There has been one constant in my life. An entity that has always been. They have been there through all of my trials and tribulations, my heartaches and disappointments, and my triumphs. They are four regular guys, “working class heroes” if you will. Their names are John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Even their depressing songs bring me great joy like “Eleanor Rigby”, for example. It’s about ‘all the lonely people’, and Eleanor dies alone in the end. I don’t hear all that, I hear those beautiful harmonies and violins. Pure genius. On that horrible night in December, 1980, when John Lennon was murdered, was when I decided to become a writer. I was fourteen years old and the first poem I ever wrote was called, “Blue Meanies”. It was about that horrible night, that horrible no one, and I guess, the ills of the world. I remember that night vividly. I was in my room, my sanctuary from the pains of adolescence, when my brother, who was watching Monday night football when Howard Cossell announced it, came to tell me John Lennon was dead. Immediately I went to the radio and every station, regardless of genre, was playing his music and flashing news reports. What a tragic ending to the life of a brilliant, yet humble man. The next day, I went to school, I was in 8th grade, wearing all black and cradling my small, at the time, collection of Beatles albums. My classmates thought I was weird, but the teachers, the adults, understood. Afterall, it was part of their generation that died that night.
I got into the Beatles quite by accident. I was 10 years old and crazy about the Bay City Rollers, you know, “S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!”. My mother even made me the plaid outfit with suspenders…I was the Bay City Rollers’ number one fan. I was at my Grandmother’s house and she told me my mother had a Bay City Rollers’ album in the big stereo, you know the one that looks like a piece of furniture with the lid on top, everyone had one in the 70’s. She got it for me and Lo and behold, it’s an original copy of “Meet the Beatles”. I was disappointed in a way that it wasn’t the Bay City Rollers. What did my Grandmom know, English/Scottish, all the same to her, she likes Eddy Arnold anyway. I took it home and listened to it and was captivated. In the 70’s there was a big run on Beatles compilation albums, ie: the red and the blue albums complete with red and blue vinyl. My Granny gave me the money to buy them, and that’s how it all started. After John Lennon was killed, they re-released alot of the Beatles albums and John’s solo work, so I bought that, too. Today, my garage is filled with Beatles music and memorabilia. I think half of my wardrobe consists of Beatles and John Lennon t-shirts. They have always been there for me, my heroes. No matter what was happening in my sometimes tumultuous life, they were there, bringing me comfort with their words and music. In the words of John Lennon, “We all shine on…”
Betty Roxx! 