I heard about it from Howard Cosell.
Probably quite a few of us did, that evil Monday night in December, 1980. Cosell's pompous tones reached into my life and ripped my heart out by the roots.
In the intervening years I thought I'd grown a few layers of exoskeleton over that raw, bloody wound.
But no. I hadn't. I simply became numb.
A friend sent me this link tonight -- no particular reason, no anniversary or anything -- and it's just opened it all back up again, ripped away whatever protection -- cynicism, hardness -- I'd built up. I've just noticed that my t-shirt sleeve has reached saturation and won't accept any more tears.
This will never be OK. I'll carry this grief to my grave.
A month later, Reagan was inaugurated. More than a rock star died that night. Much, much more.