Grow Old With Me - a TLIAW

[BlackentheBorg]

Nobody thought they'd actually get away with it.

I mean, there were plenty, bloody plenty, who wanted to boot him out personally (Stormy Thormy, the Eff Be I, squares of all shapes and sizes) but nobody thought Tricky Dicky would actually go ahead and do it.

There’d been a death in the night, unfortunately. Some old yeller called Irving Kaufman – ice of face, warm of heart – a particularly judgy gent from New York. ‘They’ say he was gonna overturn the order, keep him in the country. ‘They’, of course, couldn’t predict such fickle human error. “they” couldn’t foresee a lorry driver dropping his can and taking his eyes off the road for just a few seconds, then – kersplat! No more Irving. And so it was they got another old bugger to sit in his high chair and that was that. Not even a chance to wipe his feet on the way out. Pack your things and ta ra now!

So let it be known to the history books and the geezers that keep them that the Lennon’s lost their battle to stay in the United States purely by shit-out-of-luck-ness, and went back home to England before anyone could come knocking on their apartment. For all his anger and barbs and scathing rants, and everyone else’s (his deportation was seen as a drastic overstep by the Nixon administration). The British tabloids welcomed him home as a felled hero, a David who’d battled the American Goliath. While usually Lennon would’ve relished in the sudden press positivity, the eccentric musician and his more-so wife chose to hold up in the north, somewhere in the dreary moors of Ireland. He wasn’t in the mood – for the press, for the president, for music, not for nothing.

 

[BlackentheBorg]

What the
Oh yeah, um, I'm doing a quick TLIAW.

What is this.
This guy here suggested a TL where John Lennon gets deported, and it kinda just wrote itself from there.

Didn't you already do a Beatles TL tho?
Erm...yes, but that kinda ran itself into the ground...okay, I just lost interest. It happens.

So what makes you think this'll be any different?
Because I wrote it in a week and don't hate it already.

And why is it written like that?
I'd thought I'd try something different, like an internal monologue.

Right.
I also just really like the way Beatlebone was written.

Okay.
So yeah.

 

[shiftygiant]

You have my interest. Looking forward to seeing how this plays out.

 

[cortz#9]

Subscribed, of course.

 

[Asharella]

Gosh, I expected Yoko to stay in the states for Kyoto.

 

[Glass Onion]

Is this 1972 or 1973?

 

[Glass Onion]

I too would have expected Yoko to stay. Not for Kyoto's sake. They were long since estranged. John and Yoko's marriage was at a nadir around this time. This is when she left him.

I would have expected her to use John's deportation as an excuse to leave him-sending May Pang to head out with John in her stead.

If she was planning to leave anyway-and make no mistake she clearly was-why leave the country for him? Especially since Yoko had no reason to love for the U.K. at the time.

Of course May Pang might not yet be a presence yet depending on how early this is and as such I can't be sure she would have accompanied John to the U.K.

 

[BlackentheBorg]

Is this 1972 or 1973?

I kinda wanted to keep the exact year ambiguous, actually.

Gosh, I expected Yoko to stay in the states for Kyoto.

I too would have expected Yoko to stay. Not for Kyoto's sake. They were long since estranged. John and Yoko's marriage was at a nadir around this time. This is when she left him.

If she was planning to leave anyway-and make no mistake she clearly was-why leave the country for him? Especially since Yoko had no reason to love for the U.K. at the time.

In this timeline, Yoko's kicked out, too. I'd like to think that seeing is how she didn't really have anywhere else to go, and John would be particularly needy, she'd go with him to Ireland. Not to mention the timeline's only just started -- there's still plenty of time for a breakup.

 

[Glass Onion]

Legally-Yoko wouldn't have been kicked out. She was never the subject of deportation hearings personally and maintained residency in the United States.

Her presence with John in Ireland would have been voluntary in a legal sense-there was no case against Yoko that meant she couldn't be given residency assuming she somehow lost her status upon divorce or for some other reason.

She might have gone with nonetheless for idiosyncratic reasons or if she just isn't ready to leave yet. But with the divergence you describe-there's no reason why she couldn't have returned to the United States.

