Mister & Missus

 

January 22, 1966

On Tour with the Beatles (By Tony Barrow 1965)

 

On Tour With the Beatles

By Tony Barrow

Liverpool Echo

December 11, 1965

    During the course of their nine-day tour, The Beatles performed 18 concerts to a total of something like 50,000 faithful fans.

     Not being too keen on trains and having a definite dislike for air travel, they have driven from city to city in an impressive black Austin Princess whose windows have been darkened so that its passengers peer out upon a colorless twilight world, whatever the time of day.

     Very seldom is it until he is in his bed and behind a latch door does a Beatle finds privacy. Not that John, George, Paul, and Ringo seek solitude. They like some people and some noise about them, but a great many people prolong their stay in the presence of the Beatles until any less extraordinary mortals would explode with impatience. 

    Picture this typical dressing room scene: A hefty backstage employee dressed in an oversized gray jersey enters for the umpteenth time.

 Gray jersey:  More tea, lads? Anyone want another cuppa? 

A Beatle: I've had four.

 Another Beatle:  No Thanks.

 Gray jersey: How about you, Ringo?

Ringo: No.  None of us wants more tea. Thanks.

Gray jersey: I'll shift the cups then.

A Beatle: You do that.

Gray jersey:  I'll tell you what. Just before I do that, can I get you all to sign some more pictures for me?

     So many acts of superficial kindness on the part of those who find themselves in the proximity of a Beatle have secondary and more selfish motives. 

    They put up with plenty these patient Beatles. Above all, they put up with an endless battery of constantly repeated questions and still managed to offer smile-making answers.

 Reporter:  I believe your guitar fell off the back of your car. 

George: Yes, that's right, on the way up from London.

 Reporter: Did it get smashed?

 George: Yes, it got smashed. It was in pieces. It looked as though 10 lorries had run over it. 

Reporter: Will you be able to use it again?

George: Well....

 John:  No, he won't. It's out of tune.

     Now you see, then there are all the relatives that never are. At every theater, you'll find at least one cunning fan who will try to get close to a Beatle by claiming to be one of the family. 

 Stage doorkeeper:  Can I show in your cousin Julie, Ringo?

 Ringo, I haven't got a cousin named Julie.

 Stage manager: I've got your cousin, Diana, in the wings, waiting to see you. Paul.

 Paul: I haven't got a cousin, Diana.

    Of course, there are on the rare occasions, which tend to baffle the more experienced backstage.

Stage door keeper:  Hey, John, I know this is daft, but you haven't got a cousin called Stanley, have you? 

John:  Yes, of course I have! Is he here? Show him in!

    Some Beatle People fancy their chances of reaching their favorite by telephone. Usually, their attempts at voice disguise are more amusing. In Glasgow, a little Lassie with a heavy local accent tried to persuade a Beatle aide that she was Mrs. Cynthia Lennon calling from Surrey. In London, a youngster with a magnificent cockney accent assured the theater switchboard that she was Freda Kelly, The Beatles  Liverpool fan club secretary. An average of a dozen Miss Boyds, Miss Ashers, and the like call Stage Door numbers during the course of a given evening on tour. 

    At any rate, Beatles do not live splendidly wild lives. Seldom, if ever, do they go out on the town. After a pair of shows, they retire to their hotel and enjoy an ample meal in their rooms, talk a while amongst themselves or with close friends, and disappear to their beds around three o'clock.  They adore sleep and hate to be brought from their slumber before lunchtime, unless morning departure for the next destination is essential. They eat very little at the start of their day, and are usually on the road less than an hour after they are summoned from bed by a road manager. 

    In their dressing rooms, you will always find a television set, and if there is a Beatle in the room the set will be switched on. They love watching things like The Man from U.N.C.L.E. or The Avengers, but constant interruptions prevent them from watching anything from start to finish.

     One of the strange things I discovered on tour with The Beatles was that the majority of security campaigns that surround their movements are laid on without their knowledge and certainly not at their request. The cordons of police outside and the small armies of he-men stretched across the front of the orchestra stalls are there at the instigation of constabulary officials and/or the theater manager. Sometimes, from the boys' point of view, they do their jobs too effectively. The Beatles like to see something of their fans. They dislike to see an audience which is too thoroughly disciplined, or a street crowd held back as such long range that they can't even wave or be waved at. 

