Let's walk and talk

Give my Regards Inverview

The Fun Club

Paul is talking with a few lucky Fun Club members that were chosed to meet Paul at his hotel suite while Paul was promoting "Give my regards to Broadstreet." 

The promotion circut

Broadstreet Baby

They're gonna put me in the movies

Meeting Paul in the Windy City

Here is a good story about a fan who did not win the contest to meet Paul during the "Broadstreet" promoting, but did have several meetings with him that day.    It comes from the Feb/March 1985 issue of the Write Thing and was written by Mike Matela.




It was a rainy and windy night in Chicago.  I arrived at the Ambassador East about 10pm and saw a few people sitting out in front holding signs and pictures of Paul McCartney.  I tried sneaking up, but I took one step off the elevator and was informed to please go back down, that's when I knew for sure hew as there.  So the wait started.  I lasted until one in the morning and went home dejected.  I set my clock for five am because I heard he'd been jogging the other day.  October 19, 1984, five o'clock came and jumped out of bed and headed back downtown Chicago.  A 25 minute  ride took fifteen minutes.  I was flying!    When I got there the same devoted girls were still there from last night.  I have to give them a lot of credit.  And the wait continued and it got colder and colder and much more windy.  We all stood by the entrance hoping to get a glimpse of Paul.  Then the next thing you know a voice comes out saying, "excuse me, I'm running late."  It was Paul!  He was coming in from jogging by himself.  Everyone there was shocked.  While we were looking for him to come out, he must have run right by us.  Luckily I somehow managed to take a slightly out of focus shot.  That sneak!  After that meeting my adrenaline was so high, I knew there was no way I was leaving.

Three limos pulled up about 9am, and people began to sense something  was going to happen.  About 9:15 he came out with Linda beside him.  Before you knew it, he was surrounded by people.  Luckily I got to take a couple of shots.  After he hopped into his limo another Beatle fan I'd met named Rich asked me if I wanted to hop into his car and follow him to the Ritz Carlton and of course I said yes.  We actually blew two red lights on Michigan Avenue, trying to keep up wit Paul.  We got there in time to catch him coming out of his limo.  We then found out he wouldn't be out for about three hours.  So I went to get some more film.  Later I found out that ten of my best pictures didn't come out because I trusted the lady there to load my camera.  Later on, back at the hotel we found out he was having lunch on the 12th floor and we shot up there and sat around.  And before you know it, he popped up, walking right toward us.  He came over and said hi, hugged the girl I was with (they died!) and then let me take those 10 pictures I was talking about.  Then he said he had to run because he had an interview with Gene Siskel.  Believe me, it was all too good to be true.

I got to meet him one more time about an hour later, which proved to be the highlight of the day.  He came out wit h the press and I caught up to him and asked him for an autograph.  He said "sure."  I shook his hand and said, "thanks for everything Mr. McCartney."  And that was it.  I'm still to the moment on cloud nine!


Side note from Sara:    The interview with Siskel was where Paul asked Siskel what he thought of the film and Gene admitted that he thought the whole thing was terrible.    It was reported that Paul was VERY mad at this and was close to throwing a glass of Orange Juice at Gene Siskel!      

Encounter with Paul

Encounters
Written by Keith Denemark
From the Fab/March 1985 issue of "The Write Thing"


My meeting with Paul and Linda McCartney all started when I received a phone call from New York on October 12, 1984.   The phone call was from a representative of Roger & Cowan's International Relationship Consultants.  I was told that I was selected through Paul's Club Sandwich mailing list to meet Paul when he comes to Chicago.

October 17th, I received another call from Roger & Cowan.  I was told to meet Paul tomorrow afternoon at the Ritz Carlton at 160 E. Pearson, 12th floor at 1:15.