She-much more than John-was only ever at home in NYC. She wasn't as comfortable anywhere else.

When you add that to the bad state of their marriage at the time-things between the Lennons will be really tense here.

The only mitigating factor is that Yoko was presumably aware that the entire reason John could be deported was that he had acted to prevent her deportation from the U.K.

But in the end of the day that isn't enough to save what was already a failing marriage at the time.

 

[BlackentheBorg]

Legally-Yoko wouldn't have been kicked out. She was never the subject of deportation hearings personally and maintained residency in the United States.

Her presence with John in Ireland would have been voluntary in a legal sense-there was no case against Yoko that meant she couldn't be given residency assuming she somehow lost her status upon divorce or for some other reason.

She might have gone with nonetheless for idiosyncratic reasons or if she just isn't ready to leave yet. But with the divergence you describe-there's no reason why she couldn't have returned to the United States.

She-much more than John-was only ever at home in NYC. She wasn't as comfortable anywhere else.

When you add that to the bad state of their marriage at the time-things between the Lennons will be really tense here.

The only mitigating factor is that Yoko was presumably aware that the entire reason John could be deported was that he had acted to prevent her deportation from the U.K.

But in the end of the day that isn't enough to save what was already a failing marriage at the time.

I mean if that fits the narritive better than my 'oh yeah also she gets deported too' then by all means keep that in mind. Maybe the new judge viewed Yoko as an enabler and took additional steps to stamp out dissent against the Nixon administration?

 

[BlackentheBorg]

“No.”

--if it’s money you want, there’s no problem here. The National Broadcasting Company--

“Absolutely fucking not. No way.”

--you know the words. It’ll be easy. Like I said--

“Not fucking likely.”

--if you want to give Ringo less, that’s up to you. I’d rather not get involved--

“♫ No, no, no! ♫“

There, you got a tune out of him. That’s a feat in itself. Old John hasn’t turned out a tune in a year, maybe a bit more.

It a hermit’s life for him now. An average day consists of waking up, going to the kitchen, lighting a cigarette, mail bag, wait for Yoko to get the milk, tea, TV, walk, sit looking blankly at his guitar gently weeping on the wall, TV, maybe walk, cigarette, tea, bed. In out all around shake it all about. He’s been watching a lot of the boob tube. Sesame Street might’ve gotten stale, but he’s got a friend in the states (one of the few left – Bobby got shot, Jerry had a heart attack, Angela was still locked up) who ships him shows on VHS – Happy Days, Sanford and Son, All in the Family, Ironside – but it’s Saturday Night Live tapes that he covets most. It’s everything he liked about the big apple with none of the fruit. But they just had to talk about the band, didn’t they?
It’s been years, let it go, he thinks.

It’s been…

He’d spent several long whiles with his wife in Ireland, a place far, far away from the rouge galleries of Britain. He hardly spoke to anyone, and that suited him just fine. He wasn’t without things to do, however – he’d taken up writing again, a poem one day, a play the next. He baked bread, he took walks, he listened to his records, he talked with Yoko long into the night. They both rode horses this one time. But he didn’t so much as touch his guitar…

He gets up out of his chair and goes to the bedroom. Across from the scratchy double mattress hangs his Rickenbacker. It seems less of an instrument, which was then more of a weapon he swung from the hip, and more like a sad framed photograph. He sits on the end of the bed. He thinks. He remembers. He can already hear it --

la–de–da
la–de–dum-dum-da

He notices a finger twitch.

Ah, can’t be arsed, he thinks, and returns to his precious television.

 

[BlackentheBorg]

This is the happiest he’s been in a long time.

He almost didn’t come. The mailman only comes once a godforsaken moon and if you aren’t in a hurry it’ll rain on your good wishes. Buried deep with his fan mail and foreign tapes was a sealed envelope from Eric “I’m really am a blues guitarist, now let me tell you nine more times just to make sure” Clapton. A wedding, to George’s wife, if he wasn’t mistaken. Cor. He throws the invitation out. Then fishes it out of the bin, makes a call to the airport.