    As John puts it, "We see too much of some people and not enough of others," but I didn't ask him to be more specific. 

    Now, 50,000 Beatle People, after it began, the 1965 tour is over, and the boys are number one on the charts with "We Can Work It Out" and "Day Tripper."  50,000 Beatle People and four enthusiastic entertainers think it has all been worthwhile, and so do I.

Beatles Shrug Off Press (Los Angeles 1965)

 

Beatles Shrug Off Press

By Ray Duncan

Pasadena Independent

August 30, 1965

A new era began in American life, starting Sunday night, when the Beatles held a quiet press conference. Though the average age in the room was very low, there was no screaming, no clawing, no fainting, no gasping, and very little applause. It was an ordinary, orderly press conference, such as might be held for the President or for a quartet of astronauts.

 A modest crowd of youngsters had gathered outside the Capitol Records building in Hollywood for the supposedly secret event, but they created no disturbance. Inside, in a large recording studio, several uniformed guards had no trouble keeping order when the famous four marched in. The people who seemed to do the least work at the Beatles. Beatles press conference are --the Beatles

 Photographers fought for favorable positions. (Dozens of little girls with Brownie cameras were accepted as photographers for this happening.) and guards kept the cameramen at bay, and the TV cameramen sweated under the heat of the lamps.  A British press agent waved his arms to stage-manage the affair, but the four casually clad Beatles sat in careless ease, facing the crowd and cheerfully evading most of its questions.

One Beatle was smoking, another chewed gum, and one did both. They wore loafer-style jackets and open shirts and an air of having been through all this many times before.  They were cordial and quick-witted enough, even in the face of idiotic questions. After all, what can you ask a Beatle?

 But something in their manner suggested an undertone of good-natured arrogance and quiet contempt toward this part of their peculiar career.  As is customary at these Beatles press gatherings, very little significant communication took place. “Is there any truth to the rumor…..?”  A questioner began, and a Beatle at that point quickly answered, “No.”

 “Will this be your last World Tour?”  “No, and it's not a world tour. It's only America after all.”

 “What is your basic appeal to young people?”  “I don't know, really " said Ringo, trailing  off into a smile, which is part of the answer.

“Which singing group is next to you in popularity? “ “I don't know. Really, there's a new one every week.”

 One hard fact emerged from the Beatles and seemed to move the audience deeply. They declared that their favorite American singing group was one called “The Birds” [sic]

After 15 minutes of this sort of exchange, it was more interesting to watch the audience, and there were many remarkable, pretty girl children whose eyes were a little too old, but whose lips were still vulnerable with youth. Many were brassiered beyond their years, coiffed in a manner that couldn't be striking, and blonded in various unconvincing shades.

The audience boys included one who had dressed like a Beatle in concert black and who had also neglected his hair in Beatles fashion. With him was a girl with ordinary girls hair, which looked strange.

“Where do you get the ideas for your songs?”  “Out of my head.”

 A bearded elderly man who claimed to be a child psychologist asked the Beatles how they managed to survive the pressure of publicity and adoration. They said, “Well, it's only about two hours a day. The other 22 hours were just plain people.”

 An adoring girl asked, “How long do you think you will be supremely popular as you are now?”  “Well,” said a Beatles, “let me figure…”  And he trailed off into a reverie, ending with a sudden smile, no answer.

“ Do you find that you have to be more circumspect now than when you were less famous? “Circumspect? No, we're Roman Catholics.”

 And the jolliest question of all from a serious adult, “Do you have any comment on the recent charge that you are actually aiding the communist cause by softening and corrupting our youth?”  Said the Beatles, who are getting $45,000 for each of the two sold-out concerts in Hollywood Bowl last night and tonight, “We're all capitalists.”

29 Oasis (San Diego 1965)

  

29 Oasis

By Barbara Fiske

Hi-Desert Star

September 16, 1965

“If you don't mind pretending you're my mother, I can get you into a news conference with the Beatles. They're performing in San Diego tonight.” The invitation to be her mother was given me by my friend Martha Garvin of San Diego soon after I had checked into the hotel for a vacation along the cooling Pacific Ocean.  Ordinarily, my own HI-Desert Star press pass would have sufficed, but it seems getting to a news conference with the Beatles required security clearance almost as drastic as the one required to get into the White House.  At least so, I was told.

