Sunday, July 20, 2003
Everyone remembers where they were when JFK was killed, or, more recently, when Lennon was shot, or Lady Di met up with Pillar Thirteen at the Pont de l'Alma, right? Not necessarily. This particular Stranger has difficulties remembering to set his VHS for this week's Six Feet Under.
What I do recall, however, is one June evening in 1969. I was doodling on a piece of paper, when the BBC news-flashed the announcement that Judy Garland had just been found dead. On the loo. In London. I was only a kid at the time, had but a dim idea of who she was, but I remember crying my little baby-blues out.
I think it was from that precise moment on that my mother somehow knew she would never have any grandchildren.