When
I was small (since I was small, in fact), I was probably like many other people
in that I always wanted to be on television. I’ve been on the tube two times
before – both times as a face in a crowd. The first time was when I was 10, and
attending Martin Luther King Junior High School in Sausalito. At time the
school was in the middle of racial strife (of a specific nature that I still
don’t understand today). The second time was at a Star Trek convention in San
Francisco in February 1977, when I was 17. In both instances I was interviewed
and said bullshit shitty things that never made it on the air. But you did see
me on screen, poking my figure into view just before the film ended and the
director switched back to the studio. Well, the third time happened yesterday.
At San Francisco State, at the vigil for John Lennon. It turned out to be the
largest gathering for a Lennon vigil in the entire city, which I had no idea of
until Steve told me last night. His friend Amy was the organizer of this vigil,
and she was in command at center stage. At just before 11AM, when the vigil was
scheduled to start, Mutsuo (whom I had to drag out of bed) and I went down to
the lobby where we met Larry, and he accompanied us to the green near the
dorms. There were already many people gathered – not the circle I expected, but
more of a puddle; an immense puddle of people. I’d say it was about 200 strong.
There was a nice clear spot in the crowd where the three of us sat. I didn’t
see any familiar faces except Sylvia, who was sitting next to the guy on my
right, talking to him. What I didn’t know at the time was that fellow was
Steve. And when the time came, everybody clasped hands, and the vigil started.
It was scheduled to go 10 minutes; it went 30. There were cameras everywhere –
moving and still cameras alike. A morbid thought occurred to me: Wow! I’m going
to be on the telly again. But John commanded my thoughts for the full 30
minutes. My eyes were closed for most of the period. There was complete silence
except for occasional blasts from cap pistols from the children’s care center. They
bothered me; it was too close a reminder of what happened Monday night. 20
minutes into the vigil someone turned on a stereo, and Lennon songs flowed all
around. Our hands unclasped after most of the other folks’ did, only when a
cube was passed around. It was then that I noticed that the chap next to me was
Steve. We stayed another half-hour there. People began to leave. There were a
few standouts. A fellow in a Jimi Hendrix hat sat on his knees so that he
towered above everyone else. He rocked and swayed to the music, and sat
motionless when there was silence. His hair was long and dark; he had a beard
and mustache; he looked like George Harrison circa the Apple period. There was
a couple behind me. Both cried during the vigil, and at the conclusion lit
candles. There were featured in a solo shot on the news that evening. There was
a woman Steve pointed out to me. Her mascara ran down her cheeks as she cried;
she was interviewed by news reporters. Her voice sobbed. At noon the gathering
dispersed, and the media left. I saw Amy, whom I had never spoken to before.
While sitting I had thoughts of going to her to thank her for organizing the
vigil. Usually, such a thought would remain just that, an unfulfilled idea. But
this was a special occasion, if a special occasion could ever exist. So after
waiting for my moment, I approached her. She was kneeling and looked pale. I
touched her shoulder and called her name. She looked up. “Thank you for today,”
I said. Or “Thank you for this.” Something like that. She smiled very warmly,
and we embraced. But then all I could do was say thank you again, then I walked
back to the Ding Center with Mutsuo, embarrassed but pleased. Anyhow, that
night I saw myself on telly twice – both on KPIX channel 5. At six I was an
anonymous, unrecognizable indiscernible face among faces. At 11 I was still
anonymous (Aren’t I always?) but I was recognizable. Laurie and Dad both saw me
– Laurie did at least. (I was surprised when she told me that she was so
shocked by the murder that she had considered phoning me that night. But she
wouldn’t have reached me at the dorms, of course.) Dad reacted as I expected:
it meant nothing to him. “He was just another hippie,” he said. I hate my
father at times like these. But he did get off his anti-baby boomer bandwagon
long enough to deplore a society of mental cripples who are free to destroy
valuable souls like John Lennon. For the first time, Dad placed an actual
Beatle in the realm of humankind. John Lennon was a MAN, a man whose life ended
in tragedy. He is no longer a media-hype, nor a gross representative of the destructive
counterculture that 50-something-year-olds prefer to forget. Laurie, however,
was shaken up by the news, and had noticed me on the TV news coverage of the
vigil. My yellow shirt stood out. It was my Puccini shirt. I have two favorite
20th century composers, and I wore a T-shirt bearing the name and
face of one to the vigil of the other. And I’ll be damned if that yellow shirt
didn’t stand out. That was a day I’ll never forget. And this record should
preserve the details.
The
vigil cut into the 49ers game, the last of the season to be televised. Atlanta
clinched the NFC West with a 35-10 thumping. They are for real. I didn’t
watch past 10:50, really. I’d left for Dad’s at 2:30, after looking over a
paper of Mutsuo’s. The last game of the season is next week at home vs.Buffalo,
who lost badly yesterday. They desperately need a win for the division
title. Great. Atlanta is the first NFC
West team other than the Rams to win the division since Dick Nolan’s boys won
their third straight title in 1972.
Congratulations, boys. Try to keep the Rams out of the playoffs if you
can, right?
I’m
feeling sleepy, so I’ll finish later.
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