Yesterday-- Great ---Today--- Brilliant (Wings over Bristol 1975)

 

Yesterday --  Great -- Today -- Brilliant

No Writer Listed

Torbay Express

September 13, 1975

    The Beatles might be dead, but they are not forgotten -- at least not by Paul McCartney. Those Torbay fans who, like me, are loyal made the trip to Bristol's Hippodrome this week to catch Wings only West Country gig as part of their first British tour in two and a half years, must agree that McCartney was everything and more a former Beatle should be.

     Looking ageless, his timing, singing, guitar, and keyboard playing were faultless, and the numbers he gave us during the two-hour performance were well chosen. McCartney took us into the Beatles' glory days with "Long and Winding Road", "Lady Madonna," and "Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night," and "I've just seen a face" which all came over in that unmistakable style of his. But you couldn't help but wish George, John, and Ringo were up there playing as well. The highlight of his trip down memory lane was when McCartney took up an acoustic guitar and, with the stage to himself, sang "Yesterday".

     But, although it was nice to hear those old sounds, McCartney has shown himself to be a wealth of talent since the breakup of the Beatles in 1970, and it was his music with Wings that he wanted to play most. And what we wanted to hear most.

     The Band on the Run album featured prominently throughout the act with the live sounds of "Jet", "Let Me Roll It", and the title track, which brought the concert to a climax, receiving rapturous applause and cheering from 3000 strong fans.

     Despite its personal problems over the past few years, Wings seems to have found where it's at with founder member and former Moody Blue Denny Laine and young Jimmy McCulloch (Thunderclap Newman) on guitars. drummer Joe English and Linda McCartney, showing that she can play keyboards and sing despite what the critics have said, each had a share of the limelight. With Laine again, taking us back a few years with "Go Now" and McCullouch's "Medicine Jar" from the latest Wings album, Venus and Mars, illustrated the amazing ability he has to make a guitar work.

     The new album also got an airing, and a few of the Wings hit singles. By the end of the session, the fans just wanted to rock in the aisles, and so when the end came, it was something many found difficult to come to terms with. 

    After five minutes of chanting for more, McCartney looking far from exhausted, returned for an encore with "Hi Hi Hi."

     For one young American girl, though, it was just another of his concerts to be crossed off the list. She had come all the way to Britain just to follow his tour, as she had done in 1973, which made the pilgrimage from Torbay look like a short bus ride.

Having a ball waiting for Paul

 

Paul and Phil

 

September 8, 1995 -  Paul McCartney and Phil Keggy 

Departing the Wings plane

 

The late 70s

 

MTBFR Flashback: Driving on Cavendish

 

August 8, 1975

This article was originally posted in 2009, and I believe it may have been overlooked by many people.  It has been 50 years since the event happened, and I thought it was time to repost it.  Enjoy!  

John Awarski; Lakewood, Ohio
Article written in the Oct/Nov 1975 Issue of The Write Thing

    When we arrived in England, at the beginning of August, my wife Winnie and I didn’t really believe that we had
a chance to see, let alone meet, any of the Beatles. We knew that John would be in the States, and that George and Rich were in California. Paul, we were told, was somewhere in England or Scotland rehearsing the band. But
where exactly we didn’t know.

    On our fifth day in London, we made our way to St. John’s Wood. We stopped at the church where Paul and Linda had their marriage blessed, then we went down Abbey Road and stopped at EMI studio. I asked one of the guards about going on a tour of the building and if Paul had been around lately. He said, “Yes, he was in most of last week doing some mixing.”

    Well, with that encouragement, we headed down to Cavendish Avenue. Upon arriving there, I went into the
neighbor's yard to look over the fence, and noted that only one car was there, but all the windows in the house were open. We decided to wait until the next morning before any action would be taken. After dinner, we passed by Paul and Linda’s house again, and all the lights were on in the house, which convinced us that they were indeed home and that tomorrow somehow, we would at least see them.

