Close Encounters of the Best Kind (part 1)

I have shared many stories of George fan meeting George at the Long Beach Grand Prix in the late 1970's and early 1980's, but this is the very first one.   I found this story in the May 1978 issue of the Harrison Alliance.  It is a very long article, so I only typed out the first day of the race and will post the rest soon.   It was written by Karen Dyson and Kris Spackman.

Close Encounters of the best kind

U.S. Grand Prix West Long Beach California

April 1 & 2, 1978

By Karen Dyson and Kris Spackman

What  a weekend indeed!  Kris Spackman, Cindy N. and I made plans months ago to attend the Long Beach Grand Prix, with a little help from my boss, who is an avid auto race fan.  Since last October, we’ve been waiting with great anticipation for this gala event.  As time went by, though I found myself really getting into the Formula One racing, asking my boss zillions of questions; watching the events on TV, I’ve really become excited about the sport, and I had decided that, though the original reason for going to the Grand Prix was to chance a glimpse of one George Harrison, I was just as excited about seeing and experiencing the Grand Prix!

Someone up there must like us.  That’s the only reason I can think of: who’d have ever believed that for two days in a row in a crowd of 100,000 people, we’d see George at the Long Beach Grand Prix?  Not me, that’s for sure!  Saturday, April 1 dawned clear and sunny and my dear pals and I were on our way bright and early, arriving in Long Beach about 8:30.  Having never been to anything remotely resembling an auto race, I didn’t know what to except and surely not two miles of Long Beach city streets blocked off and turned into a race track!  But it would prove to be an experience and a fun one!  I think I can even begin to understand why George enjoys it so much.

The morning passed, leaving us somewhat discouraged:  there were so many people, and the track area was so vast.  If he was here, and recent rumors of his being in LA kept us hopeful, would there be even a slight chance of our spotting him in the crowd?  Qualifying races had been going on all morning, and we’d kept moving, scanning the track area and the grandstands for some sign of curly brown hair!  At 12, we lunched at the Exhibition Hall, which was doubling as the garage, then headed back to ur seats for the Formula 1 qualifying race scheduled for 1:30.  Maneuvering our way through the crowd, we were caught suddenly in a rush of people, and the next thing, Karen was gone.

I looked everywhere, but finally gave up and headed for the pits.  I figured the others would realize I’d be at the McLaren pit.

So there  I was at the McLaren pit, just taking everything in, when suddenly I noticed a person looking very much like George, wearing sunglasses, walking down the center of the pits.  It was so strange, as It hought it was him…but I was so unsure at the same time, and it didn’t help when he walked right past the McLaren pit without stopping, so I thought, well, maybe it wasn’t him.  His hair was lighter than normal, and he was walking so fast…it left me so unsure.  So I waiting there, watching James Hunt; in a few inutes along came this character again.  I was so positive, and so unsure at the same time, so I followed along the fence and watched him.  It was nuts, me fighting through the crowds frantically, it was crazy!  Then suddenly, he stopped and turned around to go back the other way!  So I started fighting my way back through the crowds, watching George with one eye, and trying to see where I was going with the other.  I took a few photos along the way, and then he stopped at Jody Scheckter’s car and stood and talked with the mechanics.  He walked over to my side of the car (making him about 5 or 6 feet away) and stood right smack in front of me.  I was dying!  I proceeded to take pictures, as he stood there shaking hands with Jody, wishing him luck.  Meanwhile I was totally freaking out and when he smiled, oh Lord!  I did try calling out to him a couple of times, but he didn’t hear me.  Then he started down the road.  Here I go again!   I followed him down the road again, frantically pushing through the crowd, trying to watch George at the same time.  When finally I got in front of our grandstand, I looked up to see if the girls were up there.  I did everything I could go get their attention—waved my arms, yelled and screamed, but to no avail.  So I took off, following George, but then he disappeared; there was no sight of him.  I’d lost him!

(Kris speaking)  Not 10 minutes later, there was our Karen, dashing frantically up the grandstand steps, crying, “Here’s here! He’s here!  I saw him! I took about 10 pictures!  He passed right below here.  I tried to get you guys’ attention.”  The hour-long qualifying race seemed to last forever.  We cruised the track area, and up the street and up the street, the way he’d been heading when Karen lost him, trying to spot him in a sea of red jackets –everybody had red jackets on that day!

