(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Watching the
Wheels”
Album: Double Fantasy
Release Date: November
1980
Today marks forty years since John Lennon’s
murder.
There is a strange synchronicity about this
sullen anniversary in terms of numbers divisible by 10. You may be able to think of more significant
numbers, but here’s is what I’ve got: Here in the year 2020, John Lennon
would have been 80; he died 40 years ago in 1980, at the age of 40;
his death was 10 years after the Beatles disbanded in 1970, the
year Lennon turned 30.
I suppose such ruminations are a defense
mechanism from the reality of what happened the night of December 8th,
1980.
The passage of time takes care of the rest.
Where were you the night John Lennon was
killed? There are many of us tail-end Baby Boomers who can answer this question
without hesitation. It was our JFK moment. The end of the innocence. The moment
when we connected vividly with someone’s death beyond our personal circle of influences.
John Lennon was larger than life, and he had just returned to the public stage
with a new album after a 5 year hiatus. During that reclusive period, the
leader of the most acclaimed band of all time was living his ‘30-something’
years as the first self-proclaimed “House Husband”, putting all his love and energy
into raising his son Sean, alongside his wife Yoko Ono. Lennon’s “stepping out”
(or rather, stepping back out) into the limelight was such a thrill, especially
for those of us who were experiencing this Fab-like phenomena for the first time
in a here-and-now sort of way.
And just like that, it was all snuffed out.
JFK style.
So, where was I on that fateful night? I
was nestled in the rolling hills of western Massachusetts, a freshman at North
Adams State College. And like many New England Patriots fans, I was watching
Monday Night Football. In my particular circumstance I was doing this with my frosh-year
roommates, in the living room of our landlady “Ma” Bette’s off-campus home. The
Patriots and the Dolphins were heading for overtime when Howard Cosell made the
gut-wrenching announcement. I can still hear his one-of-a-kind voice, which was
spot on in projecting the severity of the event: “An unspeakable tragedy
confirmed to us by ABC News in New York City. John Lennon, outside of his
apartment building on the West Side of New York City. The most famous perhaps
of all of the Beatles. Shot twice in the back. Rushed to Roosevelt Hospital. Dead
on arrival”.
The game ended for me at that moment. I rushed
up to my bedroom and flicked on the radio while in an already-stunned state of
mind. Fortunately, I was able to tune into 104.1 WBCN Boston, which was hit or
miss in that remote western Massachusetts community high in the Berkshires, a
good 100 miles from Beantown. The first song I heard was “Watching the Wheels”
( WATCHING THE WHEELS. (Ultimate Mix, 2020) - John Lennon
(official music video HD) - YouTube )
off John and Yoko’s brand new album, Double Fantasy (which was also the
first time I had heard that song, period). Man, did it ever resonate. “Watching
the Wheels” was the perfect tune to take in at that moment. Here was John
Lennon explaining his years out of the limelight in song; the serenity of the
lyrics in stark contrast to the horrific late-night news. The memory hits me
every time I hear this song.
The next morning, I remained stunned, and
so blew off school and drove west into Williamstown in my old stick-shift v6
Lincoln Mercury Capri (my first car). I
contemplated going all the way to Central Park NY, NY, where mourners were
gathering by the thousands. I even made my way into the Empire State for a good
stretch along the Taconic Trail. From
there it would have been a three-hour straight-shot down Rte. 87 into Manhattan.
In the end, I turned around and just drove and
drove in zigzag patterns through the vertical landscape of Williamstown,
Cheshire, New Ashford, and Adams, continuing my vigil with WBCN from the night
before. The DJs (including Charles Laquidara) had suggested that drivers turn
on their headlights – in solidarity with fellow John Lennon fans - which I
did. As I headed back into North Adams
after a good half-day of driving, I noticed a handful of other cars doing the
same. Ok, mercifully, I was not alone. My radio blared with Beatles and John Lennon
tunes. Their radios blared these familiar Fab sounds too.
