A Vacation Surprise: George at the 1982 Long Beach Grand Prix

So I think this is the last of my "Long Beach Grand Prix" George stories for awhile.   They are all starting to sound similar to me.   Although it is pretty awesome that George was able to go out to these races every year in the late 1970's and early 1980's and just enjoy the race as a spectator.   I think these fans who wrote for the Harrison Alliance were the only ones that really noticed him as George Harrison.   And for the most part, they just watched him from a distance and didn't get in his way of the race.   

So this is the 1982 race.   I love the conversation George and Karen have because you get the feeling that George is thinking to himself  "How do I know this girl?"   "She knows about my family....where have I met her before?"    She didn't talk to him like a fan, going on and on about his records.  Instead she took the wise route and talked to him about his kid, because what Dad doesn't want to brag on his son?   

This story was written by Patti Murawski and Karen Dyson for the July 1982 issue of the Harrison Alliance.

A Vacation Surprise

Le Grand Prix de Long Beach 1982

By Patti Murawski and Karen Dyson

I’ve been taking an annual holiday in Los Angeles for many years to visit family and some very dear friends.  Each year I make it a point to try to include the Long Beach Grand Prix on my itinerary, F-1 motor sport being one of my passions.

So on the sunny weekend of the Long Beach Grand Prix, as qualifying was taking place on Friday, I was walking along, absorbed in my photography, really enjoying myself.  It felt good to be in Long Beach in the electric atmosphere of the Formula One Circus and in the strong southern Californian sun.  It was about to blizzard 12 inches of snow there!  So here I was minding my viewfinder, when I looked up for a moment, only to spy a familiar looking figure.  I stood there for a minute, convincing myself that I was seeing things.  He was trying so hard to be invisible in the shelter of the massive crowd, but there was no doubt – standing some 25 feet away was George.

I almost didn’t give that familiar figure a good long look.  When I first saw George he had his back to me.  No, I thought, it couldn’t be.  He turned his head to speak to someone beside him – I could see his profile now.  The fact that he was quite tanned, lacked a mustache and had his hair cut in a different, shorter style, combined with the ever-present sunglasses, helped to disguise him.

He seemed to be trying deliberately to blend in with the crowd.  Dressed in running shows, jeans, t-shirt and blue jacket, he was quite successful at being indistinguishable from the community of drivers, mechanics, owners, journalists, photographers, and hangers-on.  In fact, I wondered if he had walked directly past me without my noticing!

I stood there for a few minutes and, seeing how he was absorbed in watching the last minutes of qualifying, I figured he wasn’t likely to leave yet, so I immediately went to track down my friends.  I found Jennie and Kris easily enough, but Karen had gone wandering off and was nowhere to be found.

When we returned he hadn’t budged, thank goodness!  He didn’t go wandering around at all,  which was very unusual.  He kept close to the track wall, keeping out of the mainstream of activity, looking nervously about.  As soon as qualifying was over he began to walk away from the wall and was met by a man that he knew, that was a crew member from one of the teams.  They flashed off to the garage, where George kept such a low profile that Emerson Fittipaldi, George’s good friend, only happened to meet him by chance.   George didn’t stay long, disappearing rather quickly after a few minutes of conversation with Emerson.

Saturday was more of the same, George not showing up until later in the day.  We had almost missed him as we had taken about a ten minute break for our lunch.  He was attired as on Friday.  He hung out with a few team people and spent a few minutes talking to a driver and his girlfriend.  All of us got to see him briefly but none of us had the opportunity to go over and say hello, as he was conversing with friends and it would’ve been terribly impolite for us to intrude.  He left shortly thereafter with a journalist of the international motor sport press, trekking off to his favorite spectator spot, no doubt.  He later showed up at the garage for a few minutes and disappeared as fast as he appeared.  It was so hard to see as the garage is so huge, so crowded, and not well lit.   We were lucky to get a glimpse of him.

On Sunday – the start of the Grand Prix being less than an hour away – there was a burst of frantic activity within various teams as they fought the clock to get their racecraft in top form for that all important zero hour.  We were all quite pleased that Niki Lauda was on the front row in his third race after his two year absence.