October 18th I arrived at the hotel at 12:55.  Waiting on the main floor with Gwyn Ashley.  she was another person who was picked to meet Paul .   At 1:15, Gwyn and I went up to the 12th floor.  Couple of minutes later, Linda was walking towards us.  I removed my copy of "Linda's pictures" from the bag.  After she signed it, we had to wait about five minutes.  During that time, I was talking to Denis Golden and Gloria Rossi.  Five minutes past, the representative of Roger & Cowan brought us up to Paul's room.  Getting off on the 28th floor we walked to room 2819.  Walking into the room, Paul was not to be found.  Then Paul entered.  First he started shaking our hands.  Then he said, "why don't you all sit down on the couch next to me and tell me what's new."  I started taking pictures of Paul and Paul with the other fans.  then I was sitting next to him.  I gave him a drawing of Rupert the Bear and him, and he also signed some albums for me.  I had some pictures taken with Paul.  and then there was a photo session for the Club Sandwich.  After that photo session, I had my picture taken with Linda, too.

A fan who happens to be a journalist meet Paul

I have often thought that if you worked for a newspaper or magazine or if you were a photographer, then you would have a better chance of meeting one of the Beatles than if you were say an elementary school teacher (cough cough).   But what if the big moment comes and you have to play it cool, like you are a super geeky Beatles fan?   That is the predicament journalist David Gritten found himself in during Paul's Broadstreet media blitz in 1984. 

I found this article in the January 1985 issue of With a little help from my friends.  It is reprinted from the January 20, 1985 edition of "Newsday" and interestingly enough Lizzie Bravo is the person that submitted it to WALHFMF, so she is the person to thank for having this story! 

A photo taken during one of Paul's many interviews

Fan taken photo of Paul before or after a day of interviews

Meeting Paul McCartney

By David Gritten

From the January 20, 1985 edition of “Newsday”

Seated on a sofa outside the Polo Lounge at the Beverly hills hotel, I watched the rich and famous come and go and tried in vain to look as casual and languid as everyone around me.  Inside, thought, a tourniquet of anxiety was tightening somewhere in the region of my solar plexus – in about 10 minutes, I would arise and take an elevator to an upstairs suite, where Paul McCartney was awaiting me.  I would interview him for an hour or so, and in the spirit of the artificial nature of these meetings, we would be polite, urbane, witty and quotable – rather like two civilized friends enjoying quality conversation.

This is how celebrity interviews go, all things being equal.  I’ve done hundred.  But McCartney was to by my first Beatle, and that explained my impending anxiety attack – I knew that with a curt word, a dismissive gesture, he could crush me.   The tourniquet tightened further.  Could I last the hour without saying something so utterly stupid that he’d shoot a derisive glance from under those big, hooded eyes and mentally dismiss me from his world forever?

Clearly, this was no reasonable state of mind for a sane man of 36 to be in.  But if you’re 36 or thereabouts, and grew up with the Beatles, you’ll understand why actually meeting one might reduce you to such a state.  For knowing kids of my age, the Beatles’ songs proved an ever-present soundtrack to the movie of our adolescence.  Any one of us can probably affix a pivotal teenage memory to a dozen of their songs.  For me, “all my Loving” immediately evokes an awkward, fumbling first kiss:  “don’t bother me” brings back the tentative donning of a back polo-neck sweater, as worn by the Fab four themselves.

Of course, the songs became more than standard teen-drama fantasies.  “Help!” was an anthem for every alienated kid who felt sensitive, unique and misunderstood:  “Happiness is a warm gun” seems like a savagely ironic anti-war, anti-establishment statement which heightened our political awareness.  They were even more:  In Britain, especially, the Beatles told a generation of kids it was okay to be working class, strident, confident and cheeky.  They blew away the sense of life having to be secure, predictable and dull that prevailed in the 1950s and literally liberated us from the limits of our expectations.  The Beatles told us that, indeed, the British Empire was sinking beneath the waves of historical progress and that was no reason not to have fun. 

