[3 articles]
The Death of John Lennon
http://blogs.browardpalmbeach.com/countygrind/2010/12/backstage_john_lennon.php
By Lee Zimmerman
Dec. 7 2010
Music vet and New Times scribe Lee Zimmerman shares stories of
memorable rock 'n' roll encounters that took place in our local
environs. This week, The day(s) the music died...
--
For those of us who remember it first-hand, this week's 30th
anniversary of John Lennon's murder resonates both endlessly and
intimately. Like the assassinations of John Kennedy, Martin Luther
King and Robert Kennedy, most people that were around at the time
will testify that they can recall precisely where they were and what
they were doing when the tragic news were announced. While other
events might recede into the recesses of memory, these circumstances
were so profound that inevitably they were etched into a collective
consciousness where they remain suspended for all time.
I remember hearing the news about Lennon on the way home from a
Police concert in Sunrise. It was nearly 11 p.m. and I was still
basking in the afterglow of the amazing show I had just witnessed
when the news came over the radio that John had been shot. At first,
his condition was unknown, but it seemed only moments later that the
deejay confirmed the fact that he had died. It was a numbing feeling,
one that I couldn't comprehend. Why would anyone shoot a Beatle? But
then again, how could anyone have murdered a president or a leader
like Martin Luther King?
It wasn't the end of innocence -- Kennedy's killing had effectively
clinched that -- but it was the end of an era, a time when the
Beatles were an inextricable part of our daily lives and their
lingering collective influence had changed us all so profoundly. With
John dead, it was as if our world had shifted on its axis. Suddenly,
we were forced to confront our mortality. If our gods could be felled
in such random fashion, then who among us was immune?
Ironically it was 16 years prior, practically to the day, on December
11, 1964 to be precise, when the legendary soul singer Sam Cooke was
shot and killed by the owner of the motel where he had taken a woman
companion for the night. The circumstances were never fully fleshed
out, but I have a vague recollection of hearing the news while at
religious school. I was too young to fully appreciate Cooke's impact
on popular music, although I heard his songs "You Send Me" and "A
Change Is Gonna Come" on the radio at the time.
The death of another great R&B singer, Marvin Gaye, made a more
indelible impact on me, when, on April 1, 1984, he too became the
victim of a bullet, which in his case, was fired from his father.
Again, it was unbelievable, especially to think that his father,
Marvin Sr., was to blame, despite reports that he had acted in self
defense. Regardless, I remember that the news broke just prior to the
start of a Judy Collins concert I was attending, and Collins made
mention of it during her show, paying tribute to a man credited by
many as the greatest soul singer of all time.
At the end of the '60s, a quick succession of rock star fatalities
further affirmed the fact that the era of peace, love and youthful
abandon had come to a close. Coupled with the debacle of Altamont,
which witnessed the murder of an audience member by the Hell's Angels
during a set by the Rolling Stones, the accidental overdoses of Jimi
Hendrix and Janis Joplin in 1969 and Jim Morrison's demise two years
later further emphasized the fact that there was no longer any divide
between indulgence and excess. The personalities of those particular
individuals had been widely trumpeted in the music press at the time,
so it was almost expected that they would likely not live to see
their senior years. So I can't say I was especially shocked when the
news arrived over the airwaves.
The death of Brian Jones on July 3, 1969 did surprise me however.
Initially ruled a "death by misadventure," his drowning in the
swimming pool of his English country estate was later rumored to be a
deliberate act of murder perpetrated by his handyman. Whatever, the
cause, it made quite an impression on me. The Stones were superstars
and champions of the early British music invasion, so in a very real
sense, they had always been part of my musical upbringing. What's
more, Jones was always my favorite Stone. His multi-instrumental
prowess and irreverent attitude made the band all the more
interesting, and when he was sacked the month earlier, the Stones
were never the same. I remember hearing the news of his death in the
office of my parents' gift shop in St. Thomas Virgin Islands, where
we were living at the time. (Ironically, I'd meet his bandmates while
they were visiting the island a scant two years later.) I was
devastated, and it was only America's landing on the moon just over
two weeks when I could be comforted by better news brought to that
tiny office TV screen.
Nearly a decade later, I found myself working as promotion man in
South Florida, which is when the next major wave of superstar
tragedies hit in rapid succession. Elvis Presley passed away on
August 16, 1977, followed by Keith Moon on September 7, 1978 and John
Bonham of Led Zeppelin on September 25, 1980. Perhaps it was the fact
that I was in the music business at the time, and I had acquired a
jaundiced attitude in conjunction with my everyday dealings, but I
remember hearing the news and accepting it as simply another turn of
events. Their deaths were devastating to the rock world overall, but
I seemed to think that becoming a casualty of one's own carelessness
was not so surprising anymore. Being in the business, I had seen too
many people fall through their own foolishness.
Still, I must admit that George Harrison's passing in 2001 still
numbs me, as does John Lennon's death now an unbelievable three
decades past. When I was in New York last month I walked by the
Dakota, the building where he lived, and stared at the spot where he
was shot down, still trying to absorb the senselessness of it all. If
only he had allowed his car to drive him into that courtyard so he
wouldn't have stepped out on the curb and made himself an easy
target. If only... I suppose when one loses an idol, that loss always lingers.
