The Guitar's All Right as a hobby, John -- a book review

Mimi Smith at her home, Harbor's Edge in 1976. Photo posted with permission

The author, Kathy Burns with Mimi Smith in 1981.  copyright Kathy Burns and used with permission

The Guitar's All Right  as a Hobby, John -- a book review
by Sara Schmidt

John Lennon's aunt, Mary "Mimi" Smith, has been depicted as many things over the past 50 years in various books and films.  Most of these show Mimi to be the strict guardian of John who did not support him in any way.  But as a fan who loves John, I always knew there was more to Mimi than what I read in the biographies. In Kathy Burn's book, The Guitar's All Right as a Hobby John, she sets out to show a more complete story of Mimi Smith.

Kathy is a first generation Beatles fan who got involved in the Beatles fan club. She started a division of the Beatles fan club in America that was devoted to Cynthia Lennon.  It became very popular and had hundreds of members.  In the midst of the club's popularity, Kathy wrote a letter to John Lennon's Aunt Mimi to ask her if she would like to be a charter member.  This is what was the beginning of a correspondence between the two ladies that lasted Mimi's whole life.  This book is based a lot on the letters between the two and Kathy's personal memories.

The Cyn fan club sadly ended when John got together with Yoko, but Kathy continued to write to Mimi and stayed involved in the fan clubs. In 1973, Kathy and some friends from With a Little Help From my Friends traveled to England. Paul McCartney fans will be interested in reading the humorous stories of personal encounters Kathy and her friends had with Paul and Linda during that time. 

Mimi had invited her to come visit at the home John had bought for her in the town of Poole. It was here that Kathy and Mimi became friends. They would stay up all night smoking and chatting about John, the Beatles, and the gossip of the time. Mimi allowed Kathy to sleep in John's room.  It is interesting to note that when John moved out of Kenwood, John's driver found all of the gold records and awards the Beatles received in the trash. He took them out to Mimi and she decorated her house in Beatles awards, never believing they were worth a small fortune.

Kathy returned to England in 1981 and got to see firsthand the emotional toll John's death had on his aunt.

This book shows that Mimi Smith truly was the mother figure of John Lennon.  Like any mother, she worried about him, supported him, and was outspoken when he did something that was embarrassing, but all of that never stopped her from loving him.

Mimi had a strong opinion and was never afraid to share her honest thoughts. She openly shared what she thought of Cynthia, Linda, Yoko, Beatlefest, author Phillip Norman, Paul, and basically anyone in the Beatles circle. She also enjoyed hearing the gossip and news from the Beatles fans.

Like the other Beatle parents, Mimi was extremely kind to the fans who wrote to her or stopped by her home. She'd often welcome them inside and give them a cup of tea while chatting about John, and when they left, she would give them a small souvenir, like a button off of one of John's shirts.

While John and Mimi did not call each other every week, as some people believe, John was in regular contact with Mimi and wanted her to move to New York.  He sent her photographs of Sean and wrote her letters about all of his milestones and wanted her to be there to see her "grandson."  However, Mimi was content in England, where she lived out her life.

While this book does not answer every question fans might have about Aunt Mimi, it does show a glimpse of what she was really like.  At only $15, it is a book that needs to be added to your summer reading list.

You can purchase this book from Amazon. There are no photos in the book; however, the author has set up a lovely Facebook page that I recommend joining because she has posted many rare photos, mostly of Mimi but also some of Paul McCartney.  

The link below is the affiliate link to Amazon, where you can purchase this book.  I get a small percentage of anything purchased through this link.  Money made from the Amazon Afflication is used to pay the annual fee to keep this site online.  Thank you for your support.  Sara

https://amzn.to/49FZ8rT

MPL and Air '73

I love finding the stories that go along with the photos I have in my files.   I am excited that I located the stories that go with my all time favorite photo of Paul and Linda!   I am also happy that this story was written by Pat Simmons.   I love Pat's style of writing.   She always makes me laugh and writes in such a way that I really feel like I am there with her.    

