Where Were You When John Lennon Was Shot? 25 Years Later

Anyone who says they know me, doesn’t really know me unless of course they are The Arizona Babe, Rex Pâté Homo, Louie, Benjy, Zog-19 or any of a number of my close friends and comrades, but today marks a milestone for me, as it does for those of us who either lived with or through the era in which the murder of John Lennon was committed.

It was one of those defining moments in history; just as both kids and adults had faced 17 years earlier with the assassination of John F. Kennedy, everyone else would ask each other of my generation that same burning question; “Where were you when John Lennon was shot?

First however, I must back up a little bit and give you, my dear readers a little preface. I came across John Lennon, like most did, through the music of The Beatles. Back in 1977, when I was 15, I discovered them when I was riding my bicycle home from somewhere, when I stopped off into an Uncle Dan’s Army Surplus shop in Skokie, Illinois on Dempster Street. Uncle Dan’s had a lot of cool stuff besides used army and navy clothing and accessories; they also sold used record albums.

Of course the first one I spied in the wooden orange crate was The Beatles soundtrack album, “A Hard Day’s Night,” so I inquired about the album, to which the clerk said it was a great record, besides it was only a dollar, so I couldn’t beat that. I bought the record, stuffed it carefully into my backpack and rode home.

Shortly after I arrived home, I put the album on my big brother Louie’s portable green turntable and listened to that record approximately 50 times, all in a row, much to the chagrin of my brothers Louie, Benjy & Joey; but it was too late because I was hooked!

My love for The Beatles and their music grew and grew until I literally gave up everything for their music. They felt more like a family to me, as opposed to my own family at that point which I had fallen in and out with so many times over at that age. The Beatles were my sanctuary; whenever I felt sad, I could go and listen to them and in turn, The Beatles calmed me down. It was indeed The Beatles who I felt at age 15 had found me somehow, listened to my fears and drove my mind toward creative composure.

In 1980, I entered college for the first time, downstate Illinois at Lincoln College in Lincoln, Illinois to be exact. It was a small campus, only 500 students, so one could stand up and be counted. As I entered college that fall, I was full-steam and headlong into The Beatles, Beatles-speak and everything I ever learned I made it fit a Beatles-like format; they were my world; my everything.

Coming back from Thanksgiving break that fall, things started to slowly change as I discovered girls. Specifically one, whom I met on the Amtrak train headed back to school, who seemed to like me an awful lot because, in her words “I was unique."

Her friends encouraged me to ask her out which I did during suppertime in the early evening of Monday, December 8. Later, I went to off to work for my job as a short order cook in the student union snack bar. At 10:30pm central standard time, one of the Lincoln College security guards came marching into the student union and announced to those of us inside the union that John Lennon had just been shot.

I went numb; it was if one of my own family members was critically injured or near death. My entire body tingled, as my arms, hands, legs and toes all felt that “pins and needles” effect. I felt so sick and dizzy…

The following type-written account is based upon hearing the news on Monday, December 8, 1980. For posterity, I had mailed myself a three page type-written letter to my parents’ home in then-Morton Grove, Illinois.

While looking for a salvageable Cops Hate Poetry press kit for the “from Art To Zine” (fanzine and rubberstamps show) at the Book & Paper Arts Center in Chicago in late October. The type-written letter fell out of a box after remaining hidden for nearly 25 years.

For better comprehension, I will fill in the little discrepancies so that you, my dear readers will understand some of my more peculiarities that I am referring to throughout the account. I had typed the letter to myself in the wee hours of December 9, 1980.

“The following is an account of how I reacted to the death of John Lennon: it was about 10:30pm when I was working at the Lincoln College (student union) snack bar. Amy, the girl that I work with was writing a letter, while I was doing my homework. The security guard came in and told me that John Lennon had just been shot and killed. I couldn’t believe it at first, but the security guard told me it interrupted the television program he was watching as a news bulletin.

Suddenly, I began to shake all over. My body had become overrun with fear. My hands felt like pins and needles, as if my blood circulation had gone out from under me. I began to sweat profusely, just getting more and more angry and not believing the news.

Amy told me that I could leave early if I wanted to, but I decided to finish my shift to the regular time. Still a nervous wreck, I found the nearest payphone booth and called home. Someone answered it and it was my sister Naomi. I heard someone crying in the background and it turned out to be The Arizona Babe. My father, Rex Pâtér Homo got onto the phone and talked to me too, telling me that the person who had shot John Lennon was a psychotic and had been caught almost immediately.

Rex then handed the phone to The Arizona Babe who was crying a lot and kept on repeating my name and said she was so sorry. We talked for a while and then she told me she loved me. I repeated the same back to her and then hung up.

I then went back to my dorm room and telephoned an old high school chum. He said he had heard the bad news and so we reminisced for a while on the subject, spoke about other stuff and then I said good-bye and hung up.

My last phone call I made was to my big brother Louie, who candidly said to me that he sort of expected to hear from me. He noted that he tried to call me if I had found out yet, but wasn’t able to reach me. We both talked about Lennon’s death and the unofficial stories we both had heard. I then told him that I had to go and finish mopping up my room, so he let me go and I hung up. I slept in someone else’s room because of a stupid college prank my room was flooded once again.

I went to bed about 2:30am and awoke at 5am. Ever since that time I had been awake, getting only two and a half hours of sleep. So many fellow students around the Lincoln College campus walked up to me and offered their condolences and sympathies to me and with me about John Lennon and his weird, mysterious death.

I know that it will take me quite a while to get over his murder, but even though he wasn’t my favorite Beatle, I was and still am so damn fond of him. It’s too bad he had to go this way. I guess this is the way the Double Fantasy (reference to the-then new album both him and Yoko Ono had released in October of 1980) ends…”

Fast forward to Sunday, December 14, 1980; many vigils for John, namely in the form of a one-minute of silence were held world-wide. I tried in vain to get my college administration to do something officially, but they refused, so I took it upon myself and walked alone to the Lincoln College baseball field, which was pretty muddy and held my own vigil. The only other person that came was my good friend and later good roommate, Tony Chapin, first cousin to the now-late pop singer Harry Chapin.

Together we sat in the field and stared into the air, while a glass candle I had picked up earlier in the week from a local church and pasted a circa-1968 photograph of Lennon burned steadily. I thought of many things within that long minute, mostly of the happiness he brought to me and to the world and for that brief time, I sobbed; sobbed until I was able to get somewhat a hold of myself.

It took me nearly a year to get over Lennon’s death, more so than anyone else’s death at that time. Every year, I have held a silent vigil for his passing wherever in the world I have been. Some of those times have been happy, while others, incredibly sad.

It’s really hard to imagine (no pun intended) a world without John Lennon, but it’s been that way for 25 years. I do have my opinions on Yoko Ono, which is a sort of love-hate relationship in many ways, but I won’t air them today.

As for that girl I asked out that evening, when the news came in, most of her friends pestered me and asked me all that week if I still had planned to go out with their friend.

As if that date with her mattered at that point in my life; it really didn’t. She ended up marrying the son of a furrier a few years later.

I love you John, wherever you are
this night.