Along with the death of my Father and the break-up of my first serious relationship, the murder of John Lennon was one of the most traumatic events of my life. I was a typical, confused fifteen year old boy who was starting his first year of high school when Lennon was shot to death by a deranged fan. The Beatles had been my favorite band since I was ten, and John Lennon was my favorite Beatle. I related to his songs, his anger, his silly humor, and was moved by his personal lyrics — especially the song "God" from the Plastic Ono Band album. I was impressed that Lennon was willing communicate directly with his fans, and treat them like adults. His desire to join the peace movement in New York City was quite uncommon for a celebrity of his stature. He didn't just send money, he participated directly. He had begun to write very political songs and performed them at benefit concerts for causes like freeing jailed poet John Sinclair, and raising money for the families of prisoners murdered during the police raid at Attica prison.
Just as I was going to bed that Monday night, there was a news report that John Lennon had been shot, but they were waiting to find out more information. I went to sleep crossing my fingers hoping that he had survived the attack. That night I had a disturbing dream which put me at the scene of the crime. The next morning I quickly put the radio back on and heard that John Winston Lennon had been pronounced dead at the hospital. My heart sank. I put a Beatles t-shirt over my sweater and left for school without saying goodbye to my Mom. That whole day was one of the most depressing of my life. Mom was so worried, she contacted the Dean who asked to meet with me in his office for grief counseling.
Later that month, my family and I went to England to visit my Mom's relatives who lived across the River Mersey from Liverpool. I discovered that my Aunt Beryl used to go to the Cavern to see the Beatles perform. Part of my visit included a Beatles tour of Liverpool conducted by my Uncle Dave's friend. What should have been a really fun experience for any young Beatles fan turned out to be a very depressing experience. I will never forget visiting the Cavern and seeing all the flowers and cards piled up on the old doors. I sneaked a peak at a few of the notes and was taken aback at how intensely personal they were. Some of the notes had been left by people who had gone to art school with John, had been childhood friends, or who had watched him play at the Cavern. Then we visited Strawberry Field children's home, and some of the boys came out to have their pictures taken with us. That was the one thing that cheered me up a bit.
These days if I think about John too much, I remember that day when the music died, and that trip to England in December 1980. Thanks for the music John, and thanks for inspiring me to care about making a difference in the world.
Desperately Seeking Nikki
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