It was 26 years ago today, Mark David Chapman blew John Lennon away... many people remember where they were when the two Johns were assassinated - JFK and Lennon. I only remember the latter, being at school in Leeds, sitting next to a girl in class who was a huge Lennon fan, complete with glasses and CND symbols on her schoolbag. I can't remember her name, but I certainly remember her pain, as it was only years later I too was to become a fan of the man who was taken from us that day. This time last year, on the 25th anniversary of his death, we were still living just steps from the scene of the crime, the Dakota Building, and from Strawberry Fields, the part of Central Park dedicated to him with its iconic Imagine mosaic that hundreds, and thousands last year, would flock to commemorating his passing. I had no idea on that dark day in Leeds in 1980 that I would be so close to where it all happened years later.
Living on the Upper West Side, Tom and I enjoyed Strawberry Fields immensely, having breakfast there and just watching the world go by, although he would joke that it was where all the freaks would hang out. But he would indulge me at times of sadness, like the anniversary of Lennon's death, and five years ago when George Harrison died, when our good friends Kerry and Maurice were also in town to witness the outpouring of grief from Beatles fans around the city. It was so close to our apartment that any walk/run into the park would necessitate a trip through there. In fact, so special is Strawberry Fields that Tom chose it as the place to propose to me four years ago last July, on the bench dedicated to Thom Hunter.
As I think about Strawberry Fields and John Lennon, it seems odd that in five years living in that neighbourhood we never once bumped into Yoko, who still lives in numerous apartments in the Dakota. That is until the day we were in the most obvious setting - on Broadway, my birthday, two years ago, with tickets to the ill-fated Ono produced musical, Lennon. There she was, diminutive and demure in her trademark white pant suit and floppy felt hat, just a few rows behind us.
Behind us. Can't believe Yoko had worse seats than us! But it was the one and only time we saw her, despite sharing the same dry-cleaner on 72nd Street and the same deli for cigarettes! I loved our time in New York, for many reasons, but one was to be able to share this wonderful neighbourhood knowing that one of my heroes, John Lennon, had spent some of the happiest years of his life there. My local cafe, pharmacy, and bar, were all frequent haunts of his and despite me missing him by, oh, 20 years, his presence was still felt and shared by everyone there.
Had he still been alive today, I wonder what Lennon would have made of his neighbourhood, his adopted city, the US, the UK, and the state of the world. And how would he have been perceived: would he have been labelled anarchist, activist, or aging hippy? The more time passes after his death, the more his messages of peace and love seem to ring true, and the more they seem needed. He was the ultimate working class hero and let's hope his life and works will be remembered for another 26 years ... at least.