At first it’s a fucking trail. Having to stand there at the bar with drinky in hand, seeing people glance over and crap on a cracker that’s John Lennon, the Beatle who was kicked out of America and disappeared from the kitchen because he couldn’t take the heat. Oh they said it was good to see him, of course they did – they ask him where he’s been (in Ireland, obviously), that he’s looking well (thanks, not too bad yourself, did you believe me when I said that?), how’s Yoko doing (fine, he insists, but he worries ever so much), where is Yoko (isn’t the fact that he’s here enough for these people?), did you hear about what happened to Nixon (oh yes, he did, he heard very much, and he treasures the look on Dicky's face when he swore he wasn't a crook, but everyone, including he, knew he was, and

Is that? – John! Over here!

A voice through the murk of other voices. It’s a familiar face, one of four.

Sir Jasper Lennon, I presume?

Mr. Happy Hari Krishna, I presume?

George points down to the other end of the room – the other two are there. They were a group, after all, they can’t help but stick together. He sits and listens to all the things he’s missed – Paul got mugged in Africa, George is getting sued, Ringo’s done another poncy film. He shows them the pictures in his pocket, of two star-eyed babes with strong Gaelic names, and tells them how he feels guilty about leaving Yoko alone with them. They tell him not to worry. They all get drunk. They all start playing; Sgt Peppers, Get Back, Lawdy Miss Clawdy. It’s bad, so very very bad,, as bad as only four drunk has-beens playing their past hits can be, but they play. And they drink. And they play some more. The three feel great, they say, they don’t know why the stopped doing this. They want to start doing it again. But he is still there enough to know he’s not quite ready yet, and passes out in a chair.

He dreams of an egg that doesn’t want to hatch yet.

 

[BlackentheBorg]

​

“Another, Max.”

You’ll drink yourself to an early grave, John

“You’re a swine, Max, now gimmie another.”

Oink oink

“Max.”

Fine, John, one more

Ireland proved too much for the both of them – the new President decided to overturn the Great Lennon Exile on ‘grounds of false indictment and cultural bias’. Yoko leapt at the chance. He didn’t. Why would he, he thinks, sulking like a spiteful toddler, if they didn’t want him then, why would they want him now? Yoko disagreed, he disagreed with Yoko, the two had a disagreement. So they’re trying this now – they’re not divorced, but…erm…

So she left him for big bad America and he came crawling back to blighty.

He feels bad for the kids, he really does, for once in his life. Mother, strong and sensual as she is, didn’t see fit to take responsibility so she would have more time to paint and scream and such. They mostly see to their Nanny, who is more than willing, he’s found, but there’s something off-putting. Too many memories of screaming girlies lie in the ole noggin, and she shares a face with all of them. Sully those memories with drink, that’s the way forward.

"Who's this lot playing again?"

It's a cassette, John

"We'll they're shit. Tell'em they're shit."

If the Clash happen to stop by I'll be sure to pass it on

Speaking of kids, he thinks, these new ones bother him. It’s the anger – he was angry when he was their height, everyone was, hell, he’s never met a neutered student – but they’re angry for the sake of being angry. You can let it all out now, spike your hair and drop acid and throw bottles at rozzers all you like, hell, it’s the fashion now. He realises that, by comparison, he and his generation were repressed. Maybe this is it – a generation of Primal Scream, get it while it’s hot! Eventually it will all go out of fashion, as it always

He slides and there’s a smash. Max is beside him.

Ahh fucking -- that's it, no more, John, you’re cut off

Do you know who I am?!

Yeah, you’re an a-hole with fucking Brandy in his lungs. Out!

 

[BlackentheBorg]

The name of the first man was Ronald Wilson Reagan, emphasis on the was. He was an unlikely hawk to take the Eagles office – an actor by trade, then a governor on the other side of the states, which might’ve well have been a different world. John didn’t make any effort to like him. He was, after all, of the same ilk as Nixon, Gerald Ford, and he brought that grand puppeteer with him, no doubt, one of the same ones leaning on his phone lines. But he was gonna set the country on a new track, emphasis on the was.