We’re still trying to figure out how George got past us, as he suddenly materialized with Denis O’Brien in tow!  It didn’t look like Denis knew too much about motor sport.  They watched a kart competition as they conversed.  George would point out various karts as they whizzed by and then would turn and point out a section of a nearby Formula One vehicle, gesturing as he explained, or he would point out a particular driver that was walking by.  They kept out of the main stream of activity for the most part, standing in the shelter of a group of trees.

A man came over to George, from one of the teams, we assumed.  They obviously knew each other, as they exchanged warm greetings, mock punching each other like brothers.  I had noticed this man earlier on in the weekend as he had been walking around wearing a Pretenders button and I think a Dylan button too.  George took a red and black badge out of his pocket, laughing all the while, clumsily trying to pin it onto the man’s jacket.  The button was pretty small so we never did find out what it read, even as the guy walked past us.

Denis took a photo of George, which sent him into laughter, with a “why take a photo of  me, Denis” expression on his face.  We delighted in watching him have a good time, conversing and joking with Denis and various friends stopping by to say hello.

Karen, who had, once again, gone off on her own, suddenly popped into view, standing near the trees, about six feet away from George and Denis.  We spotted each other and she gave us a look of despair; she was debating whether or not to approach George and how to do it without attracting attention to him.  Other than people who actually knew him, only two other people had taken any notice of him standing there.  She slowly and inconspicuously inched up closer and looked if she was about to give up after waiting several minutes (take it away Karen!)

He was talking among friends, as I watched on.   At an opportune moment, when he was alone with Denis, I scrounged up the nerve to approach him.

With much hesitation, I walked up to him (Geoerge was a bit tight-lipped at first) and the following conversation took place:

Karen:  Hi, George!

George:  Hi.

K:  I just wanted to say hi, and tell you you’re looking wonderful!

G:  Oh….thanks…..

K:  Someone must be  taking good care of you!

G: (No reply)  (He was just looking at me the whole time, and it was very frustrating, as he was wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t see his expression).

K:  Yes?  No?

G:  Well…yes, I guess so.

K:  How is your family?

G:  Good…they’re fine.

K:  Dhani must be getting….

G:  He’s getting big, yeah.

K:  How old is he now?

G:  Um…he’ll be four in August.

K:  Oh my goodness!  He must be a lot of fun.

G:  Oh yeah…I really enjoy him, and he’s smart too, y’know.

K:  Really?

G:  Yeah, he’s a smart one…it comes natural (he giggled).  Y’know….he’s just naturally smart.

K:  that’s great.  I mean, you wouldn’t want a dummy kid.

G:  Oh….no!

K:  Do you have him out in the garden with you?

G:  oh yeah, all the time.

We went on to discuss the racing activities on the weekend, with George assuring me that Lauda, a more experienced driver, would get around the pole sitter, a relative newcomer.

We said our goodbyes and take cares and off George went with Denis O’Brein into the crowd.  George looked so healthy, tan, with short hair. It’s so wonderful that he can go out and enjoy himself in public.  Very few people noticed to recognize him, so he was able to enjoy himself without being mobbed.

Well, George was right, Lauda did win the race!  We never did see him again but then, we didn’t expect to have shown up in the first place.  What a “Grand Prize” indeed!

Long Beach Race of 1979

Here is another story about meeting George at a Formula One Race.   What an exciting time that must have been.  To go to a car race and be on the look out for George because he might appear.  This is taken from the July 1979 issue of the Harrison Alliance.   It was written by Patti Murawski.  

A Dream Vacation

By Patti Murawski

The start of our vacation was no indication of what was to come.  Just days before we left for L.A. United Airlines decided to strike and we were left to fend for ourselves for a rebooking.  It did no good; even though we were rebooked with TWA, flights were running late and we wouldn’t get our New York connection.  As it turned out, we were Chinese-checkered across the U.S. via Atlanta Georgia and Dallas, Texas, and had to call our friends on the coast to give them the new flight numbers.  As I said to Jennie, “You wanted adventure?  You’re getting it for free.”

Saturday of the race weekend was a beautiful sunny spring day but not without its faults.  Karen and I had to park downtown as we’d had our parking permits stolen on the first day of qualifying and it seemed forever before we found a suitable space.

