A Conversation with John

This year marks over four decades since the assassination of John Lennon and I thought it would be timely to have a conversation with him. So, Ouija board in hand, I summoned up the spirits of John and our conversation follows

KA – Welcome, John

JL – Thanks. Glad to be here.

KA – It has been a long time since anyone has heard from you. How are you and what have the last 40+ years been like for you?

JL – Well, please tell everyone I’m fine, although in a very different state than I was where you are. Time is no longer a thing for me, so 40 years has no meaning. Yesterday is today. Hey, maybe there’s a song in that (laughs)

KA – From where you are, can you observe things happening on Earth?

JL – Interesting question and a difficult one to answer. I am in no place. I am everywhere. I am part of everything that happens, so I experience what happens. What you call awareness to me is being.

KA – Is George Harrison’s death something that you’ve experienced, for example?

JL – Oh yes, certainly.

KA – What was that like to experience?

JL – First of all, George is now part of all that is, just as I am. Getting here is a lot like people describe as ‘escaping Earthly bonds’. The view of George’s death, of course, was a tragedy to those who still have those bonds, but to everything here, George made it more whole. I can understand the sadness of those clinging to the bonds and if I were still doing that, I would feel sad too.

KA – So you do not feel sadness?

JL – I feel everything.

KA – We could spend a lot of time probing descriptions of what your existence is like currently, but there are many questions we have of your time on Earth and your perspectives that we’d like to explore. Is this something you can do, communicating as if you were a being we would understand?

JL – Certainly

KA – Great. Let’s go back, way back, to your boyhood. A lot has been written about it. The absence of your mother and father for much of it, the resulting anger and acting out that gave rise to a rebel. Is that accurate?

JL – So far (virtual smile)

KA – You’re angry. You’re a rebel. You’re lashing out at the world, much as you described years later in the song ‘Mother’. Where did your creativity come from?

JL – That’s an easy one to start on. It came from the same place everyone’s creativity comes from – being a child. All children are naturally creative. Remember, children are learning how to survive in a world that is complex and they encounter it with a completely blank slate. Most children get it beaten out of them by their parents, their teachers, their friends, and society as a whole in the obsession humans alone seem to have to homogenize and conform. The kids who fight conformity are labeled as rebels and ostracized. I had the good fortune, though it did not seem like it at the time, to have not had parents trying to make me fit into some ridiculous model of an ideal person. I mean, for Christ sakes, could you have seen me as a banker? (hah!) It was entirely possible with “normal” parents and that’s how we get
bankers in the first place. Any parent knows if you give a kid an opening, they will exploit it and that’s exactly what I did.

KA – Your Aunt Mimi, with whom you spent most of your growing up years, was such a normal person, correct?

JL – Yes, that would be safe to say.

KA – So how were you able to remain the rebel and avoid the pressures to conform that Mimi pushed on you and keep your creativity?

JL – Remember that I was with my mum, Julia, for the first five or six years and she was certainly not a conformer. She not only gave birth to my physical body, but also to my view of the world. Most parents spend that time building the walls of the box they want their children to live in and kids never get to look over them to see the real world. Your world talks about helicoptering parents and that’s what they are. Good intentions, for sure, but in trying to shield their kids from the world with walls, they suffocate their creative “inner children” and raise vacuous, childlike adults with no imagination. Scary actually.

I had no walls during that most important time of life. The John Lennon everyone knew years later was born in those first five years and nurtured along the way by visits from both mum and a few from my dad. This creative cat was out of the box and Mimi and no one else was going to assemble walls around it and put it back. It caused a lot of anxiety for Mimi, you know.

One more thing. I have to give Mimi some credit here. She’s often portrayed in the simple way you’ve described her as being normal and a conformer and while she certainly had those tendencies, she was not absolute. Others frequently described her as sighing with exasperation at my antics, but that was often her
only response. She did not attempt to stifle me as actively as some think.

