Fred LeBlanc - Musician Artist writer, New Orleans, LA

When John Lennon was murdered I was just another misfit teenage kid with no real direction in school or in life, firmly ensconced in a carefully constructedemotional shell that was designed to keep a harsh world at bay. Since my family didn’t have much in the way of money or social standing, and I wasn’t athletic or popular with the girls, I kind of slipped under the radar at Jesuit in New Orleans where I attended school.

I played drums in a few neighborhood bands from time to time, but my musical exploits were pretty much something I kept to myself during my time at Jesuit. Going thru all of the requisite teen angst, my grades suffered even though I tested very well and was told that I was exceedingly bright. Ahhh, youth. The only course I excelled in was a media class that, although it would be considered quite primitive today, was very cutting edge back in its day.

As fate would have it, the week that Lennon was killed happened to be my week to do the school wide morning announcements that was a requirement of each media student. The announcements were broadcast from a radio studio within the school that had been set up as part of the media class.

Being a huge Beatles fan (both then and now), I was pretty stunned by what had happened in New York the night before. And since music was the only thing that had ever reached me on a personal level up that point, I considered the loss to be a very tragic one indeed.

Arriving at the school radio station I was greeted by the school disciplinarian, a decorated marine colonel whose charge now was to oversee the conduct of hundreds of kids, as well as the president of the school, a gregarious cleric who was well known on the New Orleans social circuit. They too were part of the school announcement process every morning.

When I asked them if it would be ok if I mentioned something about John Lennon’s death during the announcements, the response was both swift and intense. “Don’t you DARE say anything about him during the announcements or you will be severely punished!” This seemed a bit over the top to me at the time but in retrospect I can understand it. Back then the Beatles were still seen as relevant, rebellious, and even potentially dangerous – especially to someone like the Colonel who had done time in Vietnam and held the traditions of home and country dear to his heart. He wasn’t a bad guy in any sense, but I guess the Beatles didn’t really jibe with the sensibilities they were trying to conform our little minds to at Jesuit High School.

Needless to say I was pretty intimidated. I remember my heart beating wildly as I quietly did what they told me to while preparing to do what I knew I needed to do.

After those two had finished their announcements I reached over with my hand and gently cupped the button that shut off the announcement system so that no one could cut me off during what I was planning. I started by saying that we needed to pray for John Lennon’s soul, that he had made a tremendous positive difference in the world, and went on to describe what his music and message had meant to me. I honestly don’t remember the rest of what I said as I became increasingly aware of the priest and the Colonel who were both breathing down my neck with daggers in their eyes.

When I was finished, I slowly uncovered the shut off button, flipped it off, and prepared for the inevitable disciplinary onslaught. It was rough. They were very stern and my punishment was indeed severe. Although I barely escaped being expelled, I did have to serve ALOT of afterschool time. But what the hell. Sometimes you gotta stand up for what you believe is important. And John Lennon’s life and music mattered to me.

After the retribution of my superiors I slowly walked back to my homeroom class alone feeling pretty dejected. Not only had I been read the riot act by the people running the school, but I was truly in no mood to be hassled yet again by my classmates just for being different, as always.

However, when I got back to class I was greeted with a far different reception than I expected. As I walked into the classroom, all of my fellow students gave me a rousing round of applause with a standing ovation that lasted until I sat down at my desk and the teacher had to implore them all to stop. That was a good moment.

Later that year I found the courage to join a rock band that a friend of mine was starting at school. The shell wasn’t completely broken, but the first layer was coming undone.