Memories of John Lennon

MEMORIES

OF

JOHN LENNON

EDITED AND INTRODUCED BY

Yoko Ono

This book is a present from me to John who, after the breakup of the Beatles, did not know that he still had so many sweet and genuine friends who thought well of him. Happy birthday, John. We are all thankful that you were here with us.

Big kiss, yoko

CONTENTS

Yoko Ono Lennon: My Memory of John

Jane Alexander

Tariq Ali

Terri Augello

Joan Baez

Harry Benson

Chuck Berry

Jello Biafra

Cilla Black

Bono

James Brown

Peter Brown

Mike Cadwallader

Ray Charles

Jackie DeShannon

Steve Earle

Bill Eppridge

John Fogerty

Peter Gabriel

David Geffen

Julie Gold

Bob Gomel

Harry Goodwin

Bob Gruen

Ronnie Hawkins

Tom Hayden

Jim Henke

Dennis Hopper

Sir Mick Jagger

Garland Jeffreys

Sir Elton John

Larry Kane

Alicia Keys

Astrid Kirchherr

Billy J. Kramer

Christine Lavin

Annie Leibovitz

Donovan Leitch

Jerry Lee Lewis

Mark Lewisohn

Michael Lindsay-Hogg

Nils Lofgren

Norman Mailer

Albert Maysles

Elliot Mintz

A Love Letter from John and Yoko

Desmond Morris

Cousin Brucie Morrow

Bobby Muller

Andy Newmark

Philip Norman

Cynthia O’Neal

Vicki Peterson

Kate Pierson

Iggy Pop

Billy Preston

Joe Raiola

Bonnie Raitt

Paul Reiser

Carlos Santana

James Manseau Sauceda, Ph.D.

Fred Schneider

Carly Simon

John Sinclair

Phoebe Snow

Tom Snyder

Pete Townshend

Klaus Voormann

Loudon Wainwright III

Jann Wenner

Jon Wiener

Mary Wilson

Barbara Worton

Ritchie Yorke

Yoko Ono Lennon: Paper Cups

Acknowledgments

Credits

About the Editor

Credits

Copyright

About the Publisher

MY MEMORY OF JOHN

When John passed away so suddenly that night, I felt as though half of me flew away with him. My body, especially my knees, shook so badly, I had to hold on to a friend to walk out of the hospital. Spring came and went. Summer. I was surprised that the leaves were shining so intensely when John was no more. It seemed like a crime, that everything else was still so alive. Fall was beautiful. And Winter. I realized then that the winters would be hard for some time.

Twenty-five years have passed since then. I am all right when I am with people, my son, and my daughter. I smile, I laugh. I look up at the sky and let my heart dance. I hug my children—even though it’s more accurate to say that they hug me, since they are much larger than me now. But when I’m alone, when the evening light starts to drench the world in pink, in the dark of the night and at dawn, my heart still shakes and will not stop.

People always ask me when will I write about my life with John. I repeat my answer that I am not ready yet. Will I ever be ready? I don’t feel I would be. I feel I could not open that part of my heart while it’s still shaking.

This book was such a blessing for me. I cherished reading each one of the vignettes. Each writer was so sincere in their love for John, it immediately relaxed me. They were so funny, too. Great wits! Fantastic minds! I could not believe that so many of John’s and my friends suddenly revealed themselves as great writers. I kept saying to them in my mind, Don’t stop. You should have been a writer. Well, you still could be. They made me laugh belly laughs. I haven’t laughed so much since Woody Allen’s last film, I thought. And that was quite a while ago…. I laughed and laughed. And then I cried. Tears were streaming out of me, uncontrollably, and would not stop even after the last page—which came too soon….

What a beautiful project this book turned out to be. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I have. As John used to say after our successful projects—in our eyes, that is—we have to make a son of very soon. Thank you, my friends, for still carrying those memories and sharing them with us, and especially, with me. I am a lucky woman.

YOKO ONO LENNON

Spring 2005

JANE ALEXANDER*

WHEN I FIRST HEARD IMAGINE, AND THE SOFT, GENTLE VOICE OF JOHN SINGING, I WAS QUITE OVERWHELMED. THE SONG SEEMED TO ENCAPSULATE ALL WE IN THE 1960S DREAMED OF: A WORLD WITH NO VIOLENCE, NO RACISM, NO war, no assassinations—a world possible through envisioning it to be so. I still believe it, and every time I hear the song, it enforces my belief. We can have peace, harmony, beauty and love if we make that our constant vision for the future, if we imagine it and live it ourselves every day. That was John’s gift to us, all through his remarkable song.

