The End Of The Innocence - The Murder Of John Lennon

I was 14 years old the day John Lennon was shot and killed outside The Dakota, his New York City apartment complex. Like so many other Americans watching television that night, I learned of Lennon’s death courtesy of legendary sports broadcaster Howard Cosell.

There were just seconds left on the clock in a Monday Night Football game between the Miami Dolphins and the New England Patriots. Patriots kicker John Smith was getting ready to try a field goal that would give New England the win.

“Remember, this is just a football game,” Cosell began, before passing on the word, as confirmed by ABC News, that Lennon had been shot twice and killed. More information would soon flood the world, and the name Mark David Chapman—a 25-year-old security guard—would enter the lexicon as one of the most famous murderers in history.

Don McLean, in his song “American Pie,” claimed “the day the music died” was on Feb. 3, 1959—the day Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper, J.P. Richardson, all fell out of the sky and died in a plane crash in Clear Lake, Iowa.

The same could be said for Dec. 8, 1980—the day one of the Beatles was taken from us by a madman.

Imagine, Lennon once sang to us.

Imagine, for sure.

Imagine all the music that might have come our way over the decades since.

Say what you want about Lennon—and about Yoko Ono—but Lennon was very much about peace and love, and his musical brilliance, some would say, has not been matched.

He was a Beatle.

John. Paul. George. And Ringo.

I didn’t hate the Beatles growing up. Nor did I love them, though. They have some great songs. They have some pretty bad ones, too. But there is no denying their impact on the world—then or now.

Just consider all the hubbub over the recently released “Get Back” Documentary on Disney+. I’ve started watching it and it’s a fascinating look at perhaps the greats musical act in history.

But back to John Lennon and Dec. 8, 1980, when I was just 14 years old.

As I think back on it these 41 years later, I realize that it was a bit of an end of the innocence for me, as well. A famous person—one of the world’s most famous people—could be gunned down just like that. It’s something that shocks me even today.

Lennon was 40 years old the night he died. In his prime, even if he was a bit off his rocker.

Oh, what he could have given the world if not for that fateful day in New York City.

Obviously, I think saying the world would be in a different place now is a bit of a stretch. But it certainly wouldn’t be any worse of, would it?

The butterfly effect follows a strange path and you never know who might have heard an unwritten Lennon song, and changed paths and how that would have affected other lives and so on.

There is power in music and there is beauty in artistry, though half of this country would beg to differ with that statement, I’m sure.

Many famous people have died before their time during my life, so I’ve been shocked and saddened by many losses since. And while Lennon’s death didn’t impact me in the present day of the 1980 me, at least not in a way I realized back then, a look back tells me a different story.

Lennon’s loss was huge. To music. To our country. To his country. To the world.

On Sunday, Dec. 7, 1980, the world still felt innocent.

Come Monday, the world would start to change again. Innocence was shattered as a boy watched a football game that was nothing more than that—a football game being played out on a night that broke people’s hearts.

I don’t remember who won the game that night.

But we all lost big time.

John Nash is an award-winning journalist and photographer who has spent his whole life in the New England region of the United States. He presently resides in Fairfield County, as he waits for the winds to shift to take him on his next journey. This essay originally appeared on his blog "The October Weekend," and is published here with his permission.