The largest crowd they played for

 

A Grandmother's Notes on a Night with the Beatles (Toronto 1966)

 A Grandmother's Notes on a Night with the Beatles

By Maggie Grant

The Gazette 

September 17, 1966

The Canadian's Maggie Grant, a grandmother, spends an evening with the Beatles and reports on one of the true wonders of our times.

     Set out to observe Beatle phenomenon, Maple Leaf Gardens, Toronto, August 17. Temperature 85 degrees. Hair combed à la Ringo. Arrived early with firm grip on press conference pass ticket. Found area a swarm with little people. Several more years apiece to grow. Explains puzzling term "teeny boppers." Array of rament, quenched hope, astonishing styles shown in magazines would be unmarketable. 

    One belle, "I love Paul", stenciled across seat of bell bottoms, was telling world at large, "I got all the way up to their floor in the hotel, all the way to the eighth floor, and then the stinking cops caught me!" 

    "The eighth floor should be declared a national shrine," said a lass in black mesh stockings, no shoes.     Two tots wearing granny dresses, unrealistically blonde hair, sprawled in alleyways, sobbing like disaster victims. Police had barred entry to Beadle's dressing room. 

    Stirring of anti-copism in own breast upon officers' brush off of press credentials was passed from entrance to entrance back again. Three circuits of building maintained iron control despite foot moans, sweat bath. Police regained esteem by averting trampling by flying wedges of maidens. Had fancied they spotted Beatles in far distance. Incident lent courage to Pengate Guardian to Turnstile asked, "Do I look like a teeny bopper?" Guardian conceded did not, was passed into sacred premises. 

    Conference heavily attended by Veterans of Fourth Estate, conducted with solemnity. Accord senior statesmen, Beatles resplendent in pastel suits, settled vexing world problems to satisfaction of all retired, began searching for press box. 

    Several false leads furnished by distraught ushers.  Located it hanging from roof beams. Temperature at that altitude: 95 degrees. View liked peering into Grand Canyon. Stage size of postage stamp. 16,000 ticket holders, bits of color, shifting kaleidoscope, overtaken by dizziness, set back closed eyes, jarred to chair edge by uproar greeting first preliminary act, group name of the Remains.  Guitarist lept about like orangutans, presumably also twanged instruments. Couldn't hear above audience. Thunderous work of drummer. Kleenex stuffed in ears. Prayed for survival.

     Other prelims equally clangorous, fortified self with hot dog. Hung on. Beatles' hour approach. Further, police march to battle stations. Then the magic moment: terrible sound decibels forth from 16,000 throats. Prelim reception like cathedral hush in comparison. Cannot describe marathon mating cry of Beatlemania. Cannot describe assault on eyeballs of 16,000 exploding flashbulbs; the combination could petrify brain tissue. Finished came senses reeled on stood more or less direct. Sought first aid station overflowing with stretcher cases, withering in religious ecstasy, all subteens.  Decided not to offer self-retreatment. Groped out of building and home. Will confine Beatle devotion to record in future.

Police and Fans Play Beatle Football (New York City 1966)

 

Police and Fans Play Beatle Football

By Kathy Parker

Hartford Courant

September 3, 1966

    The excitement of our trip to the Beatles concert at Shea did not begin with the appearance of the Beatles themselves. It started on the highways outside the city, where cars passed us displaying signs, "To the Beatles", "Beatles forever," "We love the Beatles."

     Inside the halls of the stadium, I could feel the tension. We took our field-level positions just four rows behind the police barriers. Busloads of police patrolled the field and parking lot. Behind us rose a towering wall of fans. Huge signs suspended from the railings flapped in the breeze. Many took note of John and Cyn's anniversary. 

    Every few minutes, a helicopter chopped overhead, and tremendous screams went up from the crowd. Last year, the Beatles arrived by helicopter.

     Just before showtime, the throng swayed toward one end of the stadium, where a red truck was backing into the lower level; the Beatles were inside. The 7:30 p.m. show began at 8:15 p.m. with the Remains. Other acts included the Cyrkle and the Ronettes. The crowd was impatient. People were standing on their chairs. 

    All the announcer said was, "And now...." and the crowd went wild. The announcer asked for a few bars of "We Love You, Beatles. Oh, yes, we do." The crowd sang in remarkable unison, 45,000 strong.

 One Beatle... two Beatles, three, four. Could I really be seeing them? Everyone climbed to the armrests on their seats. Faces were washed with tears. Girls clutched each other for balance. Some fell backward into the crowd. Lines of police moved in and stood like toy soldiers along the barriers. Field glasses were selling better than hot dogs. 

