It’s an overcast, grey morning as I reflect on the latest
year without John F on the planet. And it has been a strange one, with plenty
of opportunities to regret that he has not been with us for four years now.
The biggie, of course, is the US Presidential election.
With hindsight, whilst it was clear so many of the pundits
consistently got the potential for Trump winning wrong, I think John would have
predicted it, and predicted it early. His approach to elections – no election
was complete without a spreadsheet or two mapping the swing states and
heartlands – was (of course) totally evidence based. By following the evidence,
he would steer away from personal bias and wishful thinking; whilst no doubt
staunchly supporting Hillary, he would have spotted the fault lines through
which Trump would ooze, even when every liberal around him was saying it just
“couldn’t” happen. And on election night he would’ve gently nodded to himself –
his version of a “told you so” dance – whilst cursing the stupidity of swathes
of voters.
Okay, so John wouldn’t have been able to have stopped the
outcome, but I’m sure he would have helped a bunch of us better understand what
was actually coming down the line.
John would’ve loved the release of the Frank Zappa for President album, with its version of “When the
lie’s so big” and a prescient interview with Frank about how he’d approach
running for President. His reflection that the media would come to him for
comment on anything and everything as the outsider, meaning he’d garner masses
of free publicity as a non-partisan candidate seems so obvious now.
And then there’s been a year of health “stuff”… those times
when many of us miss John’s calm analysis, always built on research, to help
better understand not only our conditions, but the treatments we are offered,
could be taking and indeed should be taking. Whether it was something as scary
as Mark’s cancer scares which thankfully seem have been seen off, despite some
residual “necrotic tissue”
(mis-read by me as “neurotic” tissue, which seemed a very New York condition to
get, and one which would have tickled John), or my own much more predictable
Dupuytren’s contracture diagnosis, it is at these times many of us miss being
able to send an email or make a call to John to splurge our limited
understanding of what might be going on, then, about 24 hours later, get the
inevitable detailed, clear report on what is actually likely happening.
Finally of
course, there is the music – one of my strong connections with John. I like to
think he would have wanted to see PJ Harvey in New York again with me last year
(and if not, I know he would’ve indulged me and come along, like in 2006!) He
would have loved the Lazarus show,
with Michael C Hall et al belting out re-worked Bowie classics in an
other-worldly sequel to The Man Who Fell
To Earth. And I wonder if, on the back of Trey Anastasio of Phish’s
successful outing with the remainder of Grateful Dead a couple of years ago, he
would’ve grudgingly given Phish another shot.
In the UK, May
1st has been the traditional first day of Summer since the time of
the Romans. In 2017 we have a more eclectic mix of Morris Dancers, championship
snooker on the TV, local election canvassing (Thursday will likely see the
routing of Labour as a pre-cursor to next month’s general election) and traditional
bank holiday naff weather. In the mix of this, there will be time to raise a
shot of tequila to John – to curse him not being here, to toast his enduring
influence, and to remember how he enriched so many lives.
Miss you, John.
