John

Judy and I were in love with the same guy. We were fifteen, and we’d been friends since we were in kindergarten together at La Follette Elementary School on the north side of Milwaukee. Judy’s family had moved to West Allis, a suburb of Milwaukee, which put them closer to her dad’s work at Allis-Chalmers Company. We’d come from the same kind of people: hard-working, working-class people.

Judy was sitting across from me the day I returned after getting a vaccine shot by the school nurse, and she saw me throw up what was in my stomach – as it happened. But she was my friend, anyway.

And we were living on the other side of Milwaukee in 1964, when the Beatles “invaded” the United States, and the world. Of course, all the young girls had watched the debut on the Ed Sullivan Show – a favorite of mine for many years – and had decided, at once, who was their favorite Beatle, as we watched the girls our age in the studio shouting, crying, screaming.

My family’s stereo system was on a large cart on wheels, and for some reason, Mom allowed me to have the stereo system in my bedroom, the already-cramped room that I shared with my little sister, Suzie. And so I played the few records – 45’s and albums – that I had, over and over – and over again.

Every few weeks, I’d take the money I’d earned from baby-sitting the three little kids next door, and I’d walk down Medford Avenue to the Sears-Roebuck Store on 24 and Fond du Lac, passing my friend Nancy’s house on the way. As I walked, I had in mind what I intended to buy that day: another single to add to the box I kept on the floor next to the hi-fi setup in my room. All week, I’d listened to WOKY – a Milwaukee radio station that played the kind of music kids like me listened to – so I knew what I wanted to bring home. Sometimes, I had enough money to buy an album, and so I started a small collection, which I propped up against the wall. I listened and I sang along with the records I played (my husband, Jeff, is still surprised when I burst into another song – complete verses – from the 50’s and 60’s – some of which he has never heard before). I can sing through whole albums of the Beatles, The Animals, the Dave Clark Five. Yes, I can!

Later, my taste turned to Motown Records, out of Detroit, and I can sing all the words to those songs, too.

And of course, we knew the birthday of our favorite Beatle. Judy and I talked every few days on the phone, sharing our latest news about John, what we’d read about the Beatles in the paper that week. We knew for sure that John’s birthday was October 9. In those days, this kind of information was common knowledge to Beatle-lovers.

We hatched a plan. Whose idea was it? We hatched a plan: We would bake a cake for John on his birthday. And we’d deliver the cake to the person we knew that was as close to John Lennon as we’d ever get: Bob Barry of WOKY radio in Milwaukee!

And so, on the morning of October 9, 1965, Judy and I met in the kitchen of my family’s flat on Medford Avenue to bake a birthday cake for John Lennon. We were careful as we cut the cake into the shape of a guitar (!) and decorated it with chocolate frosting, and as we added yellow frosting highlights. We were proud of our concoction! My Mom even took a picture of us together, holding the birthday cake for John Lennon!

And we delivered it to WOKY radio on Fond du Lac Avenue in Milwaukee, to be given to Bob Barry.

We had to go to school on Monday, so we didn’t hear whether Bob Barry mentioned our cake or not. And we are fairly sure the cake never made it to our favorite Beatle. But it came as a shock, years later, when John would be killed. The world was changing. And Judy and my worlds were changing, too, as we outgrew our favorite Beatle and each moved into our different lives.