    About halfway through the concert, someone got through the ropes. Several policemen ran after the girl. Gradually, more and more people tried the same thing as groups of police rushed first to one place, then another, playing Beatle football, tackling fans.

     Suddenly, it was over. The Beatles waved a hurried good night, and ran off the stage into a station wagon. As the car sped across the field, hundreds in the lower level rushed outside. A huge trailer truck was concealing a hole in the fence where the Beatles' car would exit; the truck moved. The Beatles drove through. They changed into the Wells Fargo truck and roared out across the parking lot. Throngs ran down the stadium ramps and out into the night, chasing along the zigzagging trails of the Beatles. Later, the Fab Four switched to a limousine and drove to the airport, where they boarded a plane to the West Coast to enter the lives of 1000s of other American teenagers.

Written by Gail Andrews:

     I  too went to see the spectacular show at Shea. There was some excitement during the show when fans spotted two of the Lovin' Spoonful in the audience. The Beatles wore beige suits with light blue striped shirts and sang 11 songs. Paul introduced the first song and said the initial "hello," which brought screams from the stadium.

     I don't know what it meant, but Paul and John kept referring to the year 1948 as they introduced the songs. Paul seemed to be in an exceptionally happy mood, but John, George, and Ringo were quiet. The security measures were more than needed, as only eight fans tried to reach the Beatles. The performance ended abruptly, and the Beatles were whisked away in a gray station wagon with New York license plate number 97368.

John takes the field

 

Ranks Revere to Candlestick Sound (San Francisco, 1966)

Ranks Revere to Candlestick Sound

By Cynthia Grant

New Register

September 2, 1966

    The ranks of the reluctant fathers inched along bumper to bumper in the slow lane. The tolerant mothers chauffeured back seats loaded with 14- and 13-year-old girls, while more daring teenagers filed through the fast lane, and all headed for the Beatles' concert Monday night.

     Moving into Candlestick Park, the crowd was obviously a show in itself. Boys' hair hung longer than the girls' and curlier. Mod clothes, definitely in fashion, ranged from sleeveless purple halters to Indian moccasins and headbands.

     Good seats were filling quickly. Center field remained empty, but about 26,000 found their way inside. Sitting in front, three 12-year-old girls looked and pointed, insisting they had sighted the Beatles. Screams arose, and the whole park stood as the armored car, which the Beatles would leave the park in, pulled up to the stage empty.

     For the audience, the show began not with the preliminary acts, but with the Beatles. It was the Beatles everyone wanted to see. The Remains led off the show, followed by Bobby Hebb of "Sunny" fame. The Cyrkle and the Ronettes followed. All were entertaining. The crowd applauded politely for each number. 

    The tension began gripping as the Beatles' approach was nearing. Suddenly, they stepped out of the Giants' dugout, all the Fab Four decked in green suits, screaming, waving, shrieking, cheering; the crowd went wild. The four young men stepped briskly to the stage, waving and smiling at the crowd.

     "Rock and Roll Music" led off the show, and the crowd continued their noisy tribute, standing all the while. After about three numbers, Burns' cops sat the crowd down. Other songs done included "Nowhere Man," "She's a Woman," "If I Needed Someone, ""I Want to Be Your Man" (with Ringo), "Yesterday" and "Long Tall Sally". All 11 songs at 9:25 p.m. and ending three minutes after 10. The show was over. 

    The sound had been excellent, clear, and loud. Compared to the Cow Palace fiasco of last year, the crowd itself was well behaved. Two girls were removed from the field, only one via a stretcher. One rush was made as boys swarmed over the center field fence. Apparently warning the Beatles, the crowd shrieked as they surged in from Willie Mae's pasture. After the first abortive try, another assault was made with the same results. Burns police snapped the youth. 

    Enjoying the happenings, Ringo glanced over his shoulder at the intruders, while John muttered, "They're coming this way! They're coming this way! Head them off!" to the harried officers, away from any of the four. A wave of frenzy swept through the crowd as the 20,000 girls sprang to their feet, screaming and waving. As the Beatles sang, cameras flashed like spotlights. Screams and cries shook the air and blended with the fantastic sound, while bodies rocked or jumped up and down.

     From "She Loves You" to "Eleanor Rigby", their current number one record, the crowd actions expanded. When the 10:30 farewell came, the park was on its feet, giving the last thunderous ovation. The armored car, surrounded by the Burns patrol, pulled away. Fans fled for the exits. The Beatles obviously not to return, but the exit and remembrance solidified the devotion. And parents, adults, non-believers, etc. You only had to be there to know it wasn't as bad as all that.
 

