "Where's Lucien?"

"In The West End," Kerouac replied.

"Thanks, I'll see ya later," blurted Kammerer, as he headed for the bar.

Finding his precious boy, David sat down to drink and talk. They left in the early morning hours, bought a bottle of booze, headed toward the lower levels of Riverside Park, where the "faggot boys" made out, strolled along the Hudson, and sat on the grassy bank. Exactly what happened next is uncertain. As Lucien told it, David made "an indecent proposal" to him, became sexually demanding, and even threatened to harm Lucien's girlfriend if he didn't have oral sex with David. Lucien's frustration—perhaps fueled by fear—took him to the next level. He reached into his pocket and grabbed for his Scout knife. Grasping its brown, jigged Delrin handle, he pulled it out quickly. He opened up its four inches of stainless metal. Would the BSA insignia on the blade remind him of that core tenet of Boy Scout law?—A Scout is a friend to all. He seeks to understand others. Would it remind him of that line from the Scout oath?—To help other people at all times. Would the Scout slogan—Do a good turn daily—stay his hand?

No. Soon enough, the two found themselves in the throes of a Hobbesian struggle, man against man.

There in the dark at about 3:30 a.m., Lucien's homicidal blade traveled toward David's chest. The arc of his death swing moved ever closer to its target. He could feel David's gasping breath as the knife's point pierced Kammerer's shirt and then his flesh . . . and then again, as another furious jab cut its merciless way deep into the heart. David collapsed, his thick red and bloodied hair matting the green earth.