The name of the second man was Mark David Chapman. What exactly was going on with him was unclear. On the news they kept saying how he voted for Reagan, because he was a born-again and Reagan’s godliness appealed to him, one conservative to another. But as well as the bible he’d been reading another book, and that’d caused him to hear voices. His thinker had curdled like sour milk. He’d become one of the many loonies. But he was a loony with a weapon.

One had met the other on a street corner and, well…

He sits in his new living room, up high in his hotel. Many miles away, in another hotel room, Yoko Ono, his wife of some sort, talks to him through a phone. America has suddenly turned very dark and she wants to come home. He says there’s nothing wrong with that. Putting the phone down, he thinks how he’s been talking to her on and off on the phone for years now and she never once asked about visiting. It took the death of the president and nothing less. She is coming home, yes, but she isn’t home yet. The kids are in bed. It’s just him and the TV again.

He gets up and sits somewhere different – his piano. It wasn’t here or his when he was looking around before buying, but it was when he moved in. The manager with a twinkle in his eye had it lugged up because a musician was staying at his hotel and, aw heck, maybe if Mr. Lennon was tempted enough he’d bash out the next hit single, in his hotel! He hadn’t, and he insists it’s out of spite to the manager. It didn’t work when Paul wanted Let It Be, it didn’t work when the labels hounded him, it didn’t work when every single fan letter wanted a comeback.

But the image of the new martyr they had on the news had gotten him thinking. This guy was being set up as the New Kennedy, but, you know, with less running time. Who knows what he could’ve done. He might’ve failed at cleaning the streets like he wanted, but he’ll be remembered as they guy that would’ve and next to nothing else. And what of me, he thought. Will he be remembered as John Winston Lennon, the former Beatle who made music that made people love and laugh and cry, or John Winston Lennon, the former Beatle who was kicked out for questioning authority and hid away ever since like a mung?

Life and death

He hits a key. Then another, then three. He begins to hit more. A free bird starts singing.

A dam bursts. We are all water.

 

[cortz#9]

Interesting, Chapman still makes a killing. I can only imagine the butterflies.

 

[BlackentheBorg]

You’ve written a granny song!

“I haven’t—"

John, I’m sorry, but you’ve written a granny song!

“Fuck off!”

And you gave Poor Paulie so much gaff for writing them!

“It’s not a bloody granny song!”

It’s as gran as any, John.

“It’s not a granny song.”

It’s practically in a home.

Oh no, you’ve upset him, he’s off.

John, don’t --

He goes out on to the roof for a smoke. It’s cold. Paul walks up next to him. He tells Paul to sod off. Paul doesn’t and lights his own. He asks if doing this all will actually ‘do anything’, whatever that means. Paul says it’s better than squatting in Ireland. They chuckle.

Twenty years. It’s been more than twenty years since they’ve all been in a studio together. He forgot what it’s like to have eyes on you that aren’t from yes-men, eyes that come with barbs. He’s a musician, for fuck’s sake, this should be second nature. They used to run off this, didn’t they? The wit. They and everyone else used to love the wit. But he’s been riffing off himself for so long he’s forgotten about that specific kind of criticism. Maybe that’s why the critics didn’t like his last album, he thinks.

He asks about the title. Paul asks if he remembers when the press asked about the band name, and he said there was a man on a Flaming Pie. He laughs again. That’s clever, he admits. Paul asks if he wants to go back inside. He flicks the cig off the roof and watches it tumble in the wind.

It’s still a granny song tho, John.

“Yeah yeah. It’s the therapy showing.”

Actually, I think it’s just you getting old, but whatever.

 

[cortz#9]

Who's accusing John of writing a granny song, George?

 

[BlackentheBorg]

Who's accusing John of writing a granny song, George?

It's whoever you want it to be.

 

[cortz#9]

It's whoever you want it to be.

Well I figure its either George or Ringo since they mention Paul.
I'm going to say its Ringo, I find that amusing.

 

[Asharella]

Is Granny Song a term that John actually used in OTL?