I sneaked into the N.Y. Teen Conference

Here is one of those "Girls who met the Beatles" stories that were often published in Datebook magazine.  This one is from 1966 and was written by Paula Reiner who at the time was 16 years old and was from Brooklyn New York.   Basically Paula lied to get herself into the teen press conference.  I have read for years that the Beatles enjoyed this press conference because the questions that were asked by the fans were must better than the ones typcially asked by reporters.   I have heard bits and pieces of this press conference, but I had never read or heard most of these questions.  I have to agree, most of the questions were about the Beatles music and such and not about their hair.   I also find it interesting that when asked the Jane Asher question, Paul states that he will probably marry her that year.   When asked this question other times during the tour, he would answer no.  I wonder if Paul had intentions of marrying Jane and did not what to lie in person to the fans?   Hmmm...Interesting press conference for sure!

I sneaked into the Beatles Junior Press Conference in New York!  This is how I did it.  By some kind of fate, I talked police officers into letting me stand in line with the fans that had invitations to the conference, even though I didn’t have one myself.  As the line moved to the final checkpoint, I found that the officers there wouldn’t’ let me through.  I was told to go across the street and two blocks away from the hotel but I waited by the final checkpoint hoping for something to develop – and it did!

Just before the conference was about to begin, a group of ten girls walked over to the officer in change and demanded entrance to the conference.  These girls had letters notifying them they had won invitations which had to be picked up before the conference at the Beatles USA Ltd.  They didn’t know where this was and therefore had only the letters which weren’t supposed to be used for admission to the conference.

Finally, one of the officers went into the hotel to ask the Beatles fan club people what to do about the girls.  Realizing that all the invitations had not been picked up, they told the officers to let the girls in.  The officer in charge told the ten girls to line up and follow him into the hotel.  Instead of taking ten girls, he took eleven.  I was the extra girl!

While climbing the stairs to the conference room, I made friends with one of the girls who had a letter.  I told her to do me a favor by swearing to anyone who stopped me upstairs that I had given my letter to the officer.  We got upstairs and I was stopped.  We told the guard he was crazy and that I had given him the letter.

So after all that maneuvering, I finally entered the press conference.  The rest of my story follows.  As all of the fans impatiently waited for the press conference to begin, they were introduced to Brian Epstein, Neil Aspinall and the Cyrkle.  Finally the Beatles entered, screams filled the air and when we were quieted down, the questioning began.  Here are the highlights:

Q:  George, I’ve heard that your ambition is to design your own guitar.  Did you ever start to design the Harrison guitar?

G:  No actually, I never said that, it must have been somebody else.

Q: John, did you start to write your third book yet?

J:  Yes, but I’ve only finished about 20 pages.

Q:  Ringo, who sings the background in Yellow Submarine?

R:  John

Q:  Ringo, do you recognize this leaf?

R:  No.

Q:  It’s from your front yard.

R:  It is?

P:  It’s mine, I recognize it.

Q:  Why don’t you make the same “Help” and “Hard Day’s Night” movies in the United States as you do I England?

G:  It’s United Artists that’s cutting the pieces out of it, it’s not us.  Anything like that has nothing to do with us.  Other people do that, cut it, we just make it.

Q:  Have you seen the Beatles’ cartoon show?

R:  Yes.

Q:  What do you think of it?

R:  It’s okay.

Q:  do you think it’s a good portrayal of your characters?

P:  It’s not really like an artist produced it.  It’s fun really.

Q:  Paul do you like chocolate candy?

P:  Yes please.

Q:  Is this press conference your own idea?

Beatles:  It’s ours.

R:  Everybody’s having a good time.

Q:  Paul, do you think girls in England are better than girls in America?

P:  Oh no, no, no.  This thing is girls are the same everywhere; it’s that there are differences but that doesn’t make girls in England better.

Q:  How do you decide who’s going to sing lead on any of your songs?

J:  Whoever knows most of the words.

Q:  Ringo, where do you get all of your rings?

R:  People buy them for me.

Q:  How do you get an inspiration for any of your songs?

J:  Like this (he makes a face).

Q: Ringo what kind of clothes do you like to wear?

R:  Oh, I just like any style as long as they keep me warm.

Q:  I’ve heard Jane Asher is engaged to her producer, is she?

P:  Well if she is, I don’t know about it.