    The next day was warm and sunny, not bad if we had to wait. We arrived in front of 7 Cavendish at about ten a.m. and sat down to watch the activities in front of the famed home. First, the mailman came by to deliver the morning mail. As he left, it came to us that if we wrote a quick note and put it in the mailbox, someone on the other side would at least see it. So we wrote out a note saying who (and where) we were and wished them luck on the upcoming tour. Shortly, Rose, the housekeeper, came walking down the street and stopped to open the gate. We introduced ourselves and asked for any help that she could give us in getting the note to her employer. She said she’d do it as long as we didn’t try to sneak in. She also told us that Paul had an appointment at two, so if we waited there we would at least see him leave. With this news, there was no way we’d leave. We watched the laundry man, the dry cleaner, and the messenger all come and go.

    Then the gate opened and out popped Heather’s head. It looked like she was checking to see what we were going to do. We just sat there and waved hello. She nodded and started down the street. About 20 minutes later she returned with the groceries for the day.

    About 2pm, a small blue mini-cab pulled up with Joe English and his daughter Chrisse. I introduced myself, Winnie, and Nancy to Joe and told him how much we like Wings and the album Venus and Mars. Before he
went I asked if he would mind if I took a picture of him. He said if I waited, I could probably get some of everyone as they were leaving for rehearsal.

    The excitement was building. The green gate opened, and Joe stuck his head out. He waved at us to come over. We walked with all of the self-control we could find over to the green gate. Joe told us that Paul and Linda got our note, but they were busy and hoped we understood. We said we did. He then handed us a “Wings” postcard, and on the back were Paul, Linda, Denny, and Joe’s autographs. He said Paul and Linda wanted us to have these. We thanked him again and again. He said to wait where we were, and Paul and Linda would be leaving to go to rehearsal shortly, and we could at least say hello.

    Joe let us take a quick picture of him before he went back in. A few minutes went by, and we could hear talking and Paul’s dog, Martha, barking. Any minute now, we knew we would see them.

    Finally, at 2:45, the gates opened. I could see Paul backing out his green convertible. In the front seat was Linda and in the back was Joe, with Mary on his lap, Stella and Heather, with Chrisse on her lap. As Paul got to the sidewalk, he stopped the car. We thanked him and Linda for the autographs and asked how they were doing. They said that everything was fine and asked how we were. Paul was wearing cut-offs, a tank top, and green sunglasses, and Linda had a blue dress. Winnie talked to Paul about the tour and the group, and I talked to Linda. She told me her book on rock stars should be coming out in November and hoped that everyone would buy it. She also told me about a new diary which would be offered to members of the Wings Fun Club, and that it would contain only Polaroid pictures. She kidded and said, “You better buy a copy when it comes out.” I assured her that we would.

    As we were talking, a little old lady who lives across the street came running over. She started to complain to
them about the dogs barking all night long, and if they would be sure to lock them up. Paul, being very diplomatic, apologized for the noise. I think the lady just wanted to see Paul and talk to him. Paul just took it all in stride.

    Paul looked around and said, “Well, we better be going, a lot of work to do.” Paul pulled the car back, and Linda shouted, “Be sure to send us a set of pictures, “ and Paul shouted, “Take care, and we’ll see you. Bye now.”

Paul takes it Away

 

A 1969 Paul sighting

 

And Wings

 

Linda - My Life with a Legend (1973)

 

Linda: My Life With a Legend

By Romany Bain

Daily Mirror

November 29, 1973

    Even after more than four years, Linda McCartney has still not been forgiven for marrying Prince Paul Charming. We've accepted the other Beatle girls (give or take a Yoko), but at 32, Linda still seems to be represented as an interloper, not good enough for our lovely Liverpool lad.

     She's none of these things. She's friendly, sympathetic, and unaffected. She smiles a lot, and her husband adores her. When I met the McCartneys, they were dubbing mouse voices for a TV cartoon film. "Be kind to her. She's nervous and not used to interviews," called Paul as we left the studio.

    The McCartneys are inseparable. "Doesn't it put a strain on a marvelous marriage when two people are together as much as you are?" I asked.

 "You have to have a special understanding," She smiled. "We just feel that it's very important to be together when we are working. I hate it to become like two male partners yelling and blaming each other. I don't want to dominate. For me, life is warmth and friendliness."

