[A British tabloid. Photo: Google Search]

I can’t Imagine…

~~ Patrick Egan

It was 1980. I was teaching Oceanography and Earth Science at the Ridgefield High School in Connecticut.

Monday, Dec. 8, was a normal day of classes. Late that afternoon, Parent/Teacher Conferences were scheduled. I was a new faculty member and somehow I scored The Conference Room near the Main Office for my appointments. Parents came into the room, we discussed their child, I held the reports and we talked.

Me–“Oh, your student is doing just fine.”

Them–“Are you sure? She/He seems to distrust me now. Am I the enemy?”

Me–“No, it’s just hormones. You child will rediscover you in a few years.”

Them–“Oh, thank goodness.”

Then the darkness descended…

The parents came in and left. The dinner hour passed. The final dozen or so waited in the hall. A father and mother came in. He had a bandage on his forehead. We sat for a few minutes and I politely asked about the bandage.

Father–“You heard about the Stouffer Fire?” {Conference Center in Westchester Co. A fire broke out while a Corporation was have sessions. Twenty-six people were killed.}

Me–“Yes, of course.”

Father–“I was the last one out. The guy behind me died.”

I sat in silent shock. The academics of his (really good child) was suddenly put into a new perspective. The upcoming holidays, the father/husband and child flashed through my mind. There were more important things in life for this fortunate man than his child’s Earth Science grade.

Me–“I’m sorry. We’re done here. Go home. Have a special holiday.”

Father-“I most certainly will.”

My mood darkened…

After conferences, several teachers from the Science Department met in the Parking lot. The decision was made to go to a nearby pub and have dinner. So, we did…

We had nachos, tacos, refried beans and a few beers. Then the lights came on. The night manager told the crowd to please leave. There was a bomb scare. Get out!

So we did. In another parking lot, there were three of us left.

My co-teacher, Jeff and his house mate whose name I can not recall, said: “Hey Pat, why don’t you come over to our place for a dessert? It’s on your way home.”

I said: “Lead the way, Jeff.”

And things got even darker…

At Jeff’s house (Jeff was a musician with an album or two out there. It was his avocation. He taught Biology.) I plopped myself on the sofa and opened a final beer. Jeff went for a bowl of popcorn, some cheese and not a few crackers. His house mate, sat and ate with us and retired to bed. Jeff and I sat on the sofa and talked about the next day, and the upcoming holiday vacation. It was 10:30 pm. I began to think of going home to my room in the house of a teacher from the Ridgefield Junior High School.

In New York City, at the entrance to the Dakota Building, something very very wrong was about to happen…

I sat for a few minutes longer then found my coat. Jeff was in the kitchen attending to something. I stood in front of the TV. A news break.

On the screen, a news stringer from one of the City’s stations, was standing in Central Park West holding a mic. His update…

“John Lennon has been pronounced dead.”

I called Jeff. He stood in front of the screen. I never saw a person turn so completely white, so fast and so pale, in my life. He called his friend.

Ten minutes later I was driving home, just a few miles, but it took me ages.

I was somehow less innocent than I was at the start of my day. So many tragic things, so much pain, so much confusion. But, in a sense, the world became less innocent that night. The spirit of the 60’s, the excitement of the Beatles–it all seemed to die when Chapman pulled the trigger. He is sitting today in his cell at Green Haven Correctional Facility, probably unaware of the chain of events he set in motion. But, perhaps he is aware. And, if he is, is he sorry?

It doesn’t really matter, though.

It’s a “day the music died” again. In the years to come, there will be many days when someone’s music will die.

We’re all sorry.

[The last photograph of John. Taken by Annie Leibovitz on the afternoon of Dec. 8, 1980. He was also photographed naked, in the fetal position, on a bed, next to his beloved wife, Yoko Ono. Photo: Google Search.]