Q:  Paul McCartney, are you going to marry Jane Asher this year?  (Somebody cried out “oh no!” then there was a long pause)

P:  probably.

Q:  Paul when is the whole group going to make their next picture?

P:  The next picture, we’ll probably make it early next year.  At the moment the man’s writing and it depends on the script when we make it.

Q:  John, is it true that you went around London in a gorilla suit?

J:  No, that was a film called Morgan.  I’ve got a gorilla suit which I’ve worn about twice to frighten people and it’s too hot

Q:  Do you mean all the lyrics you write or are they  just funny?

P:  We mean them as lyrics, but when we write “We all live in a Yellow Submarine” we don’t reallyl mean that.

Q:  Is Eleanor Rigby cryptic, has it got a hidden meaning?

P:  Sorry?

Q:  Is Eleanor Rigby cryptic?

J:  Not if she can help it.

P:  No, it’s just a straight song.

J:  There ain’t no hidden meaning, baby.

Q:  Being in a group of four people and becoming famous so young, how do you manage to evolve as separate personalities?

J:  It’s easy.

G:  The main thing is, it’s true that we’re a group and, sort of, four people together with an image but we don’t believe that, we don’t take that bit of us too seriously.  We’re still individuals.

Q:  Paul do you think Keith Allison looks a lot like you?

P:  I don’t think so, but I’ve only seen pictures of him, I’ve never met him.

Q:  Paul, who is Eleanor Rigby?  I read that she’s a real person.  Who is she?

P:   It’s just a name, it was either going to be Daisy Hawkins or her.

Q:  In the beginning of your album, before Taxman, there’s all squeeking and noise, did you make another goof?

G:  That’s a bit before we recorded it that happened to be on the tape.

J:  That’s what usually gets cut off because none of you like to hear it.

Q:  Who is your favorite American group?

P:  There are quite a few of them.  The Beach Boys, The  Lovin’ Spoonful, The Byrds, The Mamas and Papas.

The end of the press conference was announced and John was presented with a gold guitar.  During the presentation, I made my way to the platform where Paul was seated.  I was stopped, just before I could reach Paul, but a duty-conscious guard, who grabbed me by the neck and tried to drag me out of the room.  While struggling with the guard, I begged Paul to let me have his cigarette butt, which a hotel waiter was about to empty into the trash.  He looked at me with doubt.

“You’re only going to throw it away, why can’t I have it to remember you by?”  I pleaded.  Upon hearing this, Paul reached into the ash tray and handed the cigarette butt to the waiter, who, in turn, handed it to me.  With on hand I firmly grasped the cigarette butt and with the other hand I managed to touch Paul’s hand for a few moments.

The cigarette butt is now placed, safely, in a plastic vial to constantly remind me of Paul and my most treasured moments.

Another installment of Girls who met the Beatles

Here is another one of those funny stories written by a teenager in the 1960's shortly after she used her Datebook magazine credentials to get into a Beatles press conference. This one actually clears up a small mystery to me. I have often wondered about the photograph of Paul in Minneapolis during the press conference posing with a cigar. Now I know the story of why! I found it hilarious that this fan gave George a little red hotel from a Monopoly game. And his reaction is too funny! This story was written in 1965 by Dalana Bolander. She was 17 years old at the time and was living in Yorktown, Indiana. After a little research, I discovered that the press conference she attended was the Minneapolis 1965 one (the one where George is presented with a guitar)

Suddenly flashbulbs began to pop and the air immediately became beautiful. For the Beatles were making their way into the room.

I stood inches away from the front row. One man in front of me must have realized the anguish in my heart for he put his arm around my waist and pushed me in front of him. I patted his shoulder and said, “Oh thank you. I just luv you.” He smiled.

Ringo was right in front of me, as was John. Next to John was beautiful Paul McCartney, then George Harrison, last to sit down. I forgot all about the camera in my hands; I just sat staring at them for a few moments.

I’d collected a gift for each Beatle, never thinking I’d really ever get the chance to give it to them. Ringo looked down at me and I said, “Congratulations to you and Maureen.” (I dreamt of saying that so I had to say it). He smiled and said, “Thank you.” His voice was deep.

Next, John. I yelled to him, “John, I think your wife is just beautiful!” His face beamed with pride and he said back with a grin, “Thank you.”

