Jim Marshall's backstage photos

All photos taken by Jim Marshall 

 

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.

Dancing with Ringo at the Fab Four's Last Waltz

 

Ringo with the author, Naomi and Joan 

Dancing with Ringo at the Fab Four's Last Waltz

by Naomi Marcus

The San Francisco Examiner

August 11, 1991

Although I dined out on this story for years (and more than once, was accused of being a pathetic liar), I gradually forgot about it. So the memory came back nearly new and sharp when I looked at a calendar. I mentioned to a friend that this August 11[sic] will be the 25th anniversary of the day I met the Beatles and danced with Ranco at Candlestick Park. "You met the Beatles?" marveled my friend, "you never told me about it." For him and any others I may have missed, here's how it happened in 1966.

I was 10 years old, a pragmatic fifth grader.  I liked John best. I didn't hang posters or collect Beatle junk or sigh over their pictures, but I knew the words to all their songs. I loved them, but I was cool.

 I had no more thought of trying to get to their San Francisco concert from my Big Sur home than I would have of flapping my arms and flying to the moon. But that July, Joan Baez, a family friend and neighbor for several years, called me with a jolting invitation. She was traveling with the Beatles. She had a ticket for me to the Candlestick concert, and as a special treat, "you'll probably get to meet them."

 I suffered two harrowing days while my parents debated the wisdom of letting me go off on such a lunatic venture. (My father's words) I stamped my foot, raged and pleaded, and eventually convinced them. Another big deal: what do you wear when you go to meet the Beatles? I opted for paisleys (very Merry Quant), a green Paisley suit, and cherry red patent leather shoes.

 Joan's sister, Pauline, and brother-in-law, Peyton, picked me up for the drive to San Francisco. The concert was in the evening, and we arrived at Candlestick in the late afternoon. I remember an unending series of checkpoints, which began when we parked and saw a very large policeman. "You guys, the Baez party, this way, please."  Our little group was passed from checkpoint to checkpoint like a baton. "The Baez party, yes, they're expecting you." The stadium was reverberating, already nearly full, as we were led down flights and flights of steps down to the field and past the stage. Envious fans in the lower rows yelled as we were escorted past them, "Bring me back Paul's hand, "Bring me back a lock of George's hair," "Oh god, oh God, take me with you!"   I kept my eyes on the ground. I couldn't breathe.

We crossed the field, turned into the dugout, and went through an odd-shaped, low door into a maze, avoiding passageways and corridors. I felt curiouser and curiouser, like Alice.   Then," boom" around the bend into a loud, crowded room lined with cubicles, and John Lennon stood, pale and bored. He was impatiently answering a reporter's questions, holding a sneaker in one hand and banging it rhythmically against his other palm. So cool.

 Joan swept us up, gathered me to her and, circled the room, introduced me to each member of the band. I was the only kid in the place. John was surrounded but managed a wave. "Hullo." Ringo took my hand gravely and said, "How do you do?" Paul Tossed the Paul grin my way. "Are you Joan's little sister?"

 Then my eyes were two pinwheels as flash bulbs popped, I watched the choreographed ease with which the Fab Four draped themselves around every local VIP who wanted a picture taken. Then it hit me with a dull shock, "Joan," I said plaintively, "no one at school will believe me." She grabbed Ringo and a photographer, and we barely got our picture taken before it was announced that everyone had to leave so the Beatles could dress for their performances. Joan rushed me into a changing cubicle and said, "Shhhhh. We can hide here." I didn't think I could handle watching the Beatles change clothes. I mean, I was only 10. To my relief, someone found us and shooed us out.

 The press was filing out to the performance area, but we waited in another room where the guitars were set up. I sat on the edge of a long banquet table that was littered with a feast of leftovers. John's pen and ink doodles were all over the white tablecloth, and I saw some of the journalists serendipitously tearing off pieces as they left. 

Then the Beatles appeared, dressed in black suits and boots, and idly began to run through some songs. Ringo's drums weren't set up, so he came over to me and held up his hand. "Would you like one of my rings? Now, this is a nice one. It's a whistle ring." He slipped it off his finger, blew on it, and hummed pleasantly. He dropped it into my palm while his three mates strummed and sang. He took my hand and helped me jump down. We danced to one song. I racked my brain trying to remember which song, but I was dancing so hard I don't think I heard anything at all. 

Later, Joan slipped into the back room and returned with the shirt John had just been wearing. "Here, " she smiled, "another keepsake." He saw, and he winked. John Lennon was about to sing for a million hysterical people, and he winked at me. So, who are you? Really? Not her sister? Now? Are you?"

Presently, they slung their guitars over their shoulders, and we all were escorted through the maze toward the stage. I watched Ringo, my new favorite, make a wrong turn and head away from our procession. I uttered my one word for the night," Hey...," and he turned around, grinning sheepishly. They looked like a chain gang as they trudged single file along the corridor, adjusting guitar straps and jacket cuffs. Just going to work. It seemed sad and tedious, another stop on their long and winding road. But as it turned out, it was the end of the journey. After the Candlestick show, The Beatles never performed together on stage. 

When we emerged onto the field, the band clambered up the stairs and hit the stage running. We positioned ourselves below them, leaning against the platform on which the stage was built, spotlights dipped and whizzed around. People were leaping from their seats, rushing the stage like kamikaze pilots, and bulky policemen were thudding into them and carting them off. It was a great spectacle. The music began drowning and deafening me. The rhythm was all over us. Cake boxes with whole cakes in them landed near us, followed by stuffed animals, candy, and jelly beans. Joan held me and shielded me with her arms. "Oh my god." I remember her saying, "Your father's going to kill me!"

 Two hours passed in a roar. I don't remember how we left the stadium or how I got in the car. I remember falling asleep in Joan's perfumed lap with John Lennon's sweaty shirt tucked around me as we sailed down 101 in her cozy black Jaguar, going home.