Where Were You?

It's inevitable that fans of Michael Jackson will always remember where they were and what they were doing when they first heard that the King of Pop was no more. I'm not a fan, but I did download a couple of Michael Jackson hits about a year ago into iTunes. I don't think Sparky knows about it as none of them have come up on random play yet. I did know a huge Michael Jackson fan - one of my roommates from school, we were in the theater department together. Char loved him, and played "Thriller" quite often. I barely tolerated it at the time, and probably said disparaging things about him, but when we had parties I was always on the dance floor shaking my groove thing to "Billy Jean". I'm sure that since Char was such a fan, that she'll always remember where she was when she first heard about Mr. Jackson's demise. I already can't remember where I was. (Actually, I was at home and saw it on the news.) I was shocked because it was the same day that Farrah Fawcett died. Wow. I had heard about Farrah Fawcett earlier that day as I was driving out to Santa Clarita for a job meeting. I thought to myself that it was too bad, she was such a lucky person in so many ways, and yet she had the misfortune to develop such a rare form of cancer. What rotten luck. 

I do remember where I was when I heard about John Lennon. I was driving home from a part time office job that I despised, and the radio station announced that John Lennon was shot and killed. I couldn't believe it. I drove home, and I remember watching the news with my sister. None of us nor or friends could believe it. My sister, brother, some friends and I took a bus to the Showbox in downtown Seattle, one of  our favorite alternative music venues. The Showbox was showing all of The Beatles movies, news clips, interviews, etc, for free for all of the fans. We were all in disbelief and feeling pretty numb, and it was good to be with others who were feeling the same way. It enabled us to share our collective grief. 

I also remember where I was when I heard about Kurt Kobain. Driving to work once again, this time to downtown Los Angeles, where I had a temporary part-time job barcoding the books at the main library. This job also sucked. (I wrote a song about it for the band that I was in at the time, Pouch. The song was called "666", and it went along this lines: "Barcode, Mark of the Beast. 666 in your library book. Most assholes can't even read...) That's all I can remember, which is probably for the best. Anyway, as I was parking my car, the DJ on the radio announced Kobain's suicide, and I was shocked. I called Sparky (from a payphone), who already had heard about it, and we commiserated together. Later that night, we played Nirvana CDs and got drunk. We were sad!

My parents and their generation will always remember where they were, and what they were doing when they first heard about JFK, Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King. We all partake of the shock, and in some way grieve for these famous people even though we don't know them beyond their public lives. Then everyone is left with these sort of death markers in their lives: the sign posts of eternity that daily existence is ready to float on past until called out when least expected. And then they are never forgotten.