The boy I love more than anyone in this world sat an arm’s reach away from me and I didn’t know what to say. Finally I took an envelope holding a huge souvenir cigar from under my arm and handed it up to Paul. I said, “Here Paul this is for you.” He opened one corner of the blue envelope after reading the writing on the front that said, “To Paul, Love Dalana.” He smiled sweetly when he read that. He pulled out the huge cigar, his mouth dropped. John looked at it and said in a low, husky voice, “Oh! A cigar!” All four kept saying over and over “Oh, a cigar!”

I was so proud! Paul put the cigar in his mouth and immediately photographers went crazy, for here was a center of attention. Everyone began yelling at Paul, “Hold up the cigar Paul! Put it in your mouth!” He did exactly what the cameramen wanted. I wanted to appear sophisticated as possible and not just some other screamy Beatlemaniac (which I am) but at one moment I could not help but show all the pride I had for Paul holding my cigar. My lips were pressed hard together and my eyes on the verge of closing on ecstasy. Paul looked down at me! I straightened up right away, but I knew he saw how very good I felt.

I asked Ringo if I could shake his hand. He looked at me blankly then extended his hand to me. Talk about a heart stopping!

I’d written a poem and a short letter for John, I took it from under my arm, got John’s attention easily for he was so close, then said, “Here John. This is for you.” He took the paper from my hand and quickly put it in his pocket, then looked defiantly at anyone who might question what it was. ( I think he thought it was some mushy love letter or something).

Knowing that George was a champion Monopoly player, I had brought a small red hotel along with me. I reached up to George “This is for you.” He looked at my hand and then asked after a long pause, “What is it?” I said, “I know you are a Monopoly player and I thought you might like this.” For a minute I thought he wasn’t going to take it, but finally he bent over and took the small item from my hand, stared at it, while John broke his neck to see what it was. “Oh! A hotel! Ho!” Then as before the other Beatles had done before, they all chanted in, “Oh a hotel!”

If you remember in Help! Paul turned into a Tom Thumb sized boy, and had the Spearmint gum wrapper around him. Well, I had bought a pack of Spearmint gum for Paul. I told Paul, “Paul, this is for you too.” He took the gum from my hand and I said again, “I saw Help! the other day, and I thought you might like this.” He laughed and laughed , then put the gum away.

After a few moments, Paul bent across the table and said about his cigar, “I don’t smoke these, ya know?”

I asked John if I could shake his hand . All of the microphones and equipment were in our way. Somehow I moved my hand above all of the stuff and reached John’s hand, but not before my hand collided with a small microphone. I knocked it over. Ringo made a face, then straighten up the microphone and said, “Hey we don’t want to knock down all this equipment here!” John coldly stared at Ringo, and then hit him on the shoulder, saying jokingly “That’s no way to talk to the girl, Ringo!” Ringo with his usual sad-eyed expression, looked at me, then John, then down to the table. He looked so cute, I felt sorry for him, even though John was only goofing around.

Ringo was chewing gum and blowing huge bubbles throughout the entire conference. But whenever a cameraman would ask Ringo to blow a bubble for a picture, Ringo would shake his head and say, “We’re not allowed to.” John has the most sarcastic expression on his face at all times, but this makes him all the more strongly handsome!

I shook Paul’s hand without any problem or embarrassing incidents, but George posed a problem. He stood above Paul, and I asked if he’d shake my hand. He looked at me as if someone had painted my face green or something. He put his hand out finally, then changed his mind, then put it up again and shook my hand. He sure is a weird, but funny man! He scared me because I thought he wasn’t going to shake my hand.

Whenever anything goes on, John is always looking to see exactly what is happening. Paul is very sweet, considerate, good-looking and single! I love him. Ringo is funny and is always saying funny things. He smoked more than the others and seemed to find pleasure in blowing smoke rings. George has the creamiest skin in the world. He’s thin but not exceedingly so. He’s really tuff!

All these things happened within 7 minutes.

I sauntered back to my front row seat and began telling this one girl what had happened to me while I was up front. She seemed interested in something else so I just made a face at her and sat down.

I spied on the Beatles in London (part 2)

"side view of John's house."


"front view of Ringo's house":



"In front of Paul's house"



"Jane Asher's house. Paul sometimes stays on the second floor over to the left."

"George's house"

"Me holding George's cat, Corky"

"Me in front of Sibylla's--George's club. I'm standing where Paul stood the night we stared at each other."

I never got around to posting the other part of the article Carol Bedford wrote for Datebook about her 1966 trip to London. It was published in the September 1967 issue.