     "Has marriage changed Paul?"

     "Not really, except that he used to club it and chase chicks, and now he's very involved with his family. He's still a boy with a very Beatles sense of humor. He's a bit moody, being an artist and a Gemini. I'm calmer. I'm a Libra, and we're supposed to go together. 

    "Paul brings out the maternal in me, and I definitely mother him. Yet he is my strength. I don't blow up as easily as I used to. We don't seem to say all those negative truths which are so hurtful. Our fights are brought on by outside pressures, not personal bitches, and they always end happily."

     "Had Linda any idea what she had taken on when she married a Beatle?"

    " Absolutely not. I was very naive. I had no idea how much I'd be resented. It made me unhappy, but I've learned to accept it though."

    "Does she feels she was responsible for the Beatles breaking up?"

     "There was so much friction and bitterness all around. John was already restless and more into working with Yoko than Paul. So Paul quit. Suddenly, he was out of a job. Imagine that! It could have destroyed him if he hadn't been McCartney, the professional trooper.

     "I said, 'Let's go live in the country'. He began to unwind for the first time. He experienced total freedom. We herded sheep, and he clipped them. He built with stone and worked with wood. He would make a marvelous carpenter. He'd make a marvelous anything," she sighed happily. 

    "But didn't he miss the old life?"

     "He missed the personal appearances and the companionship. He wanted someone to share his music. He began to teach me. We played for fun and for pleasure, and slowly, the idea of forming a new group, Wings, was formed."

     "What about the other Beatles?"

     "We see Ringo a lot. He's lovely, and his wife, Maureen, is a dream. She's most like me, very family minded. We see George and Pattie, and John has mellowed a lot, and we'd like to get friendly again."

     It was time to go back to work. Paul came over and kissed her. "You're blushing again," he said. And hand in hand, they returned to the studio.

Traveling McCartney Family

 

July 1970

Linda: Who Does she think she is? Mrs. Paul McCartney? (1975)

 I am still locating information in my files after reading McCartney Legacy II.  One thing that really interested me was the information about a story written about Linda after a visit with a long-time friend.  The article portrayed Linda in a negative light and seemed like something I needed to read.  And so I dug through my vast archives and found a copy of the article in the May/June 1975 issue of the Write Thing.  

This is NOT a nice article at all!  So, if you want to read something that isn't kind and flattering, then skip this one. 

From TWT: The whole town's talking about the article about Linda McCartney in this week's Village Voice written by Blair Sabol apparently Miss Sabol, (a tasteful, stylish, witty writer) knew Linda in the old days, and finally figured "the hell with it" and came out to publicly print what many have been whispering behind backs all these years. 

Some people feel that Sabol was merely airing a personal grudge towards Linda for dropping her old friend after the marriage, only to pick up on some of it eight years later when she wanted something from them. Many of her old friends are currently the editors of rock magazines, the possessors of big bylines and major fashion magazines, and so forth. Other insiders have breathed sighs of satisfaction that Sabol went ahead and wrote the story, none of them ever having the nerve to write it themselves.

 The picture painted of Mrs. McCartney is that of a slightly selfish and embarrassing lady. Paul fares far better in this feature; he makes an attempt to be polite. Seems totally mesmerized by the music he makes, and he's better dressed than Linda. The implication here is that Linda finally figured out that she has married a music maniac, and if she couldn't beat him, she'd join him. She has noted with some pride that the band is called Linda and Paul McCartney and Wings, and the title of their new LP is Venus and Mars.

Linda: Who Does She Think she Is? Mrs. Paul McCartney?

By Blair Sabol

The Village Voice

1975

     On March 4, Linda McCartney was busted while driving with Paul in West Los Angeles at 1 a.m. for carrying two small joints at the bottom of her shoulder bag. On March. 5, at 1pm she called me for the first time in eight years. Did she need money? No. She wanted to go shopping in Beverly Hills. 

    Now, you must understand that the last time I knew Linda was during her groping groupie days. I met her on an interview with Warren Beatty after his success with Bonnie and Clyde, when he was into giving nonverbal explanations, and Linda was into photographing stars with little or no film in her camera.