10 Years Ago the Beatles Last Show (1976)

 10 Years Ago the Beatles Last Show

By Phillip Elwood

The San Francisco Examiner

August 30, 1976

    Beatlemania seems to be sweeping the pop music world again, as it did a decade ago. Capitol Records is repackaging the original issues of Beatles singles and albums, and an International organization has been formed to encourage the Beatles to get together once again in public performance.

     10 years ago, the Beatles concluded their U.S. tour, which included 19 shows in 14 cities, with a performance at Candlestick Park. The concert, on the evening of Monday, August 29, 1966, lasted 30 minutes, included 11 tunes, and ended at 9:50 p.m. That was the last time the Beatles appeared together in public performance. 

    The Beatles had played San Francisco twice before, 1964 and in 1965, at the Cow Palace. The evening show in '65 set a record there, which still stands, for over 18,000 customers for a reserved-seat concert. 

    Early in June 1966, it was announced that promoter Tom Donahue, in conjunction with station KYA, and using DJ Johnny Holliday and Emperor Gene Nelson as MCs, would present the Beatles at Candlestick with tickets at $6, $5, and $4. A total of 30,000 seats were ticketed, but the event didn't sell out. About 25,000 customers paid a gross of some $130,000.

     The Beatles arrived by plane late in the afternoon. They were sealed up in an armored truck and driven to Candlestick, where they arrived at 5:45 p.m. The San Francisco police provided a station wagon and a couple of motorcycles for an escort. The caravan also included a bus and a few limousines for the supporting acts and equipment.

     After cruising around the stadium parking lot, waiting for an attendant to find the gate key, the caravan finally went through the right center field gate, and the Beatles disembarked and walked directly into the dressing room clubhouse area used by the San Francisco Giants. By 6o'clock, the fans were also arriving. They found most of the stadium lights illuminated, as they were for the whole show; spotlights were also used to pinpoint featured performers. The stage was built over second base. The closest any fans got was about 150 feet, and those in the second deck, the "cheap seats", could barely see the platform and often could not hear anything. 

    The Boston rock group The Remains opened the program with four numbers and was followed by Bobby Hebb, who also did four selections ending with "Sunny," his big hit for the summer of '66. Holiday was MC at the beginning, as I remember, filling the brief space between acts. The pace was fast. The performers were anxious to get the tour over with, and the crowd, very young and agitated, was there only for the Beatles. Two piles of loudspeakers flanked the stage. No one, except a few guards, was allowed on the stadium grass or infield. Artists came to the stage by walking from the Giants' dugout area across first base and eventually to the stage stairs. After Hebb, the Brian Epstein-managed group Cyrkle played five numbers, including "Red Rubber Ball," which had been a big hit in the spring of 1966, and "Turn Down Day," which soon became a hit. Following Cyrkle, with the crowd screaming every time any head stuck out of the dugout entrance, the Ronettes, a first-rate soul rock group, trudged through the grass (there was no plastic turf then) and onto the stage. 

    I remember thinking, with amusement, how strange the three black Ronettes seemed in shimmering nightclub gowns, singing "Be My Baby" and "Walking in the Rain" to 25,000 Beatles fans, most of whom were bubblegum teeny boppers about 14 years old. The gutsy, sensual Ronette's lyrics didn't have much effect, however, since the crowd noise, anticipating the Beatles, was horrendous by this time. 

    All 19 tunes performed by the opening four acts, plus the on-track comments by Holliday and his colleague Nelson, absorbed only 70 minutes. Without any intermission, and barely time enough for the Ronnetts to leave the field, the four Beatles raced across the turf and onto the stage. The crowd's response was deafening. It was as if Willie Mays had just homered into the left-field bleachers to win the World Series.

    The Beatles' performance began with "Rock and Roll Music," and then the tunes ground out one by one mechanically and with little distinction. I recall no informal comments from any of the Beatles during the program. Paul handled the introductions.

     Although the Revolver album had been issued three weeks earlier and was on top of the charts, the Beatles did none of the tunes from it. Even "Yellow Submarine", the hit single that week, was not played. "I Want to Hold Your Hand," "Eight Days a Week," "Day Tripper," "Paperback Writer," "Yesterday," and finally "Long Tall Sally" were included. So fast was the performance, and so brief the interval between tunes, the noisy reception given at the end of each number spilled into the roar, which obliterated the first 30 seconds of each new selection. As "Long Tall Sally" was ending, a young lady raced toward the stage front with guards in hot pursuit. As the fans watched her attempt to climb the platform, many didn't notice the armored truck, which had been sitting innocently at the rear of the stage, had thrown open its back doors.

