|
Just Imagine – The Assassination of John Lennon
Friday, September 8th, 2000
Twenty years
ago, on the 8th day of the month of December, 1980, I was an ear-witness to
the assassination of John Lennon.
 In the late 1970's
and early 1980's, in order to bring some comity to my life, I joined a number
of other out-of-work New York actors in a weekly poker game. The game moved
around somewhat (I hosted, occasionally), but was usually held at the home of
our British friend, Ian. I originally met Ian through his then lover, Deborah,
and some other mutual friends with whom I had suffered through a ridiculously
cold season of winter stock in Lake Placid, New York. I started out as an
assistant stage manager, but ended up performing a few roles when a number of
actors left the company for better jobs or, as in some cases, were fired.
Ian and I hooked up again some years later when he was cast as King Arthur
and joined my future wife, Elizabeth, in a touring production of the musical Camelot.
I had a small part in the chorus (Sir Sagramore) and had introduced Elizabeth
to the director with whom I had worked a number of times by bluntly telling
him that I had secured the perfect Guenevere for his production. He
auditioned her and agreed.
Ian's apartment was located at the corner of Broadway and 70th Street in New
York City. I think it was Broadway; it may have been Amsterdam
Avenue. The confluences of streets in the area of that intersection make it
very difficult to determine exactly where you are at any given moment.
Somewhere in an old picture box I have a photograph of a street sign that
indicates that I was standing at the corner of Broadway and Broadway.
I had told Ian I was tied up that night (I had a rehearsal) and would arrive
late if I got there at all. Living north of Ian at Columbus Avenue and 80th
Street, my usual trek to the poker game was down Columbus to 72nd Street and
then on to Broadway/Amsterdam. It may have been shorter to walk west on 80th
Street and then down Amsterdam Avenue, but in those days 80th and Amsterdam
was the street-drug sales corner of the Upper West Side and you took your
life in your hands just attempting to negotiate through the crowds without
buying something. I think I remember it being a rather balmy night for
December as I was wearing only a light jacket against the wind.
At any rate, on that fateful night as I passed the corner of 72nd Street and
Columbus Avenue, I heard several loud reports that I took to be the normal
sounds of New York at that hour - cars backfiring, building construction or
possibly gun shots. You learned to ignore those sounds in my neighborhood.
Arriving well after the start of evening, I was informed that, shortly after
the game had begun, Deborah announced that she was going to bed because of a
severe migraine headache. Even considering that she was arguably a better
poker player than any of the men, including Ian, everyone had whined bitterly
because Deborah was the only woman who regularly attended the game and it most
emphatically gave the game a pleasanter aura. She was obviously not feeling
well, because wild horses usually couldn't keep her from taking our money.
Unbeknownst to the others at the table, the game was a little more serious
for me than it was for them. I was in pretty dire straights during parts of
the late 70's and early 80's and winning a little at the poker table was a
way for me to actually eat a little more nutritionally. A few years later, I
entered some high stakes poker matches and pulled myself out of some pretty
tough spots. I wouldn't recommend it as a way of life.
I don't remember how long I had been playing, but I was only up a few dollars
when Deborah came out of the bedroom and announced that she had just heard on
the radio that John Lennon had been shot and killed. Our reaction was first
one of total disbelief and then stunned silence. It may have been me, but possibly
someone else, who  suggested we abandon
the game. We had tried to play a few more hands, but the camaraderie that
made the game what it was just wasn't there. I felt sick to my stomach on the
way home and it wasn't until the next morning when I read the New York Times
and saw the time of the attack (approximately 10:50 PM) that I realized that
I had actually heard the gunshots that had laid John low in front of the
Dakota on 72nd Street and Central Park West only a block from where I had
been standing the night before.
I had always had an affinity for John Lennon because he was the first
celebrity that I had run into (literally) after moving to New York. Bill M.,
one of my friends from college, had located a residence for me at the Beacon
Hotel (above the Beacon Theatre). Shortly after moving in, I rounded the corner at
73rd and Broadway and abruptly smacked into someone knocking their glasses
askew. I started to mutter a 'New Yorker' apology (indecipherable), when I
heard an unmistakable Liverpudlian accent say "My fault. Sorry,
mate." It might have been "man" instead of "mate."
My memory continually changes things like that over the years. I had
undeniably caused a small abrasion on the bridge of John Lennon's nose, my
first claim to fame.
Although we all know who did it, after John's death, Paul McCartney and Yoko
Ono made a simple request of John's fans - never repeat the name of John's
killer. I have always tried to honor that request. Rest In Peace, my friend.
We can only Imagine what our lives would have been like had you not
been taken from us.
current
music: Imagine
John Lennon
Imagine
there's no heaven
It's easy if
you try
No hell below
us
Above us only
sky
Imagine all
the people
Living for
today...
Imagine
there's no countries
It isn't hard
to do
Nothing to
kill or die for
And no
religion too
Imagine all
the people
Living life
in peace...
You may say
I'm a dreamer
But I'm not
the only one
I hope
someday you'll join us
And the world
will be as one
Imagine no
possessions
I wonder if
you can
No need for
greed or hunger
A brotherhood
of man
Imagine all
the people
Sharing all
the world...
You may say
I'm a dreamer
But I'm not
the only one
I hope
someday you'll join us
And the world
will live as one
Return to C. Edward George's
Home Page
|