I was 19, and working in a deli sandwich place. The staff had just finished cleaning up, and sat down for an after work beer. I had just bought a used copy of Firesign Theatre’s album How Can You Be in Two Places At Once When You’re Not Anywhere At All album, aka the All Hail Marx Lennon album, and had it with me. It was an LP, so we were admiring the clever cover art; photos of Groucho and John. “Ha Ha, blah blah blah…” I told a story about how I was at my grandparent’s house in California when Groucho died (1977), and how they were quite sad, talking about Hollywood memories of him.They’d been showbiz people.
The announcement then came over the local college radio station that Lennon had been shot and killed. We got verrrryyyy quiet and weirded out by the whole coincidencitivity, and then quite sad over Lennon’s death.
I was 16 and working alone at a doughnut shop. I had the radio on as I mopped up in back. The first reports didn’t confirm his death, just that he had been shot. But with each Lennon or Beatles song that played on the radio that night, I lost any hope that he’d survived.
I sat and waited for my mom to pick me up after work. We talked and she told me about having been pregnant with me when JFK was shot, that she wondered about the world she was bringing me in to.
I couldn’t post here yesterday; I was at work.
I was a freshman in college. A bunch of us were sitting at the top of the stairs (we lived on the top floor of the dorm) when this guy who was a bit odd (he lived down the hall–truly coed dorm) came up wearing a black arm band and a bunch of albums in his arms. He gave us the news. Conversation broke off immediately–none of us knew how to handle this or what to say. Some went up to the TV room to watch coverage (if any) and most of us tuned into the Denver rock station. This was CU Boulder.
I remember crying at the candle light vigilers (is that a word?).
I was born in 1962–but my older sibs were into the Beatles. I have since passed on that bit of musical education to my kids. Rap, hiphop, techno, grunge–I don’t care what you’re into, but even the most rabid anti-pop person should realize the talent that was lost that day. All for an asshole who hoped to impress a girl or some nonsense–may he rot in prison for life.
I was returning from class and walking across the front lawn of our rental when my pledge brother told me, about 4 feet from where several months earlier he’d told me John Bonham had died. I really hate that little patch of dirt.
On my front steps. I had just picked up the newspaper, glanced at the headline, and turned to walk sleepily back into the apartment. Then I stopped short and went, “Whaaaa!!!..” It was probably the first article I had ever finished reading before pouring my coffee.