Finally the race finished and people began to swarm all over the place.  We moved slowly along the track, carefully scanning face after face, hoping…praying… Then Karen grabbed us, pushing us toward the fence, “there he is!!!”

And there he was!  What a sight after 4 very long years!  He looked just incredible, so healthy and tanned, so happy and thoroughly enjoying himself.  He was wearing blue jeans, and off white shirt with red jacket and yellow tennis shoes.  For those first brief moments, it was as if everything around me ceased to exist and there was only George.  I had to keep looking and looking to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.   He was really there, only half a dozen yards and three foot cement wall between us.  Cindy and I clutched frantically at each other and at Karen and I knew they were feeling the same.

He was walking happily along, accompanied by a young Spanish-looking guy (Olivia’s brother?); he stopped and chatted with drivers and mechanics, examined the race cares while we followed outside, going absolutely crazy with delight and keeping it very low key so as not to draw too much attention to him.  A few people did recognize him and we smiled at the awe in their voices, “There’s George Harrison!”

Karen was still taking pictures, and I think he finally figured out it wasn’t the cars or the drivers she was aiming at!  But he appeared genuinely amused and we loved it!   It looked about 10 minutes to work his way down the street inside the track area, while we charged through the masses outside trying to keep up with him and not lose each other in the process.  Then we reached a point where a side street off the main road had been momentarily blocked at the curbs on either side to allow the drivers through to leave the track.  There was a truck on the side street backed up almost to the main road with only a “sidewalk sized” space between it and the wall along the track (Hard to visualize, I know but even harder to explain!)

Anyway, when George reached the gate, he scooted through and went around the track to its right side.  Cindy and I were struggling through an absolute mass of people, and I grabbed her, crying “C’mon!” and we ran down a sidewalk to the left of the truck.  Between us and it was another 3-foot cement wall, and at the bottom, I leapt over it, just as George, who was several feet down the street, turned around.  I never made such a fast about0face in my life, “calmly” chatting with Cindy, and we both just cracked up.

Suddenly we realized we’d lost Karen in the crowd, but knew she’d know we were heading for the garage.  George was only a few yards ahead of us, and much as we hated to follow him, we couldn’t bear to lose him.   He was so cute—he turned around once or twice, because he knew we were behind him, and he’d grin teasingly in our direction.  We followed him all the way to the Exhibition Hall which served as the garage for the drivers’ crews of mechanics, and at first he missed the drive where he should have gone in a headed for the public entrance.   Then he realized his error, turned and came back, scooting through a cluster of people who I’m sure had no idea who he was. We watched him go in, then grabbed our garage passes and raced inside (the passes sold to the public allow you inside the hall to watch the crews work on the cars, but the area where they’re working is barricaded all the way around.  Only the VIP’s are allowed in, and needless to say, that’s where we’d find George!)  And we did:  he was right in the center of the hall, chatting with people, having his picture taken by reporters, and signing autographs,.  We couldn’t see him very well through the crowd around him, but we did notice he’d taken off his sunglasses.

(Karen speaking)  I headed for the garage, as the 3 of us had discussed going there after the last event.  There was no sign of Kris and Cindy in the lines watching the cars go in, no sign of George.  I kept my fingers crossed that Kris and Cindy were inside.  I went in, but I thought I’d never find them, it was so crowded!  I walked around looking for the girls amongst all the bodies and looked for George within the barricades.  Getting clear around the room, Kris spotted me and called out, “over here!”  We stood there getting a glimpse of his red jacket and his curly locks.  Some idiot stood right in the way most of the time; he finally moved, and we had a good, clear view.   George was sitting talking with mechanics and other sorts.  Looking good without his sunglasses!  George got up for the door, looking as though he was leaving, so we tore out a back way, close to where he went out and then down the stairs, expecting him to be walking down the ramp way from the garage.

Poof!  The instant “Harrison Disappearing Act” took place right before our very eyes!  Don’t ask me how the man does it, but he’s an expert.  He was nowhere to be seen!  And we weren’t to see him again until the following day, the day of the Big Race.  With all the incredible experiences of the day before under our belts, we returned to Long Beach saying “Yesterday was so incredible, it’s ok if we don’t see him today.”  Yet we were dying inside with anticipation and hope.

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?

