Still Senseless

 

It was Tuesday, Dec 9, 1980, and I woke up to a lot of Beatles music on my sister's stereo in the room next to mine. She was getting ready to go to work and almost had a look of shock on her face. I don't know if she would even remember it if I were to ask her about it.

I don't recall if I asked what was going on or if she just offered it.

"John Lennon died," she said.

I was 12. It made no sense. It made less sense on the bus to Austin Road Elementary School or in Mrs. Colasacco's fifth-grade class.

Of course, the crime -- the murder -- happened the night before. Oh, sure, I was a football fan by that point and I probably did watch some of the Patriots and Dolphins on "Monday Night Football" but I was likely in bed when Howard Cosell announced Lennon's death. But, again, I was 12 and it was a school night.

So I found out the next morning while the world began to mourn. Rarely has a pop figure produced such an outpouring. The reaction to the deaths of Michael Jackson and Rudolph Valentino both come to mind.

This was not only worldwide mourning but it was also a New York event. Crowds gathered outside The Dakota -- where the murder took place -- and they stayed there. A vigil was held that Sunday in New York and radio stations were a shared community as music and memories flowed. 

New York had become John and Yoko's home. They sort of wanted to be average New Yorkers, but we all know that would never be possible. Still, the Big Apple meant so much to The Beatles as it's where they first landed in 1964 and performed on the "Ed Sullivan Show." That and their Shea Stadium concerts that followed.

Yet, funny thing about NYC. You can disappear among the average folks. It's the paparazzi and the fans that reminded John Lennon that he was John-freaking-Lennon.

We all went into a haze for roughly a week, culminating with the vigil. It was 1980 and these weren't the nicest of times. New York was gritty and that's putting it nicely. There were 52 Americans being held hostage in Iran. The following month, the Winter Olympics would be held in upstate New York and a group of college kids basically shattered the cold war for a moment.

But John Lennon -- he of "Give Peace a Chance" -- had died in the least peaceful way. Ironic, of course. He was murdered by a deranged fan. There's really no other way to say it.

We've had 41 years to ponder what it would have been like. "What if" John Lennon hadn't been murdered?

What would he be like? Would The Beatles have gotten back together? What did the future hold?

Who knows? I often think Live Aid would have been the landing spot since the Lads seemed to be on decent terms as the 80s began. He was 40 on that fateful night and was just beginning what felt like a fruitful part of his career.

John had been in hiding in the late 70s, being a far better dad to Sean than he was to Julian. The days of first wife Cynthia and "The Lost Weekend" with Harry Nilsson and company in Los Angeles seemed to be over. He was refined and refueled.

All we can do is speculate about John because of senselessness on a Monday night in 1980.

The 80s were such a mixed bag to the solo Beatles to begin with. McCartney was, of course, Macca, but there were also clunkers in there. The same can be said of George and Ringo (though George hit big with the Traveling Wilbury's).

The supernova that was John Lennon gave us so much in, essentially, 17 years (more or less). We wanted a revolution and he gave it to us. We still all want to change the world.

But on this night 41 years ago?

All we could do was imagine.

It's all we've done since.