Elliot Mintz’s reflections on his friendship with the endlessly fascinating celebrity duo of John Lennon and Yoko Ono provide an intriguing glimpse into their complex dynamics, even though his evident admiration for them may slightly dilute the narrative.
As we all know, there’s a universal truth that many people yearn for a connection to celebrity culture. When a star does open the door for access, it can be a profound experience.
Back in 1971, Mintz was a young radio host in Los Angeles who interviewed Yoko Ono, an avant-garde artist often overshadowed by her more famous husband, John Lennon. Excited to have a moment in the spotlight, she quickly took to Mintz, calling him the next day to chat. Daily conversations soon followed, and she eventually suggested that John reach out to him as well. Mintz was a patient listener, always accommodating, even if it meant taking late-night calls. Even if they ended the call abruptly, often without a goodbye, he enjoyed their company.
This marked the beginning of a relationship that lasted until Lennon’s death in 1980 and continues with Ono today. Initially, Mintz’s connection with them was something rare in the celebrity world—a private affair. Now at 79, he’s sharing everything in his memoir, expressing, “I loved them like family.” But he admits, “I’d like to say they felt a similar familial attachment to me, but I was never completely sure.”
He was present for their struggles, the heartbreaks, and even the aftermath of Lennon’s tragic murder. To ensure he never missed a call, he installed an extra phone line at home, sometimes asking guests to leave if the phone rang—he was committed to his role in their lives.
Mintz was entranced by their dynamic. “The English language contains some 170,000 words, and I’ve never come across a single one that fully describes the odd contours that made up my relationship with them,” he reflects. Interestingly, he later admits to being something like a gofer, serving as a confidant, mediator, and their link to the outside world.
Entering their lives during a tumultuous time, he witnessed their marriage struggles, their battles with addiction, and the tense moments that came with it. Lennon would often call him for company or to navigate tricky interactions, while Ono sought his help in keeping Lennon safe.
Throughout their highs and lows, Mintz was a steadfast presence. After Lennon’s death, he played a vital role in helping Ono sort through his personal belongings.
For hardcore Beatles fans, many details might not be new, but Mintz offers a fascinating backstage pass into the complex emotional landscape of one of the most intriguing celebrity couples of the 1970s—Lennon striving for peace and grappling with self-destruction, while Ono connected with psychics and held a fixation on the number nine. Mintz’s unwavering loyalty reflects a level of devotion that would impress even Downton Abbey’s Julian Fellowes.
Readers might wonder why he was so indulgent in this relationship. Interestingly, Mintz wasn’t even a significant Beatles fan—“I preferred Elvis,” he admits. He seems conflicted, pondering whether there was a “soul contract” binding them, destined to be friends across lifetimes. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed his status as “fame-adjacent,” a chosen figure in their lives?
While the world doesn’t necessarily need another retelling of John and Yoko’s story, Mintz’s account stands out as reverent and affectionate, although his deep admiration makes objectivity elusive.
You get the sense that Yoko would applaud this perspective.
