John Lennon’s Death — 40 Years Later

It was 40 years ago today that news broke — during a football game, for many Americans — that John Lennon, ex-Beatle, half of the most successful songwriting partnership in musical history, had been shot outside of his New York City apartment building, and had died shortly thereafter. At the time, only the doctors who tried to do the impossible by saving his life would have known that “All My Loving,” a Beatles song, played on the radio of the hospital to which he was taken just as he was pronounced dead.

As a lifelong Beatles fan, and a compassionate human being, I wish John Lennon had not died that day. But unlike other fans, my life is not long enough to have stretched back to December 8, 1980. I was born about 13 years later and thus do not share the same visceral memory of shock and sadness upon hearing the news that so many do today. In a strange complication to his own memory of Lennon’s death, my father, to whom I owe my Beatles fandom, did not read the news that day (oh boy), either.

About the Author

Jack Butler

Jack Butler is a former submissions editor at National Review.

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It was 40 years ago today that news broke — during a football game, for many Americans — that John Lennon, ex-Beatle, half of the most successful songwriting partnership in musical history, had been shot outside of his New York City apartment building, and had died shortly thereafter. At the time, only the doctors who tried to do the impossible by saving his life would have known that “All My Loving,” a Beatles song, played on the radio of the hospital to which he was taken just as he was pronounced dead.

As a lifelong Beatles fan, and a compassionate human being, I wish John Lennon had not died that day. But unlike other fans, my life is not long enough to have stretched back to December 8, 1980. I was born about 13 years later and thus do not share the same visceral memory of shock and sadness upon hearing the news that so many do today. In a strange complication to his own memory of Lennon’s death, my father, to whom I owe my Beatles fandom, did not read the news that day (oh boy), either.