TWENTY YEARS AGO TODAY

“It was twenty years ago today,” the deejay announced. Immediately, I knew he was speaking about more than an allusion to a Beatle’s song, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” He spoke about an anniversary.

“Wow,” I spoke aloud, “was that today?” Yes, yes it was twenty years ago today, December 8th, 2001. My heart sank and my mood sunk even lower. Listening to the radio for my daily commute to work is standard. This old car‘s tape deck has not worked in years. Living in Boulder, Colorado or more specifically, a far Northern portion called “Gun Barrel,” makes my 45 minute drive along Highway 287 to the psych hospital in Louisville trying at times. Today, it seems timeless. After the shock and depression sunk in, my feelings went to shame and guilt for having forgotten that today is the day it happened. “How could I have forgotten?” I asked myself, but I know why.

The disc jockey began talking to a caller. The radio station was taking calls, having people comment on what they remembered about that day. Where were they at? What were they doing when they “heard the news, today, oh boy?” My thoughts went back to that night, twenty years ago.

20 years old, living with my parents, working at a meaningless job, and living a mundane life. That night, I was home watching “Monday Night Football” alone. My father was at work, my mother was in bed a sleep. I do not remember the teams who were playing because I had no real interest. I was just waiting time. Nothing better to do, nothing better to watch on the TV. It was no different a night, or day, than any other. My mood was already melancholy, but when Howard Cosell made the announcement, it felt as though my life was over. Between plays, around 8:20 PM Mountain time, Howard told me of a breaking story, an epic tragedy. John Lennon had been shot dead in the streets in front of his New York apartment building.

My thoughts went to my cell phone and making my comments on the radio. There was just too much shock and disbelieve for me that night to focus on football. I thumped through the TV channels, looking for the news story. We did not have any CNN or FOX News back then on our cable, so I did not find anything. I waited for the news at 10:00PM and got some vague information and confirmation. As I went to sleep, why and how and all of that never came to mind. My childhood is what trudged through.

August, 1969 through August, 1971, I lived in a large trailer park in Casper, Wyoming. This was ghetto Wyoming. The trailers had no skirting, no green lawns, many had 5 or 6 children and a non-working or non-existent father. Many boys and girls my age lived there. Some where my friends, most were just a bunch of bullies to me. There was a group of 3, including myself, who hung together most often. One, named Donnie, decided one day that we should be the Beatles. He was to be Paul because in his opinion, Paul was the leader. Donnie had to always be in charge. Me, I did not care so much, so I was designated John. I knew very little about them before this, but shortly after, I knew a lot. Donnie’s idea was for us to lip-sinc to the records and ’perform’ in front of some of the girls he was trying to score with back then. I was 10. I had no idea what scoring was or what girls were about, but I knew they were cute and very interesting, so I played along. We would gather at my house, go back to my bedroom and pretend we were the Beatle’s. We played our air guitar and mimicked the music as best we could then. That was a lot of fun for me and the girls loved it! One day, my father came home with the "Abbey Road” album. He liked the song “Hey, Jude.” My father has been traditional country his whole life. He hated “drugged-out hippy music” back then, so this was a huge shocker for me. He walked straight to the stereo, pulled-out the record, then played the song. Then, as the song began to change and the lyrics stop, my father stopped the song. His comments were that this was a very good song, but he did not like how they sang it. In his words, “it is like a beautiful poem being screamed in your ears.” That sold me. I sat in front of the stereo and stared at the cover. I memorized every small faction of the album cover while I listened to "Hey, Jude" 3 or 4 times. Then, without asking, I took it back to my bedroom and played the album in it’s entirety over and over. I listened with my full attention to every word, searching hard to find significance and meaning. Oh, yes, I found plenty.

The deejay began to encourage more people to call in and gave the number to call. My heart and my mind are just to full to record it to memory long enough to call. I want to call and tell him that the next day, I heard the full story. First, was the newspaper (of which I still have the article to this day). Never before had I read the newspaper first thing in the morning before work. I just had to know. Why was not clear, just that some idiot shot John Lennon. Why began to mount in my mind, consuming my thoughts. Then, a few days later, I heard the news. This person wanted to be famous. He wanted to have his name go down in history. Shooting someone famous was his way of finding recognition. Something inside me broke. What an absolutely absurd reason to kill someone! I am sorry, young man, but I do not know your name. I made it a point to not recall your name. You are not famous to me nor are you even a human being to me.

My ride is over and I have no time to set and listen any more. As I walk to the door for work, I began to notice that the deejay did not mention the guys name. In fact, he said he would not ever mention the murderer of John Lennon’s’ name, ever on the air. Thank you! After walking to the time clock and beginning my shift, I began to wonder if any of the adolescents I will be working with today would even know who John was or even like the Beatles. It all seemed to be lost .

Today, it is 25 years ago. In one of my college classes, “Criminal Psychopathology” we watched a film about John Lennon’s assailant. The guy was ill, very ill. Still was at that time, will always be to me. He was a huge ‘fan.’ Just seems so strange to me. That film gave me a much better understanding of why he did what he did back then. I do not have resentment, but I still do not know his name. Even if I did want to put his name in this story, I do not remember it. Do not want to, not ever, even though that was not his whole reasoning for the murder.

Today, I am sad, yes, but also because of the loss of George Harrison as well. I remember the day he died, I cried like a child. Perhaps I was still holding it in for John. There is more to it than that, though. Back in Casper, I began to see that there was life other that what I knew it. I began to learn about spirituality, about being a good person and respecting life and others. I did not get that so much from my parents and peers. With George’s death, I realized that I learned more about God and spirituality from him and the other Beatles than I ever had from any church or adult or peer. The night of George’s death, I was setting at the dinner table with my parents, watching the news. My tears had finally stopped, but then the TV news began to talk about it. They were interviewing some guy and his words brought my tears back. “The 60’s have never seemed so far away." Not just some comment about the passing years and age, but about a state of mind. About an ideal of World peace and harmony. About free love and.. Well, you had to be there. Sure, I was only 10, but I remember. We could sure use some of that now.