 There wasn't time, Martha explained, for so much red tape. But her mother, editor and publisher of The California Senior Citizen News wasn't going to use her pass, and so I could have it, if I would pretend to be her Mother. Tired as I was after the trip, a news conference with the Beatles would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience which could not be denied.

Within an hour, I met Martha, her editor and photographer of the Senior Citizen News, and we were on our way. The Beatles program which was being held at Balboa Stadium at the San Diego High School.

The news conference was to precede the program for which we also had press passes.  The streets near the stadium were clogged with cars and kids. Finally finding a place to park a half a mile away. We climbed the steep hill by the school and discovered neighbors were hanging out of windows and sitting on porches and along the sidewalk to watch the crowds go by. “The people going to see the Beatles are odder looking than the Beatles themselves,” one spectator informed us.

Policemen directed traffic, hawkers sold Beatles pennants, Beatles buttons, Beatles cushions, Beatles programs. A mass of teenagers converged on the area. Some were singing and some were waving pennants.

We reached the high school building where the conference was to be held and pushed our way through the crowd to the head manager. After being thoroughly checked off a list, we were allowed to climb over the chain to the door, and then, after further orders were given, we were allowed inside the conference area.

 A group of teenagers broke through the police lines and ran into the conference room. Police came rushing after them. I heard one remark as a policeman started pushing her out. “Okay, I'll go, but it was at least a good try.”

 About 30 of us, privileged persons, were inside the area when the Beatles were brought in. The Beatles' very British manager informed us that we had five minutes to take pictures, and then questions would be in order. But order was not exactly the way to describe the conference. Trying to take a picture involved pushing harder than the next guy and punching yourself a spot with your elbows. Some photographers stood on the chairs. I haven’t seen my pictures yet, but I can bet I got more rear views of reporters' heads than I did of the Beatles.

 And all this time, from the stadium outside, there was a constant squealing. Squealing that rose and fell, but it was always in the background, and singing, “We love you. Beatles, oh yes, we do” or something like that.

The news conference didn't last too long. It was hard to hear everything the Beatles said. Television cameras were grinding. People were jumping up and down. Flashes were firing. John, I believe it was did most of the talking.  Ringo displayed his rings.

 I do remember someone asked the Beatles how they felt about the decoration, or whatever it was that Queen Elizabeth bestowed upon them. The reply was to the fact that they had thought they deserved the honor just as much as some of the others to whom it had been given.

They looked just like any other male would look with long hair. And there were so many long hairs around in the conference room that I was confused at first as to which ones were the Beatles.

 After the conference, we made our way through policemen and hundreds, it seemed, of Pinkerton men into the stadium. The squealing was constant. I'd never heard the Beatles, and I didn't hear much of them this time. The squealing never stopped, not even when the Beatles were performing.

 On television the next day, a psychiatrist tried to explain the squealing by saying that teenagers had a culture of their own, and part of their behavior was to revolt against the hypocrisies of adult culture.

 People asked me what I thought of the Beatles. An expert I cannot pretend to be, but they seem during the news conference to be very sensible and likable fellows who had a good thing going and knew it. After all, it said they take in about $25,000 each performance. How many of us would turn down a chance like that, even if it did call for a far-out hairdo? Personally, I wouldn't have missed the experience of a news conference with The Beatles, even if I had to be my own grandma. 

Oh What a night it was!

 

Oh! What a Night it Was!

By: Tony Barrow

The Liverpool Echo

October 21, 1963

    The setting was a sumptuous seventh-floor suite and one of Mayfair's most luxurious hotels. Two hours before the Beatles had been seen by an estimated 15,000,000, tele-viewers and one of the most sensational editions of Sunday Night at the London Palladium ever screened. Two days later, new super headlines and the BBC bulletins spread the news that the Beatles were to appear in this year's Royal Variety Performance at London's Prince of Wales Theater on Monday, November 4. 

    Meanwhile, room 704 of the Grosvenor House Hotel was the scene of a small but somewhat special celebration party. Four immensely happy, if slightly weary, Beatles were trying to make themselves believe that they had really topped the television bill at the most famous variety theater in the world. Bunches of proud Beatle parents were present to assure the boys that it all happened. Television and Radio newscasters confirmed the whole thing from a Hi Fi combination set in the corner of the room.

