December 8, 1980 - Returning home from the studio, John Lennon is assassinated while walking toward the entryway of his building.
On Friday of this month, my son will turn twenty eight years old. On December 8, 1980, my father, who characterized a close resemblance to the famed Archie Bunker, arrived at my apartment to take my wife for a maternity checkup. He could immediately see that my wife was physically shaken and he didn't have to guess why.
That was the thing with Archie. He was stubborn, harsh, and at times outright crude. But he had a big heart. His own sense of anxiety over a world going out of control often hid his vulnerability and sensitivity. My Dad confessed his inability to really understand why she and countless others felt the way that they did. But he wanted to support her in her pain. He was moved at the world's outpouring of sympathy for someone that was so different from him and his world.
Yesterday my wife and I watched a film entitled, "Killing John Lennon." I wish that we did not. But I did. And I think that you should too. It was disturbing on levels too deep to penetrate. I may need to watch it again.
To quote a movie critic at the movie's release, If “The Killing of John Lennon” is a well-made film, it is also a total bummer.