I havent posted in a while, but Ive got a story to tell. Maybe the timng would have been better on Oct. 9 or Dec. 8, but those of you who know me best understand that I have always acted on impulse and, for whatever reason, now is the time I feel compelled to share this story - in large part because we are in the throes of the 50th anniversary of Beatlemania - a phenomenon that has been unmatched since 1963 (Europe) and 1964 (United States). On December 8, 1980, I was sitting on our couch at our home on Cemetery Road in Bowling Green, Ky. Not more than 12 feet away from me sat my Dad, Jim Pickens Sr., in his easy chair. As was our custom, we were watching ABCs Monday Night Football together. The Patriots were at the Dolphins in a tense AFC matchup. The game was tied at 13, and New Englands John Smih was preparing for a field goal that would win the game. Just then, Howard Cosell - far and away the most famous sportscaster in America - delivered the news that John Lennon had been shot and killed outside his Dakota apartment building in New York City. My Dad - a great athlete and coach, an old-school World War II veteran who often chided me with the oft-repeated phrase, I wouldnt watch the Beatles if they were playing in our back yard! - looked across the room at me very seriously, with great concern. He knew I would be devastated by this tragic news, and I was. Whatever generation gap there was between us closed completely that night. For all his pomp and bluster about the Mills Brothers and Sinatra and Elvis being better, he - more than most - understood talent, and, deep down, he appreciated the Beatles for the extraordinary force they were, and knew that Lennon was the founder of the grouo and had been the driving force of a genuine phenomenon. My Dad also knew I had been introduced to the Beatles by my cousin, Dru Gibson. She, 14 in late 1963, had purchased the Swan Records single of She Loves You and I had first heard it on a Hi-Fi in the basement of the Gibson home in Louisville at the age of 4. I was instantly hooked. Forget about it! No one could steer me in another direction - then, or now. I learned a lot about myself the night John Lennon was assassinated, but I learned more about my Dad. The heavy guard hed put up for more than 15 years about the Beatles and Lennon dropped that night. He looked at me and asked very quietly and very knowingly, Are you all right? I said, sobbing, Yeah, Dad ... it just ... hurts. He said, I know, and Im sorry. The relationship I had with my Dad was beyond description. We were best friends, really. Never, though, was there a closer, or more touching or revealing night than December 8, 1980 when, of all things, Monday Night Football and Howard Cosell informed us that John Lennon was dead. It was just one of those moments you never forget, and, for whatever reason, I feel the need to share it with you at this time. I hope you get something out of it - God bless you all.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 08:51:15 +0000
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