 

Long Beach Grand Prix '82

I have one of these stories already on this blog from two of the fans who were there's perspective.  Now here is the same story written by a different fan that was in the group, Kris Spackman.  I can't even begin to imagine how exciting it must have been for this group of girls to know that they might see George at the race each year.    And then the times they actually DID see him and even get to say hello, must have been beyond exciting!  

This story was taken out of the July 1982 issue of "With a Little Help from my friends."

Photo by Kris Spackman

 

photo by Kris Spackman

Long Beach Grand Prix ‘82

By Kris Spackman

Ahhh, Long Beach!  The mere thought conjures up wonderful pictures of those gorgeous drivers from exotic places around the world; the thunderous roar of Formula 1 racers screaming through the streets; the colors, the crowds, the excitement…and sometimes, George, putting in a hasty appearance!  The thought is always in the back of our minds as we make our annual trek to the race; whether he shows or not, we always have a good time.  And this year was no exception.  We truly were not expecting to see him, since he’d failed to appear in 1980 and 1981.

As always Jennie Swenton and I were ensconced in our usual spot by the Liguer team, watching dearling Jacques Laffite preparing for the qualifying session. Karen Dyson had wandered off on her own, as had Patti Murawaki, who suddenly reappeared, urgently muttering, “He’s here!”

We quickly followed her back to where she’d seen him.  And what to our wondering eyes should appear?   He looked wonderful, with his hair cut very short, no mustache, and sporting a dark tan and sunglasses.  Dressed in jeans, t-shirt, running shoes, and a dark jacket, he seemed to be trying very hard to blend in with the crowd.

Absorbed in watching the last few minutes of qualifying, he stood close to the track wall until it was over, and then quickly to the garage with one of the crew member he knew.   After just a few minutes, he was gone.  Another famous Harrison disappearing act!

On Saturday, we didn’t see him til later in the day, almost missing him because we were feeding our faces!  We giggled over the fact that he was wearing exactly the same thing as the day before, wondering if he’d left Olivia in Hawaii or Australia and was therefore looking after himself!  He stood chatting with friends, so we just watched, not wanting to interrupt or bother him.  After a short time, he was off with a journalist friend, and we later caught him in the garage, but only long enough to witness another Harrison-Houdini act!

On Sunday, we truly didn’t expect to see him at all, figuring as in years past he’d be watching the race from his favorite spot.  We were all delighted that Niki Lauda was in the front row; he’d returned to racing after a two year “retirement” and was doing incredibly well already!  

As always, the air was electric with excitement as teams rushed frantically about, readying their cars for that all important moment when the green light would come on.  We always enjoy race day but at the same time, hate to see it come because it’ll then all soon be over for another whole year!

Then suddenly there was George again!  And again wearing the same clothes!  This time, though he had a friend along, and we recognized Denis O’Brien, who was looking about rather in awe.   George carefully pointed out and explained things to him, then laughingly posed as Denis took a picture of him!

After a while, they were joined by a man George obviously knew from one of the teams.  They greeted each other warmly, then George took a button out of his pocket and tried to pin it on the man’s jacket. 

Then suddenly there was Karen who’d been off wandering on her own and she was only several feet away from him an edging closer!  She spotted us, giving us a look which “Help!”  Little by little, she moved closer waiting for an opportune moment.

As we silently cheered her on, she finally went up and said hello.  A bit hesitantly, he returned the greeting.  Karen determinedly hung in there and told him she just had wanted to say I and tell him he was looking wonderful, that someone must be taking good care of him.  She asked about the family and he said they were fine.  Bringing up Dhani really got him going!  A huge smile lit up his face, and he told her how big he was getting, how much he enjoyed him, how smart he was, and all the time they spent together in the garden.  They then went on to discuss the race and he reassured her that Niki Lauda would probably win (Turned out he was right!)  Karen then said goodbye and off he went with Denis into the crowd.

That was the last we saw of him, but what a sight indeed!  It was great to catch a look at him, without anyone recognizing or bothering him.   He seemed quite relieved that he was able to enjoy the weekend in relative peace.

Thanks George!  We enjoyed it too.

Like a Flash you could miss him going by

I was a little surprised when I was looking in my files and saw that I had no information on what George did in the year 1983.   So I was pleased when I found this article from the May 1983 issue of The Harrison Alliance about George at the Long Beach Grand Prix in March of 1983.    The photos and story were written Pattie Murawski along with Karen Dyson.    Much thanks goes out to Karen for getting Geroge to reconsider recording again.   Without her encouragement, we might not have some of my favorite Harrison songs from cloud 9!  