I’d been aware of Paul McCartney since I was a 14 year old schoolboy back in Britain, and I’d watched fascinated as the Beatles stormed my country, then the world. Of the four, I’d particularly identified with Paul.  I was a little baby faced too.  Left-handed like him, I’d mimed playing bass McCartney style with a broom handle in front of my bedroom mirror, lip synching such songs as “I saw her Standing There” until I was word perfect. 

His penchant for collarless Cardin jackets and boots with Cuban heels had impressed me, and I slavishly followed suit when he abruptly dropped them form his wardrobe.  My home became a war zone as, to my parents’ horror, Paul’s hair hit earlobe length, and then almost should length, and mine vainly tried to keep pace.  I casually scoured the high schools of my native Birmingham for a cool auburn beauty to compare with Paul’s girlfriend, Jane Asher.  I’d been puzzled when he ditched Jane, defensive when he made his silly pilgrimage to see the Maharishi, and taken aback (though still supportive) when he admitted taking acid.  Over a seven year period, I listened over and over to every Beatle record, saw their movies, bought their merchandise and absorbed trivia about them.  Oh yes, Paul McCartney and I go back a long way. 

I confided none of this to the woman next to me on the sofa outside the Polo Lounge.  She was Anne Knudsen, a colleague and photographer who was there to shoot pictures of Paul for my story.  I figured strongly that Anne, who was in her late 20s, might just be a little young to grasp fully the import of this occasion.   There was something I wanted to broach to her, but today she seemed a tad subdued, in contrast to her normally, effervescent personality.

“You know,” she said suddenly, “this is probably the most famous person we’ll ever meet.”  She grinned disarmingly.   “Have you been thinking that?”

I decided to take my chances with her.  “Look,” I said, “while McCartney and I are talking, do you think you could, ummm….”

“Shoot some pictures of the two of you together?”

“Well…”

“For a souvenir?”

“You don’t think it’s unprofessional?”

“Hell no!” said Anne cheerily.  “I intend to ask him for his autograph.  And I’ve NEVER done that.  But this is Paul McCartney, isn’t it?”

She rummaged around in her camera bag, and pulled out a slip of white paper.  It was the assignment slip I’d written for the photo department to request that I photographer should accompany me.  In the section where you dash off a few notes for the photographer’s guidance, I’d written, “PAUL McCARTNEY- He’s an obscure English pop singer, but we think he may have a future.”

“Think he’ll sign that?” said Anne.  “Maybe I’ll ask after we’re through, right?”

And so we trudged upstairs to meet McCartney.  Ours was not the only interview that day – we were actually sandwiched in between two others – but that didn’t detract from the occasion.  He greeted us warmly, immediately asked what part of the old country I was from, and to my delight, did a more than passable version of a Birmingham accent.

McCartney was dressed in black trousers and a short-sleeved shirt with green and black checks.  He looked cool, tan and relaxed.  His hair was modishly short, and his sideburns now nonexistent, which made him look younger than his 42 years.  Creases around his eyes were heavier than I’d expected, but his ingenuous grin and his wide-eyed gaze conspired to make him look as boyish as in his prime.

I’d actually said hello to him two night previously, surrounded by perhaps 800 people – an appallingly crowded press reception in a Beverly Hills restaurant.  “Say hello to someone from the old country, then!”  I roared above the deafening gathering, “I’m interviewing you later this week!”  He smiled briefly.  “Oh yeah?  Good.  How’s it going then?”  McCartney said just before being whisked away to face more cameras.  I was convinced he’d never remember me.  Wrong. 

“Ah, my English friend,” he said, extending a hand as we strolled into the suite.  “I was wondering when I’d catch up with you.”  This was a flattering start, and we arranged ourselves to talk on a chaise lounge.  “Could we have a cup of tea?” he asked a public relations aide.  “I mean a decent cup of tea, if that’s possible.”  And he shot me a sly, conspiratorial wink.  I asked him how he had coped with the crush of that previous night.  “Oh, I like all that kind of stuff, really,” he said airily, “I mean, it’s only like a Liverpool pub on a Saturday night, isn’t it?  Well, you know that.”   In the space of two minutes he had co-opted me into his terms of reference. 

