December 8, 1980

 

On the early morning of December 9, my cousin Anne and I were up early, getting ready for work. I was happy. I’d moved states away from my dysfunctional parents and was living in my grandma’s cottage until it was sold. Anne, who was also looking for more independence, had moved in with me the previous June.  I was working as a high school interpreter/tutor for Deaf students at Cleary School for the Deaf.

A news announcer broke into the music with what had happened the night before: a “fan” had shot and killed John Lennon in front of his residence in New York City. John and his wife Yoko Ono were returning from a recording session. Earlier, John stopped to autograph an album this “fan” brought with him.

Anne and I were shocked to the core, frozen to our spots.  We’d grown up with the Beatles. In fact, John was my favorite Beatle. I was a bit unhappy with him when the group broke up but afterwards, I admired the work he was doing. I was impressed with his demonstrations against the war in Viet Nam.  For some years, we hadn’t heard from him, and I later learned he’d stopped recording to be a house father, raising his young son, Sean. Recently, we’d been enjoying new music he’d just begun releasing that year.

Shot by a fan? Whoever heard of such a thing? Why would a fan shoot John Lennon, of all people?

Later we learned more about the assassin, Mark David Chapman. The man waited for the police to arrive, reading his copy of Catcher in the Rye. We also learned that he was a rather conservative Christian who took umbrage with an old statement Lennon made while with the Beatles.  Joking or not, Lennon said the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. Chapman also didn’t like things Lennon had done, like having a nude bed sit-in against the war. But all of that was years and years before. He’d been holding a grudge that long? That’s not the behavior of a true Christian., which is to be forgiving and loving.

Against the advice of his attorneys, Chapman pled guilty to murdering Lennon. He said it was “the will of God”, not mental illness.

Fans all around the world grieved.  Part of Central Park’s grounds is called Strawberry Fields, in honor of Lennon.

Anne and I grieved, unable to wrap our minds around such a heinous act. Of course, that was followed the following year by John Hinckley’s attempt to kill then President Ronald Reagan.  Apparently, he was trying to impress actress Jodie Foster, with whom he had an obsession. And to top it off, two months later, a terrorist shot Pope John Paul in a failed assassination attempt.

These were all shocking events then. Now, they seem to happen so often they’re like “the new normal.” I won’t accept that and won’t become numb to the acts of foreign and domestic terrorism, even though not detaching hurts my heart.  I always used to detach myself from my feelings during a traumatic event to avoid pain temporarily. The pain still comes anyway so I am learning to process it as it happens.

Just as I miss Harry Chapin, I also miss John Lennon. He contributed so much to music, and I hope he never becomes a distant memory.