Oh What a night it was!

 

Oh! What a Night it Was!

By: Tony Barrow

The Liverpool Echo

October 21, 1963

    The setting was a sumptuous seventh-floor suite and one of Mayfair's most luxurious hotels. Two hours before the Beatles had been seen by an estimated 15,000,000, tele-viewers and one of the most sensational editions of Sunday Night at the London Palladium ever screened. Two days later, new super headlines and the BBC bulletins spread the news that the Beatles were to appear in this year's Royal Variety Performance at London's Prince of Wales Theater on Monday, November 4. 

    Meanwhile, room 704 of the Grosvenor House Hotel was the scene of a small but somewhat special celebration party. Four immensely happy, if slightly weary, Beatles were trying to make themselves believe that they had really topped the television bill at the most famous variety theater in the world. Bunches of proud Beatle parents were present to assure the boys that it all happened. Television and Radio newscasters confirmed the whole thing from a Hi Fi combination set in the corner of the room.

     Ringo perched himself on the arm of a sleekly built settee to discuss some percussive technicalities with his father. George wondered if his mother had noticed the mobile dais jerk backwards a second or two before the boys had expected it to.

     Parental praise and self-critical analysis crisscrossed the central heated air. Paul and John huddled in confab with Mr. McCartney. Sets of arms were extended around the shoulders of contented Beatle mums. Shop Talk chatter of show biz topics jostled for hearing space alongside assorted items of family news offered and exchanged at high speed.

     Stories of the fantastic day poured forth at top pressure to be taken up and elaborated upon by each excited Beatle in turn. The host, group manager Brian Epstein sat beside a busy telephone, sipping a scotch and replying to a ceaseless stream of press inquiries.

     An immaculately tailored waiter drew a comment from John Lennon, to the effect that he hadn't realized the Undertakers were present. Paul replenished his icy glass with yet another dose of Coke and talked about the job Bruce Forsyth had squeezed himself into Ringo stage suit earlier in the evening.

     Road manager Neil Aspinall related the astonishing tale of The Great Escape Plan, which came unstuck. Brian Epstein listened to the vital details. "We waited in the theater for a while, but they told us the crowds were just as thick," Neil started. "We planned to come out through the front entrance of the Palladium and straight into the cab. We dashed down the steps onto the pavement, but there wasn't a cab to be seen. The police tried to be helpful by moving our own car further up the street. We had to run 50 yards to it with the kids breaking through the police cordons and cameras flashing all over the place. They just made it in time."

    The getaway was one of the least remarkable events of the great Beatle day. Much earlier, when the Palladium rehearsal was just getting underway, scores of eager young fans had smashed their way through a network of doors and human barriers to break into the auditorium. Every square inch of the table and ledge space in the Beatles dressing room was laden with gifts. By lunchtime, helpful constables had passed them across from the front of the crowd of fans to the admirably patient Palladium Stage doorkeepers. Each mountain of boxes and parcels was capped by small piles of gay-looking greeting telegrams from personal friends, unknown well-wishers, and music business admirers

    There was also a very friendly little note written by Frank Ifield, the current star of the Palladium weekday variety bill. He wished the boys good luck, and said he looked forward to watching them at home on the television.

     By five o'clock, Bruce Forsyth was working up a gag about "Beatle the clock". Des O'Connor was reporting that the backstage corridor was jammed with press people, and the afternoon rehearsal schedule was running 40 minutes late. Production executive Val Parnell drew hard upon a cigar stump as he briefed Brian Epstein about the mission of an ITN camera crew who would be invading the Beatles dressing room for a quickie interview.

     A gaggle of very pretty dancing girls abandoned their professional sophistication and whooped with fan delight as The Beatles launched themselves into their show-opening performance of "Please, Please Me."

     During a short tea break, George and Paul recalled an occasion just over a year ago when the Beatles made their first theater stage appearance in Liverpool. "We were added to the cast of The Little Richard concerts at the Empire," said Paul, "And we went on as a third item in the first half. Then we stayed on stage to accompany Craig Douglas. We were quite used to club and ballroom work," said Paul,"but we'd never played to a big theater audience. I think it was the first time we'd been told to wear stage makeup, too. We only had put on a 12 minute performance, but we were all scared stiff throughout the evening, in case anything went wrong."

     "Our first record,' Love Me Do', had just come out," George went on, "and we weren't quite sure how the local audiences would feel about it. We knew most of them were pleased that we got a recording contract, but some people had already made up their minds about their own favorite numbers in our club repertoire. They told us all the various R and B titles we should have recorded instead of 'Love Me Do.'  Luckily, we needn't have worried, because those Empire concerts went down wonderfully."

     Compared to the vastness and coolness of somewhere like the Liverpool Empire, the Palladium is a cozy theater, but the presence of four grim-looking television cameras capable of relaying all they see to many millions of far away folk must turn the Palladium into a most awe-inspiring place for first time, stars like The Beatles.  I'm sure the world's most accomplished entertainers feel little butterflies flipping over and over in their stomachs at the prospect of appearing before such a colossal yet unseen viewing audience at the magnificence and importance of the occasion frightened the four Liverpudlians. 

    It did not deter them from putting their all into the day's hectic session of dummy runs. If their hearts were pounding furiously, so were their precisely plucked guitars. If their nerves were on the verge of fraying, their sturdy voices certainly stood up to the strain. Anyone who imagines that pop peak personalities have an enviable idle time would go through a hasty reversal of opinion after watching the amount of work put into the pre-performance production of a top-rated television show.

     It was not until minutes before the actual transmission time that the Beatles settled quietly in their dressing room for a brief breather while they watched TV on a portable set belonging to a weekday Palladium star, Arthur Hayes.

    People who had traveled to London from all parts of the country filled the theater's auditorium. Among the front of the house were a sprinkling of Liverpool people whose anticipation and applications for tickets had been successful. They included a pair of ultra-faithful female fans who have rejoiced in the nicknames Bill and Ben since the Beatles Cavern Club heyday.  Bill and Ben have been pressuring the ATV ticket unit for the Palladium seats since the beginning of the year. Whenever you book them to appear, their string of plaintive letters had pleaded, "We just have to be there to see the Beatles!"

     Bill and Ben may like to know that the Beatles were well aware of their presence at the Palladium. They gave me the facts that filled that last paragraph just before Bruce Forsyth went on stage to pick his beat-the-clock contestants at Governor's House. 

    The clock had eaten an hour or so into Monday morning before the pleasures of celebrating lost their attraction in favor of the pleasures of sleeping. Someone sent in a batch of Early Edition morning papers, and the Beatles joined Beatle parents in a rush to see the front page coverage given to the Palladium stories. The excitement and enthusiasm could not have been greater had the assembled guests been stars or producers of the latest West End stage musical. 

    Because it was late, this mass perusal of the papers was carried out briskly, and the party came to an end as four undoubtedly sleepy Beatles volunteered to consign themselves to their respective bedrooms. This was the beginning of a fantastic week for The Beatles. The newspapers led the way with constructive headlines which reported the rumors and, finally, the confirmation that the Beatles had been selected for this year's Royal Variety Show. BBC and ITV News cameras close in on the foursome twice within 72 hours.