When Paul McCartney picked up the phone one ordinary evening in late 1980, he had no idea that conversation would become one of the most treasured—and heartbreaking—moments of his life. On the surface, it was just a casual call, but for Paul, it became the final exchange with his longtime friend and former bandmate, John Lennon.
By then, the bond between the two Beatles had weathered years of tension. After the breakup of The Beatles, their friendship had been strained by misunderstandings, public disagreements, and the weight of their shared history. Yet that night, the conversation softened into something far more familiar—a return to the kind of easy, genuine connection they’d shared in the early days as young musicians in Liverpool, long before the world knew their names.
At the time, John was living in the Dakota apartment building in New York City, newly invigorated after recording his album Double Fantasy. Paul, meanwhile, was at home in Sussex, England, relaxing with his guitar when he decided to reach out. Their call lasted nearly an hour, drifting between lighthearted jokes, talk of their children, and nostalgic recollections of their formative years as partners in music.
Later, Paul described the tone of John’s voice that night as calm and content—a sound he hadn’t heard from his friend in years. The two laughed over old tour mishaps and teased each other about the new music they were working on. For Paul, it felt as if the lingering bitterness of their public disputes had finally melted away. For once, there were no accusations, no guarded remarks—just two old friends reconnecting.
During the call, John told Paul he was happy staying home and focusing on fatherhood. He wasn’t in a rush to return to the spotlight. Paul, in turn, admitted that he often thought about visiting John in New York but worried he might be intruding. Lennon reassured him, saying warmly, “We’re family. You can come by anytime you like.” That sentiment stayed with Paul and became a memory he replayed countless times in the days that followed.
On December 8, 1980, Paul’s world shifted irreversibly. He received an early morning phone call bearing tragic news—John Lennon had been shot outside the Dakota and died shortly after at Roosevelt Hospital. Paul was stunned, unable to process the magnitude of the loss. He spent that morning standing by his kitchen window, flooded with memories of their youth: the afternoons scribbling lyrics together, the late-night studio sessions, and that final phone call that now echoed painfully in his mind.
That afternoon, Paul drove to Abbey Road Studios, needing to be close to a place that had symbolized their shared creative journey. Inside Studio Two, he sat silently at the piano they had once used to record Hey Jude. He placed his hand on the keys but didn’t play, instead recalling John’s last words during their call: “Think about me now and then, old friend.”
In the days that followed, reporters gathered at Paul’s home, demanding a response. His quick remark—“It’s a drag”—was widely misunderstood as cold. In reality, he simply had no words to describe the void he felt. Linda McCartney later revealed that Paul spent nights sitting quietly, strumming his guitar, lost in memories of John.
Paul spoke occasionally with Yoko Ono after John’s death, offering support and sharing the details of that final conversation. Yoko told him John had seemed happier than he had in years—a small comfort in the midst of grief.
Even decades later, Paul has said that if he could keep just one memory, it would be that last phone call—the moment he and John found peace, friendship, and a reminder that, above all else, they were family.