Dear John — December 8th

Letters to John, No. 5

Dear John. It's David.

I walk past the Dakota every year on December 8th. Every year. I've never missed one.

I don't bring flowers. I don't sing. I just walk past. Sometimes I stop across the street and look up at the windows. Most of the time I keep walking. It depends on the year. It depends on how much I can take.

I was on the Lower East Side when I heard. Somebody came into the bar and said John Lennon's been shot. And I remember the room went quiet. Not shocked quiet. Dead quiet. Like the air left. I walked outside and it was cold and I just stood on the sidewalk and I didn't know where to go. Where do you go when that happens? There's no place to go.

The first year I walked past the Dakota, there were still flowers on the sidewalk. People had written your name in chalk. Somebody had a radio playing Strawberry Fields and I had to cross the street because I couldn't hear that song and keep my face together. Not that year.

After a while it got easier. Not easy. Easier. I'd walk past and nod, like you could see me. Like you were up there watching the street from your window the way you used to. Some years I'd talk to you in my head. Tell you what happened that year. What I was working on. Who I was mad at. You would have had opinions.

Forty-five years, John. I've been walking past your building for forty-five years. The doorman changed. The awning changed. The neighborhood changed. The walk didn't change.

The last time I made that walk, my legs weren't great. Three heart attacks by then. I was slow. But I went. You don't skip December 8th. You just don't. Some things you do until you can't do them anymore and then you stop doing everything.

I'm not walking past anymore, John. I'm wherever you are now. If there's a street corner up here, I'll find it. Save me a spot.

Miss you, man. Always.

See also: Lennon Never Left New York — the walk to the deli. Lennon Had a File Too — the government couldn't remove him. Yoko Was Right — everything she said they'd do, they did. Rock and Roll Heaven — save me a spot.

David Peel Letters to John — No. 5

← All Letters