Like a Flash You could miss him going by…

By Patti Murawski & Karen Dyson

I had advance warning of the possibility of George showing up at Long Beach Grand Prix this year.  Only a week before the race there were reports on a New York television station that he had been in Manhattan to see a private screening of “The Meaning of Life”, the latest Monty python film.  I was scheduled to fly to Los Angeles for my annual trip only a few days later.  With me I brought some hopeful news to my friends that George just might be heading west.

With all the terrible, savage weather Los Angeles and vicinity had this past winter; it was no surprise that I arrived in L.A. in a storm akin only to an Asian monsoon.  Having been to a Grand Prix at Watkins Glen in rainy weather some years ago, I was praying it wouldn’t rain for race weekend.  I had no desire to go through an experience like that again!  I needn’t have worried.  For the seventh year in a row, the weather was clear, warm and sunny for Long Beach weekend!

Long Beach has been going through rapid urban renewal, so major changes had to be made in the race course for this year.  My companions, Kris Spackman and Karen Dyson, and I were somewhat confused by the new configuration; it was like being at a race track that we had never visited before.  We took one path and ended up taking a very long walk around the west side of the track during the morning Formula One practice.  After going in a large circle, we finally found what we had set out to find in the first place – the Pit access road.  We had limited access passes to the pits.  Our first opportunity for access was not for another 30 minutes or so, after practice.  I decided that this would be the time to grab a bite to eat and answer the call of nature and announced my intentions.  Kris and Karen agreed with me and joined me in the walk to the convention center where most of the facilities were housed.

It was quite a walk, and I was enjoying the sunny weather just sort of taking it all in while Karen and Kris trailed a few steps behind me sharing a silly joke.  I was watching the crowds to my right when I thought I heard Kris say something, but when she didn’t repeat it I didn’t take any notice.  When I felt a hand clench my elbow and someone wheel me about face, I know intuitively, immediately, what had happened --- someone had spotted George.  Whereas I was wondering if he had walked by me without my knowing it at LBGP last year, to my surprise he actually did this year!  Kris had seen him walking down the sidewalk, coming straight toward us and had been trying to tell Karen and me that he was coming.  He had passed directly by me on my left while I was watching the crowds to my right, my mind lost somewhere in the ether.  I stood and stared in disbelief as Kris pointed him out to me. I couldn’t believe it!  I had no idea that he had passed me until Kris had grabbed me and pulled me back!!  We started to walk down the pavement several yards behind him.  Who had to use the toilet anyway?

We paced ourselves to keep him in view, but at the same time, be discrete.  For such a little guy, George had dressed so that he would blend in perfectly with the racing community.  In his jeans, running shoes, black jacket and dark glasses he looked like so many other of the male spectators/journalists/team people.  He wore his hair in a longer but similarly cut style as he had when I saw him last year.  He was also clean shaved and nicely tanned.

It was obvious to Karen, Kris and I that George had just arrived, as he didn’t seem to know where he was going.  He was just as confused as we had been about the new circuit layout.  We watched as he made the same wrong turn that we had made earlier.  He would surely be looking for the pit access road and he wouldn’t find it by crossing the bridge that spanned the race track!  Realizing he had made a mistake, he headed back towards us.  We had hung back, knowing he would see that he went the wrong way.  We had started to walk slowly in the proper direction, making sure he was right behind us as we made the correct turn to the pit access road.  He followed.  We stopped casually at the far side of the pit road gate and conversed, or tried to, while we watched him enter the garage access gate.  We weren’t too sure he really wanted to go that way.  Was he to meet someone at the garage, or did he just guess wrong?

Anyway, we knew that everyone he’d want to see was in the pits at that very moment for the Formula One practice, and waited to see if he would come back.  Sure enough, he came back down the drive; he stood for a minute or two asking the security people how to get to the pits.  The guard at the gate was pointing to the opposite gate.  George crossed the drive and nonchalantly flipped a pass out of his pocket for the guard to see and slid through the security check without missing a step.  He disappeared up the access road.

