0012090146
DETROIT FREE PRESS
001210
Sunday, December 10, 2000
METRO FINAL
1E
Photo
John Lennon
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 2000, Detroit Free Press
MOURNING LENNON, AND OUR OWN YOUTH
What do we mourn when we mourn John Lennon? He was, after all, only one-fourth
of a famous band. The Beatles might have been to rock 'n' roll what Michael
Jordan was to the NBA, but excellence alone would not explain the emotional
eruption that occurs every Dec. 8 on the anniversary of Lennon's murder.
Fans weep. DJs go misty. Radio stations play marathons of Lennon songs, always
saving his hopeful lullaby "Imagine" for the most poignant moment:
You might say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will live as one.
Mourners gather in Central Park for a candlelight vigil. They did it again
Friday night on the 20th anniversary of his death. They sang songs. They held
their flames. The man himself -- who readily admitted his failures as a
father, his tendency toward violence, his years of drug addiction and his
doubts about some of his music -- was hardly a saint and would never describe
himself as such.
For what are we weeping?
The man, or the mirth?
Volatile cultural years
Remember that the Beatles cradled neatly into the time line of the '60s. They
rose to mass popularity in 1964, just after the death of John F. Kennedy, the
turning point of that decade. Their most productive musical years paralleled
the Vietnam War -- when we embraced messages like "All You Need Is Love." They
did drug songs when we did drugs. They experimented with religions and
philosophy when we were doing the same. They were prolific in 1966-69, the
most volatile cultural years in American history.
And when the '60s ended, so did they.
In 1970, the Beatles broke up.
Now I think that had Lennon lived, the Beatles surely would have gotten back
together for something. As we have seen with the surviving members -- Paul
McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr -- they are not above making oodles
of money. They lifted a few Lennon tracks and threw their own voices behind
his to sell a series of box sets a few years ago. A Beatles anthology book --
by the three survivors -- now tops the best-seller charts. A new release of
their greatest hits is a top-selling CD of the Christmas season.
If the Rolling Stones can keep coming back, if Paul Simon can reunite with Art
Garfunkel, if the Eagles can put aside bickering for a concert series and an
album -- if virtually every important 1960s group eventually has gotten
together again -- then why not the Beatles?
Only death halted that.
And in so doing, it cemented the Beatles as the only band that had to do what
the rest of us did: grow up and leave the '60s behind forever.
They aren't coming back
If you ask me, that is why Lennon's passing still haunts us the way it does.
We mourn his death -- by gunfire, not by self-indulgence, a la Jimi Hendrix or
Janis Joplin -- but we also mourn our own childhoods.
Contrary to the message sent by our culture, you don't get to be young
forever.
The Beatles are never coming back. Neither is your first bicycle, your prom,
or your college dorm.
When we see pictures of Lennon, they are mostly of his Beatles years (since in
the last 5 years of his life, 1975-80, he was more of a recluse). We see his
wild and prolific youth; we see his hair switch from bangs to shaggy to
shoulder-length to Jesus-like. When was the last time you changed your
hairstyle on an annual basis?
Exactly. When you were a kid.
This is what we mourn when we mourn John Lennon. The brevity of youth, and the
inevitability of death: his, and, without saying it, our own.
MITCH ALBOM will sign books at 7:30 p.m. Thursday at Little Book Shoppe on the
Park, Plymouth. Contact Albom at 313-223-4581 or albom@freepress.com. Catch
"Albom in the Afternoon" 3-6 weekdays on WJR-AM (760).
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
COLUMN;JOHN LENNON