     I remember how impressed I was with her come-on, hard-on talents as she sat in front of Mr. B. in a mini skirt and her legs in full wide-angle, split for at least six rolls of Ektachrome. Warren ended up ushering me out of his Delmonico suite within 30 minutes and kept Linda for two days. Her pictures turned out to be mediocre to poor, but we became fast friends.

     Actually, to know Linda was not to know her at all. Beneath her Peter Pan collar shirts and the Peck and Peck tweed skirt, there was something not quite tangible, not quite real, not quite there. I hate to say she was vacuous, because I did seem to communicate with her closely for two years. I would hate to think that I had become tight with nothing more than a helium balloon all the time.

     I was shocked at the disappearing act she pulled on all of her New York City friends when she left for England in 1967 for the eventual McCartney score. The late beloved Rock Duchess and giant Linda supporter. Lillian Roxon and I would spend endless hours discussing how she could pull such a brutal break with all of us. Didn't she think us worthy of her regal rock role? Why were we considered cast offs? Couldn't we keep good enough time? It was a puzzle that plagued us and crushed Lillian to her dying day. 

    Meanwhile, I kept up with Linda's developments through Modern Screen and  Rolling Stone's rancid notes. The counts never meshed with the Linda I knew. And as far as I was concerned, she might as well have died. That's what happens when your own friends become victims of the media. When Screw did their in-depth piece on Linda, it provided blow-by-blow accounts at all. I was revolted when Julie Baumol made a heroic attempt in McCall to give Linda a sense of charismatic power (and those were back in the days when Linda refused to give interviews) as a Beatle wife along with low key Pattie Harrison, almost non existent, Mrs. Ringo Starr and the ever present Yoko Ono, I had to chuckle, but like I say, the problem lies in the fact that there is nothing terribly novel about Linda.

    So, back in her SOS shopping call. She caught me totally off guard, and I did not even feel like asking her what she'd been up to for the past seven years, but I did. How else to fill in the endless silent pause? "Oh, man, I can't tell you..." an afflicted Liverpudlian accent when Paul is around, when he's not, she slips into perfect, upper-class, upper Lexington Avenue. "I mean, man, I can't stand this town." I figured times must be boring in her Cold Water Canyon rental if she tracked me and my unlisted phone number down. We continued to chat about nothing except her recording their new album, Venus and Mars. Since I admitted to not having been in the music scene since the Jefferson Airplane played their Thanksgiving ritual at the Fillmore in 1969, it was hard for me to relate to a lot of what she was talking about. She seems to have gotten the rock musician lingo down perfectly. I managed to congratulate her and Paul on their recent Grammy and secretly congratulated myself for remembering that fact. 

    She asked me to stop by the Wally Heider studio anytime in the next week, in the late afternoon, to see them. "I mean, this place is so strange, man. We've been recording this record for the last two months, and we're in the home stretch now. All we want to do is finish laying these tracks and split back for Scotland." The bust didn't seem to affect her. "Well, you know, it happens to everybody, and it's time-consuming with the lawyers, but we'll get it taken care of, and we do want to get out of here as fast as possible." Meanwhile, the screaming voices of three little girls could be heard in the background. I forgot that Linda was a mother of three and had to deal with tutors, sitters, and household hassles. Actually, she rarely had to deal with it all, since most of their band members' girlfriends ended up doing the job for no pay and for whatever glory goes with waiting on stars. 

    Linda, however, has come a long way from the days she used to leave Heather, her daughter (with a former marriage), alone at night with the doorman while Linda went off for a night of shooting and scoring at the Scene or at Fillmore. Now, Linda considers herself very much the rock star, and I have to give her credit for having the nerve to get up and perform on stage with Paul. "I always knew I could sing, you know, and playing the guitar was a cinch. I had the best teacher, after all. I also enjoy doing all the backups, you know, all the little details. It's a trip, believe me." I believed her, especially since I last left her in 1967 in the middle of her Castro convertible, sorting out her stacks of 45s and show me the gifts of guitar picks that Mike Bloomfield just left her.