What was it about John Lennon’s life and
death that moved so many of us in the early days and weeks of December 1980 (which
continues - albeit to a lesser intensity - today)? Well, for one thing, Lennon
was uncompromising, which in his case always came across as a strength. John Lennon
expressed this attitude in many ways, particularly when he spoke his mind, which
he often did in brutally-honest fashion. One way this manifested itself was how
he could be harsh on others (particularly Paul McCartney). But he could also be
harsh on himself, and so, this gave Beatle John all the leverage he needed to
say pretty much whatever he wanted. Lennon was also witty and funny and
sarcastic and charming; all traits that draw people in, whether at the personal
level (the other Beatles were all forever fascinated in him) or on the big-stage.
John Lennon was also a risk taker, which was
appealing to those among us who have a rebellious slant (ok, me). This was
exemplified in his “Bed-Ins for peace” with Yoko Ono in 1969, which were wide
open to the public (as Derek Taylor, the Beatles publicist once explained,
anyone was welcome “as long as they were not obviously carrying a
blood-stained axe”). His risk-taking played out in many other ways too, be
it in songs like “Revolution”, “Gimme Some Truth” or “Working Class Hero” or in
comments, like “we’re (the Beatles, are) more popular than Jesus now”
(which was more a lament than anything).
However, I believe the biggest reason why
many of us admired (and continue to admire) John Lennon was because at the heart
of his voluminous discography was a message of peace and love. Just give
another listen this week if you will to the truth-serum sounds of “All You Need
is Love”, “Give Peace a Chance”, “Merry X-Mas (War is Over)”), and/or “Imagine”.
These are the songs at the core of my generation’s shout-out to all the other
generations – before and after us – who we have had the pleasure to live with
over the decades. We were looking for different solutions to the world’s
problems, and John Lennon was doling out the answers like hotcakes.
Add all of these traits to a boatload of
talent, and you have the recipe for moving the masses.
Two years after my ‘mourning’ drive around
the Berkshires, I did finally make it into Central Park, as well as the nearby
Dakota Apartments (on the West Side), where John Lennon lived throughout his
“House Husband” years, and where he was killed. I’ve written about that incredible
college winter-break road trip before in these pages. Here I’ll try to keep the
focus on this specific part of the journey.
After an involuntary and impromptu all-nighter
in lower Manhattan, my three Canadian brethren and I sleepwalked our way to
Central Park. At this stage, I began making a beeline west for the Dakota, and
I was dragging my friends along with me. We made our way up to “The Lake”, just
across from the Dakota. There we spied an old abandoned rowboat with a small
hole in the bottom. We plugged the hole
up with a tea shirt and used makeshift oars (sticks, cardboard, you name it) to
row across the waterbody. This was just
after dawn. For all we knew, Yoko Ono could have been looking out her apartment
window that morning, shaking her head in bemusement.
After landing the boat, we made our way
across the remainder of Central Park West and onto 72nd Street. The first doorway
was the main entrance into The Dakota. A bellhop greeted us. He was middle aged
and appeared a veteran of his trade. I explained we were there to pay tribute
to John Lennon. He stated that he heard this on a regular basis from visiting fans
and then told me that we were welcome to hang out in the archway and corridor,
which was precisely where Lennon had been killed. We did this for a spell, in
silence, and then we moved on.
The remainder of that Manhattan morning is
a blur.
The next memory I can recall of my personally
bonding with John Lennon’s life and death was in 1988 when I had my wisdom
teeth removed. Upon being admitted to the surgical room, I dutifully fessed up
to the fact that I had a cup of coffee earlier that day, which apparently was
against the rules if I wanted to have a full-blown anesthesia (I kinda knew
this going in but was hoping for a bit of slack). And so, I ended up getting a
local anesthesia, which allowed me to listen to all the gory details of my
wisdom teeth being drilled to a pulp. Later that day, I sat with my sister,
Amy, and we watched Imagine: John Lennon, a newly released documentary (at
the time) about John Lennon.
