Twenty-five years ago tonight, John Lennon was murdered. It feels like yesterday to me.
On that day in 1980, I was working as a radio disc jockey in Louisville, KY. That night I went out to dinner with some friends; we had a great time. Upon our return to my Jeffersontown apartment, I flipped on the television to catch the Dolphins/Patriots game on "Monday Night Football." Two minutes after turning on the set, legendary commentator Howard Cosell announced some horrible news: John Lennon had been shot in New York City.
My friends and I fell into a stunned silence at the news. An icy chill ran through my veins. I finally broke the stillness with a whisper, "What if he..." Then Cosell's voice broke through. He had just taken a call from the show's producer. Uncharacteristically somber, Cosell put down the receiver and took a deep breath before describing an "unspeakable tragedy": "John Lennon, a member of the famed Beatles — maybe the best-known member — was shot twice in the back outside of his apartment building on the west side of New York tonight and rushed to the Roosevelt hospital - dead on arrival."
I collapsed into tears on the spot. So did my roommate, Patti. The two guys with us, her boyfriend and a pal of his, began to weep as well. Someone turned off the TV at some point; football had become meaningless. Instead, we turned on the rock radio station — as expected, it was playing nonstop Lennon music. The DJ spoke in hushed, reverent tones — we could tell he was as much in shock as we were. The music we first heard, "A Day in the Life," seemed awfully appropriate...
"I read the news today, oh boy..."
After a while, I thought to call my mother, who was in Baltimore. It was from Mom that I inherited much of my Beatles collection; I knew she would have to be distraught.
Mother picked up the phone on its first ring, and sadly, I was correct: She was disconsolate and grateful for the call. She and I ended up sitting on the phone all night long, talking about Beatles music and John and memories. This, Mom told me, hit her harder than losing Elvis three years before. It made sense — Elvis' death was shocking and tragic to be sure, but he obviously had been ill, and rock 'n roll drug deaths were nothing new. But how could one make sense of someone gunning down a musician — a Beatle; peace-loving John fucking Lennon, for Christ's sake — in cold blood?
Article comments
1 - Christopher Rose
What a great piece of writing. Thanks for that Natalie.
2 - Scott Butki
Brilliant, insightful piece, Natalia.
John has always been my favorite Beatle and I think he was a musical genius.