For the next hour, we talked nonstop, and it was a warm, friendly, sometimes funny conversation.  McCartney has the habit of putting those around him at their ease -- I felt almost as if I were talking to say, a cousin who’d emigrated when I was in my teens, but with whom I shared a host of references and memories from childhood.

I think it was Derek Taylor, the erstwhile Beatles press officer, who wrote that McCartney has the knack of focusing on the people’s he’s with, turning those big, mournful eyes of his on them, and making them feel that, very sincerely, they’re the most important person in his life.  Ten minutes later, when their backs are turned, said Taylor, he’d be doing the same trick to someone else.  But I didn’t care.  Somewhere on the periphery of my consciousness I could hear the shutter of Anne’s camera clicking away.  Time stood still, and I was in heaven.

What we actually talked about in on tape, I’ve played it back, but it’s more subtext than substance that I remember.  I asked him about his new movie, “Give my Regards to Broadstreet” (which he was in Los Angeles to promote).  We talked about his family, about his taste in music, the other two surviving Beatles, about coping with fame.

Of course, I really wanted to ask him about Jane Asher and the Cuban heels and the Cardin jackets and the length of his hair and the Maharishi, but I knew enough o know such questions weren’t appropriate.  Some of his feelings about that stuff are private to him, and they’ll always be private to me, too.  Only once, I fancy, did I catch him off guard.  He was telling me how he missed John Lennon’s input when he wrote songs.  “I’d written a song called ‘Getting Better,’” he said, “and for some reason it wasn’t quite right.”  “Yes,” I said, “and then John came along and suggested the line ‘It couldn’t get much worse.’”  McCartney’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.  “How did you know that?” he said, puzzled.  “Oh,” I said,, reddening, “I must have read it somewhere, I suppose.”  I changed the subject rapidly, not wishing him to think I was some dangerous, trivia-obsessed nut.

Everything else went smoothly.  He signed Anne’s assignment slip, and laughed politely at my written wisecrack.  We all shook hands cordially and said our goodbyes breezily as though we did this regularly, and we’d meet to do it again the following week.

Anne rushed off to get her pictures printed, and to get her assignment slip framed and mounted, and I returned to the office to write my story.  It hadn’t been an average interview, that was for sure, and I felt both elated, because I’d acquitted myself well, and frustrated, because I could have sat there for six more hours.  Because I had that much to ask.  Because I felt I knew him that well.

Driving back along the palm-lined boulevards of Beverly Hills, I thought again about Derek Taylor’s rather tart putdown of Paul.  Yes, he done exactly that to me.  Yes, I’d been manipulated.  Sure, I thought Paul was a nice guy.  But then, wasn’t it just a sophisticated form of defense mechanism to protect his privacy?  Today, any minor-league starlet with a bit part in a prime-time sitcom is wont to complain she can’t go shopping without being stopped by fans.  But if you’re Paul McCartney, that loss of privacy goes deeper.  All your life, you’re meeting people about whom you know nothing, but who seem to know everything about you.  A couple of times in our interview, I’d inadvertently proved the point.

And given the fact that it must be wearing on the psyche to meet people constantly on such unequal terms of familiarity, I’d say, despite Taylor, that he handles himself with grace and wit and charm.  Still, don’t expect an objective, detached opinion about McCartney from me.  I’m just a fan.

Paul McCartney soprano!

Paul McCartney Soprano!
By Sharon Collins

Schoolboy James Albentosa stood in amazement as superstar Paul McCartney sang for him when they met on a riverside film set.

Ex-Beatle Paul's sudden burst of song came after James, 8, told him he was to sing the famous  boy soprano's aria, "Oh for the Wings of a Dove," at his school concert.

