Atlantic City P.D.

It has been difficult for me over the years to find photos and very  much information about when the Beatles played Atlantic City in 1964.   So when I was going through stacks of magazines, I was happy to locate a story written by a former Atlantic City, New Jersey police officer named Robert F. Clifton.  Officer Clifton guarded the Beatles (particularly Paul) during their stay in Atlantic City and was even on the stage while they played!   He wrote a very nice article about it all in the August/September 1983 issue of Beatlefan Magazine. 

I am not sure, but that might be Robert Clifton behind Paul in this press conference photo.

  It was the end of August 1964.  At the time I had been with the Atlantic City, NJ  police Department for five years.  During that time I had experienced a lot, particularly when it came to celebrity security details.  There was Sinatra at the 500 Club.  There were Ricky nelson, Dick Clark and Paul Anka at the old Steel Pier – now gone, lost in the change from a family resort to a gambling resort.  But the impact left by four young mean from Liverpool, England is still with me.  At the end of a 25 year career, I saw nothing during that time that can even equal that one night many years ago.

As the last days of the summer season faded away, we stood and watched as the political banners, streamers and confetti from the Democratic Convention blew away, caught in an ocean breeze and scattered along the Boardwalk.  It was the finish of what had been three long weeks of security, dignitary protection and the beginning of protest demonstrations.  Now it was over but there was more to come. 

The Beatles were coming.

George Hamid, owner and operator of the Steel Pier, had somehow induced the group to come to Atlantic City, a place with a total population then of 60,000 people.  It was unheard of.

Harrid leased the Atlantic City Convention Hall and the tickets went on sale.  They sold immediately and naturally this one night show was a total sell-out.  That was to be expected.  What happened next was unexpected.

WE arrived on past at 5 p.m., the night of the show.  Even at that early hour, there were at least 1,000 fans lining the north side of Pacific Avenue, the street that fronts the stage door entrance to Convention Hall.  We were told that the motorcade with The Beatles would arrive at 6 p.m.  During that one hour wait we watched as the crowd in the street and on the sidewalks grew larger.

About 5:45 pm, we were alerted by radio that the caravan was en route.  Black and white wooden barricades were moved into position on the sidewalk creating a passageway from the curb to the stage door.  When the crowd saw this happening, it was their cue to move into a better position to see, to touch, to be part of it.  They kept repeating, “They’re coming!” In an instant, hundreds of people made a rush across Pacific Avenue, oblivious to moving traffic, concerned only with getting a better place to see, a chance to be closer.  Somehow order was maintained and the excited crowd waited patiently. 

Then the Beatles were there.  First the motorcycle escort, a few radio cars and at last the long black limousine.  The crowd moved as one, like a great wave of humanity, pushing, showing, straining to see, holding cameras up over their heads, hoping to be lucky enough to get on decent shot.  As the limousine pulled up to the curb, an eager fan jumped in front of it, only to be pinned at the knees, caught between the front bumper of the limo and the rear bumper of the radio car stopped in front of it.  There were mixed screams, those of anguish from the caring who witnessed the accident and those of excitement from the crowd as they caught sight of the Beatles seated in the car.

The car door opened and out came the Beatles, wanting to smile, wanting to be friendly.  The crowd made its move, rushing forward to greet them.  For their own safety each young man was surrounded by police officers.  Paul McCartney, the last Beatle to exit from the limousine, was practically shoved through the single opened door that led into the building.  The crowd continued its surge and in order to restrain them, police officers picked up the wooden barricades and charged into the mob of people.  Finally, the stage door was closed and bolted.  The band was then escorted up a flight of stairs to a series of rooms where a press conference was to take place.

The four young men, each dressed differently, sat comfortably at a long table.  Each Beatles had his own microphone in front of him.  Derek Taylor stood in front of a floor mike and the interview began.

It was easy to see as the interview went on that the group who entered the room – sincere, eager and willing to answer questions – soon lost interest in the meeting.  This was probably caused by the people conducting the interview (not all professional media) who asked such questions as, “What do you think of America?  What do you think of American girls?  What do you think of Atlantic City?  Of all the cities that you have been in, which one do you like the most?”  I distinctly remember John Lennon’s answer, “Liverpool!”