KA – Losing your mother at age 17 was terrible. Did that factor into your later effort
JL – Well, certainly. The artist known as John was born by then and artists respond to situations using the media they have to express what they feel. At least good ones do. I hadn’t mastered any media yet, though, so I had a hard time expressing artistically what I felt, which was anger. And that’s not artistic, but the one thing that mum’s death did was grow the rebel in me and that strengthened everything. They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? I was doing body building for what was to come (laughs).

KA – You had met Paul about a year before Julia’s death. How did he relate to all of this?

JL – Ah, Paul. I’m not going to be able to encapsulate my relationship with Paul in a short discussion. We’d wear out a few Ouija boards trying (laughs). But here is what I will say. Paul, as you know, had lost his own mother a couple of years earlier. Some people look at that as a common bond we shared and while maybe it was in the back of our minds, it wasn’t up front.

You know, Paul was quoted as saying “What are we going to do without her money” when she died. Although he was only 14 years old at the time, I think you could define the differences between us by our different responses to our mother’s deaths. The differences we showed as adults could have been seen as early as ages 14-17. Now don’t take this and say “John says Paul didn’t love his mum.” That’s not true. Remember Paul had a more traditional upbringing than me and, truth be told, more humble origins than me. His artistic eye was tempered by convention, rules, propriety. Paul’s mum wanted him to speak the Queen’s English, for Christ’s sakes. I
never knew her. She died about a year before we met.

So anyway, we shared the experience of dead mothers, but it wasn’t something we talked a lot about. Remember, those were the 50s and guys weren’t supposed to talk about things like feelings, so we didn’t. Now that sounds like I’m downplaying the role our mother’s deaths and that’s not accurate either.

KA – But you did minimize the common bond aspect with Paul. Was there any way that Paul helped you to face your mother’s death?

JL – I don’t have a simple answer for that either. Paul was my mate and your mate gives you strength just for being your mate. So yes, Paul helped me in that sense, but so did many others. Remember that the 17 year old me was a tough guy who wasn’t supposed to cry. You could hit, scream, berate, rant, anything but cry. That was the way all males of that era were supposed to be and it was a box with very little room. And it was my effort to escape that room that helped develop my creativity. Necessity is the mother of invention, no? That guy box was societally built and imposed and it wasn’t until Yoko that I even became aware of it. It’s why I now am much more tolerant of people in boxes. We are often in them without even knowing it. Bagism lives (laughs).

KA – OK. Let’s explore your relationship with Paul a bit, recognizing, of course that we aren’t going to get our arms around it completely. You met famously on July 6, 1957 at the Woolton Fete. At that point, you had a group, the Quarrymen and Paul showed up to hear you. What were your thoughts on that day?

JL – To be honest, it doesn’t stand out all shrouded in halos or auras or anything like that. Meeting Paul then certainly stands out today, but at the time I was probably more focused on our performance and the crowd than I was with Paul. Remember, it was one
of the first times I’d ever performed in front of people. Paul, of course, was extremely talented and knew a lot more about music than me. That’s why we got him in the Quarrymen and I’ll take full credit for recognizing his potential to help us to grow.

KA – Let’s unpack that story a bit. Before Paul, the group was yours, but then along comes Paul who, with his musical knowledge, has to have been a threat to you being the top dog, no?

JL – In general, yes. Adding Paul to the Quarrymen was the first intelligent musical decision I ever made. It wasn’t just a practical matter, though. Some have said that I saw how much I could learn from Paul and that’s why I let him in, but that isn’t right. First of all, Paul and I hit it off really well musically and personally. We also had several common bonds, including girls, using music to get girls, and using humor to get girls. (laughs) We were the good cop / bad cops of our day, you know. Between the two of us, we attracted a pretty wide range of girls. And while my mum was still alive when Paul came into the picture, it was only a year later when she died, so we had that in common too, as you’ve noted.

KA – 1957 to 1958 was a turbulent time of your life.

JL – You know it. In that time frame, I met Paul. I met George. I met Cynthia, and my mother died. One big chapter came to an end and three new ones were starting.

