Forty-two years ago this December I was home transferring my Beatles albums from LP’s onto tapes, listening to them as I went.
Something I had never done before and would never do again.
Three hours into the project, I got a call. John Lennon had been shot. Scot and I (before Charles, Scot) joined the throng swaying back and forth with candles outside the Dakota. “All we are sayyyyy-ing. Is give peace a chance.”
But really? The one time in my life I was so focused on the Beatles is when this happened?
I had never followed the Royal Family or cared about any of that stuff (no offense) until this summer, when I happened upon The Crown.
It is so brilliantly done, and relives so much history through a different perspective, I was entranced by every episode, getting to know the Queen and her family in the most remarkable way.
Having begun in June, I finished the fortieth and final hour (until Season Five airs in November) just after midnight Wednesday.
Thirteen hours later . . .
Really?
R.I.P., Your Majesty.
At least we still have Elton John.
