Death Threat to the Beatles (By Bill Corbett)

 Death Threat to the Beatles

Written by Bill Corbett

The People

September 6, 1964

    People often ask me, "How long do you think the Beatles will last?" I usually grin and say, "Forever." And I mean it.

     There's no doubt that musically, these boys have tremendous reserves of talent that can still be exploited. For instance, I wouldn't be a bit surprised to see John and Paul writing hit musical shows a few years from now. And I dare say they can stay at the pace physically, too, when you consider their grueling tour of America, which is to be followed by a strength-sapping sound of one night stands back in England.

     Realize what tremendous demands are being made on the boys, but they seem to revel in it, inadequate sleep, irregular meals, long hours of hard work, and a marathon traveling schedule. They take them all in their stride. On top of this, though, is the almost complete lack of private life and the constant battle with hordes of fans. I think that could, in the end, wear them down more than anything.

     All the same, the boys are full of new ideas. They have even discussed opening a chain of tailoring shops with the help of their tailor, Dougie Millings. But I've got a hunch they'll keep going as a group for a long time despite the rigors of their present life.

     By the way, I'm told I was wrong in  suggesting last week that John was contemplating quitting to settle down to domestic life with his wife, Cynthia.

     High-pressure tours can be tough on Ringo more than the others. Last May at the photograph studio in Barnes, where the boys were posing for pictures as city gents complete with bowlers and umbrellas, Ringo felt ill.

     I found him in the dressing room. At first, I thought he was kidding. You never know with these four, but I soon saw that he really felt sick. A girl at the studio knew a local doctor. She telephoned him, and I rushed Ringo round to his surgery in the upper Richmond Road. The doctor diagnosed tonsillitis and laryngitis. He was going to give Ringo penicillin and asked him if he'd had it before. Ringo said, "Yes."

     I took him home to bed and telephoned University College Hospital to book him a private room. I visited him there nearly every day. For the first few days, he looked pretty listless and depressed, but he brightened up later and started making a model sailboat. After eight days, he was discharged, but he still looked weak and pale.

     Ringo is tremendously game and has a great spirit. The first day out of hospital, I drove him to Richmond Park so that he could get a bit of fresh air. I stopped the car in the park and told him to get out and stretch his legs, and get some clean air into his lungs. But he was looking at me as if I was mad and just sat in the car. Then, after a few minutes, he said, "Come on, Bill, get me out of here. I can't stand any more of this bloody grass."

     I took him back to the doctor, where we stayed for dinner, and then at about 10:15pm, we headed for home. It looked like being an early night for once, and he could certainly have done with it, but not on your life. He told me to stop at a friend's flat on the way home, and we finally got away from there at midnight after a dozen cigarettes and several whiskey and Cokes. 

    Then, if you please, Ringo tried to get me to take him to his favorite nightclub, to which I said, "Not on your life!" I told him, "You're going home to bed." Ringo has the same "you only live once" philosophy as the rest of the group, but he ought to take it easy and take better care of himself.

    One of the biggest worries about being chauffeur to The Beatles (and believe me, there are plenty) is the frightening responsibility of having 4 million pounds worth of human merchandise aboard the car. Keeping the fans at bay is bad enough, as I told you, but what if you should have an accident or be attacked by criminals, cranks, or kidnappers? That's always a possibility when you're dealing with famous and commercially valuable passengers such as John, Ringo, George, and Paul.

     Only recently, we've read about those bomb threats against the boys in America. Everywhere they go, the Beatles are plagued by cranks and lunatics, publicity seekers, and a few spiteful types jealous of their success. Of course, most outsiders hearing about the activities of people like that treat their threats as something of a joke, but it's not so funny when you're on the receiving end.

     I can tell you that the boys themselves take this sort of thing very seriously. They know full well how valuable and how vulnerable they are and what a temptation they could be to crooks and kidnappers. They also know that for every 1000 people who are gratified by their success, there are one or two who hate them bitterly for it.

     One twisted minded fanatic cropped up when I was with the Beatles over in France last winter. He sent a note to the boys' dressing room saying he intended to kill John Lennon when he appeared on the stage that night. The note, badly printed in English, was short and to the point, a picture of John torn from a newspaper was stuck on the paper, and underneath was written, "I'm going to shoot you at nine tonight." The boys were already pretty nervous. This concert at Versailles was their first in France, and they were worried about the impression they would make. France is probably the least Beatle-crazy of all the Western European countries. 

