BRIC-A-BRAC: We All Shine On

One of the easiest, and least informative, kinds of of news stories you can write is the anniversary story. On this date oh so many years ago, such and such happened. Here's some people who were there. Here's what really happened that day. Here's how the world has changed since that momentous event. Of course, it's not news in the sense that news is usually, in the most literal definition of the term, new. It's filler, but it's effective filler. It's filler that tugs at our memories, and makes us think we're learning something. At its best, it's storytelling. At worst, it's salt in a wound.

We've gotten them every year on September 11 for the past four years, and the 5th anniversary should be huge. The further away we get from events, the more likely we are to focus on nice round numbers. So we show up for the 60th anniversary of D-Day, and maybe we'll be back for the 65th...well, maybe we'll hold off until the 70th...of course, the 75th is gonna be gigantic, so we might just want to build up for that.

Anyway, the point of all this is that it's no surprise today's news is filled with remembrances of the murder of John Lennon. It's the 25th anniversary of that hideous event, you see. The die-hards remember it every year, of course. But a big number like 25, well, that's a good time to really remember it.

I certainly understand the impulse to mark milestones in history, as well as in one's own life. It's human nature to take note of each revolution around the sun. Familiar things tend to take us back. So I certainly don't find it surprising.

But at least this time around, I wonder if it isn't time to give the anniversary thing a rest. What exactly are we learning with this particular look back in time? That it was really, really sad? That if he were still here, there still wouldn't be a Beatles? That crazy people shouldn't be able to get handguns? No, what we're doing is trafficking in misery. We're fumbling about for something to make us really sad, and we've found a diamond in this one.

I think what I really object to is the ghoulishness of it all. At one level, there are the people who gather in Central Park, looking off at the Dakota, singing "Give Peace A Chance." I certainly respect the level of their grief. But I don't quite get it. No matter how much this man's art touched you, I'm not sure I can connect with the need to gather and mourn 25 years after the fact. They worry me a little bit. There's a part of the grieving process that they're clinging to, and it's heartbreaking in private, but somehow a little unseemly in public.

And at the other extreme are the exploiters. I'm so glad NBC managed to get hold of interview tapes with the man responsible for all our misery. (I always liked how, in Elton John's song "Empty Garden", he was compared to a ravenous insect.) Why do we need to hear these tapes? Why do we care about why he thinks he did what he did? If ever anyone deserves obscurity, it's this rat. Instead, we choose this occasion to drag him out of the depths and parade him once again. It's cheap, it's offensive, and it has nothing to do with the man we're supposed to be remembering.

John Lennon, sad to say, is an unfinished work. I'm not sure he ever figured out who he wanted to be. In his famed Playboy interview, he talks about going to many different therapies, including est and primal scream, in his words "looking for a daddy." In truth, I don't think he ever stopped doing that, trying to find the place in the world he best fit in. He went from being a rebellious student to a fiery rock-and-roller to a psychedelic poet to a pretentious artist to a peace activist to a heroin addict to a miserable drunk to a stay-at-home dad to a quiet man facing 40 to someone who felt compelled to pick up the guitar once again. He was always movingon to the next thing, never quite comfortable staying in any one place for too long. Being father to his son Sean probably made him the most comfortable, but even that couldn't hold him entirely. And it's this elusive quality that makes attempts to remember John Lennon so irritating. There are so many Johns. If you remember him one way, you haven't gotten the whole picture.

What we're left with, then, is the music. And that doesn't need a date. You can put it in at any time, and John can speak to you, and tell you who he is at that moment. Look, I'm a commemorator. I've got a stack of John Lennon and Beatles CDs that I'm listening to, and I'm doing it because it's December 8, and that's the day John died. But John isn't telling me anything about being dead. He's telling me about his life. Which is infinitely more valuable.

John Lennon sang at my wedding this year. On the album Milk & Honey, Yoko included a demo recording of John singing a song he'd written called "Grow Old With Me." It was inspired by a Robert Browning poem. In Yoko's album notes, she said that John always envisioned an elaborate, syrupy arrangement that would get played at weddings all the time. I don't know if that's true, because Yoko has been known to bowlderize a bit. But I like the story, and I love the song, and I thought the very least I could do would be to help honor that lost vision. So there he was. It was one of the few things that I absolutely was not going to budge on. And it was just beautiful.

I'm angry that a lunatic could murder such a man. I'm sad for his family and his friends and his fans. But I'm not going to dwell on it. I'll stick with remember all the things he made that make me smile, or laugh, or sing along. And I'll think about how he helped make my wedding so wonderful.

That's the John I'm thinking of. He's alive. This day, and every other.

Like the moon, and the stars, and the sun.