The Beatles were nearly done their American tour and had arrived at their current city stop that morning. Now, in the afternoon, John, George, Paul and Ringo had decided to sneak off from their hotel suite and avoid all the crazy birds that would no doubt be lurking about hunting down their beloved band members. Their destination: an isolated spot partway under a bridge on the other side of town from where they were staying. It wasn't spring yet, still late February, but the river by the rocks where the guys were hanging about and smoking wasn't frozen anymore.
"Hard t' believe we'll be headin' home soon, eh?" piped up Paul. He was standing on the edge of one of the rocks with Ringo, skipping stones while John and George paced idly around their little hiding spot puffing away on smokes.
"Yeh, and then Georgie turns 21!" Ringo pointed out, getting up off his seat to find better flat stones closer to the edge of the bank.
"They grow up so fast!" cooed John in a sing-song, high-pitched voice.
George just laughed lightly and shook his head. It was true; the youngest Beatle would be 21 in just over a week, three days after they leave America after nearly a month in the country doing TV shows, press, and concerts. He dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground and dug it in with his toe to put it out. He looked up just in time to see Ringo lean a little too far over the edge of the bank.
"Shit, Ringo!" George yelled as the shortest Beatle topped over the edge.
The three remaining lads all heard the splash.
John quickly joined George, who had run to the edge beside Paul as they stood peering down the five feet or so their drummer had fallen. Though it wasn't a far drop, the water was deep and ridiculously cold. The shock must have knocked Ringo unconscious because he never resurfaced. Lennon cussed, put out his cigarette, and started taking off his shoes, quickly followed by his jacket.
"Wh- What the hell're you doing?" said Paul who had caught on to what the rhythm guitarist was doing.
"Well if you two're just gonna stand around, I'm gonna 'ave to get him then aren't I?"
Without another word out of anyone, John in just his shirt and trousers hopped into the river from the very spot where Ringo had fallen in. The water was so cold it hurt; every inch of Lennon's body nearly went numb. The river was fairly clear though and despite not having his glasses on and the particles of god-knows-what in the water, John could make out a human-shaped form – a Ringo-shaped form – floating an arm's length away. The rhythm guitarist reached out and grabbed a handful of Ringo's jacket in each fist and swam upward to the surface, kicking hard.
In the short time it took to reach the shore, john was out of breath from both the cold and the exertion. He dragged his unconscious friend up onto a lower part of the bank, closer to the surface before stepping up onto the rough sand himself, teeth chattering. He could see Paul and George scrambling down the rocks to where he and the drummer both were, equally soaked. John knelt beside Ringo and it only took half a minute for him to notice the smaller man wasn't breathing.
"Fuck," John hissed, and started giving Ringo chest compressions. He could remember seeing a lifeguard pushing down on one of his schoolmate's chests after the kid had been pulled down by an undertow, so he just tried to imitate that. Oh, and he was also yelling. Yelling and rambling and spewing all sorts of words desperately as he tried to save his friend.
Ringo was the eldest Beatle you see, and each and every one of them looked up to him, and cared about him as much as they all cared about one another in their group – maybe even more. The drummer had been ill as a child and was quite susceptible to becoming ill as it is. They had all been anxious and worried out of their minds when Ringo had collapsed during a photoshoot due to a high fever. They didn't know what would happen to their beloved drummer. As it turned out, he had only had tonsillitis, and after surgery to remove the afflicted tonsils, Ringo had been fine. But now it seemed Ringo's life was in John's hands, and John barely knew what to do. His normally hard exterior was dissolving as what seemed like forever ticked slowly by as his friend lay unconscious under his hands.
"Ringo we fuckin need you okay? We all do, all of us! We could never replace you n the band or – or as a friend," John paused, panting "Please, Rings, come on! Wake up you bloody—" It was at this moment that George and Paul appeared. They rushed over and joined a frantic and freezing John in worrying over their mate, though the rhythm guitarist continued his rant as though he didn't notice they were there. "Wake the fuck up already! Come ON! Wake! Up!"
"Hey, John," George interrupted, but John ignored him. "Hey!" the youngest Beatle grabbed his friend by the shoulder, but the man shrugged him off. "HEY!" George persisted and this time, John moved away from Ringo and swung at the lead guitarist blindly.
"What the HELL do you WANT?" he growled, but George just stared at him with wide eyes as the older Beatle seethed in desperate fear-masking anger.
Paul was next to speak, he was sitting beside the drummer now where John had been.
"John, he just wanted to lend you his jacket. You're soaked."
"Shit. I-I'm, ah…" John looked guilty and felt even moreso than he looked.
"That's what I was trying to tell ya…" said George sheepishly.
"Sorry…" muttered John in return.
There was a pressing silence for a moment, then a loud gasp and spluttering noises coming from poor Ringo.
"If… if you three are done being all… soft over there… can someone tell me who's been… stepping all over me chest?" croaked Ringo, sitting up and shivering like the dickens.
All three of the other Beatles broke out into grins and the darkness of their previous situation was forgotten. They had their Ringo back, and it was all thanks to John.
Back at the hotel suite, Ringo had a hot shower and changed into dry clothes while Paul made some tea and the two guitarists commenced in a game of cards. An hour or so later, Brian stopped by to get the boys briefed on their next press conference that would be that evening, and stopped short in the middle of his speech when he noticed John was sitting there with damp hair and clothes. He would've pinned it down to a last minute shower on John's part, but the fact that his clothes were wet raised all sort of questions in the manager's mind.
"Someone care to explain why Mr. Lennon here looks like he's been for a dip in the pool?"
The Beatles exchanged wide-eyed glances with one another. John, being he stubborn man he is, refused to change out of his wet clothes or clean off when he got home, insisting that they should be more concerned for Ringo who "could have damn well died". Instead of doing what surely would have been better for him, John just waited for the warm air from the furnace to dry him out as he sat there playing cards with everyone else. He expected to look back to normal by now – like Ringo did – and none of them would ever have to tell Brian or Mal what had happened that afternoon. They all knew how furious their manager would be… And boy, was he ever.
After a lot of explaining, apologizing, and lecturing, the fab four had learned their lesson so it seemed and were told to get ready for the conference by a frazzled Brian Epstein. The manager pulled John aside for a moment before the Beatle went into the washroom to have that shower he should have had hours ago.
"You know if it weren't for your stupid act of bravery today, we could have honestly lost Ringo," Brian said in earnest.
John shrugged, though he did feel proud of himself. He just went on his way to the shower without a word.
Later on, in the car on the way to the conference, Ringo spoke up to John out of the blue.
"He's right, eh? If you hadn't come in after me, I'd've been a goner," said the drummer, smiling warmly. He must have heard the conversation between his bandmate and manager earlier.
"Weren't ye just telling us to quit bein' soft, Ritchie?" chimed in Paul. "You jus' want John all to yourself now he's your hero, don't you?" the bassist continued. George started laughing and soon so was everyone.
"Ah, shut up," said John, who was smiling genuinely and shaking his head.