I went to England last summer with my Mom and my brother, Billy. We stayed two wonderful weeks in London. The first week we went to the historical sights. The second week was all mine! Guess what I did!

First I went to Paul's house because he is my favorite. I saw two girls standing under a tree. As I got out of the taxi, the two girls told me that they had thought I was Jane Asher! I couldn't have been there for more than two minutes when Mr. Kelly, Paul's gardener, came out screaming and waving a hoe at me. He said that Paul had just come in at 3 a.m. and needed rest. I looked up to see the curtains being rustled on the middle window of the second floor. Mrs. Kelly came out, and when asked if Paul and Jane were married, she answered, "No, of course not! That's a bunch of rubbish!"

Neil Aspinall drove up and went into the house. As he was coming out, one of the girls asked, "Did you touch Paul today?" "No, luv, not today," he said.

That night, my brother and I decided to go to Sibylia's, George Harrison's club. Billy and I walked down the stairs that wind around. We saw, over to the left, two coat-check girls. Billy asked them if we could speak to the manager. A tall, good-looking young man dressed in black slacks and a red/white striped shirt came over. After convincing him that we really wanted to see the club, and after paying a cover charge, we followed him to a table right in front of the dance floor. Everything was blue -- blue lights, blue rugs, blue walls, blue ceilings, blue tables, and even blue ashtrays.

At 12 o'clock, I saw Jane Asher and Paul McCartney walk in! I nearly died! She wore a brown striped suit and her hair was almost down to her waist. Paul wore tight, black slacks and a white shirt without a tie. His coat was open. They sat down opposite us, across the room. Jane sat smiling as Paul talked to her.

The young manager who had spoken to us earlier went over and asked Paul to join him and his girlfriend a their table. Paul and Jane got up and went to sit with them.

At about 1 or 2, Billy hit me in the ribs with his elbow -- Jane was walking out and Paul was coming behind her. An old woman stopped him at the door to introduce him to her daughter, who wasn't even interested! Paul was smiling, laughing and shaking hands with all the people standing around. I could tell he wanted to catch up to Jane. He gently pushed past the people and walked out. I was about ready to faint!

Wednesday night we came back to the club. WE sat there until 3 a.m. I told Billy that I would go and get a taxi while Billy went to the rest room. I went outside and told the doorman to get me a taxi.

I saw a blue, compact station wagon drive up. A man got out of the driver's side and I realized it was Mal Evans! The doorman walked over to the passenger's seat and said, "Oh Mr. McCartney, how are you tonight?" Paul got out of the car saying, "Oh you know how it is. Nothing going on, so I decided to come here." I could have fainted! I didn't' know what to do, so I just stood there. Mal and the doorman drove the car off to park it. Paul stood beside me, about 4 feet away! We were the only people on the entire street!

I stood paralyzed and looked straight ahead. I decided to look at Paul because I didn't know how long it might be before I would ever see him again. I turned my head to find that he was looking straight at me!

I didn't know what to do! I couldn't speak! If you've ever loved the Beatles, you'll know how I felt. I just stood there looking into his face. I took a step toward him and he said something to me! I Was too numb and scared to ask him what he had said.

Mal joined him and they walked into the club. I was just about to faint when Billy came out and said that he just bumped into two guys as he was coming up the stairs. Billy and I immediately went back into the club. I could not find Paul anywhere. I went into the rest room to try and calm myself. As I came out, Paul brushed past me and walked up the stairs. That was the last I saw of him!

Invastion of the Beatles Hideaway!

I have for you all yet another fan story from the January 1967 Teen Datebook magazine (which is the best $5 I have spent in a long time). This tells about a teenager named Carol Decoteau, from Los Angeles, California who invaded the Beatles California get-a-way home in L.A. during the 1966 American Tour.

I invaded the secret, Beatles' hideaway in the Hollywood Hills! It all began when I walked to the bus stop to go to Dodger Stadium. There I met Jane Hunt, an attractive 17-year-old, and together we became involved in one of the most exciting raids in our lives.

Before the bus arrived at the stadium, I had learned that Jane knew where the Beatles were staying in Hollywood. So, we decided that after the concert we would journey to the mansion, where the Beatles were hanging out. Jane and I weren't able to sit together at the concert, but we agreed to meet afterwards near a palm tree.

