The Day I Heard About John Lennon's Death

The six o'clock news came on when I was playing in front of the television as a seven year old. I wasn't really into the news at that age but a song came one. I didn't know it then but it was "Imagine" by John Lennon. The song, widely regarded as one of the best of all time, really touched me.

I had started school and was beginning to learn that everyone and everything in life wasn't good. The hardships of famine on Children in Need and Oxfam adverts, the tragedies of war, studying World War II at school and, with my granddad dying shortly before, death. During a conversation about Granddad my dad had told me that everybody dies it's just a part of life. Inevitable death was a concept I found difficult to comprehend. Lying awake for long periods wondering what it was like and what happened to you afterwards.

"Imagine" really rocked my world that evening, and every time I play the lyrics to myself in my head I feel like I might cry. Just to Imagine...

"there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today..."

Made me Imagine all the things that were causing me upset, inevitable death, wars...

"Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace..."

And the images of African children starving to death while I lived in relative luxury...

"Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world..."

The chorus also touched my --naïve-- seven year old heart and soul.

"You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one"

To think there was a group of people, who, like John Lennon believed in a better world for everyone, and if we all joined them in imagining such a place it would be true.

I had never heard a song that had such an effect on me and I wanted to find out more about the singer/songwriter. The ITN report ended with: "John Lennon was shot dead outside his apartment in New York" or something to that effect. I burst into tears. I couldn't bear the thought that the first time I had heard such inspirational music by a person singing for a better world, was in a report about his death. And that someone had shot such a caring man. I went to my room. When my parents wondered where I had got to a short while later, my dad came to find me. I was lying on my bed crying. He asked me what was wrong and I told him something like:

"I just heard the best song I have ever heard on the news, the first time I have heard John Lennon and he's dead. I can't believe it, why would someone kill someone who sang a song like that." My dad informed me that John Lennon hadn't just been killed, that "it was ten years ago." I had missed the earlier part of the news, before "Imagine" was played, when I now know they must have said something like... "Today marks the tenth anniversary of John Lennon's murder."

I can't remember if that made it harder to deal with, but I know it never made it any easier. My dad said something afterwards, along the lines of: "come on son, stop being silly." I couldn't. The world being robbed of such a talent, all the things he wanted dying with him and all the years I had missed out on hearing songs like that, songs that would no longer be made. It was all too much for me to deal with. I was still upset when my mum came in to say goodnight at eleven o'clock. I explained why I was crying to her and that made me even more upset.

(My parents just visited me, and I told them about the article I was going to write, my mum said I was "sobbing my heart out.")

I love my mum, she has always been there for me whenever I have needed her. That night, she told me to get dressed and took me a walk to the chip shop about a quarter of a mile away, to calm me down. Going to the chip shop at the end of our street was one of my pleasures in life at that time.

We talked the whole death thing through, who John Lennon was, and what he was like. She said that I could still buy his music and that there may even be "a tape in the house." She also explained to me that nobody ever dies; as long we remembered them they stayed alive in our hearts and our heads.

Half way back down the road with my chips I had lightened up a little. My mum had turned it around, beginning to tell light hearted jokes, and more importantly beginning to get little laughs --through the sobs-- in response. There was a tape in the house and my parents dug it out for me the next day. I spent hours listening to it growing up, and I believe it may well have been a factor in the young --peace campaigning-- adult I have grown into.

When I saw remembering John as a story idea on OhmyNews, I remembered the impact "Imagine" and his murder had on me. I decided to find out if it affected anyone else in the same way. I phoned my dad and asked him if he was a fan of the Beatles. He said "no, not really?"

"Oh," I said, "I thought you were..."

"No, son, don't get me wrong I didn't mind them but I wasn't their biggest fan."

"Do you remember where you were when you found out John Lennon had been shot?"

"Yeah, I know where I was. In the workshop at Cairnryan." My dad worked in a local ship-breakers yard for many years. "Me and Donder McColm and it came on the radio that he had been shot in America somewhere or something.

"New York." I said.

"Yeah, that's right New York, 1980 I think."

"Aye that's right, Dec. 8 1980."

"What were your first thoughts?"

"Oh son, you're going back years now."

"You weren't too bothered?"

"No son, not really. Bit of a shock."

"Did you not pass comment on it?" There was disbelief in my voice.
Yeah, along the lines of "What did anybody want to kill him for."

My dad went on to explain the reasons he thought John Lennon may have been killed.

"He angered the public by marrying Yoko Ono and leaving the Beatles. His public image really went down hill went started practising Hari Krishna or Hinduism. I'm really having to dredge my memory here."

"That's fine dad. That's all I need anyway."

I telephoned a friend of my family David Solz. After the initial greetings he agreed to answer a few questions for my article. To give continuity I asked him questions matching the answers my dad had given in what turned into more of a spontaneous conversation than an interview in traditional question format.

"Were you a Beatles fan?"

"Yes, a big fan."

"Do you remember where you where when you found out john Lennon had been murdered?"

"Yes, I was on a train heading for Glasgow."

"What were your first thoughts?"

"Pity"

"How did you feel?"

"Gutted. He was a great writer."

"Why do you think he was killed."
"Oh I can't answer that one I'm afraid."

"My dad said he angered the public..."

David cut me off to say. "Oh Yeah, with the Hare Krishna thing."

"Well, that's it Davie. Thanks very much"

So, it seems that I took John Lennon's death exceptionally hard, mostly because of my childhood naivety. But the fact that people remember where they were when he was shot over 25 years ago, 26 years on Dec. 8 this year, and that I was so upset about the death of an artist, murdered before I was born is a symbol to the great writer and artist he was. I remember John Lennon as a one-off talent and I am still gutted he is dead. Who knows how many great songs the world was robbed of on Dec. 8 1980.