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December 8, 1980
Dec. 8th, 2005 11:04 amI was in bed asleep when the phone rang shortly before midnight. It was my father, which was sufficiently unusual that I woke right up, and from the tone of his voice I knew something was very wrong. He later said he called because he didn't want me to wake up the next morning to that kind of news.
I had never been much of a John fan – Paul and George were more my type – but I was devastated. I'd been nine when the Beatles first hit US shores and they had provided the soundtrack for much of my life. And of course there had always been the not-so-secret hope that they might eventually get back together. Now that was impossible. And he would never get to be 64.
Looking back across 25 years, what I mourn the most is the sense of possibility we lost that night. We had taken hits before: Kennedy, King, another Kennedy, but somehow this one was the last straw. I think a lot of us gave up that night, admitted that maybe we really couldn't change the world after all, and settled down to make as much money as we could and raise the unbelievably annoying Millennials.
Of course we know now that he was not the saint he's been painted as for much of the past 25 years. In reality, he was an arrogant, self-centered son of a bitch, a dreadful husband to Cynthia and a worse father to Julian, and terribly competitive with Paul McCartney, but none of that really matters. Even back then it was less about the man and more about the music. And that we still have.
Rest in peace, John.
I had never been much of a John fan – Paul and George were more my type – but I was devastated. I'd been nine when the Beatles first hit US shores and they had provided the soundtrack for much of my life. And of course there had always been the not-so-secret hope that they might eventually get back together. Now that was impossible. And he would never get to be 64.
Looking back across 25 years, what I mourn the most is the sense of possibility we lost that night. We had taken hits before: Kennedy, King, another Kennedy, but somehow this one was the last straw. I think a lot of us gave up that night, admitted that maybe we really couldn't change the world after all, and settled down to make as much money as we could and raise the unbelievably annoying Millennials.
Of course we know now that he was not the saint he's been painted as for much of the past 25 years. In reality, he was an arrogant, self-centered son of a bitch, a dreadful husband to Cynthia and a worse father to Julian, and terribly competitive with Paul McCartney, but none of that really matters. Even back then it was less about the man and more about the music. And that we still have.
Rest in peace, John.