-------
Thirty years on, fans still weep for Lennon
http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/music/thirty-years-on-fans-still-weep-for-lennon
James Reinl
Dec 8, 2010
"It's still difficult to hold back the tears," says Jerry Rubin, who,
like many devotees of the British pop icon, John Lennon, is today
holding a candlelit vigil to mark 30 years since the murder of
Liverpool's most famous peacenik, artist and rocker.
"He was loved by so many people in so many ways," added the
66-year-old, who has marked December 8 each year for three decades.
"A musical genius, a person who was growing and evolving, his
politics, how he spoke his mind as a free and natural person.
"And the tragic way he was shot down, as a young man, in front of his
wife in the street."
The crowds gathering in Lennon's birth city of Liverpool, near the
site of the shooting in New York, at Rubin's remembrance in Los
Angeles and other cities around the world bear testament to a legacy
that still resonates today.
Liverpudlians will lay flowers beside the new Peace and Harmony
monument. New Yorkers will congregate at Lennon's favourite spot in
Central Park, near the apartment he shared with his wife, Yoko Ono,
until he was shot outside the Gothic apartment block.
In the years since his death, Lennon, born to working-class parents
and raised by his aunt, Mimi Smith, has garnered peculiar accolades,
from the John Lennon Peace Crater on the moon's dusty surface to an
eponymous airport serving Liverpool.
For two hours each night between Lennon's birthday, October 9 (he
would have turned 70 last month), and the anniversary of his death,
December 8, the Imagine Peace Tower, near Reykjavik beams a piercing
blue light into the sky over Iceland.
Some look at the city Lennon and Ono fled to in 1971 to escape a
hostile British press. In the Ono-approved documentary, LennoNYC, the
Japanese avant gardist says her late husband "should have been born
in New York". Lennon once said that in Manhattan he was "known enough
to keep my ego floating, but unknown enough to get around".
Some question Lennon's commitment to peace activism. The Georgia
academic, John McMillian, describes a "fleeting and capricious"
streak of pacifism that began with the late-1960s bed-ins with Yoko
and abruptly quietened in 1972 as he sought to remain in the US.
But to the Lennon peaceniks, the wire-rimmed spectacles and
shoulder-length hair will forever symbolise a man who promoted peace.
Rubin has no doubt that his hero would have attended "every anti-war
rally since Vietnam".
"The words that John Lennon said in that classic song, Give Peace a
Chance, are immortal," he says. "That is something we have never
really done and it's time to do it. Even giving peace half a chance
would be good enough to get things started."
---------
John Lennon's Murder 30 Years Later: A Remembrance
http://motherjones.com/mojo/2010/12/john-lennon-30-years-remembrance
By David Corn
Dec. 8, 2010
Five years ago, on the 25th anniversary of the fatal shooting of John
Lennon, I wrote this remembrance. Unfortunately, it is just as relevant today.
--
Twenty-five years ago today, John Lennon was shot dead outside the
Dakota apartment building in New York City. He died about 11:00 pm.
In those days, news was not so instantaneous. It wasn't until the
next morning that many peoplemyself includedlearned of this
horrific event. At that time, I was working at the Center for the
Study of Responsive Law in Washington, DCotherwise known as the
office of Ralph Nader. I was taking a year off from college.
The news that morning hit meand millions of othershard. After
stumbling into the officea rabbit warren of offices, some separated
by walls made of cartons containing remaindered books produced by the
Nader operationI was asked to deliver a letter from Nader to
President Carter. We didn't fax back then. I don't recall what the
letter was about, but Nader was probably again blasting Carter, who
at this point was a lame duck preparing to vacate the White House
after losing to Ronald Reagan the previous month, for failing the
public interest on some regulatory matter. I didn't mind the
assignment. I didn't feel much like working or talking to anyone. It
was a cold morning and about half a mile walk. I could stretch this
mundane delivery task into an hour of solitude.
I walked down 16th Street NW, and within a few blocks I passed the
headquarters of the National Rifle Association, an entire building
next to one of Washington's lovely traffic circles. I stared at the
building. My sadness and numbness slid into anger. I didn't know yet
that Lennon's killer, Mark David Chapman, had purchased the
.38-caliber handgun with which he shot Lennon, at a Hawaii gun store
despite having a record of mental illness. But I did know that the
NRA and its allies in the gun industry were one of the most powerful
lobbies in town and that their primary concern was easy access to
weapons. I started talking to the imposing building. "No," I said,
"no, you're not going to get off scott-free here, no, no way." And an
idea struck.
After dropping off the letter to Carter at one of the entrances to
the White House, I hurried back to the office. I told Russell
Mokhiber, one of the staffers and a veteran agitator, that I had
decided to mount a protest rally outside the NRA's office. Here was a
chance, I thought, to spur a debate on gun control. I wanted time off
to organize the event. Mokhiber approached Nader, who said that would
be fine, but that I should do it as a private citizen, not as an
associate of the Center. That was fine by me. I immediately formed
Citizens against Gun Violence, an "ad hoc citizens group."
