I can say, sadly, that Jim Morrison is still dead. (For those who recognize the reference no explanation is needed. For those who don’t, Google Chevy Chase and Francisco Franco.
After wandering through the Père Lachaise Cemetery, we found Morrison’s grave. It was as I had seen in numerous pictures. Though smaller than expected, it had a power and draw that exceeded its size. Covered with flowers and pictures of Morrison, an angel at the head, the headstone simply said James Douglas Morrison.
It was easy to find because of the fans in front of the barrier that separates them from the musician, I assume, they revered. It was also eerily quiet. People stood near the barrier, took their photos and moved away to let others do the same. Any conversation was in hushed tones as if speaking too loud would disturb the feeling of those there.
I had somewhat expected that someone would sing, or at least hum, a Doors tune. No one did though, like me, I’m sure the music was swimming in their memory.
As a teen in the ‘60s, it was hard not to be a Doors fan. Robby Keieger. John Densmore. Ray Manzarek. Jim Morrison. The combination of music and lyrics grabbed your attention and worked their way into your life. Music does that. A song will spin a tale as it imprints itself on your mind and, occasionally, your heart.
Light my fire. Hello, I love you. LA woman. Wild child. And so many more have never faded from our minds. With each new play, we’re reminded of a special moment in our lives . . . and we smile.
The death of Morrison presaged the death of other musical icons including Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix. Standing at the grave reminded me of those other losses and what could have been in music. We, will, unfortunately, never know.
Walking away I realized Jim Morrison did finally break on through to the other side.