     The four Beatles had hopped from instruments to stairs, to vehicle, and within one minute of concluding the song, the Beatles inside the truck were out of the center field gate onto a service field and heading toward the San Francisco airport. The Beatles were heading finally for England. Their last public concert appearance was over. 

    My review in the Examiner the next day was headed "Beatles Strike Out at Ballpark." Ralph Gleason's Chronicle column was headed "A Puppet Show for the Beatles." There was no press conference here, as there had been in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. Beatle John Lennon's comments about religion and the Vietnam War, and a sour attitude toward the Beatles by the U.S. entertainment establishment, had made relations with the press difficult.

     The San Francisco City Treasury netted $17,500 from ticket sales, and the local musicians union was paid $1,072 for providing 25 standby musicians who sat in the stands and played the Star-Spangled Banner at 8p.m. At the time, the evening seemed just like another disappointing rock and roll concert. Certainly not as much fun as the earlier Beatles shows in town. Little did those 25,000 San Franciscoans realize they were seeing the most successful and influential pop music group in history perform together for the final time.

Rocking in Spain

 

Beatles Hits Seattle Like a 3-Ring Circus (1966 Seattle)

 

Beatles hit Seattle Like a 3-Ring Circus 

By Barbara Hanna

Kitsap Sun

August 26, 1966

    Cool is when you recognize the whole thing's a circus. You go ahead and play the game anyway without losing your sense of humor, and throughout all of Thursday's happenings in Seattle, the Beatles were clearly cool. 

    Their three-ring circus began Thursday afternoon when they arrived at the Seattle-Tacoma Airport to be greeted by 33 fans, even more policemen, and the Port of Seattle's fire truck. From there, they were driven to the Seattle Center Coliseum, where they moved through crowds of screaming teenagers who lay in wait at the gate and into the Coliseum. They emerged only to give two concerts at three and 8p.m. and headed for Hollywood that night. 

    The action in Ring One of the Beatles Circus was staged by some eight dull-looking persons who paced up and down in front of the Colosseum, bearing signs that included "Teenagers who support the Beatles continue to crucify Christ." They were in distinct contrast to the excited teenagers, male and female, who milled about the Colosseum in all their mod finery, waiting for the big event inside the Colosseum-- Ring Two.

     The big event transpired twice before an 8,200 afternoon audience and a 14,382 sellout evening crowd. Now, when it is said that the Beatles are giving a concert, it does not mean that they are giving an entire concert. So the teenagers had to first sit through the Remains, Bobby Hebb, the Circle [sic], and the Ronettes, which they did in profound silence. It's not that these groups are bad; it's just that they aren't the Beatles. 

    With the announcement that the Beatles were coming on, the teenagers began venting all their saved-up energy. They began screaming, and as the Beatles appeared on the stage, it was like the Fourth of July. What with all the flash bulbs going off all over the Colosseum, neither screaming nor flash bulbs bursting abated significantly in the course of the concert. As for the Beatles themselves, they wore gray suits with lilac stripes and lilac pint shirts. Their singing style was easy and open, and their music, while people who like Beatles' music like it, and all the words in the world won't convince those who don't that it's really a pretty good thing. 

    At 6 p.m., between the two concerts in Ring Two, Ring Three was activated. A couple dozen press people who had duly presented their letters at each checkpoint found themselves in a hot, dingy room in the basement of the Coliseum and were given the ground rules for the press conference. One of the ground rules was that still photographers had priority the first five minutes, and then they had to step back so the TV cameras could have clear shooting. So the Beatles came in and stood behind a table, and everyone with a camera rushed to the front of the room and stood along the other side of the table. And for five minutes, the Beatles stood there trying to be casual about the whole thing, while being thoroughly photographed. Actually, that part wasn't like a circus. That part was like a zoo. 

    During the press conference proper, the Beatles parried the reporter's sometimes silly questions with good humor and apparent frankness. The number one issue was whether Paul McCartney was to be married to British actress Jane Asher that evening, as the Associated Press had reported. "No," said Paul. "I just got here today and found out I'm getting married tonight," he said. Yes, he really knows her. He said, "But really, it the marriage rumor was just sort of a joke."  And fellow Beatle George Harrison added, "If she does come here tonight, we're going out, so we'll miss her." The Beatle spoke the truth, as it turned out. For this morning, Paul was still unwed.