KA – Tell us about your mother

JL – You just used the word turbulent and that is what my life was. I loved her and never got over not living with her, let alone losing her completely at 17. My father was put in an orphanage at age 9 because his dad died. Paul lost his mum at age 14. Cynthia lost her father at age 17, just like me. Just as the Beatles were starting to click, we lost Stuart Sutcliffe. There was pain all around me. After a while, you
begin to wonder if it’s you. And then there was Beatlemania. You know, they say to be careful for what you wish for, because it might come true. There was no way any of us ever did or could have imagined the immensity and intensity of Beatlemania.

KA – Beatlemania certainly took its toll on the personal lives, privacy, and even the sanity of the four of you and those close to you. There were clearly upsides too, though.

JL – For sure, but every up side had an associated downside. We achieved enormous fame, which meant we would never walk down a street undisturbed again. We had thousands of adoring fans at every concert and we literally feared we would be trampled by them. I mean, we couldn’t even sleep in our hotel rooms from the noise. Our music was revered and studied intensely, magnifying the pressure on every next effort each one of us made. It was no surprise that we turned to drugs, especially me.

KA – Why do you say, “especially me,” John?

JL – Well, I think the others would agree that I felt things more deeply than they did. And before you ask me why, I’m not completely sure. I think it would be easy to point at the early childhood traumas I had with parents that the others did not have, though Ringo did have health issues and came from the most economically challenging background of the four of us. It’s not a surprise that he had more trouble with alcohol for a while.

My lashing out at the world was certainly a destructive indicator of my feelings and drugs provide you with ways of dealing with pain. Now I want to be careful here talking about drugs. I’m not talking about pot and I’m not talking about LSD. I’m talking addictive drugs – cocaine and heroin. No one takes heroin for fun. They take it to escape what
they can’t get away from in any other way. The others are just fun.

KA – The other three Beatles put together the Beatles Anthology in the 90s. You had famously downplayed and resisted any Beatles reunion while you were on Earth. Having seen what they produced, are you happy with it and would you
have participated in it if you were alive at that time?

JL – I’m not sure happy is the word I would use to describe it, but it was an accurate portrayal,. I would have done it differently, though.

KA – How so?

JL – It was a bit syrupy. Syrup, of courses, sells records – look at Paul (laughs) – but I would have used more footage of the lives we were leading – being chased and crushed by fans, dealing more with problems we experienced such as Jesus, Vietnam, drugs, etc. It would have been edgier, but that also would likely have made it less popular and more controversial. The Eight Days a Week movie was a step in the right direction.

KA – You always seemed to seek controversy. Is that an accurate statement?

JL – Oh yeah. When you’re a person wanting attention, controversy is a tool for getting it and I think I used it well – even before I was a Beatle.

KA – Some might say in that sense that you were a predecessor to the Kardashians or Lindsay Lohan, for example. What would your reaction be to that?

JL – I’m not going to fall into that trap and comment on the circumstances or situations of other performers. I don’t think they set out to be me and if I were there, I wouldn’t try to be them either.

KA – But you called Elvis fat and wrote “How do you sleep at night?”

JL – (laughs). No comment

KA – Do you have regrets?

JL – No. The Earthly John caused pain, for sure, and on Earth that would be one source of regret, but he also created a lot of happiness. What I’ve learned here is that we just acted out parts there. I had a leading role and as an actor playing a part, I did pretty good, but also, like an actor, I’m not the person I played, even if I was good at it. Actors don’t regret parts they play, unless they do a bad job. I didn’t and therefore have no regrets. I’m at peace.

KA – Let’s talk about peace, then. You were a person who wrote “Give Peace a Chance,” but also struggled with demons. You advocated for peace for a chaotic world, but, on the other hand, had no peace inside of you. How do you reconcile those?

JL – Actually it is quite simple, but I guess you have to be in my head to understand it. There’s a bit more to “Give Peace a Chance” than anyone knows. On the surface, it’s an anti-war anthem and a pretty damn good one, I must say. Yoko was the inspiration. You may recall we created it during out Bed-in honeymoon.