     Ringo perched himself on the arm of a sleekly built settee to discuss some percussive technicalities with his father. George wondered if his mother had noticed the mobile dais jerk backwards a second or two before the boys had expected it to.

     Parental praise and self-critical analysis crisscrossed the central heated air. Paul and John huddled in confab with Mr. McCartney. Sets of arms were extended around the shoulders of contented Beatle mums. Shop Talk chatter of show biz topics jostled for hearing space alongside assorted items of family news offered and exchanged at high speed.

     Stories of the fantastic day poured forth at top pressure to be taken up and elaborated upon by each excited Beatle in turn. The host, group manager Brian Epstein sat beside a busy telephone, sipping a scotch and replying to a ceaseless stream of press inquiries.

     An immaculately tailored waiter drew a comment from John Lennon, to the effect that he hadn't realized the Undertakers were present. Paul replenished his icy glass with yet another dose of Coke and talked about the job Bruce Forsyth had squeezed himself into Ringo stage suit earlier in the evening.

     Road manager Neil Aspinall related the astonishing tale of The Great Escape Plan, which came unstuck. Brian Epstein listened to the vital details. "We waited in the theater for a while, but they told us the crowds were just as thick," Neil started. "We planned to come out through the front entrance of the Palladium and straight into the cab. We dashed down the steps onto the pavement, but there wasn't a cab to be seen. The police tried to be helpful by moving our own car further up the street. We had to run 50 yards to it with the kids breaking through the police cordons and cameras flashing all over the place. They just made it in time."

    The getaway was one of the least remarkable events of the great Beatle day. Much earlier, when the Palladium rehearsal was just getting underway, scores of eager young fans had smashed their way through a network of doors and human barriers to break into the auditorium. Every square inch of the table and ledge space in the Beatles dressing room was laden with gifts. By lunchtime, helpful constables had passed them across from the front of the crowd of fans to the admirably patient Palladium Stage doorkeepers. Each mountain of boxes and parcels was capped by small piles of gay-looking greeting telegrams from personal friends, unknown well-wishers, and music business admirers

    There was also a very friendly little note written by Frank Ifield, the current star of the Palladium weekday variety bill. He wished the boys good luck, and said he looked forward to watching them at home on the television.

     By five o'clock, Bruce Forsyth was working up a gag about "Beatle the clock". Des O'Connor was reporting that the backstage corridor was jammed with press people, and the afternoon rehearsal schedule was running 40 minutes late. Production executive Val Parnell drew hard upon a cigar stump as he briefed Brian Epstein about the mission of an ITN camera crew who would be invading the Beatles dressing room for a quickie interview.

     A gaggle of very pretty dancing girls abandoned their professional sophistication and whooped with fan delight as The Beatles launched themselves into their show-opening performance of "Please, Please Me."

     During a short tea break, George and Paul recalled an occasion just over a year ago when the Beatles made their first theater stage appearance in Liverpool. "We were added to the cast of The Little Richard concerts at the Empire," said Paul, "And we went on as a third item in the first half. Then we stayed on stage to accompany Craig Douglas. We were quite used to club and ballroom work," said Paul,"but we'd never played to a big theater audience. I think it was the first time we'd been told to wear stage makeup, too. We only had put on a 12 minute performance, but we were all scared stiff throughout the evening, in case anything went wrong."

     "Our first record,' Love Me Do', had just come out," George went on, "and we weren't quite sure how the local audiences would feel about it. We knew most of them were pleased that we got a recording contract, but some people had already made up their minds about their own favorite numbers in our club repertoire. They told us all the various R and B titles we should have recorded instead of 'Love Me Do.'  Luckily, we needn't have worried, because those Empire concerts went down wonderfully."

     Compared to the vastness and coolness of somewhere like the Liverpool Empire, the Palladium is a cozy theater, but the presence of four grim-looking television cameras capable of relaying all they see to many millions of far away folk must turn the Palladium into a most awe-inspiring place for first time, stars like The Beatles.  I'm sure the world's most accomplished entertainers feel little butterflies flipping over and over in their stomachs at the prospect of appearing before such a colossal yet unseen viewing audience at the magnificence and importance of the occasion frightened the four Liverpudlians. 