     Asked about all the furor over Beatle John Lennon's "The Beatles Are Bigger Than Jesus" statement, Beatle John said they've all been missing the point. Beatle George said, "People who think that need their mind straightened out."  Beatle Paul said it was ridiculous for people to say they despised Jesus and Christianity, and Beatle John concluded that "Twisting what they said that way isn't Christian." 

    When they were told that a revival would be given at the Seattle Center during their evening concert by an anti-Beatle religious group, Beatle John quipped, "Yeah, we'll be there". The Sagarid concert by baritone Fuge Springman drew 250. The Beatles weren't there.

    Has the furor hurt their present tour? The press keeps saying, "See, it hurt you, but our manager keeps telling us no," Beatle Paul said. "And we listened to our manager. "Then a reporter asked them if, having disposed of religion, they'd like to try American foreign policy. They agreed that they wouldn't.

     Asked if it's true their average fan is older now than when they started out, Paul said "Yes, somewhat older." Was that what they were trying for? "We don't intend anything," Paul said.

     And a woman who identified herself as a mother of three said she was concerned about a statement of theirs that "When moms love us, we're dead."  "We were rebels when we said that," said Paul. 

    In the evening, there was more picketing and another concert, and then the Beatles were whisked off to the airport, taking with them $73, 717.81 for their half-hour performance at the two concerts and at the press conference. The gross take for the two concerts, $118,071, was the largest one-day take in Seattle entertainment history, according to Zolly M. Volchok of Northwest Releasing, the event sponsor.

Leather Clad Lads

 August 26, 1961

The Agony and the Ecstasy (New York City 1966)

 

The Agony and the Ecstasy

By Anthony Burton

The Daily Mail

August 24, 1966

    The Beatles stepped onto the turf of Shea Stadium last night, and the world went mad. Kids in tight hip huggers, kids in miniskirts, kids in poor boy sweaters, 45,000 of them took a deep breath and started screaming and squealing and screeching and sobbing till the whole stadium seemed to rock. 

    It couldn't get any worse, you thought, trying to shield your eardrums, but it did. When the Beatles climbed on the platform and started to play to the packed stands, Ringo, John, Paul, and George attacked their instruments with the dedication of men earning hundreds of dollars for every note they played. But the kids screamed even louder. It seemed a pity. The kids were making too much noise to hear their idols.

     Some of the kids started jumping onto the turf in an attempt to get closer to the kings of kiddydom. Cops headed them off and carried them away. More than 100 police reinforcements, together with policewomen, streamed onto the field and confronted the stands. After 30 minutes, it was all over. The Beatles raced to a station wagon and drove off into the night. From Flat Bush Avenue and Columbus Avenue, from East End Avenue and Park Avenue, the hordes of kids had poured into the stadium, paying an average of $4 for the privilege of adoring the Beatles in person. Waving above their heads were such bannered battle cries as "Ringo is sexy" and "America loves you."

     It was just like their earlier visits, except that they seemed smaller, as if they had been tamed. Their eyes, sad spaniel eyes under the long fringes, were haunted now by the ghost of a hick disc jockey. The kids screamed, and the money poured in, but it could never be the same. The Beatles would never be able to forget that they had bent the knee and apologized to the hick disc jockey from a state notorious even in the South for its bigotry and racism, and then they had suffered the humiliation of having their apology patronizingly accepted. 

    The sad irony was that when John Lennon said the Beatles were more popular than Jesus, he was touching on a serious issue. That, of course, is fatal in the world of Good Guys and Murray the K and transistors. You can be imprudent about the Queen, but you can't get away with trying to discuss a serious subject. That's not cool, baby. 

    And so Lennon presented his glass jaw to people who would rather attack the innocent who raise a problem than the problem itself. It's easier. They denounced the satanic foursome and burned their records. Even then, the Beatles could have saved themselves by one of those flip remarks with the Liverpool twang around the edges. But they were older now, and corruption inevitably comes with age, and there were all those records to be sold and all that money to be collected. 

    Lennon became the penitent. He announced he was sorry he had ever made the remark. Few popular idols can pin down the exact moment when they reached the pinnacle and then began the long slide, the downfall. The Beatles call it into obscurity, but Lennon and the others will be able to do just that. It will take years to complete the slide, and lots more money will roll in. But when it's done, they'll look back up the slope and see that it began August 11, 1966, the day Lennon tucked the flip remark into his cheek and instead pleaded to an Alabama disc jockey that he had been misinterpreted. 

