When I was a child in Aragona Village of Virginia Beach, Virginia The Beatles became a thing. One of the musicians in the group was John Lennon.
He was Born John Winston Lennon on October 9, 1940 in Liverpool, England.
He died very prematurely on December 8, 1980 in New York City from gunshot wounds administered by a whacked out fan named Mark David Chapman who shot him four times in the back and shoulder with a .38 Special revolver outside The Dakota apartment building in Manhattan, New York City.
Mr Lennon was rushed to Roosevelt Hospital and pronounced dead on arrival at 11:15 pm.
He was cremated and his cremains scattered in Central Park of New York City.
Mr Lennon’s last spoken words after being shot were "I'm shot", as he collapsed in the lobby of his New York City apartment building.
I've always been left feeling that his life was largely incomplete. I am also surprised at the contempt younger people have for the era of The Beatles in general. I once worked with a geologist who had nothing but vitriol to spew regarding The Beatles and the memory of those who have passed.
Today the 86th anniversary of John Lennon's birth. I would have like to see what was floating around in his musical creativity a bit longer than Mark David Chapman's bullets would allow.