    It did not deter them from putting their all into the day's hectic session of dummy runs. If their hearts were pounding furiously, so were their precisely plucked guitars. If their nerves were on the verge of fraying, their sturdy voices certainly stood up to the strain. Anyone who imagines that pop peak personalities have an enviable idle time would go through a hasty reversal of opinion after watching the amount of work put into the pre-performance production of a top-rated television show.

     It was not until minutes before the actual transmission time that the Beatles settled quietly in their dressing room for a brief breather while they watched TV on a portable set belonging to a weekday Palladium star, Arthur Hayes.

    People who had traveled to London from all parts of the country filled the theater's auditorium. Among the front of the house were a sprinkling of Liverpool people whose anticipation and applications for tickets had been successful. They included a pair of ultra-faithful female fans who have rejoiced in the nicknames Bill and Ben since the Beatles Cavern Club heyday.  Bill and Ben have been pressuring the ATV ticket unit for the Palladium seats since the beginning of the year. Whenever you book them to appear, their string of plaintive letters had pleaded, "We just have to be there to see the Beatles!"

     Bill and Ben may like to know that the Beatles were well aware of their presence at the Palladium. They gave me the facts that filled that last paragraph just before Bruce Forsyth went on stage to pick his beat-the-clock contestants at Governor's House. 

    The clock had eaten an hour or so into Monday morning before the pleasures of celebrating lost their attraction in favor of the pleasures of sleeping. Someone sent in a batch of Early Edition morning papers, and the Beatles joined Beatle parents in a rush to see the front page coverage given to the Palladium stories. The excitement and enthusiasm could not have been greater had the assembled guests been stars or producers of the latest West End stage musical. 

    Because it was late, this mass perusal of the papers was carried out briskly, and the party came to an end as four undoubtedly sleepy Beatles volunteered to consign themselves to their respective bedrooms. This was the beginning of a fantastic week for The Beatles. The newspapers led the way with constructive headlines which reported the rumors and, finally, the confirmation that the Beatles had been selected for this year's Royal Variety Show. BBC and ITV News cameras close in on the foursome twice within 72 hours.

Mad Mel Returns

 

Here are the Beatles at a press conference in Portland, Oregon, in 1965.  That guy in the striped shirt and big sunglasses is none other than Mad Mel,  the Australian disc jockey who orchestrated the knitting of a huge scarf that he presented to The Beatles during their tour of Australia.  You can read the story about that here. 

When I saw these photos the other day, I was confused about why Mad Mel would be at a Portland Beatles press conference.   I discovered that in 1965, Mel left Australia and was a DJ at CFUN in Vancouver, British Columbia (Canada).    Portland would have been the closest town to Vancouver to have a Beatles concert that year.   Since Mel had a friendly relationship with the Beatles, it makes sense that CFUN would send him down to Oregon to attend the press conference.  He must not have spent too much time in Canada because I read that Mel was back on air in Australia by the end of the decade.  It is believed that Mad Mel still lives in Sydney.  As far as I know, he hasn't been interviewed about his time with The Beatles.  Hopefully I am wrong and the book about the Beatles in Australia that is supposed to be published this year will give us more information about this interesting disc jockey and his Beatle connection. 

The almost Fab 4

 

Brian, George, Paul and Tony

 

A First Date

 

A First Date

By Pattie Pourade

The Harrison Alliance

November 1972

 

To paraphrase Tony Barrow, it began by his simple instructions that when The Beatles sat down the photographers would be given five minutes after which they would all remain seated during the press conference.  Their procedure for asking questions was orderly and simple.  After being called on, please stand up and speak loudly.

I was a shy 14-year-old and in those last minutes before the Balboa Stadium dressing lockers gave the Beatles to the San Diego press, I didn’t clutch my friend's hand but I needed to.  He was as excited as I was.  Driving into the city we’d ranted and raved over them, although he admitted he’d much rather look at their wives and girlfriends.

So August 28, 1965, was about to come to a climax that had begun to build several weeks earlier when the city was added to the series of concert dates The Beatles would play.  My girlfriend and I bought tickets and sat the summer away on the beach waiting for “B-day.”  “August 28 is Beatle Day” said the buttons KCBQ announced daily that the KG-Beatles were San Diego bound.