     I arrived at Wally Heiders, which was a very cozy two-room operation. The control room had remnants of a party the night before: a refrigerator filled with Coors, crepe paper streamers, and balloons hanging from the master control knobs and tape deck. Apparently, Elton had done a walk-on late in the evening, and it was reason for instant celebration.

     I sat reading People Magazine four or five times through while waiting an hour for Linda and Paul. Various members of the band all looked very much like Paul, with the big panda eyes, thick hair, and shaggy heads came in and out with inane, warm intros. No one seemed to care who or what I was, but I find that to be a commonplace manner among the rock crowd. Finally, Linda made her entrance, in tight-fitting pink crepe stove pipe pink pants, a white shirt with puffy sleeves, and a tight-fitting pink knit vest, which enhanced her wired bra outlines. Linda definitely needed some clothing consultation, particularly when I noted that she was wearing a pair of Clearasil-colored muck boots as bedroom slippers. Was this a sample of sound studio chic?

     Paul's entrance went almost unnoticed, since he was walking behind Linda. He was much shorter than I had imagined, dressed in all black with a fantastic black satin oriental smoking jacket with a gold dragon emblazoned on the back. He at least showed some taste in the shoe department by wearing a pair of black velvet, gold-crested lounge slippers, and he surprised me with his buoyant greeting of "Linda told me so much about you; I'm really glad to meet you." Whether this was true or not, didn't matter. At least the man showed some style in making an opening gesture. 

    The two hours I spent at Wally Heiders consisted of watching Linda order some of the roadies out for fresh strawberry juice at the farmer's market. She showed me her photos for the album cover at least four times, and raved on about her work. I always admired her confidence and self-assertiveness. By the way, her album shot consists of two billiard balls, one red and one yellow, on a black velvet background. It's not exactly the hottest eye catcher of an idea for a cover photo, but let's face it, can a cover really make or break a McCartney album? 

    Linda then requested I watch her as she played or dabbled at the Celesta. She sat down, struck two notes, jumped off, and was on to the Moog. She hit four Moog moans and then went on to a guitar. She didn't complete one riff on one instrument, nor did she complete one explanatory sentence. Meanwhile, Paul disappeared into total music meditation in the glass-enclosed booth. Earphones adjusted, he would sit there all night, mainlining track after track and not paying too much attention to Linda's childish auditions. Obviously, McCartney takes his music seriously, while Linda is just along for the ride. And after all, who can criticize her? Who does she think she is anyway? Mrs. Paul McCartney?

    Paul is a wonderful study of a person who lives for sound. He talks and breathes, mixing and looping. Linda, on the other hand, craves some kind of unique attention, and as obnoxious as her manipulation of Paul and the band may be, again, I have to give her credit, it is as if she woke up one day and realized that although she married a Beatle, she was also married a 24 hour a day music maniac, and if you can't lick them, join them. So Linda decided to become part of his act, if only to talk to him about something. "You know, it really hasn't been easy," she said. "I mean, until I got into performing, it was kind of strange. Now that I'm involved with the whole operation, Paul and I find that we are closer than ever. We get so high and off each other's music. It's great."

     Two minutes later, she was asking me if I had seen Warren, and said that she would like to pay him a visit.  "Do you have his home number?" Shades of old Linda? "I still like taking pics, too. I mean, I like to do as many things as I can." Whenever she does them all well, it doesn't matter, because now Linda considers herself an equal, an equal star, that is, with Paul. "Don't forget, the act reads 'Linda and Paul McCartney and Wings', not Paul McCartney and Linda in Wings." Somehow, from the tone in her voice that afternoon, I wouldn't have put it past Linda to secretly believe that she's a bit better than Paul. "He really digs my backups. There's no one more sensible than me to do it for him."

     I quickly ended my visit when Paul decided to play 45 minutes of assorted types of cat calls and elephant roars with the volume turned up to surround sound level. It made me nauseated, which I'm sure was his point, and I split. Linda seemed to think that I would stick around and watch her lay a track, but I explained that sitting in a room with no windows or ventilation made me feel ill. Besides, how many auto tennis games could I stand to play with the lead guitarist and technician? You can only get off on hanging out at studios if you're recording; otherwise, it seems like a never-ending evening of takeout pizza orders.