The Beatles concert was the first I had ever attended, and I will never forget it. I had never screamed so much in my whole life. All around me girls were screaming, and when I noticed that some were crying, I started laughing, but promptly stopped when someone hit me on my head with a heavy purse. I enjoyed the concert very much and was sad when it ended at 10 o'clock.

Jane and I met as planned. It took us nearly two hours to get to Hollywood because the traffic was so heavy. Our escapade began when we arrived at Curson Street. There were so many teenagers and police, we had to detour through other streets. All the streets leading up to the house on the hill where the Fab Four were staying were blocked. Few people were allowed to pass through. Fortunately Jane knew someone who lived nearby, so we told everyone we weren't looking for the Beatles, just going home.

We went to her friend's home and climbed the hedge. I tried to climb another hedge, but a man popped his head out of a window and yelled to me to get my ---- off of the hedge. Boy! Did I move!

I jumped off the hedge and ran down the sidewalk as fast as my legs could carry me, to a corner cluttered with Beatlemaniacs and policemen. The policemen wouldn't permit anyone to walk or drive up the street leading to the Beatles' mansion. I pondered for a few minutes then decided that I had no choice but to go back and climb the hedge if I wanted to see the Beatles. Nothing and no one was going to stop me, so I went back. I found Jane and together we jumped hedges, ran across peoples' yards, hid behind twigs, bushes and trees when cars went by. Soon we met some other Beatle fans and we all slithered through the bushes across lawns, and climbed hills.

WE finally found ourselves below THE house! How were we going to get to see the Beatles? All this time, we were hiding behind bushes as police cars drove by. Finally, we started to climb the high hill. We made it clear to the top, but were promptly found by a policeman who shooed us down the hill. Jane and I climbed the hill again with other fans, but the policemen met us with hoses and we were drenched through to our skin. We slid down the hill on our seats, but we vowed we wouldn't give up. By that time we were wet, dirty and muddy. We looked like a hurricane had hit us.

Then, Jane and I decided to make one last try and started to sneak up the road to the gate! To our surprise, there weren't any policemen guarding the gate! I hid in the bushes while Jane scouted the area. When Jane realized that there weren't any police on the other side of the gate, she motioned to me and I ran over to her. We climbed over the gate and hid in the bushes.

I heard three voices talking! Someone was speaking with an English accent. "It's Paul! I just know know it's Paul." I said to myself. So I poled my head out. "Paul!" I yelled. I guess he didn't hear me and walked into the house.

Jane realized, then, who he was, and started running after him. She almost made it, but she was caught by Malcolm Evans and another policeman. I was still hiding in the bushes, but jumped out and started running. A policeman ran after me. I collided with Malcolm Evans and bounced off him.

As Jane and I were led away I happened to glance up and saw Paul standing there looking at us. I could tell by the expression on his face that he felt sorry for us. "Paul!" I yelled. There we stood all dirty and grimy. Then I felt a little ashamed and didn't want Paul to see dirty ol' me. The police shoved us out the gate, but we immediately sneaked back in and saw John at the window. A policeman saw us again and we started running. We ran all the way around the house as fast as we could. We glanced at all the windows as we raced by and saw George once, then Ringo. By this time three policemen were running behind us in a hot pursuit. "Beatles we love you!" we yelled loud enough to wake the dead. WE eluded the police and ran down the road away form the house. We didn't stop until we were two blocks away.

It was early in the morning, 6:00, so Jane and I started home. We were grimy all over. People stared at us, but we didn't care. We were deliriously happy. We had actually seen the Beatles! There were few who did what we did. I can still picture Paul standing there in the house looking down at us, his handsome face filled with concern for us, his fans. I'm sure he wanted to meet us -- but the police were just too protective.

I know that some people will say that we're a couple of silly girls who just made a nuisance of ourselves. But I don't' believe the Beatles feel that way, even though we did invade their privacy for a few moments. They know how important they are to us. They understand why we did it. You other Beatle fans out there --- you understand, too. Don't you?

Deadheads eat your heart out!

I found this article in the letters of the editor in that Jan 1967 issue of Teen Datebook. I think it is SO COOL that these fans actually followed the Beatles around during their entire 1966 North American Tour! Deadheads have been doing this for years, but I think these Beatle fans have them beat! I seriously wonder if this is the first known group of fans to actually follow a group around on a tour. Maybe not, but it is cool to think that it is. I also scanned so photos of the 1966 tour (my favorite!) from the magazine.

