Man Recalls Day He Met a Beatle (2014)

Photo by Al Cunniff (1975)

 

Man Recalls Day He Met a Beatle

By Al Cunniff

The Baltimore Sun

September 10, 2014

    I was already a huge Beatles fan when the group performed at the Baltimore Civic Center on September 13, 1964. That's why my Catonsville friends were surprised to learn that I spent that evening at home. Those same friends were again surprised about 10 years later, when I told them how I had met Paul McCartney by accident (Well, sort of ). Let me connect the dots between those two stories. 

    I became an instant fan of The Beatles after hearing their music on Baltimore WCAO AM radio in late 1962 [sic].  A few months later, a few classmates and I donned wigs as we performed several Beatles songs and got a standing ovation at Johnny Kate Junior High School's hijinks talent show. This was before the Internet, Bill's Music House, and the emergence of British-inspired local bands. So our stage show was the first time many of those people heard Beatles songs live.

     I'll confess that from an early age, I've been a bit of a purist when it comes to sound. In 1964, I had read concert reviews that said the Beatles' live music was often difficult to hear because of the audience noise, so I decided to skip the Beatles' Civic Center show and listen to their albums at home. Instead, I figured that Civic Center concert goers were going to squirm their way through sets by Bill Black Combo, the Exciters, Clarence "Frogman" Henry, and Jackie DeShannon before the Beatles took the stage. I heard that the Beatles only played for about 30 minutes and that it was impossible to hear much of their music above the screens. 

    So, believe it or not, I actually enjoyed placing the record player's needle on my Meet the Beatles album, followed by the Beatles' Second Album, listening to each and every song in stereo via my headphones. 

    Later days, I heard from friends who had gone to the show. They had paid $3.75 for tickets and verified that they barely heard the music. Word had gotten out that the Beatles had stayed at the downtown Holiday Inn, which had a revolving restaurant at the top. Teenagers were collecting Beatles items from day one, so friends were already cherishing ticket stubs, flyers, and posters they had snagged and other memorabilia.

     All things considered, I didn't mind missing the show. A few years later, I was recruited by the Baltimore News as a teen writer. I wrote feature stories weekly, the Beaten Path Music Review, and later became a full-time editor and writer. I reviewed a wide range of pop music releases, but always took the keenest interest in the Beatles' records. 

    In 1975, a few years after the Beatles disbanded, I took a working vacation in London, researching several music-related stories, including one on what it was like to be a neighbor of Paul McCartney. Someone had given me Paul's address (7 Cavendish Avenue) in St John's Wood, an affluent suburb northwest of London. And one morning, I took the underground to Paul's neighborhood. I spent the day canvassing the area around Paul's house, interviewing his next door neighbor ( "We sometimes drink tea in our living room and hear him through the bay window playing piano in his living room"). A clerk at the liquor store (Paul likes Don Pérignon). A checkout girl at the local grocery, ("He comes in here a lot, carrying his baby.") and others.

    Late that afternoon, as I headed back to the tube station, I decided to go a block out of my way and walk along Cavendish Avenue for a final time. So I approached Paul's house. I saw a red Lamborghini across the street driving toward the house number seven from the other direction. The car pulled into Paul's driveway and stopped at the locked green metal gate. The driver got out to press a buzzer that would let someone inside the house to open the gate for him. As he waited for a reply, the man turned to look at me, and from across the street, I was shocked to see that it was Paul McCartney, waving at me and inviting me to come over and speak with him. His wife, Linda, sat in the car's passenger seat. I had a camera around my neck and carried a notepad and pen, so Paul must have known I was either a tourist or a journalist. The gate opened, then Linda moved into the driver's seat and drove the Lamborghini into the brick driveway in front of the house.

     Paul graciously spent the next 15 to 20 minutes talking with me. He said that he and Linda had just returned from practice and that they were getting ready to go out. Otherwise, he would have invited me in. We chatted about his band, Wings, his upcoming album, Baltimore, and other topics, and then it was time for him to go. "Are you going to use that?" He asked me. "Use what?" I said. He pointed to the camera hanging around my neck. Prior to that, I had interviewed a wide range of celebrities, from authors to recording artists and actors, but I had never been star-struck. 

    As I spoke with Paul McCartney, I had the feeling that this person would be written about in history books far into the future, and yes, I was a bit starstruck. If Paul hadn't reminded me, I would have left without a single photo of our meeting. As it was, I was a bit nervous as Paul raised his hands into 2 v V-signs as I snapped the photo. My hand shook because it caused the picture to blur a bit, and I forgot to ask for his autograph. 

    The next day, I returned to St John's Wood, hoping lightning would strike twice. As I approached 7 Cavendish Avenue, I saw a man in a white knee-length jacket lifting a metal plate from the sidewalk in front of the house. He peered into an underground pit filled with wires and pipes. "Do you know whose house this is?" I asked him. "McCarthy, isn't it?" he replied, "in the music business?" "Yes, you could certainly say that," I said.

    At this point, it felt like something out of a British comedy. I could see from the man's truck that he was a utility worker, and looking in the pit, I could tell he was checking the below ground telephone cables. Meanwhile, he could tell from my camera notepad and American accent that I would probably enjoy learning more about McCarthy. "Would you like to get a look inside?" He asked, nodding towards McCartney's home. I replied yes, and he said, "All right, pop around the back of the truck, put on a white jacket, and grab the end of the ladder. Help me bring the ladder into the house and get a look. But don't muck about."

    We were let into the house by McCartney's red-haired maid, who was the inspiration for Wings' album titled Red Rose Speedway, and the family sheepdog. Martha came out to greet me. She had inspired the McCartney song, "Martha, My Dear", featured on The Beatles' White Album. And there was the bathroom that inspired the song "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window." 

    Framed finger paintings by McCartney's children hung in several rooms.  The living room had a jukebox stocked with American R&B and '50s Rock Records. Several McCartney children watched TV, oblivious to the telephone worker and his helper. I took photos when Rose wasn't looking, but when I returned to America, I decided not to publish them in my music column. I felt I had invaded McCartney's privacy, so I tucked the pictures away.

     So in a way, things came full circle. In 1964, I skipped a chance to see the Beatles live. In 1975, I skipped a chance to tell my story of meeting Paul McCartney and seeing inside his house. But a few decades later, I decided it was okay to connect the dots between those two events.