This story is found in the Fall 1981 issue of the McCartney Observer.

Air ‘73

Pat Simmons

If you ever want to meet one of the Beatles and make a complete idiot of yourself, invite me along.  I seem to have a knack for doing just that.  After 17 years, I’m still totally awestruck by them, and when seeing any of them, my entire being seems to turn into one large blob of Jell-O.  Let me demonstrate.

It is October 1973, the last time I’ve been to England.  Kris S., Kathy B. and I are nosing through a huge bookstore around the corner from Soho Square.  Kris, who has been in England for several weeks already, asks us if we’ve seen MPL yet.  We hadn’t, so Kris takes us there.  When we arrive, we see a limo conspicuously waiting outside – you couldn’t miss it, it was taking up the whole street.  Quaking Kathy and I push brave Kris up to the car to try to worm out of the driver if he happens to be waiting for Paul, and of course he snaps an irritable “No!”  Deciding he probably is, we cross the street to the square to hide behind the shrubbery and hope.  Sure enough, before too long, out bops Paul and Linda.  I was so complete startled to be seeing them so totally by accident that all I could croak out was “there he is.”  Kathy and Kris, who’d been sitting down on a bench with their backs to MPL’s doorway, said later that I said it so calmly they wondered “that who is?”  When they saw my gaping mouth however, they whipped around and saw them too.  Kathy had never met Paul before and was becoming so unglued that she managed to get hopelessly entangled in her camera straps, while doing a little jig trying to get free and swearing for all she was worth.  My but it was quiet on that street…

Our legs like lead, it took us a while to get our butts across the street, and by that time, Paul and Linda  had gone around the corner and disappeared into another building.  We stared at each other dementedly for a few minutes, and then decided to station ourselves at the corner.  When we saw them come out of the building again out of the corner of our eyes, the three of us proceeded to stare straight ahead at the lamppost.  Something about the way we were staring at that lamppost with our eyes bugged out of heads and cameras around our necks might have given Paul a little clue that we were fans, so he walked right up to us and shone a flashlight in each of our faces.  Kathy and I went into spastic silence, wanting so much to say something intelligent, and our brains not cooperating.  Kris managed to squeak out, “Is this a stick-up?”  Paul and Linda cracked up, and lingered for a minute, wondering if we were going t come out of our comatose state and be able to carry on a conversation.  My jaw was flapping up and down like an unhinged door but nothing was coming out, so giving up, they started walking toward MPL again.

Realizing they were leaving, Kathy came out of her stupor and said something like, “We’re blowing this, somebody do something!”  Yes, it was a quiet street.  He had to have heard her, and was probably eating up the entire episode with a large spoon.  Kathy’s outburst had shocked me out of my stupor, and suddenly, saying “Oh, ok!” on legs that certainly couldn’t have been mine, I started trailing after Paul, mumbling, “Uh….Paul?”  He didn’t turn around, so I croaked a little louder, “Paul?”  This went on until the time they had reached MPL, and suddenly Paul spun around, nearly giving me a coronary, and raising his eyebrows, said “Yes?”  He does like to make people suffer, doesn’t he?   I babbled out, “Ah, er..would you think I was obnoxious if I asked if you’d pose for a photo?”  Even as I said it, I couldn’t believe it.  Meantime, Paul seemed to be getting more amused by the second.  “No, I wouldn’t,” he said patiently, grinning broadly.  I could hear Kathy, still at the corner with Kris say, “all right!” and the town of them joined me.  The first photo I took, after feeling a tad guilty and asking Linda to be in the photo too, I was shaking so hard that Paul said, “You’re shaking, you’d better take another one!”  The fact that the second photo did come out much clearer was no doubt largely due to the fact that he was at the time looking toward Kris and Kathy as they took a photo.  Something about when that man looks straight at you that definitely puts you in an unbalanced state.