Lennonism

TARIQ ALI*

OUR FIRST DIRECT CONTACT IN 1969 WAS FORMAL. I WAS EDITING THE BLACK DWARF, A RADICAL POLITICO-CULTURAL MAGAZINE. WE HAD PUBLISHED AN OPEN LETTER TO JOHN LENNON—A SAVAGE REVIEW OF THE Beatles’ album Revolution by John Hoyland, our music/popular culture critic. John Lennon had been busted by the cops. The Black Dwarf used the occasion to discuss the lyrics of the Revolution album seriously. Hoyland wrote:

Above all: perhaps now you’ll see what it is you’re (we’re) up against. Not nasty people, not even neurosis or spiritual undernourishment. What we’re confronted with is a repressive, vicious, authoritarian system. A system which is inhuman and immoral, because it deprives 99 percent of humanity of the right to live their lives their own way. A system which will screw you if you step out of line and behave just a tiny bit differently from the way those in power want.

Such a system—such a society—is so racked by contradiction and tension and unhappiness that all relationships within it are poisoned. You know this. You know, from your own experience, how little control over their lives working-class people are permitted to have…. How can love and kindness between human-beings grow in such a society? It can’t. Don’t you see that now? The system has got to be changed before people can live the full, loving lives that you have said you want.

Now do you see what was wrong with your record Revolution? That record was no more revolutionary than Mrs. Dale’s Diary. In order to change the world we’ve got to understand what’s wrong with the world. And then, destroy it. Ruthlessly…. There is no such thing as a polite revolution.

The tone of the letter was undoubtedly patronizing, and we thought he would ignore it. But a week later he sent a reply to John Hoyland with a covering note hoping I would publish it. We did:

Who do you think you are? What do you think you know? I’m not only up against the establishment but you, too, it seems. I know what I’m up against—narrow minds—rich/poor. All your relationships may be poisoned—it depends how you look at it. What kind of system do you propose and who would run it?

I don’t remember saying Revolution was revolutionary—fuck Mrs. Dale. Listen to all three versions (Revolution 1, 2 and 9) then try again, dear John….

You’re obviously on a destruction kick. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with the world—people, so do you want to destroy them? Ruthlessly? Until we change your/our heads—there’s no chance. Tell me of one successful revolution. Who fucked up Communism…? Sick Heads and nothing else. Do you think all the enemy wear capitalist badges so that you can shoot them? It’s a bit naïve, John. You seem to think it’s just a class war….

Look man, I was/am not against you. Instead of splitting hairs about the Beatles and the Stones—think a little bigger—look at the world we’re living in and ask yourself: why? And then—come and join us.

Love,

John Lennon

PS—You smash it—I’ll build around it.

As these extracts suggest, it was a spirited exchange.

After that there was a long silence. And, as was also common in those days, there was soon a split in the Black Dwarf. How strange it seems now and how stupid and destructive, but that’s the way we were. The Leninists left to set up Red Mole and moved from swinging Soho to proletarian Pentonville Road, a seedy zone near Kings Cross station in London.

One day John rang and we talked. He suggested a meeting and a week later he and Yoko showed up at my bed-sit in North London with a delicious Japanese take-away as supper. We discussed the state of the world, including the state of the student movement in Japan. John’s views had sharpened considerably since the letters in the Black Dwarf. He told me that, like Mick Jagger, he had wanted to march on the big anti-Vietnam war demos but the Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein, had forbidden any such outing. Epstein was fearful that the group might be denied visas to the States, which would be a commercial disaster. John always regretted having obeyed his manager, but that was in the past. The biggest and best influence in his life was now Yoko Ono. I was in no doubt that Yoko had radicalized him further on the artistic and the political front. She had also been accused of breaking up the Beatles and we laughed a great deal at the suggestion. He was angered by the racist gibes against Yoko in the tabloid press. I suggested they should be taken as compliments. It would be awful if the creeps who attacked her decided to turn their coats. Before they left, I suggested an interview with both of them and he agreed, wondering aloud whether it would be appropriate since "Red Mole was very serious and interviewing me might lower the tone." He wasn’t joking, but I assured him that an interview would be enormously helpful for our little newspaper. I asked if I could bring my colleague Robin Blackburn—more attuned to popular culture than myself—to which he readily agreed.

