 | |
| I am not sure, but that might be Robert Clifton behind Paul in this press conference photo. |
It was the end of August 1964. At
the time I had been with the Atlantic City, NJ
police Department for five years.
During that time I had experienced a lot, particularly when it came to
celebrity security details. There was
Sinatra at the 500 Club. There were
Ricky nelson, Dick Clark and Paul Anka at the old Steel Pier – now gone, lost
in the change from a family resort to a gambling resort. But the impact left by four young mean from
Liverpool, England is still with me. At
the end of a 25 year career, I saw nothing during that time that can even equal
that one night many years ago.
As the last days of the summer season faded away, we stood
and watched as the political banners, streamers and confetti from the
Democratic Convention blew away, caught in an ocean breeze and scattered along
the Boardwalk. It was the finish of what
had been three long weeks of security, dignitary protection and the beginning
of protest demonstrations. Now it was over
but there was more to come.
The Beatles were coming.
George Hamid, owner and operator of the Steel Pier, had
somehow induced the group to come to Atlantic City, a place with a total
population then of 60,000 people. It was
unheard of.
Harrid leased the Atlantic City Convention Hall and the
tickets went on sale. They sold
immediately and naturally this one night show was a total sell-out. That was to be expected. What happened next was unexpected.
WE arrived on past at 5 p.m., the night of the show. Even at that early hour, there were at least
1,000 fans lining the north side of Pacific Avenue, the street that fronts the
stage door entrance to Convention Hall.
We were told that the motorcade with The Beatles would arrive at 6
p.m. During that one hour wait we
watched as the crowd in the street and on the sidewalks grew larger.
About 5:45 pm, we were alerted by radio that the caravan was
en route. Black and white wooden
barricades were moved into position on the sidewalk creating a passageway from
the curb to the stage door. When the
crowd saw this happening, it was their cue to move into a better position to
see, to touch, to be part of it. They
kept repeating, “They’re coming!” In an instant, hundreds of people made a rush
across Pacific Avenue, oblivious to moving traffic, concerned only with getting
a better place to see, a chance to be closer.
Somehow order was maintained and the excited crowd waited patiently.
Then the Beatles were there.
First the motorcycle escort, a few radio cars and at last the long black
limousine. The crowd moved as one, like
a great wave of humanity, pushing, showing, straining to see, holding cameras
up over their heads, hoping to be lucky enough to get on decent shot. As the limousine pulled up to the curb, an
eager fan jumped in front of it, only to be pinned at the knees, caught between
the front bumper of the limo and the rear bumper of the radio car stopped in
front of it. There were mixed screams,
those of anguish from the caring who witnessed the accident and those of
excitement from the crowd as they caught sight of the Beatles seated in the car.
The car door opened and out came the Beatles, wanting to smile,
wanting to be friendly. The crowd made
its move, rushing forward to greet them.
For their own safety each young man was surrounded by police
officers. Paul McCartney, the last
Beatle to exit from the limousine, was practically shoved through the single
opened door that led into the building.
The crowd continued its surge and in order to restrain them, police
officers picked up the wooden barricades and charged into the mob of people. Finally, the stage door was closed and
bolted. The band was then escorted up a
flight of stairs to a series of rooms where a press conference was to take
place.
The four young men, each dressed differently, sat
comfortably at a long table. Each Beatles
had his own microphone in front of him.
Derek Taylor stood in front of a floor mike and the interview began.
It was easy to see as the interview went on that the group
who entered the room – sincere, eager and willing to answer questions – soon lost
interest in the meeting. This was
probably caused by the people conducting the interview (not all professional
media) who asked such questions as, “What do you think of America? What do you think of American girls? What do you think of Atlantic City? Of all the cities that you have been in,
which one do you like the most?” I
distinctly remember John Lennon’s answer, “Liverpool!”
This type of questioning continued and Ringo Starr casually leaned
back in his seat, as if disappointed with it all. Hundreds of flash bulbs kept popping. At long last, and I’m sure with a sense of
relief to the group, the interview was over.
