40 years ago today, a memorial was held in Central Park in Manhattan for John Lennon, who had been assassinated the previous Monday night.
I was there. I was 19 years old. The following is what I wrote that day to remember the event…
Someone once wrote with regard to the Beatles: “I was there in the beginning. And in the middle. I don’t want to be there at the end.”
I was only 3 years old in the beginning, when the Beatles first came to this country. I was there in the middle, but I don’t remember too much of it. Beatlemania didn’t hit me until later.
Today, part of the end brought thousands of people to the Central Park bandshell on 72nd Street, only a short walk from where John Lennon lived and died.
For me, it was as if something was drawing me there. At first I thought it was only curiosity; but the more I thought about it, it wasn’t. I had to be there to say goodbye to John.
I arrived at the bandshell shortly after 1:30pm with Katie, a girl from London who lives in my building. She felt she had to be there too, but at the same time wished she could have been back in her native England for the memorial. After walking around and listening to the recorded John Lennon/Beatles music and trying to find a good place to stand, Katie and I finally joined the thousands of others who were there to pay their last respects to John.
Shortly before 2:00pm, a voice came over the loudspeaker. The voice told us to get ready for the 10 minutes of silence that was coming up. “Get comfortable” it said. “Please turn off all radios. Let’s have absolute silence.” And then, from exactly 2:00 until 2:10, the thousands stood silently for John. I never stood so still. It seemed longer than 10 minutes, but somehow it didn’t matter.
As I stood there looking around me, it dawned on me that all these people were here for a purpose. They had all come to pay tribute to one man. I think John would have been pleased and perhaps a bit stunned to know that so many loved him.
Behind me, a group of 4 were sitting on the ground with their arms around each other and their heads bowed. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, and I let them fall. There wasn’t a sound. Not one sound, except the helicopters hovering above us and an occasional sniffle, or the rustle of someone’s jacket as they moved an arm to brush aside a tear. I also noticed that during the 10 minutes, the sun stayed behind a gray cloud and didn’t reappear until after it was over.
After the 10-minute vigil, the crowds roared their approval. The music flowed through the loudspeakers again. They played John’s song Imagine. Everyone around me was singing. I sang too, and once more I cried.
Afterwards, we just walked around and tried to make our way through the crowds to the bandshell, where there was a picture of John on an easel with flowers around him. Behind his picture hung a Christmas wreath, a symbol of this season that’s supposed to be a merry one, but somehow doesn’t seem so merry anymore.
I’m glad I was there today. It was almost like a concert. It’s just too bad that the reason we were all there was such a sad one.
Thank you, John, wherever you are for touching our lives in such a special way. We’re gonna miss you. And we’ll never forget you.
Oddly Enough 