Some of my friends and I got a wonderful idea when we heard that the Beatles were coming. We decided to follow the Beatles on their whole American tour. We started to get part-time jobs during the school year to earn the money. And by July we had saved $320 for the tour. We bought tickets to every evening performance - that cost was exactly $75.50 apiece. And we rented a bus that cost us $110 for three weeks.

The best part of all was that in Memphis we got into the press conference. When the Beatles entered the Coliseum by bus, I ran up the bus and saw George and Paul looking out of the window at me. George pointed to my hair style - I think it was a little longer than his. I waved and they waved and smiled back. Boy, it was a great feeling to know that two great people like that were for real.

I'd say their best performance was in New York. That crowd was something. I never heard so much noise in my life. While in Los Angeles, the six of us - Dave, Jesus, Mike, Him, Bill and myself- stayed with a friend of ours. We had a gas of a time this summer and now we're back home in Chicago.

We read in the paper here that the Beatles aren't coming back to America anymore. They just have to come back! We already have jobs after school, earning money for their next tour!

You other Beatle fans - let's get together and all write the Beatles, asking them to come back. ---Gerald "Wayout" Langford, 17, Chicago, IL.

I hit Paul on the head

This is another one of those Teen Datebook magazine articles about "Girls that got to meet the boys." This one is from the January 1967 issue (which I found on ebay listed really badly for just 5 dollars!). It was written by Georgina King who was 17 at the time. She was from Dufur, Oregon.

At approximately four pm, I arrived at the Seattle Center via the monorail, just as the Beatles were swinging into the last numbers of the afternoon matinee performance. In no time at all, thousands of girls were flooding the area, looking frantically for some sign of the fabulous foursome. However, the Beatles were not leaving at all, but were downstairs dressing for a six o'clock press conference, quite unconcerned about all the adoration being displayed on their behalf. I was supposed to be admitted to the press conference at six - this being the case, I decided to hang around the stage door.

However, by the time six o'clock came, I was not alone. About 75 camera-laden reporters had dropped by to keep the stage door company. Most of the crowd was made up of teenagers who had been guaranteed entry months in advance. All were busily chatting and laughing among themselves when a man in a white coat came outside and told us that The Beatles request, on half of us, and those under 18 would have to disperse. I don't think any of us could really believe it! No one made any move to protest this gross wrong, because we were too shocked to believe it. I left the stage door feeling a little chilly, and also feeling waves of doubt hitting me. Were the Beatles still the ones I had loved before?

AT 7:15, I met my cousins at the west entrance, and we went into the Coliseum. As we looked for our seats, I realized with a good deal of dismay that our seats were going to be so far away that I would be lucky if I even HEARD the boys, must less saw them. I walked up to the second level, and looked anxiously through this entrance and that one, until I found myself right in the seats behind the bandstand. An usher walked up to me and asked me what I Was doing there. I proceeded to spin a terribly convincing yarn about my ticket being blurred, and that I had no idea where my seat was. Just at that moment another of those men in the white coats entered the conversation, and told the usher I could sit anywhere I pleased as long as n one else was sitting there. I found myself a nice place in the second balcony, and watched the show until about halfway through Bobby Hebb's act.

"You'll have to move," said the usher. He directed me through this aisle and that one, and finally seated me about 40 feet closer to the bandstand. This time my seat lasted until about halfway through the Cyrkle's act. The hard-working usher was getting very tired of trying to find me a seat, so he put me where NO ONE could take my seat. I was put into the elite section amongst employees' children and the children of city officials. From this seat, I could easily converse with performers on the bandstand. And by leaning over the railings a few inches, I could easily see performers in the backstage area.

At long last, the Ronettes finished their act. All of the kids in my section rose from their seats, to get a better look at what was coming off backstage. I nearly fell from my bracing when I saw Ringo set his bass drum out in the hall for the program. Then all at once, The Beatles ran up to the stage, only three feet away from me! Paul turned to his amplifier to adjust the controls.

With my heart pounding in my ears, I reached into my purse, and grabbed the heaviest object I could find. I drew back my arm, and flung my powder case at Paul, hoping it would land on the floor near him and catch his attention. I was totally unprepared for what it did do. The heavy compact flew through the air and hit Paul squarely on the side of his head! He jumped back, put his hand to his temple, and then kicked angrily at the compact on the floor. It flew across the stage and hit John's leg. Paul turned to look in the direction from whence the blow had rained and found himself looking squarely into my face!

