The photos don't actually go with the story, but I thought they fit in.
photo by Curt Gunther |
Photo by Curt Gunter |
photo by Curt Gunter |
What the police found the in the Beatles’ bedroom
By Rosa Magaro
The woman stared at the two fourteen year old girls. “And what are you two supposed to be?” she
asked. “Nineteen!” they both shrilled
back. The woman, mother of the young
ladies didn’t bother to ask further. She
knew the reason behind the would be adult get-ups, the lipstick, the false
eyelashes, so think and fulsome that they almost hid the splotches of green eye
shadow that lay heavily on the girls’ eyelids.
She’d know all that day, in fact – ever since their arrival in Las Vegas
for what she‘d foolishly hoped would be a nice and pleasant and rather routine
weekend – that the girls had begun to plot something. Specifically, and as one of them had put it,
in loud and passionate whispering: the
“Crash of the Century!” More
specifically, a plan to invade that hairy eyrir up on the eighteenth floor of
the Sahara Hotel – the Beatles’ bedroom – where the Liverpudlian lads, also
recently arrived, were throwing an invitation only party for a few hundred
local and Hollywood VIPs.
For a fleeting moment, the woman remembered back. To New York City. To 1943.
The Hotel Astor. Herself, wearing
one of her mother’s dresses. Standing
outside a room where a Hoboken lad named Sinatra was holding festive
court. Standing. For hours.
Outside. And never getting in.
“You’ll never get in!” she said now smiling a bit, sadly, reminiscently,
as she continued to stare and her young daughter and young friend.
“Oh no??” the two girls said back, in unison, giggling,
confidently.
“Well,” said the woman if you do, be sure to let me know
somehow. And please don’t make little
pests of yourselves. “
“Mother! Really!”
came the reactions. Deep throated. Mature.
Oh, so mature.
It was ten minutes later.
The tower suites room 4718, 4720, 4722 high above what was once dead
quiet desert were bouncing, Combos, uncombed (in honor of their hosts), played
“A Hard Day’s Night” and “She Loves Me” (sic)
unendingly. Waiters by the dozen served
hard and soft drinks and assorted hot and cold canapés to the assorted mob
which included, to name only a few of the categories present this night of
Thursday, August 20: actors, producers,
musicians, reporters, oilmen, their oil ladies, Strip impresarios, and the
Strip show girls.
Everyone, needless to say, was having a ball. Except for the four young men with the
growingly strained smiles named George and Ringo, Paul and John. Who’d arrived in Vegas in the wee hours and
had barely gotten any sleep. Who’d
already attended a batch of similar receptions during the day. Who, to boot, had given two long and tiring
concerts at Convention Center earlier that evening.
And except for the battalion of Sahara security police
standing guard now outside the suite doors and shooing away – pushing away, instances – the dozens upon dozens of shrieking fans who tried to squeeze
their way past.
For aggravation and tumult that ensued here, most of the
hotel cops vowed on the spot that they would hence-forth hate all Beatles and
Females forever and ever.
But there was one perhaps compassionate, perhaps just not too
bright who at one point found himself listening to two of the girls (about
nineteen they appeared). Nodding to
them. Turning after asking them to wait. And delivering their message.
“They said what?”
asked Paul, laughing heartily, a very moment later.
“That,” answered the security man, “one of them is a best
American friend of Mr. Harrison’s friend, Miss Patti Boyd. That the other of them is a cousin of your
feean-cee Mr. McCartney – Miss Jane
Asher, over in London.”
“George!” Paul called now, to the others, still
laughing. He repeated what the security
man had just told him. “Now don’t you
think, “ he added “that such ingenuity should be rewarded? That we should invite
these two girls in for a bit?”
The other nodded. “It
should be like a breath of home.” Dead panned Ringo. “I’m verrrrry anxious to hear what the two
birds have to say about dear Jane and dear Patti!”
The merriment around them continuing, the four boys waited
now for the girls to be ushered in.
Which they were. Accompanied part
way by the nice cop who needlessly pointed to the Beatles, turned and
departed. Leaving the girls feeling
vastly alone now. And trembling,
uncontrollably all confidence and self-control gone now.