A week later, a large limo pulled up outside our offices to the astonishment of bystanders. Robin and I piled in and were driven to Tittenhurst. We spoke for most of the day, saw one of Yoko’s avant-garde films (which Robin Blackburn simply adored) and were driven back to London. The interview had gone extremely well. Both John and Yoko had been disarmingly frank. All that was now left was the editing.

The very next morning John rang. He had been so inspired by our interview that he had written a new song. Could he sing it on the phone? He could. That was how I first heard Power to the People.

We met several times after that, sometimes before a recording session at the Abbey Road Studios, more often at Tittenhurst. Robin and I took a French friend, Régis Debray, to one of these sessions. I first heard the words of Imagine at the kitchen table in Tittenhurst.

The Politburo approves, John, I joked at the time, wondering whether I would have been in a minority on the Politburo on this question. His lyrics had moved beyond matrimonial moonings. Love and happiness now became a feminist call for a new way of life. Here again, Yoko’s influence was visible. The fantastic, as well as the surreal, were given a rest. Lennon, as Epstein feared, had become ultrasubversive and political. Working Class Hero and The Luck of the Irish did not please the conservative critics, but were enormously popular.

It was on one of these visits to Tittenhurst that he told me how fed up they were with England. It was too parochial and racist, Yoko hated it and so did he and they were moving to New York. I could understand all this, but did warn him that there were too many kooks in that country and he should be careful. During his first year in New York we spoke on the phone, but soon lost touch. Computers, alas, had not yet been invented.

Together with the rest of the world, one felt a great deal of pain the day he died. I think the tribute he would have loved was the spontaneous grief in Moscow as kids rushed to the Lenin Hills and sang Back in the U.S.S.R. I thought of him during the giant global demonstrations against the Bush-Blair war on Iraq. His spirit was marching with us.

TERRI AUGELLO*

NOT LONG AGO, MY DAUGHTER, ALICIA, STAGED A BENEFIT FOR AFRICAN CHILDREN STRICKEN WITH AIDS, AND SHE THRILLED US ALL BY BRINGING ONTO THE STAGE BABYFACE, WHO SAT ATOP A SIMPLE STOOL AND DUETED ON HIS acoustic guitar with Alicia on her piano, singing Imagine. The clarity, beauty and magnificence of that John Lennon tune both moved me and transformed me back in time for a moment. I can clearly remember in 1964, at age thirteen, getting ready for school as my clock radio blared out a new tune from the mopheads from England called I Want to Hold Your Hand. I wasn’t that impressed at first, but as I grew up and as the Beatles’ popularity and record catalogue grew, so did my admiration and love for John Lennon and the Beatles. I wore my albums thin, playing them on my dad’s hi-fi stereo, listening to all those songs I felt were written just for me and screamed with all the other girls when John and the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show. It seemed like we all grew up together, defying the norm, and when all was said and done, John’s music defined my generation. I remember sitting in my New York apartment, a young mother-to-be, glued to the TV news, stunned at the footage of John’s assassination that had taken place only a few blocks away in front of the Dakota, and chills went down my spine. How could we have lost such a gifted man? How could we survive that loss, musically or politically? Flash forward some twenty-plus years later, as I refocused on the stage, and there was my baby girl, sending John’s musical masterpiece into the air, the perfect song to highlight the plight of the AIDS pandemic, and I thought, yes, John would approve. For surely, his memory and talent lives on. Influencing still the talent of all the generations to come, and protesting from the grave, the issues that can only be properly highlighted by the music and attitude John seemed to stand for. Now that’s a tribute no one can deny.

JOAN BAEZ*

HARRY BENSON*

TO ME THE MOST IMPORTANT CAR RIDE JOHN LENNON AND THE BEATLES EVER MADE WAS FROM THE PLAZA HOTEL ON THEIR WAY TO THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE ON THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW IN NEW YORK CITY ON FEBRUARY 9, 1964.

It started at breakfast time. My room was just down the hall, and I was having breakfast with the four of them in their suite at the Plaza. No one seemed to be eating much. Everything was relatively calm. They were all talking about the Ed Sullivan Show and what they were going to sing and John said something about just going with the most popular songs.

Outside in the street there was chaos. Police were wrestling with little girls who were climbing up back stairways or passing themselves off as hotel guests. A few got up but were stopped outside the room.