While posing for Kris and Kathy, Paul noticed Kathy’s camera, and whistling and seeming impressed, he crowed, “Ooooh!  Top Conn, ooooh!!!”  I thought later I should have held up m y camera and said “ooooh!  Instamatic, ooooh!!”  but it’s one of those things you don’t think of til a week later.

It seems to me some other things were said, but in the state we were in, it all seemed like a dream.  It would be one thing if we were at a studio where he was recording and knew we’d be seeing him eventually leaving the building; it’s quite another thing to see him totally by accident!

After Paul and Linda had gone back into MPL, Kris took off to call a couple of friends, who made it there in record time.  A short time later, when they emerged from the building again, Marla sent them off with a huge wave which, once in the back seat of the limo whose driver had said he wasn’t waiting for Paul, and turning around to look through the back window at us, Paul skillfully duplicated.  My worst humiliation of the whole event came a few hours later when I realized what I was wearing:  a jacket with HDN and Sgt. Pepper patches sewn on it!  Well, all I’d known was that we were going to a bookstore!  Embarrassed is not the word (try mortified!)

At this time, Paul was working on “Helen Wheels” at Air Studios, so just about every day, we’d go over there to see him arrive.  He delighted in parking around the corner on a side street  (illegally; he got tickets every day!) and walking through the crowds of people on Oxford Street, preferably in rush hour, enjoying immensely the double takes office workers would give him, staring after him as though to say, “Nah, it couldn’t be him!”  The one time he created a real stir in the throngs when he arrived decked out in plaid jacket, a top that looked like a maternity dress, baggy trousers, and complete with a “hat” that looked like underwear or shorts!  Linda was dressed equally weird (but then she usually was anyway), and they passed at the doorway of the studio to do a little dance step before going inside.

Another time at the studio, Marie had stopped him just before he went in the door to show him some concert photos she’d taken of him earlier in the year.  He stopped and admired himself for a while and when he turned to go into the building, collided straight into me.  For the briefest instant he grabbed my arm, said, “Sorry” and once again left me a babbling idiot.  He can run into my anytime!

The “guards” in this building were really nice, a lot nicer than EMI guards had been of years past.  Many times when it was cold outside they would let us wait in the lobby, and eventually even over by the elevators.  One particular night after hours and hours of waiting, my bladder was about to explode.  I    hated the thought of leaving and missing him, though.  I continued to wait, pain mounting, till I could stand it no more.  I walked up to the guards’ desk like a penguin asking if they knew if there was a commode nearby in a pub or something, and noting my slightly green coloring, took pity on me, saying “You can use the one on the 4^th floor here.”  They had been so nice to us I didn’t want them to get in trouble.  Particularly when I found out that was also the floor Air Studio was on!  But they insisted it would be all right if I hurried and came right back downstairs.   I begged someone to come with me, but nobody would budge so the elevator door closed and took me up to the floor.  I was even petrified to get ouf the elevator.  I would hate to have to answer Paul’s question of “What are you doing up here” if I should run into him.  But, when you’re desperate, you’re desperate.

I followed the directions once up there that the guard had given me, but I couldn’t find anything remotely resembling a bathroom.  Beyond one of the doors seemed to be closet, but I wasn’t THAT desperate.  I was just about to turn around and go back downstairs and ask for directions again when I heard whistling and several people talking at the same time.  And one of those voices was Paul’s!  Panic and full bladder to not mix.

I couldn’t run to the elevators, I’d never beat him down there.  So I did the only think I could think of, which was to hightail it down the stairway.  Did you ever tyro t run down four flights of marble stairs with a painfully full bladder?  I wailed down those stairs like a steam locomotive, and by the time I reached the lobby, God only knew what colors I was turning while I was panting to get my breath back.  The rest of my friends were still waiting by the elevators, so when Paul and gang paraded into the lobby I was the only fan up there at the time, and he looked straight at me and broke into another huge grin, either having heard the commotion of me stampeding down the stairs while waiting for the elevator, or who knows, maybe he remember my HDN patch.