    Well, it was fun while it lasted. And there's always Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones. Can you imagine him apologizing? Give him time, baby. Give him time.

Show by The Beatles is a Scream (1966 Memphis)

 

Show By The Beatles is a Scream

By Thomas BeVier

The Commercial Appeal

August 20, 1966

     Emily Strider, hands folded, face emotionless, and sweet 16, yawned as the Remains bounced their music, with the help of seven amplifiers, off the walls and ceilings of the Colosseum. And then it happened: the Beatles pranced on stage in their gray mod suits with red vertical stripes and abbreviated jackets. Emily, who drove to Memphis early yesterday afternoon from her home in Charleston, Mississippi, started to cry. Then she started to scream. Then she started shaking her head wildly and pounding her knees with her fists. It was a commentary on uninhibitedness. Just sort the sort of thing Jerry Leighton had been talking about earlier when he was trying to figure out the difference between a nickel and a quarter.

     Leighton is a disc jockey from England who is traveling with the Beatles on their tour of the United States. His is a "pirate station", one of several that operate on ships off the English coast because commercial stations aren't allowed in England. "The Beatles are a phenomenon", he said, in the studied accent of a true Englishman. "I asked them once how it felt to be a phenomenon. They said it didn't feel anything."

     With help from the Yankee Press, Leighton was able to figure out how to operate the cigarette machine, and just then Brian Epstein, the Beatles' manager, walked by. "Give me two seconds," he was asked. "Two seconds. My life is spent giving people two seconds," he said. 

    His quick comment was that yes, the Memphis performance is very important to us, because of the John Lennon comment that the group is more popular than Christ. The Ku Klux Klan made its opinion known by picketing at the Southern Avenue entrance to the Colosseum grounds. The sheets and hoods lent an incongruous touch to the stream of bell-bottom trousers, paisley shirts, and high-heeled boots worn by the Beatles' faithful who filed by. There were 7,589, mostly girls and almost all teenagers, at the first performance, and another 12,539 at the second. 

    You couldn't hear the Beatles for the screaming. Before they came on stage, there were threats that anybody leaving his seat would be thrown out. It worked, and Early Maxwell, Memphis promoter of the show, was glad. "This was a real test," he said. "I've never had so much security (80 policemen) at an event; not even Bob Hope.

     Security started at 1:45 p.m., when the chartered American Airlines Electra with the Beatles and their entourage touched down on the military side of the airport. Only 10 Beatle Bugs managed to slip by guards. One, Charles Hardy, 19 Of 4931 Montgomery, even infiltrated the press corps and got a hurried, almost legible autograph from Paul McCartney for his persistence. 

    One of those meeting the plane was a harried man of about 45 from Washington.  He was Campbell Bowles, the group's advance man. "No, you can't ride in on the bus with them," he said. "No, we don't allow exclusive interviews. Yes, I am tired." Someone asked him his opinion of the Beatles and their music. "No comment," he said sharply.

You Must Be There Too!

 

August 19, 1961 

Beatles Cheered and Thunder Claps (Philadelphia 1966)

 

Beatles Cheered and Thunder Claps Too

By Jerry Gaghan

Philadelphia Daily News

August 17, 1966

    You couldn't hear the thunder for the kids in Kennedy Stadium last night as the Beatles made their second visit to the city. The thunder and lightning, heralding the cloudburst that mercifully came after this beaded-up program, had electric competition from the youngsters' flashbulbs. The pitch-dark concrete glen on South Broad Street littered steadily, as though from an infestation of giant lightning bugs.

     The British aristocrats of rock worked precisely 30 minutes on the improved field stand, which meant that, with the guarantee paid by George Hammond Jr., they were chopping up $25,000 every 10 minutes. Official attendance figures given out were 20,844. No total gross was announced, but with ticket prices at $5 and $3, the Steel Pier impresario had apparently suffered a loss on the show. 

    The ill-timed remarks of John Lennon, the group's downbeat evangelist, undoubtedly cut into the advance sale, and the weather bureau's promise of showers sloughed the gate sales. Police precautions were impressive. There were rows of barriers and blue coats to form a no man's land of more than 50 yards between the English entertainers and the nearest rows of youngsters. However, our well-behaved children gave no indication of any righteous surges in the stadium.

    Gloom, where hawkers of field glasses and popcorn had to hold their wares high just to be seen. There were several false shrieking outbursts as the girls thought they saw their idols. They finally came from under the west stand, and after that, it was one long-standing ovation. Seats may be sold for Beatles concerts, but nobody uses them. Surprisingly, there was a large proportion of young males last night. The boys apparently had decided to live with the Beatles. That's where the girls are. 

