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Wednesday, December 8, 2010

I am a Marxist Lennonist

I am a Marxist Lennonist. Groucho Marx and John Lennon. Yeah. I know; it’s an old joke. But today when I awoke and sipped my morning coffee while reading my emails; I hummed along to a John Lennon tune on the radio. Moments later another Lennon tune was played. By the time a third tune was playing it occurred to me that something was up. Hearing an artist that you don’t hear everyday; say, three times in one hour usually means one thing: he or she is dead. Thirty years ago today I was driving in my tiny red 1978 Honda Civic when; like today, I heard a third Lennon song. I was on my way home from Dalhousie University. I hadn’t been paying attention to the D.J. I was pulling in my Parents driveway when I put two and two together. I dashed upstairs and turned on the 12” TV in my room. There was a reporter standing on the New York street in front of Lennon’s apartment where he met his tragic end. I was stunned. I sat on the edge of my bed and felt the horrible irony of that moment.
So today’s playing of his songs made me flashback to that event. I remembered too the following summer when I was in the same car driving home from the Mall. When I had gotten into the car a Harry Chapin song was playing. A huge fan of his; I was delighted. But when I turned through the busy intersection towards home and another song came on the radio, I didn’t need to hear the D.J. say the words. I pulled off the road and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. I knew he was dead. When I was ready to drive; I went to work. Misery loves company. I sought out my friend Dave whom I had infected with the Chapin bug while we were unloading freight. I would play tapes on my boom box. “Did you hear the news?” I asked. “Harry Chapin is dead.” Dave was saddened to hear the news. I was busy that afternoon; I had a dozen things to do and this sad event was on my mind. When I returned to work for my nightshift I saw Dave again. Forgetting that I had already told him I called out “Hey Dave; did you hear? Harry Chapin is dead!” Always fast on his mental feet Dave called back “What: still?”
But the death of John Lennon had the added twist of his being shot down. The man who asked a generation to “give peace a chance” had been shot down in cold blood. To top off the irony was the fact that Lennon had just released a new album; Double Fantasy only three weeks before his death. It was his first work since his self imposed withdrawal from the business five years earlier. I had just bought the album a week earlier. I had only bought it because a guy I knew told me it sucked. He was a terrible judge of music so I felt safe in spending twelve bucks. In the aftermath of Lennon’s murder songs like “Starting Over” and “Watching the Wheels” tugged at our heartstrings and drove home the immensity of what we had lost.
Today when I heard the back-to-back Lennon songs I flashed back to that day thirty years ago and I understood what was happening. They were marking the thirtieth anniversary of Lennon’s murder. I say I understood what they were doing. It doesn’t mean that I condone it. I don’t think we should honor John by remembering his death. In his tribute song “Empty Garden” (Hey, Hey, Johnny) Elton John refused to mention the name of the man who shot Lennon. I agree with this. There is no need to immortalize him. In the song Elton says “its funny how one insect, can damage so much grain…” So much grain indeed. But I don’t think Lennon would have called him an insect. Only the day before he had signed a copy of Double Fantasy for him. Lennon would have understood that he was sick. In his diminished mental state it was almost no different than Lennon having been struck by a car. Lennon would have seen that they were both souls, both equals. If this man had been well he would not have done this terrible thing.
If you want to honor a man like Lennon, honor his life and what he stood for not his death and what it says about humanity. Celebrate his birthday not his death day. Celebrate his birth not his death. Today when I heard those songs it was a bit like he died all over again. It made me terribly sad. I never met John Lennon. In a very real sense he only ever lived for me on a speaker, on the TV and on the printed page. I can still listen to him sing and when I do he is alive for me. He will never write another song but no one can take away the ones he did write. For me that means part of him is still alive.