    This note made matters worse. They joked about it, of course, but you could see that underneath, they were thinking, "Suppose it isn't a gag."  When John went on stage that night, he was pretty jittery, and when nine o'clock came, you could feel the tension building up among the boys. It must have been terrifying for John, peering anxiously around the audience, because without his glasses, his sight is none too good. Of course, there were plenty of police around, but if our maniac had really made up his mind to shoot, there didn't seem much the police could do about it. Nine o'clock came and went without incident, except for a young lad jumping up on the stage to dance at the instigation of the photographers. The Beatles emerged unscathed, happily, but I don't think I've ever seen them look more relieved than when they got off that stage and back into their dressing room. It may have been a false alarm, but these incidents all add to the strain of being a Beatle and a Beatles chauffeur.

     All the Beatles smoke pretty heavily. I know because it was part of my unofficial duties to buy their fags for them. They wouldn't dare show their faces in a shop themselves. My daily order for filtered tips used to be between 200 -250.

     They have plenty of money to spend, of course, and they love spending it, but as their errand boy, I had plenty of headaches. I remember one occasion when Paul wanted to buy a shirt. I went to a man's outfitters in Piccadilly, got a selection of shirts and took them round to Paul. The rest of the Beatles were there. They saw the shirts and promptly started ordering some for themselves. I went backward and forwards between the store and the flat about seven times in the next couple of days, and by the time it was all added up, they spent more than £400.

     Not that that makes much of a dent in a Beatles bank balance. In one week, each of them may earn anything up to £7000, even after the deductions of Brian Epstein's 25% and the wages and expenses of road managers Neil Aspinall and Malcolm Evans. In addition, John and Paul get royalties from the songs they've written. They each received a check recently for around £2400, and this represented royalties for just the United Kingdom. Then, of course, the Beatles get a 1% royalty from the sales of all products bearing their name. It was calculated that Beatles merchandise in America was likely to chalk up £50,000,000 in sales this year, so that should provide a little extra pocket money for the Beatles.

      They've made enough money now to be able to quit when they like. But if I know my Beatles, they want to keep going for a long, long time. John and Paul will go on writing, of course, but I think the others, when at last, the time does come to quit, will invest their money and take it easy for the rest of their lives.

     The Beatles all feel that if and when they do start to slide, it will be a very steep drop indeed, and suddenly, all the 1000s of people who want to know them now would become unaccountable, and accountability would lose interest. That's the way it is in show business. The Beatles aren't fools. George once said to me, "When we started, nobody wanted to know us. It was tough trying to get a break, but now everybody wants to know us, not because we're what we are, but because we're successful."  The Beatles have contempt for some of their so-called show business friends. They know that when certain stars just drop in to see them, it's not friendship but publicity. Having their photographs taken with the Beatles might help to salvage a tottering career.

     Of course, the Beatles love their work. No group could have won such success without dedicating themselves wholeheartedly to their music. But there are signs now that they want to have a solid domestic background. When I first started driving for The Beatles, I got the impression that the other three were a bit resentful of the fact that John was married. You see no sign of this now. Paul, George and Ringo all have their steady girlfriends and seem to be heading towards  matrimony and family life.

     If you could be in the car with me, it would surprise you to hear some of the remarks the boys make when we're traveling together. How much they'd like to go to this place or that on their own and unmolested. They may be sophisticated in some ways, but in other ways, they're just like schoolboys. Whenever I used to return from a shopping expedition for them, they'd cluster around me and see what I bought. They'd gleefully examine the goods. And it used to make me feel like Santa Claus. 

    When Ringo returned from his holiday in Tahiti, I felt sure he would have collected some lavishly expensive souvenirs from his visit. He could have bought all the stock of all the island gift shops if he had wanted to. But what did he return with? Seashells. Hundreds of them, in all colors, shapes and sizes. He was as happy as a baby with a new rattle.

     One thing I've always admired about the Beatles is that they have no time for pomposity, and they're utterly impatient of authority. Whenever they've been to a stuffy, formal occasion, they've always insisted on taking me with them, despite the snorts of disapproval from society matrons and snooty debs.

     For The Beatles know perfectly well that they themselves would have attracted the same sort of snort a couple of years ago. I remember George, on one occasion, throwing the whole staff of one highly select and expensive establishment into turmoil by ignoring the menu, which was about as big as this page, and asking for jam butties. He did it deliberately because he was so fed up with what he described as "a load of stuck up artificial nits."

     The Beatles can smell phonies and bandwagon jumpers a mile away. I take my hat off to these four lads from Liverpool. It's been wonderful working with them. When my employers, a car hire firm, allotted me to do the job of driving for them nine months ago, I never, for a moment, realized what I was in for. It's certainly been a hard day's nightmare, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world.