On August 25^th, my dad, a printer at one of the smaller papers in town, asked me how would I like to go to a Beatles press conference as a reporter.  OH MY GOD, YES!  That was Wednesday, and by Saturday night at 7:00, I was not ready to face The Beatles.  My friends were in the stadium now.  I was alone, 4 years younger than the minimum age The Beatles had agreed could come in.  They had also requested 4 televisions, several cots, and a bathtub of fried chicken, but this had no bearing on the press conference.

Neil dressed almost identical to George, had been wandering around the basketball court where we sat in folding chairs along with several members of the entourage and many traveling D.J.s.  An oblong table sat in front of us, one side laden with A Spaniard In The Works, a cake, and a gift wrapped in white tissue with red ribbons.  John would sit here next to the protecting figure of Mr. Barrow.  Ringo would sit between John and Paul, looking much smaller than his companions, and on the opposite end, a grim, cigarette-sucking Harrison.

He was my first in-person glimpse of a Beatle I had as a photographer lifted his arm and I caught sight of his narrow face shrouded by dark very bushy coarse looking hair.  I said to Pat, “I just saw George.”  And he told me he’d seen John sitting directly in front of us. When the photographers backed away, I saw The Beatles sitting behind the table certainly not an iota as interested in us as we were in them. 

Two trench-coated Teen Screeners walked up next to John and he mutter “Ah Teen Screen” in a mocking way.  Anyone who had seen the California Beatle press conferences will know Paul had a knack for getting the bum microphone – that night was no exception.  He leaned forward over the table to see the wires at his feet, obliging to a “hello hello…” until the microphone sputtered to life.

“Hey, Paul, do ya have a cigarette?” a fellow sitting directly behind me yelled.  Remember Paul used to be the pushover for fans?  Even though Paul wasn't smoking at the time and George was, giving his press barely a bored bunk of his eyes, he asked Paul, who I admit looked like Santa Claus next to grim George.  Paul took a rumpled soft pack from his back pocket.  “Throw it here,” from behind me he yelled unaware Pat and I were already making hasty plans to grab the sailing pack as it flew past us.  Paul tipped his head and said like a boy being caught at the cookie jar, “But it’s me last one.”

“Ah, come on Paul!” several people shouted but he put the cigarette up.  Maybe he thought George might run out. I don’t know what George would have done without them that night.  His was a monumental habit.  John was trading comments with Ringo (“Ah, little Richie”) and one man about being away from Maureen.

I was in a state of catatonic shock.  They were real, just a matter of 5 feet from where I sat.  John’s hair glowed golden red in the late-day sunlight.  He looked hefty in a white suit and black shirt.  I was overwhelmed by Ringo’s small statue and, of course, Paul’s eyes.  His hair glistened almost black and along with his mates, he showed no hint of having been in the sun even though Paul said later he did have a tan.  George flanked his left side leaning against one elbow with his chin resting on his fist for the most part.  His jacket was black, his eyes as bitter and brooding as the sarcastic way he responded to the questions.  A reporter said of him, “to the unpracticed eye, George seems the most egotistical Beatle. He seems to improve on that description of his attitude that night.”

John and Paul, at that time more the talking Beatles, answered most of the questions.  I wrote down answers fast and furious – and only later did I realize I hadn’t bothered to write a question to accompany any answers.  How did the Beatles answer questions 7 years ago?

Q:  Do you have any advice for teenagers?

John: Don’t get pimples. 

Is he putting us on? Everyone laughed dutifully, although a pimple-faced teenager thinks it’s no laughing matter.  Most of the questions were asinine, from mindless reporters who still doubted The Beatles were anything more than a spinning record.  They answered questions about their hair, Ringo’s’ rings, county and west songs (Act Naturally).  George pointed out with a you-dumb-ass attitude that several Beatle records were country if he’d taken the time to listen.  Paul really taxed his memory to tell us, “yea yea yea” He did like “Man From Uncle” and shot at us with his machine gun arm.

Q:  Do you have any ambitions?

John:  No.

George:  I’d like to race the Indianapolis 500.   Paul turned his head sideways and said, “Yes – on a horse.” And George even smiled.  We laughed at that witty McCartney.

