John Lennon has, of today, been dead 42 years – or roughly two more years than he was alive.
I was 11 when I heard about his murder. I was living in London and found out on the morning of December 9th when I got on the school bus. I was the first one picked up, and there was the driver and a chaperone (basically someone who just yelled at us), and they were both bitterly morose. I asked what was wrong (pretty ballsy for an 11 year old), and they said John Lennon was dead. I didn’t let them know I had no idea who the hell he was, although I got a hint when a song (Imagine?)came on the radio and they sharply shushed my questions.
I was aware of Paul, vaguely, but not John.
Over the next week, you couldn’t escape Beatles and Lennon music. I was in a store, and, having had my fill (something that’d be a unique occurrence in my life), I commented to my father, “He’s more popular now than when he was alive.”
I was wrong