Less than a half hour later, we were in the pits; we had just arrived and had taken a guess at who George was there to visit and we found him where we had expected.  We had just spotted him in the throng when he was preparing to leave!  I then realized, after hearing a familiar voice and accent, that Jackie Stewart, along with his wife and two teenage sons, we standing directly in front of me.  George was trying to locate them in the crowd.  It was a bit unnerving not knowing quite what to do.  Here he was heading straight in my direction again.  I was casually looking around for Karen and Kris, now which tree were they hiding behind?  Anyone who has ever met anyone they had admired for years and years has probably through the same dilemma…wanted to stop him and talk to him, or hide behind the nearest tree fearing that you are bothering him and he’d be annoyed.  I opted not to stop him, he seemed like he was in such a hurry, and the Stewarts had begun to walk toward the exit already.  I located Kris and joined her. 

One of Jackie’s sons was walking backwards scanning the crowd for George.  When he found George he motioned to him to signify where he and his family were in the crowd.  Kris had just whispered to me, “Where’d he go?” and I barely got the words out, “He’s right behind us” when George came brushing into me in an effort to catch up with said young Stewart.  The five of them went off together.

Later in the day when the main events were over, we chanced to spy George visiting the boys at Brabham in the garage.  He hung out with them for quite a while.  While in the garage George removed his dark glasses.  It was nice to be able to get a look at his face without them.  He looked marvelous, and his smile was as radiant as ever!

George took a stroll up to Arrows to visit an Australian friend, world champion Alan Jones, who had come out of retirement after a year.  A guy standing next to Karen and I looked over to see who we were watching.  He pointed out George to his friend and said, “See that guy talking to Alan jones?  That’s Frank Williams!”  Karen poked me…it was too much for us.  Frank Williams is Alan’s ex-boss and a well-known team owner.  The only thing that George and Frank have in common is that they are both British.  We broke into near hysterics.  The guy looked at us laughing and said “What’d I say?”  We weren’t about to tell him who it really was!

Back at Brabahm now, the team manager brought George over to the race car to check out the new design for this year’s regulations.  George was listening in earnest as the guy pointed out various highlights of the design.  He nosed in and around the car, then sat down to chat for a while more.  He also visited with Sylvia and Nelson Piquet (the 1981 champion from Brazil) and with his friend Gordon Murray, designer of the car he’d just been perusing.

Just when it looked like he was going to be leaving, George got delayed several times on his way to the exit.  He kept meeting people that he knew and stopped to talk.  Jackie Stewart, Chico Serra and his girlfriend were among them.  When he did leave he just disappearing into the crowd.

Saturday we did not see George until it was nearly 1:00 p.m. and the drivers were having themselves strapped into their racing machines for the final qualifying session.  We were being asked to clear the pit area; only team people, journalists, safety people and anyone with an FOCA pass were allowed to stay.  Just as we were walking out we saw tall Gordon Murray coming around the corner and knew that George couldn’t’ be far behind.  George was speeding along as he tried to keep up with Gordon’s long-legged, swift stride.  George was wearing jeans and running shoes again and the same jacket.  He was also wearing a colorful t-shirt which depicted an aerial view of people on a beach.  We stopped to turn around and watch him walk away, taking a few steps back the way we came.  As we were lamenting that hew would show up when we were about to leave, Karen suddenly started back in George’s direction saying, “Come on!”  Kris and I were trying to be sensible about it all.  We wanted to follow but knew that if the three of us had tried to go back we would have all been asked to leave or thrown out.  Karen had a better chance of going undetected if she went solo.  Kris and I slowly walked down the access road and waited for Karen, wondering all the while if she had any success.  She came back all smiles and excitement, but I’ll let her tell you about it!

The way things were going on Saturday, I had my doubts that we would be so lucky as we had been on Friday, especially the way we walked right smack into him.  Was I ever in for a surprise!

Details are sketchy, unfortunately, as I must’ve “gone troppo” during my moment of moments, but this is basically how the story goes.

We ran into George again, when we least expected it.  As he passed by, I did an “about face” and slowly followed him.  George stopped to chat with friends, so I used the moment to sneak a couple of photos.  Eh soon took off on his own.  I followed not knowing what the heck I was doing, or what was in store.  I had lost sight of Patti and Kris.  I wondered and worried about where they were, but I continued on.  

George stopped at his destination, and this was my lucky break.  I wish I couldn’t remember our conversation verbatim, but George took me by surprise!  You never know what to expect when you come in contact with George.  He has been has been known to be a bit sour towards fans.  Last year when I spoke with George, he was a bit apprehensive and tight lipped until we began talking about Dhani.