CAGVthat is, mequickly picked a date a few days hence for the event
and designed a flyer advertising the rally. In recent weeks, there
had been other examples of handgun violence in Washington. The
brother of author David Halberstam, a local doctor, had been shot and
killed by an intruder whom he had chased out of his home. And a
popular community activist, a young African-American woman, had been
shot dead, too. The flyer featured both of them and Lennon. And I
asked a copy shopno Kinko's back thento print hundreds of copies on
a super-rush basis. It could in those days take a day or two to get
such a job done. The person at the counter looked at the material and
said, "Come back in an hour."
CAGV grew in numbers, by which I mean that several interns at the
Center and some friends of mine volunteered to put up flyers around
town. Mokhiber went out and bought a bullhorn. I filed a permit
application minutes before it was due. A local radio station
announced that Lennon fans would be gathering at the end of the day
on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. And as soon as the copies of
the flyer were ready, I picked them up and headed toward the Lincoln Memorial.
There were several hundred people on the steps. One scrawny-looking
fellow was in the middle of the crowd, holding up a cheap cassette
playerno iPods, eitherthat was blaring out various Beatles and
Lennon tunes. I politely pushed my way toward him. I handed him one
of the flyers and asked if at an appropriate time he would let the
people around him know about the rally. He looked at the flyer. The
cassette player was playing "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." He said,
"No, you tell them." The song ended. He turned off the machine and
said, "This guy has something he wants to say to you."
On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, I made my first and only
political speech. "We've just heard this song that says, 'After all
this time, we must surely be learning," I began. "But are we? There
are 10,000 handgun deaths a year. Are we learning how we can prevent
that?" I noted that not only Lennon but other important members of
our community had been killed by guns recently and that efforts to
restrict guns routinely fail. "Why?" I asked. "Because people who
work there"I pointed across the Reflecting Pool toward the
Capitol"listen too much to the people over there"I pointed in the
direction of the NRA building. But, I added, now was an appropriate
time to show that other Americans had different views. I asked the
people there to come to the rally. And I'm afraid I said something
corny like, "Imagine if everyone who feels as you do today showed
up." When I was done, the scrawny fellow gave me a hug; the people
applauded. I darted off to start putting up the flyers.
Besides working the grassroots, CAGV had a media strategy. I had
fellow workers at the Center call up various media
outletsparticularly radio stations that played rock music. They
asked for the news or program director and then said something like,
"I hear there's going to be a large protest outside the NRA
headquarters in three days to commemorate the death of John Lennon
and to call for sensible handgun control, and I want to go. Do you
have any information on this?" Of course, they did not. But
invariably the person on the other end of the phone said, "No, but if
you find out anything please let me know."
Hours later, I would call these media people and say, "I'm David Corn
of Citizens Against Gun Violence, an ad hoc citizens group. I
understand you're looking for information on the rally we're
holding." Everyone was quite keen on listening to me. Several radio
stations asked me to come into their studios to talk about the event.
"Was I exploiting this tragedy to make a political point?" some
asked. "Yes," I said. The aim was to use this awful killing to
advance policies that might prevent such another tragedy from
occurring. "Do you think," I countered, "that John Lennon, the
antiwar, antiviolence activist, would mind?"
Word got out. People started calling from all over the region. Some
students at a collegeI believe it was in Pennsylvaniawere renting a
bus. I contacted the leading gun control advocates in Washington,
convinced them this event was actually going to happen, and got them
to commit to attending and speaking. Within a day or two, the office
had unofficially become the headquarters of CAGV. Nader asked what
was going on, but he didn't seem to mind. Nor did his chief of staff,
John Richard.
The rally went off as planned. About one or two thousand people, I
believe, showed up. There were camera crews, reporters from various
newspapers. I put the professional handgun control advocates in front
of the journalists; they gave the interviews. So too did relatives of
Halberstam's brother and the community activist. All these people
used the new bullhorn and spoke of the need for restraints on guns. I
gave no speech. One woman approached me and said she had come because
she had heard me on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The bus from
Pennsylvania (or wherever) arrived. Cars driving by honked.
The eventas far as such events gowas a success. There was media
coverage. Those who had come felt they had done something with their
grief and anger. And as almost always happens when a prominent act of
gun violence occurs, the topic of handgun was again on the radar
screen. Not because of our effort, but we had done our part. However,
that momentlike all momentsquickly faded. It is now 25 years later.
John Lennon is still dead. (And so is George Harrison.) The NRA years
ago moved to a bigger and better headquarters in suburban Virginia.
The gun lobby has had its ups and downs, but it's been mostly ups of
late (such as the expiration of the ban on assault weapons). Lennon's
death, it turns out, was no catalyst for action. And we have
stillafter all this timenot learned how to stem the tide of gun
violence. Which is one of several reasons why this anniversary of
Lennon's death is a sad day.
.
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