Our hopes were not too high where George was concerned.  We had come to see our favorite drivers compete here at Long Beach, but having heard George had skipped town in March we weren’t counting on him to makshow at all.  I was hoping he’d just go off to Maui for his annual seaside holiday and come back for the race, but no one had a clue even if he was back in L.A.  He hadn’t shown up for the first day of qualifying; not to say we didn’t keep an eye out – it was an F1 race.  The weather was nice and there was still some time.  We could not let down our guard for a minute.  Anything could happen!  We had walked down to the Queen’s Hairpin and the Esses for morning practice and were fascinated by the maneuvering talents of the drivers; they always make handing those cars look so effortless.  We were totally absorbed and loved every minute!

We decided to start back for pit road before practice ended; as we walked, practice was halted to remove a vehicle on the circuit.  Someone either had a breakdown or an accident and the track had to be cleared before practice could carry on.  As it turned out, poor Jean-Pierre Jabouille had a frightening high-speed crash.  Thank God he wasn’t seriously injured.  As we arrived on pit road, practice resumed.  We decided to check out approximately where our race day seats were, and then sat in the grandstand to sun ourselves and watch the rest of practice.  As the teams started to come in one by one, Karen and I decided to take a walk or take pictures, leaving Jennie, Kris, Kim and Kathy up in the stands.

I paced the Wolf-mcLaren-Ligier area along the fence and contemplated a walk to Ferrari, while Karen took in the sights at the Wolf pit.  I had stopped a few minutes at McLaren when Jennie came up from behind me and grabbed my arm.  I froze.  “He’s here; isn’t that him over at the timing table??”  I looked over; George was leaning on the timing table, talking to the officials.  I didn’t even have to see his face.  Yes, that’s him!”  We had just about convinced ourselves that he wasn’t going to show up, hoping against hope that he would, and now there he was!  I walked over to the grandstand where Karen was standing and quietly tipped her off.  We stood on the steps and took some photos.  Jenn, Kris, Kim and Kathy joining us.  After a while people began to notice we didn’t have our lenses aimed at the cars, and George began to realize it too!  He pointed to us, all lined up on the grandstand steps with our cameras focused on him.

His hair had grown so much since the press conference in March, and this longer style looked great!  He was so tan.  He must’ve had a vacation.  I have never seen him look so brown in my life! He was wearing a light brown corduroy jacket, a blue plaid shirt, beige trousers and running shoes – quite the opposite of last year’s attire of blue jeans and racing jacket, and fortunately for us, a bit more distinctive; it make it easier to keep track of him in a crowd.

Word must’ve gotten around the pits of George’s arrival, as many of his driver and mechanic friends came to great him.  Emerson Fittipaldi, the Brazilian driver who had invited George to South America in February, came over to shake hands and embrace George, each looking the other over with approval.  The handshaking, back-clapping, and embracing continued as various friends approached him.  Jody Scheckter made a beeline from the Ferrari pit to the Wolf-McLaren area.  It was a bit funny how he avoided everyone until he greeted George.  When James Hunt came over to talk, George pulled a little square piece of paper from the inside of his jacket and held it out for James to see.  He smiled as he handed it to James, James holding it out in front of him in a gesture of admiration and appreciation, also with a huge smile on his face.  Judging from the reactions and the expressions from their conversation we figured it must’ve been a photo of Dhani, but we never found out.

Jacques Laffite came over eventually too, creating a little clatch of drivers and mechanics around George, conversing with him and with each other.  It was quite a set up for the scads of photographers, as well as for females with an appreciate eye.  Four of the world’s most handsome, desirable men standing together on one little piece of God’s earth.  It was just too much!

At various points we could hear George’s voice, but most of the time we couldn’t make out part or all of what he was saying.  It was so nice to watch him being himself, conversing with his friends and having a marvelous time.  He didn’t seem to mind the photographers at all and even signed for those who came up to ask.

George and Jody started walking up the road, George stopping along the way to greet more friends.  He came all the way over to the barrier when he was in the Williams pit (he had the sunglasses off then), facing the fence and not more than 5 feet away from us.  He was all smiles!  