This time around it was different.  George was so friendly and warm; it was like being with an old friend.  To my delight George remembered me from last year.  We discussed how he can get around without being recognized, how it’s much better than it used to be.  George said he keeps a low profile and tries to be a normal person.  I proceeded to tell George of his “mistaken identity” of the day before.  I said, “George, do you remember yesterday when you were talking with Alan Jones?”

GH:  “Yeah”

KD:   Well we overhead a man behind us tell his friend “see that man talking to Alan Jones, do you know who that is?  Ya know who that is?”

GH:  Yeah?

KD:  Course, we’re all expecting the guy to say, “That’s George Harrison” right?

GH:  (smiling, listening intently) Yeah…

KD:  But he says, are you ready for this…he says “that’s Frank Williams!”  I thought we were gonna die laughing!

George threw his head back in laughter. He loved it!  Anyone familiar with Formula One racing knows who Frank Williams is, and believe me, he doesn’t look a thing like George Harrison!   It was fun to see him laugh.

We continued to talk for oh, ten or fifteen minutes, which was wonderful; like old friends George and I blabbed away.  At one point I realize how close we were standing together.  I could see his eyes through the sunglasses he wore.  George looks straight into your eyes as he listens attentively, and as he speaks to you.  The man was looking so good you can imagine what can go through one’s mind at a moment like that!  I remember telling George it was good to see him again.  He took my hand and said, “It’s nice to see you too.”

Telling George that I work for WEA (Warner/Elektra/Atlantic Crop.  We distribute WB records) I asked him about the problems and rumors I’d heard about him leaving Warner Brothers.  At that time, George replied that it didn’t look too good.  The hassles he’s gone through to get his records released are hardly worth it to him anymore.  George told me he didn’t know if he’d do anymore recording anyway.  He stated that he may write and record for his own pleasure and amusement, but releasing it was another story.  After so many years of it all, he’s getting bored besides.  I took this opportunity to speak up and represent the many George Harrison fans I know that share my sentiments when it comes to his music. 

I pleaded with George to have second thoughts before making a final decision to discontinue his recording career.  Despite what the record company says, or the critics, I told him, “There are a lot of us out there who enjoy your music and appreciate where you’re coming from.”  He took this shyly and seemed to appreciate the sentiment, and I’m hoping just maybe I made some sort of impression on him.  It’ll be a sad day if ever George does quit releasing records.  George doesn’t accept compliments too well, even after all these years he still looks away and shyly smiles. 

When I told George he looked great he looked down, grinning and blurted an “oh…”  I then added, “Especially for an old man of 40!”  He laughed, again threw his head back and giggled as he said, “oooh I know!” as if he couldn’t’ believe that he was 40, old or not!  The two of us eventually said our adieus with George saying, “I’m sure I’ll see you again!”

After qualifying, we located George in a pit suite situated above and behind the pits.  The suites were rented out, generally by corporations (for a mere $7,500), and included closed circuit tv coverage of all the weekend’s events.  Obviously he could watch all the action out on the track on the closed circuit tv and not miss all the pit activity, all in the comfort of the shade of a canopy and not out there on the dusty track.

Later on we caught a glimpse of him visiting his pals in the garage.  This time he kept his sunglasses on while he was inside, and at times he was deliberately keeping his back turned to the crowd at the fence.  We wondered if he was doing this because a girl kept screaming out his name.

George was delayed in leaving as had happened the day before.  Once again he kept running into people that he knew, and stopped to chat.  The girl who had been shouting his name got a mechanic to take her pocket camera from her and go over to take a photo of George.  I heard her scream when the flash went off.  We felt embarrassed for him.

In order to leave the building, George had to walk along a fence that bordered the public way.  A few people were leaning over the fence, calling out to him, pens and paper in hand, but he ignored them.  He didn’t even look their way as he walked by.

We went out the public exit and saw George making his way around the building from the team access road.  We watched him leave with the crowd. No one seemed to know who it was walking in their midst.  He had once again succeeded at melting into the crowd.

Jennie had flown in to L.A. late Saturday night; her arrival had been delayed by her brother’s wedding.  We tried to be optimistic about the prospects of seeing George on Sunday.  She was just glad to be there and was looking forward to a day at the races, if nothing else.  She was very glad that we had seen George, and even happier when we told her that her favorite driver, Patrick Tambay, had grabbed the pole position for the race.  But, there was no guarantee for her; we had run into George both days by chance, and the crowds were always much worse on race day.

