As we just passed the 25th anniversary of John Lennon's death on December 8th, and because it's fairly slow in here, I thought I'd share something I recently blogged regarding that subject with y'all. I'm betting that somehow, Andy fans might also find a kinship with an appreciation of another man who did a few things different in his life, who was also gone way too soon.

--------------------------------------------------

Feeling I wanted to add to the zillions of words that are already out there, much like taking an eyedropper out into a rainstorm to help it along some, here are a couple of my own memories of 25 years ago.

I liked him as a Beatle, sure enough; not much of his solo music had caught my attention, but I was actually excited about "Double Fantasy." Heck, I even liked that Yoko sang on some of it. I had decided to buck that trend of hating her... I regularly attended the annual "Beatlefest" and thought it interesting, though cruel anyhow, that folks in the screening rooms would hiss whenever she appeared on screen. As a mostly casual observer of John as an individual, I felt he had mostly cast aside much interest of being a public persona; he hadn't really done much in the previous five years to garner any attention. But almost all at once, he was seemingly everywhere, just telling folks, "Hey, I've just recorded some bits, why don't you have a listen?" and so we all turned our heads to look, and to listen.

I devoured the Playboy interview that month. It was rich with so much that was like reading about a friend rather than some celebrity, just talking about what he'd been up to, not even seeming guarded about several things about which he wasn't proud. (And I remember the centerfold that month very well too... Karen Price, WOW, wonder whatever happened to her?)

I was driving, having just finished a college piano class, of all things to be driving away from. I was happy that eve for having figured out an odd thing; each person had his own small piano and headset and, recalling something similar from elementary school, I found that one could speak into the headphones (the part meant to normally expel sound rather than receive it) and be heard by the others in the room. Having had silly fun with that just earlier, I clicked on my car radio and was treated to "Just Like Starting Over," and jubilantly sang along, even exagerrating the "Elvis-y" part "It's bee-en suh long since we took thuh time," probably enjoying that song more at that moment than ever; you know, just having fun being goofy with John. The song finished and the announcer told what had happened just earlier to the man I had just been singing with. Now that is an odd transition to make, going from giddy and goofy to utter shock.

I was to meet my friend Tharon, a gal I was much enamored with, and who had just been my companion some weeks before to the Beatlefest event. We were just going to go eat something, but of course she already had the TV going when I arrived, so we sat and silently watched for a long time as then-local anchor Connie Chung told us as much as she knew about what happened.

I had the Beatles very strongly in common with Tharon. Some time before we had gone to see the Robin Williams movie "Popeye," which had music written by Lennon friend Harry Nilsson, always one of my favorites. In one scene of that film, an orchestra is playing and the camera lingered just a touch long on the conductor; long enough for it to stick out a bit. We were both credits watchers, and when the name of the man who was the conductor rolled past, we both looked at each other and exclaimed, "Klaus Voormann!"...recognizing the name as another Beatlepal, and the man who illustrated the "Revolver" album cover. But after Tharon and I had "dated," using the term loosely, for a while, we finally ended up discussing "us," both of us sitting in my car outside her house. That was a difficult conversation (some time after December 8th of course, but these are the snippets which bubble up in context), and we sat there silently for a long time after she admitted she wasn't feeling the same as I was. During that silence, there was a shooting star plainly visible in the sky, and we remarked to each other about it. Almost another "Klaus Voormann!" moment... but darn those shooting stars anyway; they are supposed to mean something, aren't they? Something good, at least? Well, that was the last time we went out together.

The day after John Lennon died was my day off that week; I worked on Saturdays at the bank and took a compensating weekday off, and so I had the odd chance to mourn this fellow in private. So I was able to listen to the commentary about it on TV and also pull out a bunch of albums and give 'em a little listen again.

Everyone talks of "remembering where they were when it happened," so this is my own memory of not only where I was, but where my mind was at. I didn't necessarily "worship" John Lennon and the Beatles, but they represented a whole atmosphere of fun and wonder, of enjoyment and comradeship; even an ongoing celebration of sorts. Losing him was definitely a personally-felt loss, not because I knew him of course, but because it felt like I did, and because I had allowed him and his chums to impact my life.

Some years later I got to meet Cynthia Lennon, yes, at another Beatlefest, maybe fifteen years afterward. She was not comfortable speaking publicly, so an arrangement had been made for her to personally meet people one at a time. I had found an old Beatles fanzine in the flea market room, which had been written right after she released her book "A Twist of Lennon." Like Yoko, she, too, had been used to being generally reviled by the fans, so I found it refreshing to see that this old fanzine contained a very favorable review of her book. At my chance to meet her, I got to share this with her, and she was quite surprised to see some record from those days that was something other than a public evisceration of her!

Later that same day, I wandered into a room with an interesting variation on the usual "Karaoke" setups the event hosted: this time they had a complete band there, all set to play any Beatles-related song one wished to sing. I fretted about this for a while, not really being a performer myself, but not often does one have the chance to sing while being backed by a live band, at least not if one is a bank manager. So I finally cast aside any anxieties about it and sang my favorite Lennon song, "In My Life." People told me I did a good job, which I was glad to hear, especially since it is probably my favorite Beatles/Lennon song. I have always found it extremely poignant and very affecting, and whenever I hear that song even today, it still brings a lump to my throat.

Here's to ye, Johnny. Miss ya, lad.