Ah, the embarrassing moments we fans have known.  But we wouldn’t’ trade those memories for anything, would we?

 

An Encounter with Julian in Chicago (of the Almost close kind)

So today I have a fan story about Julian Lennon during the height of his popularity, during the Valotte tour of 1985.  It was written by Kathy Burns and appeared in the June/July 1985 issue of the the Write Thing.

Julian in front of the Ambassador East Hotel, Chicago, April 24, 1985.  Photo by Jean Steinert

No we don't know what the shirt says either.  Photo by Jean Steinert

An Encounter with Julian in Chicago (of the almost close kind).

By Kathy Burns

This is the Reader’s Digest condensed version of what it was like in Chicago on April 24^th (1985) when Barb Fenick, Jean Steinert, Debbie Stifter and I spent 24 hours in a return to childhood so-to-speak.

We arrived at our hotel around noon.  Barb was hoping to hear from a friend (also going to the concert), but since there was no message waiting and the friend wasn’t home, Barb left a message on her answering machine and we took off to find lunch.  We returned once again a couple hours later, the message light on the telephone was blinking away.  The message received?  “Try the Ambassador East.  Guess Who.”  Well, we may have been out of touch for the past few years, but we hadn’t forgotten that much that we worried about who “Guess Who” was, instead zeroing right in on the cryptic message.  Past experience told us not to call the Ambassador asking for Julian.  That would be too obvious and, besides, those people are paid to lie.  So in a 3 to 1 decision, Barb was elected to call the hotel and ask if Justin Clayton had checked in yet.  A simple yes or no would have sufficed, but instead she was put on hold.  A moment later those of us in the room heard her say, “Yes, I’m checking to see if Justin Clayton has checked in yet…Oh this is he? Well, we were just checking.”  End of conversation (sorry about that Justin!) and on to the decision making process of what to do with this new-found information.

It didn’t take long to decide that nothing was being achieved in our hotel and that we might as well head toward the ambassador.  Ignoring the old adage about Greeks bearing gifts, it was decided that we’d send up a copy of the last issue of The Write Thing to Julian’s room with a note explain who we were and that we’d wait  in the bar downstairs just in case, you know, he wanted to come down and say “hi” or whatever.  You know.

Once at the hotel, Barb took command and told them at the desk that she wanted the newsletter sent up to Julian Lennon’s room.  “I don’t know that he’s registered here” came back the curt reply from an overpaid employee from behind the desk (see what I mean about them being paid to lie?)  “It’s all right, we just talked to him,” Barb replied and turned away.  (We’ve got too many years behind us to be intimidated.)  And then it was to the bar to wait for that once chance in a million.  One good note about having aged a bit is now you look less conspicuous and can get away with waiting in a hotel bar.  Unheard on in the 60’s when we were only 15.

From the infamous Pump Room we could easily keep an eye on the lobby area though the departure of a band of Walt Disney people and the taping of a PM magazine type program only helped to add to the confusion.  In between trips to the bathroom and the telephone, Debbie and Barb were able to keep us abreast of just how many Valotte tour jackets were congregating in the lobby.

By 4:30 it became obvious that the action was moving out to eh front of the hotel where Julian’s entourage seemed to be waiting for their ride.   So much for the Pump Room, and it’s out to the street where, surprisingly, only two young fans were waiting.   It seemed only a matter of seconds before I looked up to see Julian standing there.  (I swear these people do not walk out door.  They simply appear.  It was the same with McCartney in London but that’s another story.)  The young fans who’d been waiting immediately approached him for an autograph while Debbie had the sense to hurry in for photos.  In a few seconds it took him to step and sign, I realized several things quite vividly 1).  Though there’s a resemblance to John and his mannerisms are similar, he really looked more like Cyn in person.  2). He’s smaller than I imagined.  3). He looked younger than 22 and 4).  The people with him keep a very hard eye on everyone in the vicinity.  That was probably the biggest jolt, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been that surprising all things considered.