    The Beatles come on stage at 9:17, in their conventional three-guitar-down-front and drummer-mounted-backstage arrangement. The squealing and waving, the flashbulbs never let up, but the sound is turned high, so high that you can best hear the words by holding your hands over your ears. 

    The Liverpool Four ran through a succession of their recent hits, starting with "Rock and Roll Music", and gained tumultuous welcomes for such numbers as "She's a Woman, "Nowhere Man", "Paperback Writer, "Day Tripper, "I Feel Fine," "Yesterday," with "Long Tall Sally" for the get off.

     Hamid acted as MC and sagaciously had the "Star-Spangled Banner" played for the finale, while the headliners escaped in a waiting truck to the International Airport, where their private jet took them to Toronto for the next show. Because of the imminent rain, the entire program ran without intermission. The warm-up acts included the Remains of Boston, a group of two guitars, Electric Piano, and Drums, who acted as the noisy accompaniment for other performers, the Ronettes (Be My Baby and Walking in the Rain) and Bobby Hebb, who drew the first ovation with his hit "Sunny." The Cyrcles, [sic] a quartet that started out at Lafayette College four years ago as the Rondells, are traveling with the Beatles. They seem a highly professional unit with bona fide haircuts, trim blazers, and two guitars, drums, and an electric organ for instrumentation. They tally strongly with their trademarks, "Red Rubber Ball" and "Turn Down Day," as well as their impersonations of other groups, the Beach Boys, Four Seasons, Gary and the Playboys, etc.

14,000 Screams Prove Beatles Are Still Loved (Detroit 1966)

 

14,000 Scream Prove Beatles Are Still Loved

By Lawrence Gustin

The Flint Journal (Michigan)

August 14, 1966

    Take 14,000 youngsters, give them flash cameras and bags of jelly beans, then pack them all into Olympia Stadium for two hours while the tension grows. Now, all together, kids, throw those jelly beans, flash those cameras, and scream your lungs out. If you can picture this, you get an idea of what happens at a performance of the Beatles. 

    More than 30,000 fans, most of them young girls with long straight hair, demonstrated Saturday during two shows that they still loved the long-haired Englishman. There was little evidence of any hostility stemming from Beatle John Lennon's well-publicized statement that they were more popular than Jesus. Just to make sure, the master of ceremonies told the crowd that Lennon felt his statement had been taken out of context, and that what he really meant was to say it's a very sad state of affairs that the Beatles seem more popular than Christianity. There were loud screams of approval, and signs were unfurled by the youngsters. They bore such catchy phrases as "I love you, John" and "I love you, Paul." One group displayed a large Union Jack. 

    At least one girl in the audience was well prepared. "I just know I'm going to faint, so I brought along my smelling salt," she said.

     The Beatles have toured this country four times; although their first visit was short, this was only the second visit to Detroit. However, there were about 2000 empty seats for the 2p.m. performance, but there were still about 14,000 young fans present, and a sellout crowd of more than 16,000 for the 7p.m. performance. And when you're selling seats for between $3.50 and $5.50, that's a great house by any standard. 

    Very few persons got close to the young entertainers between their arrival at Olympia at about noon and their departure by bus for Cleveland after the night show. They were closeted in a room at the end of a corridor, which was blocked by barricades, curtains, and at least a regiment of police. Only a few reporters and the young presidents of a few fan clubs were allowed through.

     For two hours during the matinee, the youngsters practiced their screams on lesser-known rock and roll performers. During the interim, the group's press agent Tony Morrow [sic] and manager Brian Epstein provided interviews. Morrow said the Beatles still definitely planned to go to Memphis, which strongly indicated through its mayor that it would appreciate being bypassed. 

    This was a reaction to John's statement about Christ, but the Beatles have apparently been successful in denying that any irreverence was meant. They landed in Boston, put on their first show in Chicago Friday, and were to hit these cities before returning to England on August 29: Cleveland, Washington, Philadelphia, Toronto, Boston, Memphis, Cincinnati, St. Louis, New York, Seattle, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. 

    The police suddenly formed a line to the stage, and Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr ran to the stage. There was bedlam as the stadium lighted up in a burst of flash bulbs, giving the flickering impression of a silent movie. Jelly beans, hair brushes, photographs, dolls, and even records bounced onto the stage and onto the heads of police and photographers.  The four could be heard if you were within a few feet of the stage, but most of the youngsters could hear little but screams.