They were, bluntly, and in short, a laughable sight, these
two so young fourteen year olds standing there gazing at their idols of idols,
face to face trying their hardest to look like Suzanne Pleshette and Connie
Stevens trying their hardest to keep from falling out of their unaccustomed
high heels.
“Hello!” said Paul finally, approaching them. He cleared his throat, and bowed
severely. “My name is Lord Douglas-Home,
Prime Minister, you know. So nice to
meet you.”
The girls tried to smile.
They couldn’t. Instead, in fact
and suddenly they began to cry, huge and helpless and awestruck tears.
“We lied!” they confessed.
“We’re terrible. We lied to get
in here!”
As the others approached, Paul smiled and nodded, “A little
white lie,” he said and winked. “I don’t
think it’s that terrible. Not at
all.” Added George, “You’ve given our
party a little charm. For that we’re
thankful.” Added John, “Stay, why don’t
you?” Added Ringo “a while, at least.”
A “while”? Little did
they know that was to be the laugh of the evening!
Two hours passed. In
that time the mob in rooms 4718-22 doubled, and then almost tripled. For a time, of course, the Beatles had stood
talking to their two charming and soon dry-eyed “crashers.
Teasing them at first, a bit about “dear Patti and Jane.” And then listening, and answering, as the girls began to bombard them with questions.
Teasing them at first, a bit about “dear Patti and Jane.” And then listening, and answering, as the girls began to bombard them with questions.
But after a bit, as the crowd grew, as others had to be
introduced to the Beatles, a little session bore up. And the boys were whisked away from their two
young guests. And the two young guests
seemed to get lost in the human swell.
“It was wondering, in a way.” As one of them recalls,
“because this gave us a chance to sit and congratulate each other on what we’d
accomplished. And to talk about how ga-reattt and super-skoobie the Beatles were. How nice they’d been to us. And how interested they were in all the
things we asked them. How they must have
been interested because they gave us such interesting answers in reply.
“For instance, when we asked Ringo what his favorite
recreation was, he said “TV, especially the commercials!”
“And when we asked George about the rumor that he was going
to get married as soon as he got back to England to some mysterious and
beautiful blond girl he laughed and said “Roobish!” That’s Liverpudlian for rubbish. But he pronounces it so beautifully
“Roobish!”
“and when we asked John if he missed his Cynthia and the
baby, but desperately he said, “Yes Yes.”
Twice!
And when we asked Paul if he and the others, living and
working so close together all the time ever fought, he said very honestly,
“sometimes. Of course. But most of the time we get along just
fine. And we’re pretty good mates and
friends, the four of us. Very good, in
fact!”
“Oh, I can’t tell you how we felt at that party. And how eternally grateful we were to the
Beatles for inviting us in. We decided,
in fact, there on the spot, that from that moment on – no matter what- we would
buy every record they ever made! As well
as attend every concert of theirs within 1,000 miles! As well as, certainly, every movie they were
in! That we would collect their pictures
– all we could get our hands out! That
we would be their greatest fans and adore them eternally!
“We also decided that, even thought it was starting to get a
little late by now, we would celebrate the night of nights by staying until
everyone else had gone.”
“and by telling the Beatles – personally and from our hearts
– about our decisions concerning them.
As well as about our undying devotion…”
As someone else recalls – the aforementioned moth of one of
our two little crashers, “It wasn’t until after ten that night that I began to
get worried. Worried first that they’d
actually gotten into the party and made little pills of themselves. Worried
next that if they had gotten in, they were certainly over-extending their
stay. I tried to phone the tower suite
from time to time. Someone would always
answer, but there was so much noise going on up there that it was impossible
for me to hear whoever it was on the other end of the line. At about 10:30 I gave up. I thought to myself, “Well, if they got in –
they’re certainly out by now. Must have
gone to a movie. I mean, where else
could they have gone?”
And so did the mother – unknowingly – let the matter
rest. For a time. While, a few flights above her, her plotting
daughter and friend continued to sit.
Watching the other guests, as, slowly now, they began to leave.
Waiting- waiting for hours if necessary to be alone with
their Beatles!
“Goodnight! Good
night there!” and wearily, the four boys bid their last guests adieu.