He went up the road alone towards the Brabham pit, ad stopped for a moment, looking a trifle lost.  He started to cough, a wretched smoker’s cough, and even though we were standing so far away from him (a good 20 feet) his awful cough made our throats hurt just listening to it!  He came over to Brabham and one of their entourage came over to explain the aerodynamics of the new design.  Niki Lauda came to greet George, patted him on the back and stepped away to look him over as if to say “you’re looking well.”  The conversation was short; it seemed the drivers were anxious to have a rest before the final and perhaps the most never-shattering qualifying heat, and the mechanics needed to get back to work.

In between the practice and  qualifying the Toyota Celebrity race was to be held.   George went over to the wall adjacent to the track to speak to someone, oly to be cornered by the CBS camera crew.  We were watching him being interviewed and wondered if they were live or on tape, and what was being said.

After he finished his bit with CBS, George walked over to the barrier, jumped it, and started walking along the fence, just a bitty bit of steel mesh between him and Jennie and I.  He stopped short, finding himself in a blind alley, which sent us scurrying up the hill again, but he doubled back and came through the gate.  Kris and I hurried down the hill to meet him, as we had a present for Dhani which we’d been wanting to give him for a long time.  That morning I had tucked it inside my purse on the off-chance of having the opportunity to deliver it to Dhani’s dad.  It was a teeny t-shirt with had a picture of an F1 car on it and read, “Watkins Glen Grand Prix Pit Crew.”  Kris grabbed the shirt from me, and a Blue Brothers button she had for George, as I steered her in front of me over to him. He was walking so fast.  “This is for the baby, “she said, handing him the shirt, “and this is for you.”  He seemed bit surprised the larger of the two was for the baby and said, “Oh!  Oh, thank you!”  He scrunched the shirt up in his hand so tightly you couldn’t even tell he was holding anything!

A reporter stopped him in a parking lot, and we had a chance to take a few photos, say hello, etc.  Someone asked him about his foot and he said it was just fine, thanks, that he had had a vacation and got some rest.  We later found out he had indeed been on holiday in Maui.  When he finished with the reporter he began to walk away and he said, “bye-bye” as if to say “that’s all for now” not wanting to impose on him anymore than we already had, we said goodbye and thanks, and began to walk in the opposite direction.  Unfortunately for George, a group of girls followed him.

Generally the afternoon was much the same, Kris spotting him after qualifying, and we watched as he made his way up the road, stopping along the way to converse with Jody Scheckter at the Ferrari pit.  When he reached the gate he was walking with another person, and I could hear them exchanging bits of information about qualifying times, George consulting a little notebook that the guy had given him to look over.  After the day’s qualifying, there’s always a rush of people towards the garage as the crews tow the cars in.  More people noticed George, but this time with such a large crowd of people, he didn’t stop until he reached the motor home of some friends, where he was stopped by a reporter.  On his way over, though, a young girl had screamed as he went by her.  He turned around quickly to see what had happened, to see if someone was hurt in the crowd or whatever, but when he realized it was him she was fussing over he just sort of grimaced and quickly walked away.

We stayed a respectable distance across the street to wait to see him leave.  He sat in the window of the RV with his back to us most of the time but when he turned to watch a particular car being towed in, or when he faced us, we could hear his voice and see him smile as he conversed.  One girl waited outside the door on the RV, obviously wanting his autograph, but she didn’t approach him when he came out.  He saw her there, stopped, looked over his shoulder giving her the most gorgeous smile, took a few steps while looking back at her, as if to say “come on, don’t be afraid,” and waited.  Actually, he met her halfway and signed for her.  He headed for the garage and we waited around for a while, but much to our dismay, since the garage was set up differently this time, he probably left through a back door. 

Sunday was different.  Kris and Karen hadn’t seen him until after the race last year and we generally agreed that we probably wouldn’t see him until after the race if we saw him at all.  All that aside, the race was exciting as usual, especially the battle for the 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th places. Gilles Villeneuve ran away with the lead and soon after, Jody Scheckter (George’s pick to win) swung into a solid 2^nd place to make it a Ferrari one-two.  Since Jody placed rather well I just couldn’t miss the Victory Circle ceremonies, and told Jenn I’d meet her at Wolf if we got separated.  As the checkered flag came down over Gilles and Jody I was off.  I didn’t have to go far.  Victory Circle was right next to where we were sitting.

