Post by jtaames on Dec 7, 2014 16:52:11 GMT 1
book
Hello, since tomorrow is the anniversary of that terrible day, I thought it might be interesting to other fans like myself to post an excerpt from my book titled: Little Bottles by JT Aames. You can find it on Smashwords. Thanks for checking it out. The link is at the top of this post and it's a free download by the way.
This is from chapter 6 when I learned of Lennon's death.
Like many other Beatle fans, it was the first time I felt shock over the death of someone I didn’t even know.
It was a Monday night at work, and Bob and I walked over to the bar for our nightly pitcher of beer. From the table where we were sitting, I caught a glimpse of the big screen TV on the other side of the bar. The sound was down since the jukebox was on, but I could see images of the Beatles being shown on the large screen.
I wondered why they were up there, but figured it must be a Beatle’s special or something. The song “Revolution” was playing on the jukebox, and when it was over, it played again. I thought it was an odd coincidence and wondered if the jukebox was stuck on one song. The waitress brought our pitcher of beer, but didn’t say anything about the news. Maybe she didn’t know or care, but nobody else said anything about it either. It was business as usual, and I always thought it strange that nobody brought it up. Maybe they were in shock or just didn’t think it was big news. To me, that was the kind of event that even brought strangers together.
Upon our return to work, I could hear music playing over by the winding machines. The women working there preferred having their own radio since they didn’t like the hard rock that played on the overhead speakers at night. They liked easy listening, or the soft rock stations. That night, their radio was playing one Beatles song after another. Now, I was really curious.
I continued working, and if anyone else knew what had happened, they didn’t say anything, so by the end of my shift at 3:30AM, I walked home and got a beer out of the fridge. Back then, the TV programming was limited at that hour, but there was a local news report I usually watched: a wannabe reporter with bad acne just out of high school.
It always gave me a laugh since he wore a wrinkled white shirt and crooked tie as if he just woke up twenty minutes earlier. I think his name was Woodard or Woodley, but since he was so stiff and nervous while he fumbled through the Teletype papers, I just called him Wood Head. I turned on the TV, and Wood Head was reading the report.
“Mr. Lennon was taken to the hospital, and the gunman was apprehended by the police. Mr. Lennon died later from the gunshot wounds with Mrs. Lennon by his side…”
It still didn’t click even as I listened to the report, but slowly, it all started to come together.
The Beatle’s pictures on the big screen.
The song, “Revolution,” on the jukebox.
The Beatle’s music playing non-stop on the radio at work.
“Mr. Lennon was taken to the hospital…”
“Mr. Lennon died later from gunshot wounds.”
My brain tried to spell it out for me as slowly as it could. Mr. Lennon? Could Wood Head have meant John Lennon? No…couldn’t be. Could it?
Since there were no other television stations broadcasting, I put on my headphones, and spun the knob from one station to the next until I landed on a news report. I listened to the details of the horrible event, and the shock didn’t want to let me believe it. It couldn’t be. This just did not happen.
Like most people when they found out, the first thing I wanted to do was listen to Beatle’s music, and of course, I also wanted to drink. Flipping through our large stack of albums, I found one of my favorites: Rubber Soul, and put it on the turntable. With a cold beer in my hand, and John Lennon singing through the headphones, I sat in the darkness and cried.
Hello, since tomorrow is the anniversary of that terrible day, I thought it might be interesting to other fans like myself to post an excerpt from my book titled: Little Bottles by JT Aames. You can find it on Smashwords. Thanks for checking it out. The link is at the top of this post and it's a free download by the way.
This is from chapter 6 when I learned of Lennon's death.
Like many other Beatle fans, it was the first time I felt shock over the death of someone I didn’t even know.
It was a Monday night at work, and Bob and I walked over to the bar for our nightly pitcher of beer. From the table where we were sitting, I caught a glimpse of the big screen TV on the other side of the bar. The sound was down since the jukebox was on, but I could see images of the Beatles being shown on the large screen.
I wondered why they were up there, but figured it must be a Beatle’s special or something. The song “Revolution” was playing on the jukebox, and when it was over, it played again. I thought it was an odd coincidence and wondered if the jukebox was stuck on one song. The waitress brought our pitcher of beer, but didn’t say anything about the news. Maybe she didn’t know or care, but nobody else said anything about it either. It was business as usual, and I always thought it strange that nobody brought it up. Maybe they were in shock or just didn’t think it was big news. To me, that was the kind of event that even brought strangers together.
Upon our return to work, I could hear music playing over by the winding machines. The women working there preferred having their own radio since they didn’t like the hard rock that played on the overhead speakers at night. They liked easy listening, or the soft rock stations. That night, their radio was playing one Beatles song after another. Now, I was really curious.
I continued working, and if anyone else knew what had happened, they didn’t say anything, so by the end of my shift at 3:30AM, I walked home and got a beer out of the fridge. Back then, the TV programming was limited at that hour, but there was a local news report I usually watched: a wannabe reporter with bad acne just out of high school.
It always gave me a laugh since he wore a wrinkled white shirt and crooked tie as if he just woke up twenty minutes earlier. I think his name was Woodard or Woodley, but since he was so stiff and nervous while he fumbled through the Teletype papers, I just called him Wood Head. I turned on the TV, and Wood Head was reading the report.
“Mr. Lennon was taken to the hospital, and the gunman was apprehended by the police. Mr. Lennon died later from the gunshot wounds with Mrs. Lennon by his side…”
It still didn’t click even as I listened to the report, but slowly, it all started to come together.
The Beatle’s pictures on the big screen.
The song, “Revolution,” on the jukebox.
The Beatle’s music playing non-stop on the radio at work.
“Mr. Lennon was taken to the hospital…”
“Mr. Lennon died later from gunshot wounds.”
My brain tried to spell it out for me as slowly as it could. Mr. Lennon? Could Wood Head have meant John Lennon? No…couldn’t be. Could it?
Since there were no other television stations broadcasting, I put on my headphones, and spun the knob from one station to the next until I landed on a news report. I listened to the details of the horrible event, and the shock didn’t want to let me believe it. It couldn’t be. This just did not happen.
Like most people when they found out, the first thing I wanted to do was listen to Beatle’s music, and of course, I also wanted to drink. Flipping through our large stack of albums, I found one of my favorites: Rubber Soul, and put it on the turntable. With a cold beer in my hand, and John Lennon singing through the headphones, I sat in the darkness and cried.