As the film lurched forward, toward its inevitable
tragic ending, my local anesthesia and additional pain killers were coincidingly
wearing off. The combination of the physical and emotional pain was a bit too
much for me to handle. The raw emotions related to John Lennon’s death,
apparently locked inside of me to that point, came welling out for the first
and only time. In hindsight, I suppose it was therapeutic.
Several year later and newlywed, my wife
Nancy and I took a weekend trip to New York City to do some Christmas shopping.
While there, we made a side-trek to the Statue of Liberty, our first of several
trips to that iconic symbol of freedom and democracy. Upon landing on Liberty
Island, we passed on the long line in and up the innards of the statue, and
instead walked around the perimeter, along the water’s edge.
Once again, I had a destination in mind;
this time a frontal view of the Statue of Liberty, where John Lennon posed in
1974, showing his love for a country whose President at that time was trying to
deport him. There, we took some photos ourselves, including one of me doing my
best John Lennon impersonation. Nancy and I had that photo on our refrigerator
for years, next to a postcard of Lennon in his classic peace pose (both images attached).
It was yet another effort to connect with the life of a man who I did not know
personally, and yet who I felt a strong kinship with.
Until this year, and particularly this week,
that Statue of Liberty visit - and the follow-up refrigerator posting- would be
the last time I would put any concerted effort into recognizing John Lennon in
any deep sort of way. Interestingly, every one of these events I just reflected
on occurred in the winter months: John Lennon’s death, my Berkshire drive,
Central Park, wisdom teeth removal, the Statue of Liberty, and now this write
up. Unlike my ‘numbers divisible by 10’ observation in the opening sentences of
this entry, I think there is something to this. Winter has always been a season
of ‘seeking’ for me. It’s when I’ve started every one of my 6 blog series. Its
when the music hits me the hardest. It’s when the memories kick back in fast
and furious. It’s when I have to seize the moment. Carpe Diem.
A week or so after John Lennon’s death, I
purchased Double Fantasy at a record store in downtown North Adams. Four
years later, upon release, I would also purchase the follow up; John
Lennon’s posthumous Milk and Honey (much of which was recorded during
the Double Fantasy sessions). Milk
and Honey would prove to be the last Lennon studio release of original
material. These two albums were complimentary and filled with upbeat,
energy-inducing tunes, which were in many ways the polar opposite of the mood
of John Lennon’s first solo albums (indeed the opening sound effects are
harbingers of what’s to come in each case , with “Mother” opening Plastic
Ono Band with four ominous bell tolls, and “Starting Over” opening Double
Fantasy with the soft percussive sound of three strikes on a triangle).
For an 18 year old, it was pretty-darn inspiring
to hear a song like “Woman” from such a respected musician, which, although
primarily about Yoko Ono, translated for me as a healthy admiration for members
of the opposite sex in general. Related to this was something quite unique to Double
Fantasy as a rock album; a volleyball approach to the tracks, with John
Lennon lobbing a song over the proverbial net, and Yoko Ono lobbing one back (some
of Yoko’s songs were actually pretty good, including “Kiss Kiss Kiss” and “Give
Me Something”, Yoko sounding like she could have been a walk-on with the B52s).
“Starting Over” is John Lennon singing at
his confident best. “Watching the Wheels” is a convincing musical narrative
about a man (Lennon) who has paid his dues to society…and then some. Same for
“Borrowed Time”. “Grow Old With Me” is about as lovely of a love song as I have
ever heard.
“Nobody Told Me” sounds like John Lennon is
ready to contribute his worldly views to society again (which begs the
question, ‘oh what could have been?’) by lamenting cultural ambivalence (Side
note: The refrain in the lyrics goes “Nobody told me there’d be days like
these”, which my sister Amy – at the time of the songs release, working as
a waitress - would modify to “Nobody
told me there’d be trays like these” as she cleared tables; a classic alteration
that I harkened back to as I listened this week).
One consolation about December 8th,
1980: John Lennon was in a peaceful place when he died.
I suppose at this stage in the game (40
years on) …. I’ll take it.
- Pete