It was after 11:00 now.
The boys were pooped. Ready for a
little quiet poker. Then – and blessedly
– for some sleep.
“Good night!” – One last time. The door was closed…locked. Paul began to unloosen his tie, Ringo and
the others beginning to follow suit.
And then together they came, the two excited and vaguely
familiar voices, “Surprise!”
And with the shout four stunned faces and two innocently
smiling ones.
For the next long hour to so, with consummate patience and
graciousness and understanding, the groggy Beatles sat around with their two
wide-awake little friends. Again
answering all the interesting questions that came their way. Even, at one point, treating the girls to
some music – a private hearing of a new song by John and Paul – which the girls
agreed upon its conclusion was “skoobie – just skoobie!”
“I guess.” Says one of the Beatles managers, who re-entered
the bedroom during the hour, “that the boys let the two birds hang around
because they didn’t want to hurt their feelings and tell them to shove because
the girls, in a way, represented the True Fan, the sort the boys rarely had a
chance to spend any time with because, mostly because, they liked them. But it was clear to me after a while that
like them or not, these chaps were exhausted and these girls had to go. I, in fact, initiated the abortive move. “All right, okay!” I called out after enough of this, “it’s
getting close to midnight! Time for all
Cinderella’s to get to their coaches!”
Ringo, Paul and George were in complete yawning agreement. They rose, said goodnight and scooted for
their rooms. John – since this was his
room – of course, remained. And when I
repeated my Cinderella remark the girls looked and Johnny and said, “We’re not
tired if you’re not, John!” And Johnny
simply shrugged and began to say, “Well...” And as if this were an invitation
to make camp there, for years, for however long they wanted, the girls jumped
in their chairs and said, “Oh good!
We’ll stay then!”
And stay they did.
And did.
And did and did and did.
Talking, gabbing, chatting, giggling until John, try as he
might – just couldn’t keep his eyes open a minute longer. In seconds, he was fast asleep.
For a moment after John’s as it were departure, one girl
pointed Beatlewards and whispered to the still wide-awake member of the Beatles
entourage, “You know, he’s asleep.
Doesn’t he sleep gorgeous?”
“Girls,” said the exhausted Beatleman, “it’s terribly
late. Don’t you think you’d best be
getting along? Won’t your mothers be
worried?”
“Oh no, never,” answered the one, “my mother knows we are
here. You see we told her that we were
coming here. Oh no, she won’t be worried.”
“Shortly before midnight, “ recalls the mother, ‘I began to
get panicky. The words, “lost” “kidnapped” “hurt” “Accident” suddenly began to fill my brain. The Beatles – their room – their party – none
of this entered my mind when I phoned the police. But when they arrived, two cops, a little
while later, and they asked me to remember everything the girls had said
earlier that evening and when I told them about the girls’ silly pan, to try to
crash upstairs the cops both nodded and said, “Why don’t we start up
there.” I began to laugh at girl. “You don’t think” I started to say “Why not?”
said one of the cops. “Lots of little
girls around here like to crash entertainers parties and some entertainers,
ma’am, they end up liking to entertain little girls!” “Oh noooooo!” I moaned. “Don’t get nervous” said the cop. I could be wrong. My partner and I, we’ll just go up for a
look-see.
They left, I waited.
I asked myself over and over “Where did I go wrong?” Then I thought of the terrible scene upstairs
when the two policemen barged into that room.
I nearly fainted from the shame of it all!
The knock on the door was soft but definite. The girls looked at each other but they did
not budge, not a single inch. “Who do
you think it is?” asked one whispering.
“Probably some other girls “whispered back the other.
“Fooey on them” said the first. “double fooey” agreed the other, as the
Beatles’ man hurried to open the door.
And there stood the police. They
looked into the room and saw the girls.
The cops asked their names.
The girls identified themselves.
“What’s been going on in here?” one of the cops asked.
“Nothing,” answered one of the girl. “We’ve just been with the Beatles.”
“Hmmmmmm.” Said the cop.
“Well, tell the Beatles you’ve got to be going now. That it’s getting late.”
“We can’t!” said one of the girls.
“Can’t?”