Back in my room about 1:30 PM with cameras ready—I always keep my cameras ready on a news story and this was a big news story. I was on the bed as I thought they were going to the theater a bit later. There was a bang on my door. John came in and said they were going now and for me to come with them and stay as close as I could or the police would cut me off. Right enough, there was pandemonium trying to get to the car. Downstairs, a policeman tried to stop me from getting into their limo and to his credit John said, If Harry doesn’t go, I don’t go.

Paul, George, Ringo and I got in first and John followed. They were too close for me to take their photo inside the limo (it was not a stretch limo like we have today). They all leaned over and put their heads down so I could get a picture of the fans chasing after us as we drove off. John and I were on the jump seats and in the front were the driver and Mal Evans. It all happened in a matter of seconds. While I was taking the picture from inside the car, John held my camera bag because we were so crammed into such a small space.

Photograph © Harry Benson 1964.

When we got to the CBS studio, it was the same chaos again. I jumped out first and John kept me next to him because the studio door opened and slammed shut like an elastic band.

I sat around with John drinking Coca-Colas waiting for the show to start. We never went back to the hotel after the rehearsal—it would have been too hectic. And when they went on live television, as everyone knows, they were sensational.

Back in the hotel we had dinner in their suite. It was very quiet as they had turned off the phone in the room. They all seemed relieved that it had gone so well.

After George, Paul and Ringo went to bed, John and I stayed up drinking whiskey and talking for another hour, talking basically about nothing—our childhood and things like that. John said he had been to Glasgow, where I am from, and had seen the same faces he saw in Liverpool. I asked him if he would ever go back and live in Liverpool and he said no. John talked a bit about America and said he found the American press easier than the British press. Still wearing his tie, he had taken off his jacket and shoes. They all complained that the shoes were uncomfortable. The telephone messages, which had been held at the front desk, were sent up and John sat reading them. The congratulations had come in from everywhere and everyone—from senators who wanted to bring their children to meet the Beatles to other artists saying they were a smash.

As the next day would be busy with so many people wanting interviews, I said good night and went to my room. It had been an historic day.

Years later, I met Yoko Ono. I had heard a lot of stories about her, but after meeting her it was quite easy to see why John had loved her. Intelligent, funny, perceptive, with good manners, I think she was the mirror image of John’s best qualities. Although I never photographed John after 1966, I miss him.

CHUCK BERRY*

SINCE THE TIME THEY HAD ONE OF THEIR FIRST HITS WITH ROLL OVER BEETHOVEN, I’VE ALWAYS FELT VERY CLOSE TO THE BEATLES. I FEEL AS IF I LOST A LITTLE PART OF MYSELF WHEN JOHN DIED.

Eric’s drawing for Grandma and Grandpa.

JELLO BIAFRA*

ONCE UPON A TIME, I WAS LYING IN BED IN THE DARK WHEN A FLYING SAUCER BOLTED OUT OF THE RADIO AND ZAPPED ME RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES! THE MUSIC WAS ROCK ’N’ ROLL, IT WAS 1965 AND BEATLEMANIA WAS IN full swing. I was seven years old.

My Dad had been fiddling with the dial, desperate to find something—anything—that would make me go to sleep. One clang of the electric guitar and I was hooked—Leave it here! Leave it here!

Within days I knew I’d found a special new friend, and my life would never be the same again. I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Deep down I never really wanted to do anything else. While my parents thought I was asleep, I’d be jumping up and down on my bed, pretending I was the song on the radio—air singer, air guitar, air organ. In my secret world, I was pretty cool.

From day one I went straight for the hard stuff, the wilder the song, the more I liked it. Faves included early Stones, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Animals, Music Machine, and Denver’s own Moonrakers (remember when AM radio played local bands?). The Animals’ singer was named Eric, just like me.

And day in, day out there was the Beatles. They weren’t quite one of my super-favorites, but they were the group everyone outside my secret radio world knew. So they were my identity.

I drew mop-haired stick figures with my crayons in class. They were always on the radio, several songs a night. Day Tripper squeaked the bedsprings with the best of ’em. My goateed, neobeatnik pottery teacher nicknamed me the Beatle after I stacked clods of clay in the form of the Fab Four, and eventually got Ringo’s drum to stand up.

I remember clear as day the excitement when I saw the Beatles on TV on Hullabaloo. By then they were lunch boxes, thermoses, a board game, even a cartoon show. I liked them better in human form when my dad took me to see A Hard Day’s Night. What a life! I’ve had dreams of those chase scenes ever since.

A girl named Erika in my second grade class also knew about