I waited at least 10 minutes before I musted the guts to raise my hand, and as luck goes Tony Barrow pointed straight at me.  I pointed at myself and squeaked, “me?” and my life began to pass in front of me.  He nodded.  I stood on legs Jell-O products would have gladly packaged and whispered my question.  John looked at Tony and said, “I can’t hear her.”  Had I been prone to swearing, then my thought would have been, “Oh shit.”  I repeated it, “What was your reaction to Sukarno’s burning of anything by or about The Beatles?”  I thought it was a great question from a 14-year-old who would much rather have known how George’s mother was.  John said, “It was stupid.”  George raised his head and sneered, “We took it bitterly,” and my self-esteem took a hurling crash to my feet.  At the time, it hurt me that George would take that angry attitude with me.  Paul bashed on in with a lengthy reply telling me they should have sent it back so they could resell it.  I think, knowing I was dumbstruck with them all, he gave me a nod and a wink and a smile.  My legs melted, and I sat down, blushing purple I suspect in trembling.

Someone asked them what they did when they got to their hotel rooms.  Paul offered, “We shower, have a cup of tea, and brush our teeth after every meal,” in his best Crest toothpaste voice.  Questions about the MBE - John later returned – as to whether they thought they deserved them.   John replied, “A lot more than some who’ve got it.”  Everyone applauded him, and rightly so.  Making money by music will always be more positive than murdering in the name of any government.

A beach-minded California asked them did they like surfing.  It looks like great fun but very difficult and they didn’t have the time to learn, Paul answered.  He added with a twinkle they did have boards though, the ones with the little wheels that they ride in their hotel rooms.

One determined, hardened reporter asked George what he’d seen of San Diego.  Not too astonished at all at being questioned directly, he answered honestly with a slight grin, “I saw the freeways.”  John popped in, “I saw the sea.”  Someone ought to tell the boy that the large expanse of blue saltwater is the Pacific Ocean.  Seven years ago, he might have denied it, though.

John thought it was important since they were powerless to stop them, that we fans know that rubbish in magazines was all “trash and just printed to sell.”  (I can remember George tersely telling a D.J. that Pattie did not write that column in 16 Magazine and they didn’t even know the Ad Lib was not THE place anymore).

To the question of the Beatles being part of a communist plot to demoralize American youth, Paul laughed and said, “That’s a bunch of rubbish.  We’re not communists!  We’re filthy capitalists!”  Right on.

My date inquired after John’s reported sore throat which he said was fine now and then asked were they saving their money.  John told him that was easy because they didn’t have time to spend it.  Then George said ever so seriously in his clear but Liverpool mumble, “ I spent all mine on cigarettes.”

It had lasted no more than a half hour when Tony said that was all, and three Beatles beat a hasty retreat to their fried chicken, cots, and telly.  Paul stood and signed several autographs.  He looked to be enjoying the attention, and as always, in those days, we were enjoying him.  I stood next to him, amazed that he seemed so tall when my father, at the same height, had never struck me that way.  Even after this close in-person glimpse at the professional part of George, John, Paul, and Ringo, they were still bigger than life.  It took me months to come off this cloud.  I was struck most profoundly by George’s ill temper and Paul’s oppositely amicable replies, and John’s beautiful hair.

Pat and I both floated out.  We passed a sobbing girl near one of the gates who wept, “I saw Paul.”  I wish I could have wept and screamed and hugged my closest friend.  I was just 14 – I’d been near them – close enough to hear a cough and a striking match.  Over an hour later, the Beatles crossed the grassy field to the stage amid screams from thousands.  “I just saw them…” was all I could think and basically is the clearest memory I carry from the concert itself. 

It was a day like any other, except I was there.  What more could I ask for my first date?

Paul at the Leicester Arts Festival Fundraiser

 

February 6, 1968 -  Why did Paul agree to this?  

Portland Press conference

 

Magical Mystery Edits

 September 25, 1967 -  Does anyone know what they are singing???

The conference at the tower

 

Looks at this artwork

 

San Francisco airport -- August 29, 1966 

Honored by their Queen

 October 26, 1965 

The boys

 

Photo ops in Japan

 This could possibly but the only time I have seen a photo where Paul McCartney is making a thumbs down instead of a thumbs up.