I REMEMBER JOHN LENNON

by
Richard O'Donnell

A buddy just sent me an iCard with a picture of John and Yoko inscribed, "we miss you John."

It made me really sad. I couldn't help the tears. I remember all the hoopla that was the Beatles. The yeah-yeah days when they first arrived - all the girls on my block in Philadelphia picking their favorite in the band. I remember lunch boxes, buttons, and Saturday morning cartoons. I remember John saying we're as big as Jesus Christ and their records being burned in piles of protest throughout suburbia. I remember their switching gears, pop songs dissolving into folk rock about run away girls, "Rocky Raccoon," and "Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band." I remember weekend sleepovers with friends, listening to the long version of "Hey Jude," while making-out with someone's flower child. I remember their revolution/evolution into the world of lava lamps and psychedelics. I remember the secret messages if you played LPs backwards, about burying Paul, and I am the walrus. I remember my oldest brother waiting for their next LP as if he was going to shoot it into his arm. I remember the break-ups, the harsh words, and the bitterness between old friends Paul and John. I remember the goody Linda love thing while the black-sheeps got all bare-assed for the press. I remember John's struggle kicking cigarettes, and wanting to be a stay at home dad. I remember the solo sound of the rebels that lived in the castle Dakota on my block. I remember being 20-something and dropping acid just to Imagine. And I remember meeting John and Yoko on Seventh Avenue in New York. One week later he was gone.

The Beatles were the music that carved into our consciousness everything from wacky fashion trips to earnest war protests. And so now I get this silly reminder that I'm old enough to have been there, old enough to have thought when the announcement came over the television in Gleason's Bar on seventh avenue, that John was dead, that it had to be a lie. A really awful lie. I just talked with him, stood right next to him, talking doggies in the window at this pet store on our block.

I'm heading toward my apartment on 72nd street, the West side, my starving artists days, and I see this woman with gorgeous long black hair flowing down around her bum. I was young and stupid, so I made my way to meet her. I'm not even thinking about the tall lanky guy standing next to her. There's enough space for me to slip in there between them. So I did. They're chatting away about the puppies in the window when I join in, pointing and cooing like a jerk. I glanced to my right and noticed the woman was more mature than I had expected - I thought she was a teenager from behind. Then, I get all electrified because I instantly knew that standing to my left was John Lennon. Omigawd. I desperately acted cool. And to my delight they simply kept on chatting it up about pet care or whatever. John with his accent up and down and all sing-songy just like he was famous for, and I was mesmerized for good.

The whole thing lasted only minutes, but I walked away assured; felt I handled that pretty good, leaving them alone. They lived in my neighborhood, so I saw them walking hand in hand many times before. They often took rides in the horse-drawn carriages along Central Park and one time Yoko even sent a dish of food to our block party, but this was real up close and personal - he was a Beatle after-all.

Weeks later, I'm eating burgers and drinking wine with this pretty gal I just met and the television above our heads spouts its poison. Everyone stood up. The place was completely still. Some muffled screams, a few quiet sobs, but this could not be happening. It made no sense at all.

Later, I walked by the Dakota, before it was too heavily guarded and roped off. It was already happening though. The world was in mourning. The city felt so cold, a little sinister than before. It was dreadful. Really very sad. And I couldn't help but remember standing between the lost legend and his woman, wondering why'd they let me get so close? Just people I guess. A couple of lovers on a stroll. Easy going, no big deal, just watching the wheels go round and round.