Strolling through the pits Sunday about an hour before the race, I stopped to sit on the curb to tie my shoe.  I took a quick look around as I sat down and asked Jennie to hold my camera.  “He’s here, “I said without looking up again.  “He’s up in the pit suite, up there.”  I nodded upward.  I had caught Jennie totally by surprise.

He was with a guest, the same man I had seen with him on race day in 1979.  I didn’t recognize his friend.  It seems George is always having to explain the finer points of Formula One to his guests, and this year was no exception.  We later joked that if he had us for guests he wouldn’t have to bother with all that!  Anyway, he seemed to be explaining something about maneuvering the car as he had his arms thrusts out in front of him, pretending he was holding a steering wheel.

We watched him for a few minutes but when it looked like he wasn’t going to come down from the pit suite, we decided to take a walk down the pits rather than have him catch us staring at him.  Believe me, we wanted to stay, but we would have alienated him if he had seen us staking him out.  On our walk Jennie, Kris and I took some photos of various drivers and race crafts.  Our minds, however, were always back at the other end of the pits.  We were all wondering if George had stayed put.

About ten minutes later we worked our way back up the pit lane.  “He’s not in the suite,” said Jennie forlornly.  “That’s because he’s right over there, “I said, turning her towards him.  George as about ten feet away, talking to three or four friends.

Quiet one indeed!  How he ever got that tag, I’ll never know.  He was doing most of the talking most of the time!  He was smiling, laughing, gesturing and bouncing around.  It was great fun just to watch him carrying on.  During the course of the conversation, George was relating something to this little clatch of friends, all of them listening attentively to him.  He had such an impish grin on his face as he spoke.  Must’ve been some joke, everyone in the group absolutely roared with laughter when he was finished!

One guy in the group had a pocket camera and wanted to take a picture.  Everyone lined up in a semi-circle, George included, and the photo was taken.  George seemed slightly amused; everyone was smiling as they were squashed together for the photo with their arms around each other’s shoulders.  The group changed around—the guy taking the photo traded places with someone in the group and they went through the process again.

Time was getting closer to the start of the race.  We would have to leave the pits soon in order to make it over to our seats for the start of the race.  As long as George was standing there, however, we just couldn’t’ move.  The old Harrison magic had us glued to the spot.  For safety’s sake the security people were sweeping the pits of everyone that didn’t belong to a team, safety crew or tv crew.  As it was we had stalled for about 15 minutes already.  In the end, our departure time was decided for us.  A man in a red jacket walked off with George.  They were headed in the direction opposite to the exit.  That was our cue to leave.  We all had that funny feeling, a helpless feeling that it may be the last time we would see George, but at the same time relieved that security wouldn’t be dragging us away! In the end it all worked out; we made it to our seats in time for the start of the race.

Like the rest of the weekend, the race was superb.  It turned out to be the most exciting race we had ever seen at Long Beach Grand Prix.  In past years someone on the front row always had won the race, but this year’s winner and second place driver came from the back rows in virtuoso performances.

The last time we saw George was after the race when he dropped by the garage to say goodbye to all his pals. He stayed only for a few minutes.  We wanted to try to see George outside when he left to say hello.  He was so busy with his friends in the pits we didn’t find an opportune moment to speak to him.  It was not to be.  In one of the most stupid and dangerous arrangements I had ever seen, the circuit crews were towing cars across the public way – which was now closed off.  There were thousands of people in the spectators’ area of the garage and absolutely no way out – not even an emergency exit!

We stood in the garage, boxed in, feeling frustrated as we watched George leave via a crew entrance and disappear down the drive.  Our hopes to catch up to George to speak to him had been dashed.

Still, we had to count our blessings.  Two of our passions, George and F-1 racing, all in one weekend; double the pleasure, double the fun!  What a delightful way to start a vacation!

One final note to all this – Formula One cars will no longer fun in Long Beach.  There will still be a race, but the Long Beach Grand Prix Association has decided to run a CART race with Indianapolis type cars at their event next year and in the coming years.  A bright spot in my visits to L.A. over the past years, I shall think fondly of those times when the Master of Fast came to town and especially of those years when there was an added attraction!