The magic that was and is John Lennon

Posted by Suzy Vitello Soulé on December 8th, 2010 at 07:13 AM | | Tweet

Upon the 30th anniversary of his death, Yoko Ono recalls her husband’s tea-making, their cats, and John Lennon’s political nature. It’s a reflective little tidbit, Ono’s essay. Quiet. And because Lennon is so woven into our cultural fabric, reading this piece I nodded my head, as though I knew him this way too.  I didn’t of course.  I was a hedonistic, self-absorbed college student when Lennon was assassinated outside his NYC apartment. But I remember vividly the late night vigil in front of Hendricks Chapel, there on Syracuse University’s quad—I remember that evening more than I do my graduation from that school, when, supposedly, Dan Rather gave the commencement address.  I remember the glow of candles, the fog-bursts of frozen breath, the attempt at IMAGINE from a well-meaning but somewhat tone deaf crowd.

That the icon’s words, music and spirit transcend generations (my daughter’s single photo in her teenage room was a Lennon coffee table book, the sunglassed eyes on which scared the crap out of my toddler son who begged that his sister’s door be closed before he went to bed each night), confirms his genius.  As days speedily wharp along, we remember guys like him—their art, anyway—and in that remembering, we are momentarily saved.

Blessings, John.  You have a very big family, and we continue to sing your songs, wear your glasses, and imagine the world as one.

 

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