     Linda did invite me to her Bon Voyage party aboard the Queen Mary. "It's going to be very private, no press and just our immediate good friends, you know, nice and quiet, no flash bulbs or Rona Barrett."

    The party for Paul and Linda's immediate 350 pals did turn out to be quite an evening for the rock regalia. Everyone from the industry, it seemed, arrived and got piped and saluted on board by 12 uniformed officers. There were about 40 round tables scattered around the formal dining room and dance floor, complete with elaborate centerpieces and matches reading "Venus and Mars". Someone said the rock title is supposed to stand for Paula Linda. So much for their contribution to cosmology.

     The guest list included everyone from the Jackson Five to Dean Martin (who sat at the table next to Linda and Paul and kept booze bellowing. "Who the hell is giving this party? Do I know these people?") Since most of the guests were stars who wouldn't normally go to a private party, but only press promotionals for themselves. It was, I guess, hard for them to relate to one another. The atmosphere seemed stilted and strained. At first, no one was talking.  I already knew rock etiquette was non-existent. There were too many colleagues, lights bumping into one another, and it made for discomfort. 

    Since I wasn't friendly with a soul, I ended up sitting at an empty table next to the McCartneys, who were the first to sit down and eat. Linda was cordial enough. She gushed up to me, "Oh, far out. You really came." Do people still say 'far out' anymore? Linda McCartney does. "Did you remember to bring the cream for my herpes?"  It seems four days previously, Linda broke out ear to ear with a heavy rash. I told her I had some medicine for it, and she told me to bring it to her party.(By the way, that was the only drug I saw her deal the whole night.) I told her I forgot, and she dropped me like a broken guitar string. I never saw her the rest of the night. 

    As for her party attire, clunky black patent sandals, a la foot savers, no stockings, a black shirt with a black lace corset tied over it. (Do you think she was trying to look S& M in league ?) and a black short skirt.  Paul was wearing the same black kimono coat and lounging slippers I saw him in before. 14-year-old daughter Heather looked the way Tatum O'Neill should look with a boarding school pinafore and Mary James. 

    The night eventually took off when a rhythm and blues band from New Orleans, who Paul is mad for, called the Meters, caught fire with some decent dance music. It was everyone to their feet, Paul and Linda jerked up and down on the center floor, but Paul stopped after a while, remaining transfixed by the group. He didn't once notice Linda's humping motions. 

    Dylan and his wife, Sara, did show, as did George Harrison with his new artichoke haircut (Now you really notice his lousy teeth) in a wrinkled Leisure Suit and a girlfriend whom he never introduced naturally. Everyone paid their last respects to the McCartneys, and Cher came late with her girlfriend-secretary ( not Geffen or Greg) and talked to Dylan and Linda. What these people had to say to one another seems questionable. Whenever I listened in on conversations, they were about what labels they were all getting kicked off of, or what TV series they're all getting canceled on. The rest of it was like dangling inanimate dialogue. 

    By 2am, people were winding their way back on the freeway. Linda and Paul were the last ones seen, streaming off the ship. Linda took the yellow and red carnation centerpiece, which just goes to show you can take the girl out of the bar mitzvah, but you can't take the bar mitzvah out of the girl.

Linda's thumbs aloft

 

Live Aid

July 13, 1985
 

Bang Bang

 

Birthday Sessions

 July 7, 1980 - Recording sessions with Paul & Ringo in France 

Party Time in D.C.

 July 6, 1990 

McCartneys on the move

June 26, 1975
 

Meeting McCartney was a thrilling event (1993)

 

Meeting McCartney was a Thrilling Event For Newspaper Reporter

By GaryLeftwick

The Time-Herald

May 8, 1993

    It's been said that one should never aspire to meet his heroes. Several days ago, before my long journey to meet Paul McCartney came to a somewhat unexpected halt, I would have agreed with that statement.