     For 30 minutes, the Beatles sang, smiled, sweated, wiggled their heads, and fancy stepped around the jelly beans. Then Paul announced that the next number would be their last, and this was greeted by a new shock wave of screams. The police were packed tightly around the stage as the Beatles let loose with "Long Tall Sally." It seemed that the show would end without a major incident, but not quite. Suddenly, a young blonde girl in orange slacks and sweater bounded over the wall, flashed between the startled police and made a dive at Ringo on the drummer's platform. She almost made it, but crashed into the amphitheater several feet from the drummer and went sprawling. She was hauled away fighting and screaming by four officers and taken outside. 

    A group of 20 Cleveland teenagers who won a trip to see the Beatles at each of their stops on the U.S. tour said the Detroit crowd was wilder than the Chicago crowd. One girl dislocated a knee crawling over a railing. There were 10 cases of hysteria. A girl passed out. Another passed out twice. A doctor said it was quieter than in 1964 when 45 girls fainted. Then there was this memory of a jaded veteran photographer who had griped earlier about the long wait. "They're good. They're really good," he shouted to anyone who would listen after the show. "I really like them."

13,000 Beatles Fans Scream Adulation (1966)

 

13,000 Beatles Fans Scream Adulation to Prophets of Din

By Thomas Willis

Chicago Tribune

August 13, 1966

    "Prepare yourselves", said the bass voice behind us, and there in the flesh were the prophets of den, something like 13,000 treble voices sliced the echoing International Amphitheater yesterday afternoon with a knifing scream, which instantly passed the aureole threshold of pain.

     Flash bulbs from 1,000 cameras stabbed the dark hall with continuous lightning. Paul, John, and George half-ran down the curtained stairs at the rear of the small stage, crowded with the giant speaker cabinets and winking electronic gear of a 1500-watt amplifying system. Ringo clambered to the drummer's throne at the rear. The Beatles had arrived.

     The infernal shriek continued practically unabated for the 27 minutes allotted to the ensemble, swirling in the ear and setting off those internal harmonic rings, which last and last. Now and then the nerves rebelled and reduced it all to a jumble of wind, letting it whistle by. The amplifiers contributed a harmony or two, which could be recognized "Yesterday,"  "Paperback Writer," "Rock and Roll Music", in a voice which could be identified with the lips of the performers on stage. 

    This was all the vast majority of participants and the tribal rite required. Tributes, cigarette butts, paper balls, popcorn bags, and possibly a jelly bean or two landed on the stage with one narrow miss on a Beatle's head; favored with a notice, young admirers in the front rows sobbed their gratitude. Farther back in the audience, the merest wave in any direction set off renewed waves of adulation. Affected girls bobbed up like popping corn, only to be motioned to their seats by one of the 200 Andy Frain ushers holding flashlights.

     The quartet, smartly dressed in green, went on with the show even when the amplifier, overloaded with screams, gave out, leaving Ringo Starr's drum solo practically unaccompanied. John Lennon flashed his cheesecake smile at a photographer and tried a Hindu neck trick or two. Paul McCartney said it was "good to be back" and "thank you" to everyone. George Harrison spent much of the time getting his guitar, at least, turned on. 

    The rest of the afternoon was given over to the Remains, who worked hard keeping things moving. The Ronettes, three girls who must sing better than their amateurish presence indicates. Bobby Hebb, a razzle dazzle imitation of Sammy Davis Jr., and the Cyrcles, a pleasant boyish quartet who are not above singing four-part harmony.

     In the audience was Seiji Ozawa, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra summer conductor at Ravinia. It is just possible his ears may stop ringing before tonight's Van Cliburn reception. 

    In this observer's opinion, the Beatles have made notable contributions to folk poetry with their gentle, psychologically valid lyrics and their adventurous use of instruments that place them in a different league from the rest of a gimmick-ridden industry. As a gesture of thanks, perhaps attendance at a concert is in order. Once, though, is enough. 

    The Frain ushers were assisted by 105 policemen under the direction of Captain Leo Powers of Area Three and 200 firemen under the direction of Division Marshal Francis Murphy. Looking over the crowd of neatly dressed, well-behaved youngsters before the concert, it was hard to see the necessity for such precautions. After the banshee yell began, we understood.

     Gross take for the two concerts was reported at $136,000. The Beatles will leave early today for Detroit. Next stop on their 18-day tour, which includes Cleveland, Washington, Philadelphia, Toronto, Boston, Memphis, Cincinnati, St. Louis, New York, Seattle, and Los Angeles, winding up in San Francisco on August 29.