"He wished me good luck in the concert and then started singng the song himself," said James, of Old Road, Wateringbury, Kent.

"He had a super voice.  I wish I could sing like that.  We exchaned addresses and he asked me to let him know how the concert goes."

James was on his way home from school with his mother, Mrs. Susan Albentosa, and sister Melissa when they saw the film crew shooting at Teston Locks on the River Medway. 

Paul posed for photographs, signed autographs, and talked about the new film he has written called "Give my Regards to Broadstreet."

The scene filmed beside the river last Monday, involves a dream of Victorican times and Paul was dressed in Dickensian-style clothing.

The film revolves around the dreams of a character played by Paul and it also stars another ex-Beatle, Ringo Starr, and the two-men's wives.

Paul invades Chicago

I wish Paul still did things like this:  just show up in a major city and randomly pick five fans to meet him for a half hour.    Wouldn't that just be so awesome?   When did Paul get so difficult to meet?   I guess in the mid 1990's.  

This is a sweet little story of Gloria Rossi, who was one of those lucky winners from the Fun Club that got to meet Paul during his Broadstreet publicity in 1984.   I found this story in issue #48 (October 1984) of With a Little Help From my Friends. 

Paul invades Chicago

By Gloria Rossi

On October 12, 1984, my mother called me at work and said a Joe Dera called from NYC.  He said that Paul McCartney was going to be in town (Chicago) next week (Thursday and Friday), about meeting him, and to call back collect.  Very skeptical, to say the least, I did, and Joe said that I was one of five lucky members of the Wings Fun Club in the Chicago area that had been chosen at random to meet with Paul and that I would get a call back early next week as to when and where.

I was so excited and surprised I never asked Dera how he was connected with Paul, and I wondered if it was a hoax.  But then again, how would he know I was a member of the Wings Fun Club?

Monday and Tuesday came and went, as did most of Wednesday, when I got a call at about 3 p.m. from a Jae Mulford, who asked, “Are you available for Paul McCartney on Thursday?”  After thinking about it for about five seconds, I said, “Yes!”  She told me to be at the Ritz Carlton Water Tower Place at 1:15pm.  Needless to say, I was there at the appointed hour.  After waiting and waiting (I was never so nervous in my life!), there was a flurry of activity and Linda arrived.  She looked good – she was well-dressed, and stopped to sign autographs and talk to the small crowd that had gathered.  She disappeared into an elevator.  Wait again – and there was another, bigger flurry of activity, and the man himself, Paul, arrived!    He too disappeared into an elevator and so we waited again.  Finally, Jae told us it was time to go up.

We took the elevator and got off at the 28^th floor.  We stopped at Suite 2810.  She ran the doorbell and the door was opened by a large bald man, who told us – you guessed it – to wait.  So we waited in a small anteroom.

A few minutes later, the bald man told us to come in, and there he was, Paul McCartney, in the flesh!  He stood in sort of a receiving line of one and we took turns greeting him.  I said “hi” and told him that I’d met him once before in 1981 in London.  The suite was gorgeous – very posh.  It was a two-floor affair – it had a spiral staircase. 

We all sat around a coffee table and proceeded to “shoot the breeze” with Paul McCartney.  He wore a grey suit, blue shirt and striped tie (and he did NOT look like a “Gentlemen’s Quarterly” reject as said the INC column in the Chicago Tribune.)  He had on short dark blue socks 00 you could see a wee bit of Macca’s legs when he said, and his wedding ring as a turquoise heart in the middle, and he has a bit of grey in his hair.