     Last Saturday, I was lucky enough to get to meet McCartney face to face before his concert at the Georgia Dome. The saga began when I first heard that Paul was going to follow up his triumphant comeback tour of 1989-1990 with another agenda of concerts this year.

     On a cold morning in February, several friends and I bought tickets to the Atlanta show. After being fortunate enough to get seats in the 16th row, I was brash enough to suggest that I should try and get a press pass to photograph the show. Little did I know what was to follow.

     A few days later, I sat down and composed a letter and faxed it to Cellar Door Productions, the promoter of the tour. For the next several weeks, I waited, but no answer arrived. Then last Friday morning, I was working busily to get a major story finished before a deadline, the phone rang. "Good morning. This is Gary," I said, with my usual rehearsed greeting.

     A woman on the other end began talking so fast that I missed her name and had no prayer of catching her in the conversation. However, I did pick out the words "Paul McCartney".  I have developed a talent for recognizing those two words; just ask anyone who knows me. The adrenaline that shot through my body was enough to be lethal. The gist of the conversation was that I was to meet with other members of the press at gate E of the Dome for a press conference. I was shocked that what I was just a flippant suggestion had become reality.

     I called my friends and family and people who I'm not sure that I actually met, to tell them the great news. Eventually, but not nearly soon enough, it was Saturday. I arrived at the Dome with my fiancée, Becky, and began a long wait. 

    Security people were the most unorganized group I've ever seen. But then I met Paul McCartney's publicity staff. Soon, 15 other photographers and I were herded to where a photo opportunity was going to be staged. 

    While waiting, I saw this teenager who looked exactly like Paul. In an instant, I knew exactly who he was. "You're James", I said to the red-headed youth after I realized he was McCartney's only son; the resemblance was amazing. "Yeah, right", he said.  End of conversation.

     The next thing I knew, I heard someone say, "Here we go". I looked down the long hallway of the Coliseum, and there was Paul. I won't say the time stood still, but I'll be darned if it didn't slow way down.

     Being the semi-alert journalist that I am, I stayed conscious enough to aim my camera at McCartney, and I looked through the lens. He stared right at me and said, "So you want to take some pictures?" I think it was at this point that I realized I actually was going to meet Paul McCartney, but I must confess that I was more like, I'M GOING TO MEET PAUL MCCARTNEY!.

     I fired a roll of film as Paul, his wife, Linda, and his band clowned around in a bath of camera flashes. Then I realized that I had to hurry back to the press conference. We had been warned sternly that if we were not in the press room before he arrived. We were not going to be in the room when he was there.

     I made it to the press conference and grinned at the sour-faced publicists as I took my seat in the middle of the front row. Soon, Paul arrived and charmed those of us in the room. After listening to a barrage of questions, which can be best be described as dumb, I decided I had come up with a good question .

    Before I knew it, my hand was in the air. Paul ignored it several times, then his personal aide announced that there was time for only a couple more questions. Soon, Paul looked me in the face and asked for my question. I've listened to a tape of the press conference several times and swear that my voice did not quiver. I asked Paul about a return to live music and acoustic instruments, which is making music more energetic these days. Paul went off autopilot and seemed genuinely interested in answering my question. I then told him that my band is called Sea of Green. We took the name from a line in Yellow Submarine. Paul smiled and said, "Great, cool. Well, good luck."

     That was it, my band had received the blessing of Paul McCartney, the most popular figure in music and perhaps one of the most recognized celebrities in the world, had wished us luck

    . After that, McCartney was whisked away, and we were left to wait half an hour before being escorted into the Dome to shoot the first two songs of the show. There we were, a group of photographers standing in front of the stage, being eyed with envy by people sitting in the front rows.

     Then the film, which opens the McCartney show, started, footage of McCartney frolicking for a camera in late 1969 flickered across the single screen. Then with a flash, all the screens came to life with film of The Beatles performing the song "Help". That is the point where I lost it. The fact that I had met Paul and was about to stand 30 feet from where he would be performing hit me like a ton of bricks. Watching images of John, Paul, George, and Ringo, four people whom I've dedicated my life to studying, I began to cry. This was it. I had reached the summit. I had met Paul McCartney. I had met one of my greatest heroes. 