His eyes became very wide, then very narrow, and a surprised smile began to play around his lips. "Oh, you!" he shouted. Then he began to prance around the amplifier fiddling with the knobs, all the time looking at me and shouting, "It HAD to be you!" Paul ran to the mike and poked George in the ribs. Paul mouthed something to George and then pointed at me quite openly.

They began their first song. The show progressed. At the end of each number, Paul and George would come and chat with the kids in our section. Each time, Paul would turn to me and start to say something but each time, John would jerk him back, and they would start another song. During the songs, I carried on a lively argument with a Coliseum official about how unfair it had been to refuse me entrance into the press conference.

"Rock and Roll Music" came to a halt. Paul skipped over to our side and threw a campaign button from his lapel at our section. I caught it in my hands, but it slipped from my grasp and some vulgar boy snatched it and wouldn't give it back. I looked down at Paul who looked at John, who would not look at anyone. Paul shrugged his shoulders, and went to sing "Yesterday."

That is one song that has the power to make me either very happy or very sad. Up until that moment, I had not screamed for cried at all, but the sight of Paul singing that song tore my feelings all to pieces. I believe I cried harder then, than I have ever cried in my life. At the end of the number, I found myself leaning clear over the railings with my arms outstretched to reach the stage. Paul looked at me, and then began shaking his head vigorously. But still, he was putting his own hands out as if to catch me. I stretched my fingertips as far as I could and my fingertips were only inches from his. All of a sudden he laughed with malicious glee, and dropped his hands to his sides.

Then Paul dripped to his knees, and began to converse with that Coliseum official on the floor below. He got back up and went to the mike to announce "I Wanna be Your Man."

I slipped a ring off my finger and made ready to toss it. A guard below looked up at me and mouthed a silent "no." I put the ring halfway back on my finger, and he turned away. Just then, a girl hurled an entire camera (a very large one I might add) onto the stage, and it landed with a tremendous crash near Ringo. I tossed my ring at Paul and it landed in a heap of jelly babies. Not more than two minutes later, a guard dragged the camera thrower away, and not more than three minutes later, a guard AND an usher clamped their hands on me. Oh no, I thought, I am really in for it. And all I did was throw a wee little ring.

"We've been watching you," said one.

"Why? What did I do?" said I.

"Now you're going to see what happens to little girls who complain about not getting into press conferences," he replied.

All at once, I realized that I was not going to a paddy wagon, but that I Was going backstage. They sat me in a cozy little exit room, and told me to be nice. Without five minutes, several other bewildered kids were hauled in. Needless to say, I was getting nervous. The door flew open wide, once more.

Mr. Paul McCartney literally blew in, and stood stock still! Then he ran over to me, fell on his knees, and began shouting, "Please don't hit me!" All of a sudden, he stopped, got up and sat down.

John came in, and right then I knew that he was going to be no different than he was last year. He had the same, "I'm lots better than you are" look again, and everyone got a little less sure of themselves. He walked over to the exit door and waited for somebody to let him out. George, dropped on a sofa for a moment and then walk to talk to another fan, while he examined his face in a nearby mirror, George, unlike the other three did not have on boots, but wore black leather loafers.

I couldn't see Ringo, so I extended my hand to Paul, who was still sitting quietly beside me. He looked at me as though my face was on backwards, but he picked it up and held it tightly. "How's things?" he said.

"Fine, do you remember me? I met you last year and wrote about it in Datebook."

"Umhum. Oh, you're the one who didn't like John, and you wrote nice things about me, and your editor is a nice guy."

"Do you fellows ever read Datebook, or do the editors just say you do?"

"We have read every issue for two years. I read your story, and I think John framed it or something. He thought it was really a giggle. He says he thinks you are really a great comedy writer. We were going to write you a poison pen letter, but I liked what you said about me."

"What did I say?"

"Well, you said I was like the boy next door. I'll bet you have wonderful boys in your neighborhood then."

"Yes. How about a kiss?" I asked brazenly.

He frowned and then said "Shame on you!" He gave my hand a squeeze, kissed my cheek quickly and then got up and ran to the exit, where the other three were assembled.

About ten minutes later, a laundry truck rolled around to the exit. The Beatles climbed into the back of it, and were whisked off to rendezvous with their limousine, miles out of Seattle, and miles from their fans.