We all eventually managed to click a few photographs before he disappeared into his van (the results of which ended up being embarrassingly poor).  There still was no driver, so Barb made an attempt to approach the van and get a few record sleeves autographed only to be told not to bother him just then but to come back after the concert.  OK.  Sounds good to us.  Exit to the Auditorium Theater.

The concert started on time with Simon Drake and Kirin.  The opinion of this magician-mime as an opening act seems to have been pretty unanimous.  He might very well be extremely good, but I, for one, couldn’t make heads or tails out of what he was doing.  And it wasn’t long before the crowd began to turn.  By the time Kirin came out dressed as E.T., the shouts had turned form “We want Julian!” to “E.T. Go home!”  Eventually they took the hint.   As seems apparent with most of the concerts he did, Julian’s audience was divided between the old Beatles fans and the young Julian Lennon addicts.  It was never more apparent than when the lights went down and the screams began.

For some reason I envisioned a Julian Lennon concert being very similar to his videos.  We were a little disappointed that the piano was set back so far as we figured that was where he’s spend most of the time.  Once the lights came up, my eyes immediately went to that area in search of.  But where was he?  And then, suddenly, there he was, flying out from the side stage and for a moment we wondered if it was John Lennon’s son we were seeing or Rod Stewart’s!  He is constant movement.  Through at times the words were lost in the screams, it was still fun to watch him move and marvel at his energy.

His is simply a “fun” concert.  If there were lulls as some critics suggested, they were unnoticed by us.  He is quite simply very, very good.  Given a little more time and experience and he will be great.  And if there was anyone disappointed by his performance, they were no where in our vicinity.

For the young fans, their obvious highlights came when he sang “Valotte.”  For the older fans, it had to have been “Stand by Me.”  I challenged any first generation fan there who didn’t feel a chill hearing him sing that song.  It was, for a moment, like being able to hear John in concert one last time.  On no other song have I heard him sound more like his father.  The encore of “Day Tripper” and “slippin’ and Slidin’” brought the concert to a too sudden end and then it was back to the hotel for us.

The entrance to the Ambassador East was a little different after the concert.  Before the van had returned, there were a good 25 to 30 people waiting around and this time there was a total sense of de ja-vu right down to the fans  breaking up to stand apart in their own little groups.  Shades of Abbey Road in the 60’s!

We all had our little jobs to do.  Jean and Debbie were in charge of taking pictures.  Barb and I would try for the autographed picture sleeves.  As the van rounded the corner, the crowd became more animated and since Barb was better able to move than I was, I suggested she take my picture sleeve and get it autographed with her three.  “Why don’t you take two, and I’ll take two” she suggested instead.  “Never mind” I replied looking up and seeing a flash go by.  “He’s already gone in.”  “WHAT?!”  And that was that.  Before we’d had a chance to even move, he was inside and up the elevator.  Even Paul McCartney has been known to drive around the block a couple times just so you know he’s coming.  Not this kid.  He can move.  Well, disappointed or not, we were just convulsed in laughter.  There’s no longer any way to deny it.  We’re getting old.  The young fans are screaming, “here he comes!” and we just have enough time to look up and say, “there he goes.”  So it was back to the bar to drown our sorrows, laugh in our beer as it was, and to watch.  The rest of the band came down but it was soon obvious there’d be no Julian.  Debbie got up enough nerve to ask Justin Clayton if Julian had received the newsletter (he had) and then it was back to our hotel to rest our weary bones and rehash the entire day’s events.

Thomas Wolfe was right.  You can never go home again.  But every so often it’s worth the try.  We’d do it all over again.  No hesitation.  And if McCartney ever tours again, at least we know we haven’t forgotten the tricks of the trade.  It might even be easier with him.  After all, he’s older now too.