    The concert began as Paul and the band launched into "Drive My Car." After getting comfortable with the audience, McCartney came over with a puzzled look. He searched out my camera and played right into it.

     Next thing I know, we had been shuffled out and robbed of our photo passes. I was running to stash my camera and head inside for the rest of the show. It was when I reached the floor of the Dome that I realized I had actually achieved what I'd so jokingly suggested months ago.

     I felt different since last Saturday. In the short time we spent in the same room, I realized that Paul McCartney is probably the most optimistic person I've ever met. I've come to believe that hope is contagious, and I've noticed that things no longer bother me as much. Thanks, Paul. You were so right when you said "And in the end they love you take is equal to the love you make."

A Magical Mystery Tour in Beatle-land (1984)

 

A Magical Mystery Tour in Beatle-land

By George Estrada

The Oakland Tribune

December 16, 1984

    I visited the house at 251, Menlove Avenue.  My taxi driver took a snapshot of me standing in front of it. I couldn't believe it. What could beat this? 

    "Oh, did you know that Paul McCartney will be in town tomorrow?" The cabbie asked .

    "What? "

    "Yeah, he's received an honor from the Liverpool town council."

     Bingo!

     A telephone call, a visit to the town council public relations office, a show of my Tribune, press credentials, a brief explanation that I'm an American journalist on a holiday, but I'd like to cover this event, and there I was sitting in the midst of the British press in the main room of the town library, waiting for Paul McCartney to receive his freedom of the city award, symbolic of all the things he's done to enhance the image of Liverpool. 

    While we waited, I struck up a conversation with one of the British reporters, Alan Peters, a freelancer. Back in 1959, when Peters was a young "Ted", he lived very near to Stu Sutcliffe. "Stu once came over and borrowed a Gene Vincent album from me. All the Mersy bands copied the Gene Vincent style."

     Outside, mobs of giddy school girls are screaming their bloody heads off. Paul arrived. Beatlemania returned. 

    The ceremony began.  Paul boyishly mugged his way through the endless speeches of the local officials. "Aw, shucks, mates", he seemed to be saying. 

    The ceremony ended, and the reporters were allowed into a back room for a press conference. There, I met him, eye to eye. Paul -- this topped it all. What were the odds? A million to one?

     I tried to maintain a professional demeanor. "Paul, do you worry about security these days, with all the lunatics out there?

     Paul: "No, I'm not really worried about all that. What happens--Happens. You know?  George is the one who is a recluse. He doesn't like to get out and do these sort of appearances. He's more of a behind-the-scenes type, producing stuff and like that. He always was a bit shy, you know, just a normal kind of fellow."

     "Your new film, Give My Regards to Broad Street, just came out. Do you plan to do more films?"

    " Well, I figured doing a film would give me a fresh outlook. You know, I'm first and foremost a musician, though I've been acting all me life."

     I asked a few more questions, which I don't remember. He mumbled some responses I don't remember. He was being inundated by members of the normally reserved British press who had turned into salivating autograph-hounds. Beatlemania will do that to you.

     I slid over to Linda McCartney, who was holding a bunch of flowers given to her by the town council, and talked to a couple of News of the World reporters. 

    "How has your new movie been received in America?" I intruded.  "Well, some like it, and some not so much." She looked up and smiled. "Mainly, it's the people who like it and the critics who don't like it, but you know how critics are."

     She answered a couple more queries, and she was hustled off by Paul and one of the town counselors.

     It was over. I'd come to Liverpool and met a Beatle, purely by the hand of fate. Leaving the library, I hailed a cab and headed back to the train station. 

    "Guess what?" I told the cab driver, still fresh with excitement. "I just met Paul McCartney."

     "Oh, you did?" He glanced in the mirror. "Well, I guess that makes you a real cowboy now, doesn't it? " The dream is not alive in English, taxi cabs, I figured.

     I sat back, then turned my head to steal a last glance at the retreating Mersey River. It looked good to me. Life was good despite what John Lennon had told us many years ago, it was clear there are dreams of plenty left in the world.