After the ceremonies I sat down to change the film in my camera.  I went to the prescribed meeting place and waited but none of my friends could be found.  I wondered if I should stay put but I figured everyone would be at the garage.  I started out for the garage, taking my time, still debating about where I would find the others.

As I walked up the drive past the VIP entrance, I spotted George and a friend walking out.  “My God,’ I thought, “I couldn’t have timed it better.  No one’s gonna believe this!”  I waited for him to walk down the hill and out the gate, and as he and his friend came by me I said hello to them.  Sine George was busy taking with his friend I don’t know if he really heard me.  He looked marvelous.  He wore a white shirt and beige trousers and a tweed coat (75 degrees and he’s wearing wool!)

I turned and watched him walk down the hill to an RV; he went in.  I circled around and leaned against a wall down the street to watch for him to come out.  One of our members, Lynn Hocker, and a friend of hers were waiting further up the road.  Since I had met her briefly a few days before and knew she knew my friends, I went to ask if she had seen them anywhere.  She said she had seen them in the garage a while ago.  Well, I was right anyway!  (Jennie told me later that they had seen George in the garage chatting with friends.  He had a bunch of his new LP under his arm and was handing them out to all his buddies).

When George left the RV I just stood and watched; a guy stopped him to sign something.  I was standing there thinking it was just so stupid of me to be standing there and not to be over speaking to him.  I came up behind them and just peered around the guy’s shoulder.  Curiously, no one was saying a word.  “Hello, George! Did you enjoy the race?”  He looked up at me – his face not more than a foot from mine.  “Yeah!” he said breathlessly, like a little kid full of excitement.  “Did your favorites win then?”  “Well, “ he said looking up again as he was handing the guy his book, “sort of.”  “Sort of?” I asked, but I already knew that he was better acquainted with Jody, the 2^nd place winner, than with Gilles, who took first.  He took a few steps; someone asked about his foot and he said it was okay now.  He said he had to go and quickly walked over to his friend, who had started to walk ahead.  He was walking along swinging a set of keys and I thought perhaps he drove himself this time.

He went up to the street and around the corner; his magnetism was too much!  I was overcome, drawn up the hill, saying to Lynn, “this is awful, I don’t want to follow him,” the same dilemma Kris, Karen and Cindy had last year.  It’s so strange, the effect he has on you!  I went to the top f the hill and watched; Lynn and her friend walked off after him.  I walked along the grandstand watching to see where he had gone.  They stopped, and I thought George was going to turn around, but he looked around then pointed to one of the bridges.  I was about a block behind.  He was leaving the circuit, so I decided it wouldn’t hurt to watch him leave, and scurried to the bridge.  I caught up with Lyn and passed, her, telling her he probably had a car waiting in the street below.  George stopped in the street.  There were several limousines parked there but he looked around, puzzled.  He then got the revelation that he and his friend had crossed the wrong bridge and were at the wrong location so they set out to walk across town several blocks.  He turned around to see if anyone was following him as he took a shortcut down an alley.  Lynn was at a loss as to what to do.  I waited until they got to the end of the alley to see which way he turned, and then zoomed up and across the block.  Just as I got to the crosswalk they had crossed the street.   I was still a black behind, keeping my distance, not wanting to bother him.

I lost him in the crowd ahead, a line waiting at the bus stop no less, but I noticed that particular corner was the area where he had met the car last year.  Lynn caught up and asked if I had seen where he went.  I told her he was probably around the corner to our left.  She quickly went walking to the corner, but just as quickly came reeling back.  He was just around the corner. I leaned against the building to catch my breath, and ktty-corner through the plate glass store window.  I could see him standing next to a tree having a cigarette.  The car was not waiting for them.  A woman was watching us trying to catch our breath and watching how Lynn wouldn’t go around the corner.  She kept asking if we were in trouble and why wouldn’t Lyn go around the corner (How to you explain that?)

Several minutes later, a green limousine pulled up at the bus stop directly in front of us.  George went straight for the car; he clambered in and his friend followed; before we knew it, off they went.

For Jenn and I the races are always exciting; race weekend went by in a flash, leaving us with a dreadfully long wait until the trek to the Glen in the fall.  But I couldn’t have asked for a better vacation; a super time with some great people, the cars, the drivers, all this and George Harrison too!  I was right, it was some adventure!

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!