I had several things for him to sign and he said, “You’re organized, aren’t you?”  I said, “I sure am.”  He asked about Chicago’s weather.  He was asked if he was going to tour (no.  Darn!)  He was very gracious, signed all we had brought, and he and Linda posed for pictures.  He then gave us black football jerseys that had “Broad Street” written in large white letters on the front.  He said the women could just hold them up so we wouldn’t mess our hair, but we all put them on anyway.  We then gathered around Paul and Linda (I sat on Paul’s left) and pictures were taken, some of which will probably be in a future issue of the Club Sandwich.  At Paul’s cue, we gave the thumbs-up sign, stuck out our tongues, etc while the photographer clicked away.

Suddenly, it was time to leave.  I was nervous and excited before and after the half hour I spent with Paul, but he was so casual about the whole thing (none of that “star attitude” from him) that it wasn’t until several hours later that I started to realize what a once in a lifetime opportunity I’d had. This was the first time I had won anything, but all I can say, I don’t know how I could do any better!

Paul is the King Man

Give my Regards

Paul with the winners of the Broadstreet contest.   At the Paul concert in Memphis this year, I was sitting near some of these fans.   In the pre-show photos, there was one similar to this one that was part of it, and they started cheering and yelling "That's us with Paul!"    Wish I had the chance to talk to them.

Thumbs Aloft

Drink to me...drink to my health...

One Lucky DJ!

 

Philadelphia DJ, Helen Leitch is one fortunate Beatles fan!   She is a first generation fan and was one of the lucky fans who saw the Beatles live in Philadelphia during the 1966 tour.   Then she worked for the TV station where John and Yoko were in 1972 during the Mike Douglas Show and got to meet John and Yoko and hold John's guitar.   And then in 1984 she got to meet Paul McCartney during his Broadstreet promotional tour.   In the photo, Paul is holding her because she couldn't stand!  

Paul's Fun Club meet up

I knew that Paul had met with fan club members in 1984 as part of some contest, but I have often wondered what that was all about.   Well, thanks to a very kind reader of this blog who sent me a maga load of old Beatles fanzines, I was able to find out!   This story is from the June/July 1985 issue of "The Write Thing."  It was written by Linda Aiello, who has happened to have several encounters with Paul McCartney.   

Linda Aiello (far left) with Paul in NY

Linda A. takes Paul's hand as members of the Club Sandwich meet Paul in NY in October 1984

I met Paul McCartney many times in the past, but nothing can compare with my experience on the afternoon of October 16, 1984.

Last year I won a contest to have dinner with Rick Springfield and I thought what if it were Paul McCartney.  Well, I had the chance to find out and here is my story.

On Friday, October 12, I received a call from Paul’s public relations firm of Rogers & Cowan.  Mr. Joe Dera told me he was calling for Paul McCartney.  I had a hard time believing him at first.  I asked him if I had won tickets to see “Give my Regards to Broadstreet.”   He told me I had won something better.  Paul wanted to meet five members of his fan club when he came to New York to promote “Broadstreet”.  He told me I was a lucky winner, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  He told me the meeting would take places on Tuesday, October 16 at the Plaza Hotel and that he would call me on Monday with the final details.  I was a basket case after that!

I was glued to the phone all day on Monday.  At 1:30 I couldn’t wait any more and called Rogers & Cowan.  I spoke to Mr. Dera’s secretary and she told me she’d call back with details when she got them, wished me luck and told me to “sit tight!”

My mother couldn’t believe it was true, and thought I was being set up.  The reason my mother was so scared is because they told me I couldn’t bring a guest.  I had to go alone.  But thank goodness my mother’s fears were wrong.

I got to the Plaza the morning of the 16^th by 11:30a.m. and waited in the lobby with the other winners.  I went up to the Suite with one of the other winners and we were told that Paul was running late, and that we should come back in a little while.  One of the winners had just seen Linda McCartney get into an elevator, so we knew we had the right place.

A little past 12 we went back to Suite 837.  We were invited in to have a club sandwich or drinks (hard stuff).  I was too nervous to eat.  I was afraid to drink since I hadn’t eaten breakfast and didn’t want to feel tipsy.

