Thursday, Dec. 8, was the 25th anniversary of the passing of John Lennon. I decided to go to the annual remembrance gathering that morning at Strawberry Fields in Central Park, where the Imagine circle is located. I could barely sit through my four classes and as soon as I got out, I bought a train ticket and headed down to New York City.
All I could think of on the train ride down was the opening lyric from “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”: “It was twenty [five] years ago today, when Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play…”
I took a late train because I wanted to be there for the two moments of silence, one at 10:50 p.m., when Lennon was shot, and one at 11:15 p.m., when he died: “The worst moment in history,” as one fan put it. But I was faced with a dilemma: Do I walk the 30 blocks in what might be a blizzard, or do I take my chances on the subway at night? I ended up walking.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I knew it was going to be good. I wondered if there would be a line or just a big group of peace-loving people, or maybe a small group of very die-hard Beatles fans. I had been to Strawberry Fields before, and I couldn’t imagine thousands of people fitting into that space. But they did.
I was two blocks away when I first heard the chorus to “Ticket to Ride” echoing off the surrounding apartment buildings. It seems everybody had the same idea as me. There was a line, indeed. There were at least 800 people there, and dozens were streaming in. Some had been there since 2 p.m., and some had traveled halfway across the country just to be there. I felt like I was at Disney World.
There was a very long line stretching along one of the paths of Central Park. Every five minutes, the NYPD let 50 people into this secondary holding area, which was basically another line. Then, they would let 10 people at a time into the area where the Imagine circle was.
You were able to walk past the circle, which was behind multiple barricades, and allowed to take one picture (one, and only one-I took three). Then the cops prodded you away into another holding area, where you could go and wait for hours to maybe see it up-close. Of course, there was no chance of that since people were basically hovering around that stone.
I mingled in a very large group centered around five guitarists, who played every song any member of the Beatles ever wrote. A group of girls kept screaming for “All You Need is Love” after every song. They finally played it after about three hours. There were three or four other large groups like this and all of them were singing different songs. It was very confusing.
There was one point, however, when everyone was singing “Hey Jude.” I know I don’t need to point out the irony of a song written by Paul McCartney being the biggest crowd-pleaser at a John Lennon remembrance. It was a celebration.
The two moments of silence were the most emotional events I have ever witnessed. The floodlights illuminating the area were shut off, and the only light came from candles in the group. The entire group of 1,000 people fell absolutely quiet, waving peace signs in the air. It was truly a global moment and it happened not once, but twice.
I heard every language and accent you could imagine, all echoing the same sentiments: “We miss you,” “We need you,” and “Peace.” For the rest of the night, more people kept flowing in from the street and the lines kept getting longer.
I left, reluctantly, to catch the last train home. I was dazed, having just spent four hours in this huge mass of people united by one single person. My voice was hoarse and I couldn’t feel my extremities, but I could still hear the crowd starting the first verse of “Nowhere Man” when I was three blocks away, the sound wafting on the frigid breeze.
And it seemed like something, or someone, held back the snow for a little while.
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