Here is Nightline's report from that night.
It is a rather creepy story. Chapman desried to live out some Catcher in the Rye fantasy: "He [Lennon] knew where the ducks went in the winter." Hours before Chapman killed Lennon, he appeared in a photo with him that was taken outside of The Dakotas.
After the shooting, Chapman sat down on the sidewalk, read Catcher in the Rye, and waited for the police.
This brings us to Monday's Musical Tribute: There is no tribute...
4 comments:
First off- Thanks for not posting "Imagine." No need to cheese this up.
I have a surprisingly clear recollection of this: I was five years old in Sharon, PA. My parents, infant sister, and I had just come from Texas to visit my maternal grandparents pre-Christmas.
I was half-way down the stairs when my dad came in the door, wet from rain?/sleet?/snow?, having just visited family over the Ohio border in Warren. He was utterly incommunicative, shell-shocked--there is no better word for it-- crest-fallen.
It took me a while to realize that Lennon wasn't the same guy as Lenin.
I have a similar memory of my own dad's reaction, Roof. I grew up listening to The Beatles and John and Yoko's later records. I remember he was especially sad for Lennon's children; Sean was about our age at the time of his father's death.
I also remember how angry my dad got many years later at how people compared the loss of Kurt Cobain to the loss of John Lennon. I don't think this was purely a generational thing either. My dad actually liked Nirvana and appreciated Cobain's talent. He was angered by the comparison for one reason: Cobain killed himself, but John Lennon was murdered. In his mind, that was a profound waste of talent, whereas Lennon was taken from his family and his fans.
And for what it's worth, "Imagine" is my least favorite Lennon song. . .
For the record, I found out about Cobain on the 3rd floor smoking balcony of USM's Bond Hall. Shooting the shit, smoking in boxers and shower sandals and ecstatic because my late birthday package had shown up from my parents that morning.
My friend, Big Jim, was inside hulling peanuts to see what happens when you smoke the red husks.
So, I watched MTV's coverage while red-faced, coughing up peanut smoke.
Ah, higher education.
As a more proper coda to my Lennon story, I literally bumped into Sean at a crowded concert at the House of Blues in New Orleans. This is minutes before Cibo Matto performed.
I opened my mouth to say something witty and engaging and all my brain could come up with was "I just touched John's sperm!" so I stuck with a backwards-nod and a shouted "Gooood evening!"
Roof--
I love your stories.
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