I meant to post yesterday about the anniversary of John Lennon's death, way back in 1980. It was a very snowy day in Indiana. I remember my mom waking up and telling me he had been shot the day before. She was more upset than I was at first, I think. I was a freshman in high school, and that day the Art Club was going to go around and paint holiday decorations on city buildings, like the post office. We thought we'd get a snow day, but no luck. I got thrown in a group with a lot of older kids, including a senior artist I looked up to named Harold and a funky girl named Melissa I was afraid to talk to. I kind of hung back and listened to Harold and all of the older kids talk about the Beatles all day, and their music played out of every radio. I know the 70s were wild if you were older, but in my estimation it was the last good time to be a kid. When John Lennon got killed that seemed to me to be the death knell of that time. After that, all crazy things seemed possible.
Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.
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