... I was copy chief at the Village Voice. It was Monday, the day we closed the paper editorially, but I would have to go to the plant the next day very early for production close. And I had a very bad cold. So I left work early (I normally worked a 12- or 14-hour day). Before I got into bed, my husband came home to report that he’d just heard that John Lennon had been shot. In my cold-fogged brain, all I could think was, “someone should call the Voice and let them know.” It didn’t quite penetrate that most likely they already knew.
The music editor quickly wrote this remembrance, including even a brief analysis, based on his wife’s sad question, “Why is it always Bobby Kennedy or John Lennon? Why isn’t it Richard Nixon or Paul McCartney?”
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