Yes, I had demons I struggled with. I tried music, drugs and primal scream therapy as ways of silencing them, in roughly that order. Yoko gave me a self awareness I had never previously had by making me examine myself from the inside out. And when I say “made me”, I mean it. You don’t mess with that woman (laughs).

Anyway, “Give Peace a Chance” was as much a message to myself as it was to the world. It’s sort of like “Help” was a voice recognizing I was out of control. Now, being the hard-headed kind of guy I was, I didn’t listen to my own message for a while, but I did by the end and I’m proud of that.

KA – So you would say “Help” and “Give Peace a Chance” were bookends of your musical demon fighting?

JL – I think you could make an argument for it.

KA – Let’s talk a bit about Yoko. She, of course, was and still is reviled by many Beatles fans who envisioned a Svengali effect she had on you. Indeed, you refer to her as Mother. Were you equals?

JL – Creatively, I would say yes, without a doubt. I know there are some who would vehemently disagree with that, but I’m not going to give them time here. Yoko was to me a teacher, especially at first. She made me a feminist, not by force of personality, hypnosis, or anything like that, but by raising my awareness of the status of women in the world. She was so far ahead of her time – a feminist long before the word and mindset became popular. You can fall in love with your teacher – kids do it all of the time. When adults fall in love with their teacher, though, it’s a very different kind of love and that was what I felt for her.

KA – That sounds very one-sided and not inconsistent with her having some power over you.

JL – Yoko DID have power over me. I was always drawn to power. It’s why Paul McCartney was so impressive to me when I met him. So, I’m 100% guilty of being fascinated with people using power. Power used wisely and creatively, such as by Paul or Yoko, is a great force for good. Power used for personal gain or other purposes – think Tricky Dick, think Trump – favors evil. That’s really what art, music, theatre, dance, etc. are, you know? Examples of power in action.

So anyway, as an artist, how could I not be drawn to the power of Yoko? More to the point – was I blinded by the artistic power she exuded? No, of course not, no more than you would be blinded by
the art of van Gogh, the music of Beethoven, or the dance of Fred Astaire.

KA – But there are other kinds of power besides artistic power.

JL – Sure. There’s physical power, political power, etc, but I don’t think anyone would accuse Yoko of having those.

KA – So you viewed your personal relationship as one of equals?

JL – I don’t know why everybody obsesses on this equals thing. What does it mean? There are so many things in a relationship. Yoko had better business sense than I did. We weren’t equal in that. Both of us liked attention, but neither of us liked being in front of crowds, though I probably did more than her. We weren’t equal in that regard.

KA – but none of those things are really central to a relationship. You’re dancing around the question.

JL – All I’m saying is that there are things where she’s better than me and other things I’m greater at than her. If you’re obsessed with equality, which you seem to be, then I’ll say I think we balanced out as equals. How’s that?

KA – OK. Let’s leave that subject behind. Looking back now, do you have regrets?

JL – That’s a difficult question to answer because being a part of everything frees me of the roles I played as John and the emotions I portrayed in that character. I will answer your question from the perspective I had as John.

As John, I would have regrets relating to my two kids. Julian has had a terrible time because of what John did to him and Sean barely got to know his father, though in his case, John wasn’t at fault. Others have
noted that both kids had lives where their father disappeared at a very early age, just like John had. So yeah, that’s a big regret.

The question I know you’re leading up to regards the Beatles, so I’ll just tackle that here. John would be on
the fence. He loved those guys as much as they loved him and would regret not being able to say goodbye. Would he regret not reuniting with them one more time as Beatles? The answer is basically no. John did, in fact work with each of them and would have continued to do so had he not been shot. Paul and I would likely have written some music together, for example.

It wasn’t important though to John that they be a big happy family. On the other hand, if reuniting as Beatles could have brought world peace or an end to hunger, or elevating the status of women, then yes he would have done so. However, since those are theoretical possibilities, not actual ones, there is nothing to regret.

KA – OK. Any last comments you’d like to make?

JL – Yes, and it relates to regrets. I do not regret having been John, nor do I regret not being him now.

KA – Thank you, John.