We met the public relations people, radio dj’s, news people, reporters from magazines and the people from 20^th Century Fox.  You should have seen the mad house in that room.  I thought if Paul came into this room we’d be lost in the crowd.  As it turned out this room was just the waiting area.  We were given the “Broadstreet” press kit the lp, some press photos and more.

At about 1:00pm our wait was over.  Paul was ready to meet with us.  The press were told to come with us.  As we approached the room I heard Paul say he didn’t want the press in the room now, he only wanted the five winners.  Oh God, give me strength.  The press had to wait in the hall.  As we entered the suite Paul came over to greet each one of us.  He our hands and said, “Hi ya, how ya doing, club members.  You want to sit down?”

The suite was like sitting in his living room.  There was a sofa, a coffee table and some chairs.  Paul sat in the center of the sofa.  I sat in the chair directly in front of him, so that we were face to face.  I was too nervous at that point to sit next to him on the sofa.  He is still so handsome, despite some grey hair and crows feet around the eyes.  His eyes are so beautiful, it seems as if he is looking right through you.  I just couldn’t believe I was looking into his face in person and not on TV.  The great part is that Linda was not there.  I could not believe it since she is always glued to him.  There were only three other people in the room with us and Paul so it was very intimate.  He made us feel very comfortable.  I ‘m happy that I had the nerve to talk to him and not sit there like a mummy.

  I told him I was glad that I was a member of his club.  And other winners said how nice it was of Paul to take the time to meet us.  He said, “Yeah, well I figured I’m gonna be over here so might as well see a few people from the club.” (He then introduced us to the club photographer Dave Dagley.)

Paul offered us a cup of tea, but everyone said no.  I told him I couldn’t believe this was all happening.  “I can’t believe it either.” Paul says, saying “can’t” the way I did.  “I was up all night waiting to meet ya’s.”  And he laughs.

I told him how my mother thought I was being set up and the other winners agreed.  “Listen, you might be set up,” Paul says with a laugh.  “I’m not really here”  Then he asks us where we are all from.  One winner says Brooklyn, and Paul repeats that with the accent, “The Dodges!”

After a little bit, the press was let in and they wanted us to get around Paul.  I never expected this to happen, and then I was sorry for not sitting next to him on the sofa.  I thought I would be cut out of the pictures, but Paul kept telling us to move in closer.  I was holding his hand in some photos and thank goodness I was not cute out.  Then Paul suggested we take some photos by the wall, and the photographers agreed.  I tried to get closer to him this time, but was beaten out again.  I did manage not to be on the end!  Paul told us to hold our hands out and say “Ta da!”  We did and all cracked up.  The photographers had us do that one gain and again.  Then the press left and we were alone with Paul again.

So I asked Paul if I could take some photos now and he said sure.  Another fan said she was told no cameras.  Paul said to her, “yeah well you don’t always listen to what they tell ya.”  Paul asked if I had enough light for my picture and I said I had 400 speed film.  “Let’s hope for the best.”  He said.

Paul signed autographs for all of us too, he personalized them all and he gave more than one autograph to each fan.  “Are we getting a bit tired now?”  he asks us.  Then one fan gives him a card and another fan gave him a present.  “Thanks very much, that’s very nice.  Thank you.”  He said, “OK gang that’s it.”  He said that in such a cute voice.  Then a fan tells Paul she didn’t get a photo taken with him yet, and he asks me, “Linda, could you take one, just quick of us?”  Then all the fans said bye and shook his hand, but I knew I wanted a kiss.  “I’m gonna give you a kiss whether you like it or not.” I said to him.  “OK, he says.  Then all of us wished him good luck with the movie.

After we left the suite we realized that we forgot the “Broadstreet” shirts and we had to go back in to get them.  We waited out in the hall for Joe Dera, and as we waited Paul came out and said, “see ya gang” and I felt his hand on my back.  We all said, “Bye Paul!”  Thanks Paul for making this happen!

Linda Aiello