It was getting near show time.
The Beatles went about the preparations, changing now into
matching suits, combing what was then considered long hair. Each performer was quiet, reserved, yet
friendly in a shy way. Each was calm. There was a total professionalism about them despite
their youth. They were ready to perform,
if the audience would let them.
I escorted Paul McCartney into the hallway outside the
dressing room. At that moment, I looked
out through the window and saw that in over an hour the crowd on Pacific Avenue
had increased to a few thousand people.
Those with tickets were out front on the Boardwalk, entering, taking
seats, waiting for the show to begin.
Showtime came at last.
We left the dressing room and walking down a narrow staircase to the
backstage area. Each Beatle still
remained clam, patiently waiting to go on stage. The noise from the audience at this time is
rather hard to describe. It was
different, not an impatient murmur, but more like one of expectation, a funny
kind of excitement. Then came the words
from the giant speakers situated throughout the large auditorium, “The Beatles!”
And, all at once we were moving the long wait was over. We were walking quickly out on to the
stage. Once there we were met with a
mighty blast of sound, a solid wall of noise that actually struck you with a
force that stopped your forward momentum. An estimated 25,000 people had jammed into the
Hall and they were letting the group know that they were appreciated.
Instead of performing on the stage, the Beatles were on a 15
foot high platform constructed on scaffolding in front of the stage. Eighteen police officers stood below us. Eighteen police officers between the Beatles,
us (security detail) and 25,000 screaming fans.
But, while they screamed in happiness and appreciation, no one moved
from in front of their seats toward the stage.
The Beatles began to play.
Don’t ask what they played, because no one except the Beatles can answer
that question. No one heard one song,
one lyric, not even one note. The cheers
never stopped. The screams never died
and the tears from the eyes of young girls never stopped flowing. It was Beatlemania.
A little over an hour later it was over. At least the show
was over. There was plenty more to come.
As the auditorium cleared, hundreds of fans raced to Pacific
Avenue to join thousands who had been there before them. All wanted to see the group one more
time. The street was filled with milling
people. Traffic stopped and had to be
rerouted. The limousine that brought
them was unable to make it into the street from the garage, and even if it had
made it there was a danger that the vehicle would be swarmed upon by eager
fans. It became a security
nightmare. As time passed it was evident
that for the safety of the people in general and for The Beatles in particular something
had to be done.
Finally, a solution was agreed upon and a distinctly marked
laundry truck made its way down Georgia Avenue about 30 minutes later. It made its way slowly through the crowd,
eventually arriving in a secure area of the garage.
Each Beatle was taken to the garage area located below the
Convention Hall and placed inside the van, made comfortable and very quietly
taken from the building. The laundry
truck was completely ignored by the fans.
Once they arrived at the Lafayette Motor Inn, located at the
other end of town, The Beatles became virtual prisoners in their own suite of
rooms. Outside the fans began to gather,
but at this point created no real problems.
In the protection of their rooms, the group relaxed. They talked briefly about the show, the
audience response and how they had left the area. Later, they ate submarine sandwiches form the
White House Sub Shop. While they
relaxed, the fans continued to mill about, calling from the street below, “Ringo,
Paul, George, John!”
Radio cars were sent into the area to clear the streets and
sidewalks. Teenage girls found their way
to the rear of the hotel and like human flies began climbing from balcony to
balcony in an attempt to see the group, or just one Beatle, or just to be able
to say they saw the rooms.
The summer night turned into morning and a few hours later
The Beatles were gone, off to some other city, to some other concert. Many things have happened since 1964, but
looking back over the years, that one particular evening stayed with me. I never forgot it. I never will.
The Beatles made an impact not only in show business, but in the
world. And I was there seeing, hearing,
feeling it, maybe in a very small way a part of it, a part of history that
summer of 1964.
By Robert F. Clilfton