“No. They’re all so
tired out by now. They’re all fast
asleep. Only this gentleman is awake.”
The two cops looked at one another. Then, walking past the
two girls and the Beatles employee they entered the room. Grimly, very grimly, they walked to John’s
chair. “Wake up!” came the martial
command.
And for the next five minutes or so shocked pandemonium
filled the air as John and his employee explained what ha d happened as the
girls, tearful once again, corroborated the story.
When it was over and the cops agreed among themselves that
they’d been hearing the truth, they turned to the girls sternly and asked,
“What are you two trying to do? Get
these boys booked in jail?”
“Oh noooooo” came the answer, “we were just…”
But before the girls could go on, John, obviously fearful of
an all-night session groaned, “That’s all right. It’s all perfectly all right!”
And, nicely, but firmly, he escorted the entire troop to the
door. Saw them all out . Then locked and re=locked the door and went
to bed.
It was an hour or so later.
The girls had been properly scolded and were in their beds, asleep by
now.
In the next room the scolder sat, relieved and thinking
back. She thought back to a night in New
York City. To 1943. The Hotel Astor. Wearing one of her mother’s dresses. Standing outside a room where a Hoboken boy
named Sinatra was having a party.
Standing. For hours. Outside.
And never getting in.
She smiled a bit.
“Tomorrow,” she thought, “I’ve got to scold them again. And then – I’ve got to ask them how the did
it. And did they have a wonderful time?”
Actually this story, or at least a portion of it, is true. A very similar incident did occur in Vegas in 1964. Two 14 year old girls were found in John's room watching TV while John slept on his bed. The story is in Larry Kane's book Ticket to Ride, Larry's memoir about the Beatles tours. Apparently the mother of the twin girls who was gambling downstairs became frantic when she couldn't find her daughters. A detective was involved and Larry was called upon to put on a tie and talk to the detective. John woke up and explained that they were just two sweet kids who wanted to meet him and he allowed them to stay and watch TV while he fell asleep. The fill in details told from the mom's POV, are most likely fiction, but the main story seems to have been taken from reality.
ReplyDeleteWatch TV while he slept? That sounds adorable. I haven't read Larry Kane's book yet XD
DeleteYou know, I have read that Larry Kane book (isn't Larry in one of these photos posted in this one?) and I just didn't recall that story. I guess I should read it again. My guess is that this writer saw a story in a newspaper about young girls in the Beatles hotel room and a worried mother and wrote her fiction story around those facts. We know that some "wild" thinks happened during the touring days in hotel rooms, but it is nice to know that some innocent things happened with the fans as well.
DeleteI just re-read the Larry Kane book!!!! Liked it way better the second time!
DeleteThe watching TV part isn't in the book, but the "i was just meeting fans" was part of it, and the girls insisted he was only a gentleman and treated them well. Kane, at this point, was new to the tour, and the Beatles, and was angry at having been roped in to quell the situation and demanded to know if anything had happened. He was assured that everything was innocent.
Later in the book, Kane says - in fact, he goes out of his way to make a point - that he never once saw them with underage girls, romantically, or even interested in them, it was always with adult women. He said they went out of there way to be nice to fans, and considerate, and tells some amazing stories about how they would try and put fans at ease when they met them. LA 1965 comes to mind, of them entertaining fans at the house they were staying at. He stresses this over and over in the book, how touched he was at watching them have fan clubs visit them backstage and the like.
Anyway, not to be crass about it, but why would they even bother with the kids when all of the grown-up girls in the world were throwing themselves at them just as much. And there was something "womanly" about all their partners, even peripheral ones like Maggie McGivern and Francine Schwartz. Even May Pang wasn't particularly "girly".
So I don't believe this story!!!
PS:
Delete" I don't what part of this story is the most outlandish, but I think it might be the fact that the Beatles go to bed at 11pm. "
LOL!!!!!!!
Especially on tour!!!!
(great pics too, i have never seen these particular ones! That's Miss Las Vegas, isn't she? I wonder if she's ever been interviewed!)
I reprinted this story on my blogsite and provided a link with kudos to your blogsite. @ www.tsu3rdvp.blogspot.com
ReplyDelete