A Day with the Beatles – Disgusting
or Pure Joy?
The North York Mirror
August 25, 1965
Natalia:
Last week, with the aid of two free
tickets, a friend and I joined the herds that flocked to Maple Leaf Gardens to
see the Beatles. But I didn't come away in ecstasies. I was just plain mad.
I would gladly trade my sore ears, tired
carcass and tickets for just one recording and picture of the group. The
rowdiness of the crowd and the crazy screaming was disgusting. My reaction must
have been obvious because even a harassed policeman stopped to ask, “What's
the matter? You going to a funeral?”
The nightmare started as we scurried in the
doors and were herded into the benches to sit like a bunch of squash sardines. Sprinkled among the screaming teenagers were
adults and small children. Some parents seem to think they could make this madhouse
a family affair.
I was particularly disgusted at the way the
crowd pounded on the benches and snapped their fingers to the beat of “God Save
the Queen”. It was unbearably hot, and I began to realize that all the fainting
females were probably affected more by the temperature than the joy of seeing
their great idols.
Numerous acts preceded the Beatles, and the
screaming and cheering gained momentum with each moment. The two most
fascinating exhibitions were the renditions of the classics, “William Tell
Overture” and “Hall of the Mountain King,” blasted with a beat and loud voice.
Anything that moved got an ovation. When a stagehand was cheered for displaying
the Beatles sign, I was tempted to jump on the stage and do a tap dance. It
would have meant standing applause for sure.
As the fearless foursome entered the scene,
the delirious noise filled the air. Even with my ears covered, I could plainly
hear the racket. As far as I'm concerned, it's just plain crazy to work
yourself up into a frenzy over someone who doesn't know you exist. Several
girls I talked to agreed that they had wasted their money to come to a concert
where they couldn't hear a note.
If you have deep admiration for
someone, you should at least give him the consideration of hearing him out.
Cathy and Candi:
I'm a veteran of last year's
Beatles concert, and surprisingly enough, I faced my second experience quite
calmly. I guess I thought I was “getting over” them. Then came the big day, and
it was a different story. The quivering in the pit of the stomach started when
my cousin Cathy and I reached College Street and saw the crowds of excited
teenagers.
Our seats at Maple Leaf Gardens
were in the fifth row center, and there we waited for an hour and a half. It
was a long delay, but the excitement kept mounting with every moment. The
group, preceding the Beatles, managed to work the audience of hysterical
teenagers into a fever pitch.
Then came the moment supreme. I was so numb. I
just sat there, not believing it was really true. Cathy was jumping up and down
so much she had a sore seat. I wanted the Liverpool Four's entrance to last
forever, but I knew it would be over much too soon.
Then John looked over our way and
waved. It was too much. Once a song was finished, either John or Paul would
yell into the mic to introduce the next song, but little of what they said was
audible. One number, which sent the audience into a frenzy, was “Help”. It
received the most hysterical screams of all.
We thought we were immune to the noise after
last year's experience, but it was so bad this time, we couldn't hear anything
for a half hour.
After the last string had been plucked and the
last note sung, the quartet took their bows with dripping hair and walked
backstage with the last wave to us. We thought we'd die when it was all over.
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