When John Lennon died, I was in 4th grade. My teacher played a 45 every day when we did exercises during our snack break—Be True To Your School by the Beach Boys or With a Little Luck by Wings—but I was already a Beatles fan.
Music wasn’t big in our house, but my parents did have a record collection, and The Beatles were the dominant group.
I don’t remember actually hearing the news, but I remember that I wanted to wear black to school the next day. It seemed necessary to mark the somber mood when I realized that I would never get to hear The Beatles reunite.
I’m sure I didn’t wear black, as it was hardly a fashion color for 4th graders still wearing the groovy threads of the 70s. I probably wore an Izod shirt and khaki culottes. But I was incredibly sad. I still am.