How I almost met a
Beatle
By Robert Fulford
Toronto Star
8-18-66
Three young policemen stood beneath the triangular red
“exit” light in the Hot Stove lounge of Maple Gardens yesterday afternoon. They were sweating. The building was full of screaming teenagers
– the first Beatles show had just ended and this room was full of newspapermen.
There were maybe three dozen cameramen,
counting both still and movie, and they were pushing each other around, getting
the best spot.
On one side of this door there was a photograph of a lot of
young faces above the caption “1931 Marlborough Athletic Club, Junior SPA and
OHA Champs” on the other side there was a picture of “Ottawa, NHA and Stanley
Cup Champions, 1911.”
Suddenly, who burst through this door but Stan Obodiac! Stan Obodiac is a former pro-hockey player
and amateur book author. He is now
publicity man at the Gardens and is in charge of worrying about things like the
Beatles. Stan saw me and rushed over.
“Boy,” said Stan.
“are you ever popular with the Beatles.
They want to meet you. After that
column you wrote today, you’re the only one that want to see. Usually they just want to see Lyndon Johnson
and maybe Princess Margaret – and now you!”
“Right now?” I said.
I tried to look as if I wasn’t excited.
I had heard earlier in the day that John Lennon, the theologian with the
Beatles, had read my piece and like it.
“Right now,” said Stan.
He ushered me through the door, between the Marlboroughs and
the Ottawas. “Let this man through” he
said to one of the young cops. I ignored
the envious glance of a lady reporter from the “Canadian” and followed Stan
down the corridor. There were two more
barriers to pass and each time Stan led me through.
Then we reached, right in the middle of the hockey dressing
rooms, The Door, behind which THEY were waiting. This time not even Stan could get me through.
“Only if Tony says so,” said the copy on the door. Tony Barrow is the Beatles traveling press
agent. Stand went in alone. I waited outside. There seemed to be about twenty policemen
within a couple of dozen square yards.
“You’re having a hot night,” I said to the one nearest
me. He was sweating – as by now was
I. “Not too bad,” he said. “Could be worse.” That’s something I always forget about
policemen. No matter how bad things are, they could be worse. For instance, somebody could be shooting at
him.
Finally, Obodiac re-emerged from the Beatles presence, this
time with Tony Barrow. “I’m sorry,”
Barrow said, “but, well, it’s just not a good time just now. They’re edgy and sweaty. They really appreciated that piece though,
especially John.”
I asked if I might have a few words with John. (I wanted to ask him, in private, whether God
was dead and if so what he was going to do about it.) But Barrow said that though it seemed likely
earlier on, it was now impossible.
Dejected, I went back to the press conference. Soon the Beatles appeared, looking cheerful
enough. The room was packed – 150 people
in all, including Pierre Berton and a man from “The News of the World.” The Beatles answered questions politely,
sometimes playfully.
Rev. Gene Young, the hip United Church clergyman, was in the
audience wearing his collar. He had a
microphone around his neck because he’s subbing for Larry Solway on CHUM’s
“Speak Your Mind” and wanted to pick up some material for his program. He asked Lennon, in effect, why the Beatles
didn’t involve themselves in some kind of protest like Viet Nam. Lennon put him off gently and George Harrison
volunteered that war is bad. Young then
asked what was important in the world.
Lennon said, “love” and so did Harrison.
Young asked what inspired young people and Paul McCartney said, “They
get inspired by people who talk honestly to them.”
Nathan Cohen told me that “the one tie I went to a Beatles
press conference, the reporters behaved as if they were in the presence of
Jesus.” This was true yesterday,
too. Some replies were cheered by the
reporters – many of them, of course, from teenage or college papers.
But in the midst of all the nonsense, I liked John
Lennon. Someone noted that the Beatles
had received the MBE’s for helping the British economy; now that the economy
was in a mess again, what special plans had they for helping out? “Well,” Lennon said, “we could give back the
medals.”
I liked him best, though, when he talked modestly and
honestly, about the songs he and McCartney write. He was asked about the appeal of his new
ones. He said, “I don’t write them for
other people. They’re only for other
people when they’re done, and then you can like them or not. You have to do them for yourself.”
Spoken like an artist; and, in fact he is an artist. From most popular songwriters and statement
like that would be pretentious nonsense—usually the process of Top 10 writing
is strictly manufacturing. But Lennon’s
songs are original and lovely; he deserves everything he has.
No comments:
Post a Comment