This type of questioning continued and Ringo Starr casually leaned back in his seat, as if disappointed with it all.  Hundreds of flash bulbs kept popping.  At long last, and I’m sure with a sense of relief to the group, the interview was over.  It was getting near show time.

The Beatles went about the preparations, changing now into matching suits, combing what was then considered long hair.  Each performer was quiet, reserved, yet friendly in a shy way.  Each was calm.  There was a total professionalism about them despite their youth.  They were ready to perform, if the audience would let them.

I escorted Paul McCartney into the hallway outside the dressing room.  At that moment, I looked out through the window and saw that in over an hour the crowd on Pacific Avenue had increased to a few thousand people.  Those with tickets were out front on the Boardwalk, entering, taking seats, waiting for the show to begin.

Showtime came at last.  We left the dressing room and walking down a narrow staircase to the backstage area.  Each Beatle still remained clam, patiently waiting to go on stage.  The noise from the audience at this time is rather hard to describe.  It was different, not an impatient murmur, but more like one of expectation, a funny kind of excitement.  Then came the words from the giant speakers situated throughout the large auditorium, “The Beatles!” And, all at once we were moving the long wait was over.  We were walking quickly out on to the stage.  Once there we were met with a mighty blast of sound, a solid wall of noise that actually struck you with a force that stopped your forward momentum.  An estimated 25,000 people had jammed into the Hall and they were letting the group know that they were appreciated.

Instead of performing on the stage, the Beatles were on a 15 foot high platform constructed on scaffolding in front of the stage.  Eighteen police officers stood below us.  Eighteen police officers between the Beatles, us (security detail) and 25,000 screaming fans.  But, while they screamed in happiness and appreciation, no one moved from in front of their seats toward the stage.

The Beatles began to play.  Don’t ask what they played, because no one except the Beatles can answer that question.  No one heard one song, one lyric, not even one note.  The cheers never stopped.  The screams never died and the tears from the eyes of young girls never stopped flowing.  It was Beatlemania.

A little over an hour later it was over. At least the show was over.  There was plenty more to come.

As the auditorium cleared, hundreds of fans raced to Pacific Avenue to join thousands who had been there before them.  All wanted to see the group one more time.  The street was filled with milling people.  Traffic stopped and had to be rerouted.  The limousine that brought them was unable to make it into the street from the garage, and even if it had made it there was a danger that the vehicle would be swarmed upon by eager fans.  It became a security nightmare.  As time passed it was evident that for the safety of the people in general and for The Beatles in particular something had to be done.

Finally, a solution was agreed upon and a distinctly marked laundry truck made its way down Georgia Avenue about 30 minutes later.  It made its way slowly through the crowd, eventually arriving in a secure area of the garage. 

Each Beatle was taken to the garage area located below the Convention Hall and placed inside the van, made comfortable and very quietly taken from the building.  The laundry truck was completely ignored by the fans. 

Once they arrived at the Lafayette Motor Inn, located at the other end of town, The Beatles became virtual prisoners in their own suite of rooms.  Outside the fans began to gather, but at this point created no real problems. 

In the protection of their rooms, the group relaxed.  They talked briefly about the show, the audience response and how they had left the area.  Later, they ate submarine sandwiches form the White House Sub Shop.  While they relaxed, the fans continued to mill about, calling from the street below, “Ringo, Paul, George, John!”

Radio cars were sent into the area to clear the streets and sidewalks.  Teenage girls found their way to the rear of the hotel and like human flies began climbing from balcony to balcony in an attempt to see the group, or just one Beatle, or just to be able to say they saw the rooms.

The summer night turned into morning and a few hours later The Beatles were gone, off to some other city, to some other concert.  Many things have happened since 1964, but looking back over the years, that one particular evening stayed with me.  I never forgot it.  I never will.  The Beatles made an impact not only in show business, but in the world.  And I was there seeing, hearing, feeling it, maybe in a very small way a part of it, a part of history that summer of 1964.

By Robert F. Clilfton