Remembering John Lennon - I read the news today, oh boy
Robert Rouse
December 08, 2005
"There are places I remember, all my life, though some have changed. Some forever, not for better." Yesterday was the 64th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. For many Americans this is an event that is indelibly etched into their psyche. It was a turning point in the lives of so many souls around the world. For me, it is a sad, but unmemorable event. It is simply another date in history, much like Feb. 15 (the sinking of the battleship Maine) and March 6 (the day the Alamo fell). In my life there are two dates that both hit me in the gut and struck me as surreal - Sept. 11 and Dec. 8. And while the attacks of Sept. 11 culminated in perhaps the single worst day in modern American history, Dec. 8 and the assassination of John Lennon was the event that hit me most on a personal level.
"Shoot me, shoot me," whispered John as the first words on the last Beatles' album. Perhaps the sick animal who took Lennon's life mistook the lyrics as a literal request but the refrain of that song took on an almost mythical precognition. In the days that followed the diabolical actions of 'he who shall not be named', many of us around the world came together over John. We stumbled around in shock listening to the music that had changed the world. We couldn't let go of the dream. Until that fateful day we held out a faint hope that our favorite band would reunite and regale us with more of the magic we had come to love. In one tragic moment, that dream was lost forever.
"All my little plans and schemes, lost like some forgotten dream, seems like all I really was doing, was waiting for you." John was the best friend I never had. Like so many other people who were born during the birth of Rock'n'Roll, I grew up with the Beatles. I turned nine the day before they landed in New York City for the first time and although they would only be together for another six short years, they were the years of my life when summers - and winters - seemed to go on forever. I became a musician because of these guys. I was sure to grow up and someday be a rock star - perhaps even record a record with one of the boys. But dreams die hard when you grow up and they die even harder when you're hit with the news of the sort that was delivered to me by Howard Cosell.
"Nobody told me they'd be days like these." You're sitting comfortably, watching a football game when you're informed that the world's best known pacifist has been gunned down. From that point and for many days afterward, life became a haze. I had to talk to someone else who would understand the emotions swirling through my head, so I hopped in my car and drove to the campus radio station. A friend at the station named Jim Stafford was spinning records when I arrived. I told him I had a breaking story and went to the news booth. When the song was over he cued me and I related the bits and pieces I knew. Jim looked at me like I was playing some kind of cruel joke. He had this half smile on his face waiting for me to deliver the punch line. It never came. We put on the ABC news feed, went to the conference room and proceeded to get plastered on cheap beer and a few joints. We even considered driving to New York City, but realized we were way too intoxicated long before the Ohio state line. Stupidity begat tragedy begat more stupidity.
"Pools of sorrow, waves of joy, are drifting through my open mind. Possessing and caressing me." The one consolation I've had since Dec. 8, 1980 is the music. It brings us peace . . . it brings us joy . . . it can open the recesses of our imagination. Imagine there's a Heaven that will allow us to someday meet John face to face and tell him personally what his life's work meant to each of us. There are people all over the world who still hold on to the messages we gleamed from sixteen years of Lennon's work. We work for peace, love and understanding. Three noble causes that have been with us in the twenty-five years since John spoke his last words.
"When I was younger, so much younger than today." A quarter of a century. It seems unreal that it has been that long since John was with us. It is a tribute to his spirit and artistry that his life and work still mean as much to millions today as it did at the pinnacle of his success. John and his music have moved into the pantheon of immortality that houses the great works of Shakespeare, Michelangelo, da Vinci, and Beethoven. I ask that everyone who loved John set aside a moment of silence this evening at 10:51pm EST. It was at that time that John shuffled off his mortal coil and entered the realm of the immortals.
"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." I still imagine the state of the world if Lennon was still with us. He would be at the forefront of the peace movement. Music would be a far different form than it currently manifests. When Lennon released "Double Fantasy", the face of music had changed from Rock to punk and dance driven tunes, yet Lennon was able to make his vision a viable commodity. David Geffen had stopped by Hit City recording studio in the early evening of Dec. 8 to inform John and Yoko that the album had gone Gold. Lennon was happy. I can't think of a better way for a man to go out than on top - even if the rest of us continue to mourn the "what if".
"Shoot me, shoot me," whispered John as the first words on the last Beatles' album. Perhaps the sick animal who took Lennon's life mistook the lyrics as a literal request but the refrain of that song took on an almost mythical precognition. In the days that followed the diabolical actions of 'he who shall not be named', many of us around the world came together over John. We stumbled around in shock listening to the music that had changed the world. We couldn't let go of the dream. Until that fateful day we held out a faint hope that our favorite band would reunite and regale us with more of the magic we had come to love. In one tragic moment, that dream was lost forever.
"All my little plans and schemes, lost like some forgotten dream, seems like all I really was doing, was waiting for you." John was the best friend I never had. Like so many other people who were born during the birth of Rock'n'Roll, I grew up with the Beatles. I turned nine the day before they landed in New York City for the first time and although they would only be together for another six short years, they were the years of my life when summers - and winters - seemed to go on forever. I became a musician because of these guys. I was sure to grow up and someday be a rock star - perhaps even record a record with one of the boys. But dreams die hard when you grow up and they die even harder when you're hit with the news of the sort that was delivered to me by Howard Cosell.
"Nobody told me they'd be days like these." You're sitting comfortably, watching a football game when you're informed that the world's best known pacifist has been gunned down. From that point and for many days afterward, life became a haze. I had to talk to someone else who would understand the emotions swirling through my head, so I hopped in my car and drove to the campus radio station. A friend at the station named Jim Stafford was spinning records when I arrived. I told him I had a breaking story and went to the news booth. When the song was over he cued me and I related the bits and pieces I knew. Jim looked at me like I was playing some kind of cruel joke. He had this half smile on his face waiting for me to deliver the punch line. It never came. We put on the ABC news feed, went to the conference room and proceeded to get plastered on cheap beer and a few joints. We even considered driving to New York City, but realized we were way too intoxicated long before the Ohio state line. Stupidity begat tragedy begat more stupidity.
"Pools of sorrow, waves of joy, are drifting through my open mind. Possessing and caressing me." The one consolation I've had since Dec. 8, 1980 is the music. It brings us peace . . . it brings us joy . . . it can open the recesses of our imagination. Imagine there's a Heaven that will allow us to someday meet John face to face and tell him personally what his life's work meant to each of us. There are people all over the world who still hold on to the messages we gleamed from sixteen years of Lennon's work. We work for peace, love and understanding. Three noble causes that have been with us in the twenty-five years since John spoke his last words.
"When I was younger, so much younger than today." A quarter of a century. It seems unreal that it has been that long since John was with us. It is a tribute to his spirit and artistry that his life and work still mean as much to millions today as it did at the pinnacle of his success. John and his music have moved into the pantheon of immortality that houses the great works of Shakespeare, Michelangelo, da Vinci, and Beethoven. I ask that everyone who loved John set aside a moment of silence this evening at 10:51pm EST. It was at that time that John shuffled off his mortal coil and entered the realm of the immortals.
"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." I still imagine the state of the world if Lennon was still with us. He would be at the forefront of the peace movement. Music would be a far different form than it currently manifests. When Lennon released "Double Fantasy", the face of music had changed from Rock to punk and dance driven tunes, yet Lennon was able to make his vision a viable commodity. David Geffen had stopped by Hit City recording studio in the early evening of Dec. 8 to inform John and Yoko that the album had gone Gold. Lennon was happy. I can't think of a better way for a man to go out than on top - even if the rest of us continue to mourn the "what if".