My Love Does it Good Part 2 (1975)

My Love Does It Good

By Cindy Rosenthal

The Write Thing

Jan/Feb 1976

    My other big day was in Manchester. We were at a hotel checking on prices. It was just down the street from the theater. Prices were too high for us, and we wondered if Paul would stay there. Then we saw a sign that said the Mel Bush organization would be in a certain room at 3:30.  Mel Bush was the promoter of Paul's tour. We went and checked out the room mentioned on the sign and found it set up for a press conference. We were waiting to see when they'd get there. Ken and Madeline were also waiting, so we were talking to them.

     Suddenly, the bus drove up. I hadn't really expected them to show up. MaryAnn and I ran into the foyer area, and off stepped Linda. She smiled at me, and I took her photo. Then Paul stepped off, looking ever so good. Stella was right behind him, and as she got off, she started to cry a little. Paul picked her up, and she got a kiss from both her parents. Paul was holding a Wing sign about the size of a card that was usually passed out at concerts. Stella had obviously drawn all over it. They stood and posed for a real photographer, so we had a chance to take photos too.

     As Paul came near me, I said "The concerts were great!"  I said it with a lot of feeling. He asked, "Did you like that?"  And I said "Yes!"  We almost touched hands, but he had Stella in his arms. I felt we touched mentally, though.  Good vibes. Then he let me take a close-up of him. Linda thanked me for the badges we had given them the night before. That surprised me too. 

    Inside, Paul put Stella on the receptionist's desk, and he was standing with his hands in his pockets and yawning. He looked like he had been sleeping on the bus. Mary was running around. I noticed she has freckles on her nose. She kept going outside, and Stella yelled, "McCartney!" Linda yelled, "Mary!" And she came back in. I just stood watching them because I didn't know what to do. I'd run out of film. 

    They had all went upstairs. We were standing there deciding what to do next when suddenly Brian, Paul's manager, yelled, "Are you going to the sound check now?" to someone behind us, I turned around and there was Paul and Linda, arm in arm, walking toward the front door. Paul said, "No, we're going to get something for Stella (it was her birthday that day, September 13.) He was bopping at a fast pace. Outside, some fans stopped them to get a photo, so we took the opportunity. Also, when Paul saw a crowd beginning, he said, "Hurry up, John!" to the guy taking their picture. Then they waved across the street. Well, they walked across the street, and when they stopped at the corner, he turned around and bowed and waved. I have a blurry shot of that one. What a ham! They went down to a bookstore and then bopped out of view. He looked so good. No one on the street even recognized him,

Photo taken by Cindy Rosenthal in Manchester
Copyright held by Sara Schmidt 

     At the concert that night, the Macca kids were sitting two rows in front of us. Mary was directly in front of me. Mary was posing toothlessly for me. She got the same expression as her dad and  the same wide-eyed look. Mary was waving at her parents most of the concert, but only Stella got a hello from Mum. They were clapping to the music and having a great time.

     It would take me 1000s of words to go through every concert and every day. I can only mention special moments, special rare moments. In my mind, the concerts are all one blur. Too much happened too fast. I remember the hours of waiting for tickets and riding on trains, and then the fleeting moments that made all those hours worth it. In Bristol, I was standing by the stage door in the falling rain. Suddenly, the maroon Rolls drove up, and I saw Paul point at me. I'll never really know why he pointed at me, but I had on a Venus and Mars shirt, so I imagine he was pointing at that.

     Then there were the frustrations of knowing he was staying six miles outside the city, so I couldn't go see him at all. But the concert meant more to me for some reason. I got very frustrated when I did see him at hotels because I wanted to be more than just a fan among the crowd greeting the star. I had those two days to say something to him, and as usual, I couldn't remember all the things I wanted to ask him. I was usually in awe when I saw him, and if he said something to me, I would be dumbfounded.

      Whenever I did see him, he looked great, always dressed so nicely in a suit, and in Liverpool, he had on the red and white T-shirt that he had worn 10 years before. I never got the feeling that the kids were bothered by the chaos around them; the only time there was a hint of that was in the hotel, after the Manchester concert. I was in the lobby with camera ready, and Stella came walking and yelling, "Pictures, pictures, pictures."

     The concerts were always the best, and forgetting all the hours of waiting and hunger, my eyes would be glued on all five feet 11 inches of him on the stage. He has the same facial expressions as he did 10 years ago. The cute smiles, the look sideways or upwards to the balcony. He usually got into the music more than you could imagine. Some nights he seemed very loose, and others a little uptight. When mistakes happened, he handled them with poise and charm. There weren't that many, but concerts would be boring if they were all perfect. The music was so good that I can hardly bear to listen to his album now, because the songs just don't have the power that came from the stage. 

    He was always aware of the fans; unless he was being filmed, then you could see him put everything into his performance, forgetting that we were out there being trampled on. In Newcastle, I was right up front, almost in front of him, and the crowd was just too rowdy for me. I'd already had a hard day's night. I could barely take photos, and the sweaty bodies next to me were making me go crazy. I was seriously thinking about getting out of the crowd. I had had enough of crowds by then. I was making strange faces as I got pushed, pulled, and stepped on. Just as I was contemplating how I was going to get out, Paul winked at me. It was almost as if he knew how frustrated I was getting. It wasn't just a wink in my general direction. It was for me. Believe me, If you've ever been winked at by Paul, you would know it.

     And at the last concert, he was acting awfully sexy, if you can describe it like that. During "Jet", he looked at MariAnn and me with this look, and my mouth fell open, but Paul does that to you if you let him. It's just fleeting moments like these that I wish would last forever. I could go on and on. I only wish it had never ended. I really miss those concerts. They were the best 13 nights of my life

    . I'm sure I could go on talking about the little things that happened at concerts and stage doors, but words can never describe the feeling. I just know that Paul still has that something that makes him a star. Fans are still going crazy over him. In the Manchester Hotel, a small crowd waited for Wings to arrive from the concert. Despite a van full of coppers and warnings to get lost, the minute Paul arrived, he was swarmed. All I saw was Paul and Linda trying to get in the door with fans pulling on them, and Paul laughing the whole time. The fans were all left on the outside as Wings disappeared. I turned and saw a girl crying her eyes out on her friend's shoulder while she sobbed. "I can't believe I saw Paul". It could have been 1964 all over again.