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December 8, 1980 Revisited

Drew Marshall

    The nation was mourning the assassination of our President, John F Kennedy, when I first heard The Beatles on the radio. On Sunday night, February ninth, nineteen hundred and sixty four, the Fab Four appeared on the Ed Sullivan television variety show. A record seventy three million people tuned in that night and Beatlemaina was born in the colonies. The world would never be the same again. At nine years and three months, I had become a Beatlemaniac.
    It was time to put our grief behind us and move forward. We would start pioneering the new frontiers that Kennedy envisioned.

***

    Monday morning commuting, was never easy. I impatiently waited for the subway train. A short, stocky, man in his mid-thirties, about twenty five feet from me, caught my attention.
    He seemed to be in a daze. The man with a moustache and glasses would walk several steps and then stop. The guy needed to steady himself. I assumed he was drunk or stoned and tried to ignore the stranger as he came over to me.
    “Who would want to kill John Lennon? He brought so much joy into the world.”
    He stared blankly into space as he said this to me. No one else was in the immediate area.
    The weirdo then continued onward, towards the end of the platform.
    A nut, I said to myself. This was par for the course, when riding the New York City subway trains. I peered over the track to see the oncoming train.
    I grabbed an empty seat at the end of the car. I was about to close my eyes when I noticed a woman sitting across from me reading the morning paper. The bold headline was hard to miss.
    JOHN LENNON SLAIN. SHOT OUTSIDE HIS NEW YORK APARTMENT.
    I looked at the other passengers, most of whom had their heads buried behind the New York dailies. They all had similar headlines.
    BEATLE JOHN LENNON SHOT DEAD. SUSPECT NABBED.
    I suddenly felt very strange and disoriented. What is going on here? Then I realized I was dreaming. No, this was a nightmare. That was the only explanation.
    I punched myself in the thigh. WAKE UP! WAKE UP! I shouted.
    As the train pulled into the first stop, I realized this was no dream. I understood now, why that man had said what he did to me several minutes earlier.
    I became anxious as I sat waiting for the train to arrive at my station. This was the longest twenty minutes in my life. It seemed like I was stuck in a subterranean limbo, for eternity.
    I popped out of the subway car and ran up the stairs. I didn’t stop running until I hit the nearest newsstand. I grabbed several of the papers and briskly walked towards the office.
    I quickly settled into my desk and started pouring through the papers. I cut John’s photo out of the paper, and taped it on the wall by my desk.
    I worked as a telephone sales clerk, having just started at this company a few weeks earlier. They were one of the top importers of European fabrics in America. I hated it.
    I was expected to be at my desk by eight forty five. The calls from Europe would start the phones ringing promptly at nine. I was not getting paid for these extra fifteen minutes. The supervisor was in his late fifties. He wore thick horn rimmed glasses and had the worst set of dentures in history. The lower halves, of the top row of his teeth, were always showing. He seemed to have a permanent grimace on his face. One could not tell if he was smiling, angry or in pain.
    He was quite rigid in his demeanor. Mr. Minnetto was not one for the social amenities. The man seldom said anything that was not work related. He presented himself as quite pedestrian. Minnetto had an assistant. There were four other clerks, alongside me. We worked together in a large room.
    During my interview, he told me that he had been working there for thirty years.
    “It’s a great place. I’ll die here.”
    That was his highest recommendation for my career at Sapporo Silks Incorporated. You would want to die there. And die, I knew I would, if I stayed here for any length of time. Let me have a paycheck coming in while I looked for another job.
    He was distant and by my twenty-five year old standards, an ancient relic. I made it a point, not to arrive at my desk before eight forty five. I was always ready to work when the avalanche of overseas calls started flooding in. I would catch Minnetto glaring at me from time to time. Nothing was ever said to me about this.
    I put the newspapers in my desk drawer and was staring at Lennon’s photo. I hadn’t noticed Minnetto enter the office.
     “TAKE THAT PHOTO OFF OF THE WALL RIGHT NOW! I DON’T WANT CUTOMERS COMING IN HERE, AND THE FIRST THING THEY SEE IS A PICTURE OF THAT GUY!”
    This was the first time he had shown any emotion in my presence. He continued his rant.
    “I NEVER LIKED HIM. BUT YOU CAN’T GO AROUND SHOOTING EVERYONE YOU DON’T LIKE!
    All eyes were on me. It was a tense moment. I decided to take the photo off of the wall and put it into my drawer. The supervisor returned to his desk and started his business as usual routine.
    About an hour later he left the office. As soon as Minnetto was out of sight, I impulsive took Lennon’s photo out of my desk. I cleared a section of the upper left portion of my desk off and taped the photo to it.
    Upon his return, Minnetto noticed it immediately, as I knew he would. The man was fuming, but said nothing. At five on the dot, I flew out of there and couldn’t wait to get home to watch the news about this senseless tragedy.
    I sat in my apartment living room, and tried to take in the details of what had happened.
    I was alone and couldn’t keep myself from crying.
    Upon my arrival the next morning, Minnetto, the man who wanted die, here in this office, was nowhere in sight. His flunky assistant, a seemingly decent man in his thirties, came over to me. He appeared to be very nervous.
    I was told, they wouldn’t need me after all. It was the start of their slow season. I was being laid off. In fact, the start of the holidays was their busiest season. I was relieved. I quietly gathered my things and left. I was now unemployed.
    I had worked a temp clerical job for several months, prior to joining the Sapporo Silks team. My application for unemployment insurance was rejected. I was informed that the director had warned me several times about my arriving late for work.

***

    The Dakota apartments building, is located at Seventy Second Street and Central Park West, on the upper West Side of Manhattan. Fifteen years after the assassination, I found myself in the area and went to see the location where John Lennon lived with his wife and son.
    It was a brisk morning, one week before the Thanksgiving holiday. I then crossed the street to the area designated as Strawberry Fields. It had opened to the public ten years ago. The space spans a 2.5-acre landscaped section, dedicated to John’s memory.
    The focal point is a circular mosaic of inlaid stones. IMAGINE is spelled out, the title to one of his most famous songs. It was a gift from the city of Naples, Italy.
    Whoever was quoted as saying that John’s murder was the final nail in the coffin of the sixties, had hit the nail on the head.
    The controversial author, Norma Mailer said that “We have lost a genius of the spirit!”
    Geniuses of the spirit are few and far between. They seldom walk this precious planet Earth.
    I know that my generation had a voice through him. He got us through the turbulent times, when there was only the music to hold on to.

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