When the Beatles perform, it’s like a three-ring circus
By C.O. Williams
Merced Sun-Star
September 2, 1965
The following report is a Merced boy's reaction to the
Beatles situation as he witnessed it in San Francisco Tuesday.
Only in the United States could the national
anthem be played in a boss rendition by a Negro and an Italian band using
guitar, saxophone, and a drum. This was the unique opening of one of the
greatest demonstrations of American idolatry ever shown, the second Beatles
concert in San Francisco on Tuesday.
It was interesting how the crowd's
expectation of the performance provided a look at one segment of the American
way of life today, and I seriously wonder what a foreigner's impression would
be. The program started with a bang and a bouncy theme. Immediately after the
anthem, a group of discotheque Go-Go dancers were introduced, giving the
audience a sample of nightlife in hundreds of clubs throughout America.
After that shaky performance, a
group called Cannibal and the Headhunters performed. They danced for the most
part, once in a while, singing a few shrill notes into the mic and asking the
audience to yell louder.
The third artist was a female
vocalist who cooed into the microphone for several more minutes and again finished by asking the audience to sing, yell, and clap longer and louder with
her.
The last group gave a wonderful
selection of slapstick humor by bringing back the antics of the Keystone Cops
and the Three Stooges. These six talented young men called Sounds Incorporated
merely played their instruments with no singing, but the whole stage was needed
to contain their running, jumping, and cartwheeling.
By this time, the stage was set, and the last
and greatest act of the circus was near. For a moment, things were quiet, but
for the loud cries of the popcorn soda and hot dog vendors.
Suddenly, the curtains parted,
revealing the Beatles, and the crowd broke loose, expelling the pent-up
emotions for this long-awaited spectacular. For the next 45 minutes, you could
not hear yourself. Girls were crying, screaming, yelling, and waving madly. Two
girls, upset and possessed, rushed the stage and made it to their idols, John
and Paul. For several seconds, as they wrapped their arms around their idols'
necks, security guards tugged at their feet and pried them apart. But for the
girls, it was worth it—a small fete.
An agile teenage boy scaled the six-foot fence
behind the stage and ran to John. With the flick of his wrist, he snatched
John's hat from his head and dove into the crowd with a priceless souvenir. Just
as nimbly as the young lad snatched John's hat, John grabbed a nearby
policeman's cap, placed it sitting atop his well-groomed curly locks, and
continued strumming his guitar.
A very tiny and obviously heartbroken girl
standing next to me pleaded with me as tears streamed down her face to lift her
up so that she could see above the crowd and gaze at her idols for a few
seconds.
In many ways, the Beatles' performance
resembled a circus at times, with so many things happening simultaneously. One
could not keep track. Besides the Beatles singing act, other demonstrations
were going on, just as equally, attention-grabbing.
Security guards defending the foursome were
practicing judo, karate, and any means of self-defense against the helpless
teenage girls who were madly rushing the stage. The crowd constantly gave its
typical show of emotion, the crying, screaming, jumping, running, and waving
young souls were hard to resist watching.
Another hilarious area of
entertainment was the vendors. In their patented manner, they tried to sell
souvenir books, Coke, hot dogs, and popcorn, giving me, and I'm sure others, a
real good show.
The final and perhaps greatest act
was put on by the valiant Cow Palace repairmen. The rickety fence holding back
part of the crowd was coming loose at the base, and the repairmen battled with
the screaming teenagers to do their duties and stop the hole in the dike.
During the whole Beatles performance, there
was a constant rain of litter, jellybeans, and popcorn on the stage. Ringo bore
the brunt of the attack, perched high in his drum nest; he was an easy target
for love trash.
With the same swiftness that marked their
entrance, the Beatles fled, and the great show of emotion halted as 1000s of
happy but rumpled and exhausted teenagers filed out of the palace to return to
their respective and somewhat more normal way of life.
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