Yeah Yeah Yeah Beatles Will Get Back Together Says Paul (1991)

 

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah Beatles Will Get Back Together Says Paul

No Writer Listed

San Antonio Express - News

September 22, 1991 

    It's been a long and winding road, but the three surviving Beatles will finally get together again. Take Paul McCartney's word for it. 

    

    After 21 years of hopeful rumors, McCartney says he is on the verge of teaming up once again with George Harrison and Ringo Starr to make Beatleful music together.

     "We all had a massive falling out over money after John died," He says, "but recently we have secretly and quietly become mates again. George, Ringo and I have met for tea and dinner several times, and I am not ruling out the remaining Beatles getting together again."

     George Harrison, however, has been singing a different tune. "As far as I am concerned, there won't be a Beatles reunion as long as John Lennon remains dead.," He snipped. 

    All the same, Paul has the reunion scenario mapped out in his head. "We will most likely be brought together initially by our documentary project," He predicts. "It's an idea I've had to get all our private footage of the Beatles together and turn it into the Beatles story. We all have a lot of footage that is historical and hysterical!

     "It may be possible now for George and I to write together and perhaps rework some Beatles songs or compose new ones. We might sit down with just a guitar and a bongo drum, and if anything comes out of that, it might be the start of something fab."

Beatle Gets Lesson on Indian Instrument (1966)

 Beatle Gets Lesson on Indian Instrument

Associated Press (Bombay)

September 20, 1966

    A lot of people in Bombay take lessons on the sitar, a stringed guitar-like instrument. Nothing unusual about that, but the plucking gets newsworthy when one of the pupils is named Sam Wells. Who is Sam Wells? He is an Englishman who generally goes around as George Harrison, the quiet Beatle. He is staying at the Taj Mahal Hotel under the assumed name while he studies the sitar.

A Couple of Starrs (1981)

 A Couple of Starrs

By Fred Robbins

Thursdays Woman

September 17, 1981

    Soon after the Beatles' cyclonic arrival in the United States in 1964, Ringo Starr made it clear, indeed, that he wasn't enchanted by American women. "They have too much to say here," he declared. "They boss a man around. I'll have no woman bossing me around."

     He was 24 then. He's 41 now, and he's both mellower and wiser. Now he knows that American women, like women everywhere, defy stereotyping. Ringo also knows that a guy can't stop lightning. That's the title song he wrote for his latest album, and it refers directly to the love that struck with such dazzling force when movie actress Barbara Bach, who grew up in Queens, New York, came into his life.

     On April 27, 1980, Ringo and beautiful Barbara stopped finding it fate, that is. That was the day he recalls when he told her he loved her for the first time. On April 27, 1981, they became Mr. and Mrs. Richard Starkey. They pledged their vows in London at the Marlebone Registry Office in the presence of family and friends, including ex-Beatles Paul McCartney and George Harrison. As hundreds of fans screamed outside, their wedding party at an exclusive London club was enlivened by a spontaneous jam session, bringing the three surviving Beatles together musically for the first time in a decade. Their impromptu reunion found them playing many of their great hits of the past, including, of course, "All You Need Is Love."

     Love, says Ringo, is the last thing he expected to find when he agreed to having Barbara Bach be signed as his leading lady in the comedy movie Caveman. Nor was he particularly anxious to marry again after his divorce from Maureen Cox, his hometown sweetheart in Liverpool, and the mother of his three children, the eldest of whom is 15. "I was married for 10 years before," he said, "and I had a good marriage for eight years, and then it fell apart. And you don't really know why, because it doesn't come apart in one day. You don't wake up in the morning and say 'that's it.' It takes a couple of years for it to finally drag itself out."

     For several years after his divorce, Ringo opted for a live-in relationship with actress-photographer Nancy Andrews, who was still with him when Caveman went into production in Porta Va'arta, Mexico. And just before his recent marriage, she filed a still-unsettled $7.5 million palimony suit against him.

     When Barbara Bach was first suggested as his co-star, Ringo says, "I had never seen her on the screen, not even in the James Bond movie, The Spy Who Loved Me. I kept asking, 'What does she look like?' And everyone said, 'Oh, she's a beautiful girl.' They finally showed me some photographs, and they were right."

     But Ringo was no stranger to Barbara Bach. As a teenager, the now 34-year-old beauty would have considered herself lucky just to meet or touch Ringo Starr. But the thought of someday knowing and loving him was too much to imagine. "I was one of the early Beatles fan," she told me. "When they first arrived in America. I was living on Long Island, close enough to go to Kennedy Airport, where they landed. I was right there with my Beatle wig on, in the midst of that mob, with my little sister Marjorie, screaming and yelling."

     Offered the role in Caveman, Barbara jumped at it because it was a comedy, and because at long last she'd meet Ringo. "From the beginning, I was happy to discover that Richie (her name for Ringo) is one of the warmest, kindest, most loving human beings I'd ever met. Even though I didn't fall in love with him immediately," she says. Like Ringo, the former cover girl had also experienced a 10-year marriage that ended in divorce.  Modeling and acted in Italy, starring in dreadful movies like The Humanoid and The Island of the Fish Men. Barbara married a handsome Italian businessman and became the mother of two, Francesca, 12, and Johnny, 8. 

    Love slipped up quietly on Barbara and Ringo. "I was looking for Prince Charming," the hazel-eyed Barbara admits, "but quite honestly, I never thought I would find him. I never thought I'd get married again. Secretly, though, I was waiting and hoping for Prince Charming, and he came along, but I didn't recognize it at first.

     "I'm usually attracted to people who can laugh," Barbara continues, "So I was naturally attracted to Richie. We both agree that the best thing in life is laughter and having a good time. Also, I like sensitive people, and despite his great gifts as a performer and what many people may think, Richie is basically shy, compassionate, and understanding of others. Each new thing that I learned about him made me love him more."

     Both Ringo and Barbara wear star-shaped gold pins encasing a sliver of windshield glass; the pins, which he designed, signify an event that changed their lives. After the completion of their movie, the two went together to England, where they miraculously survived a devastating automobile crash. One rainy day, when they were on an outing in Ringo's Mercedes 350 SL. A skidding truck came hurling toward them. Trying to avoid a collision, Ringo spun the wheel sharply, and the car, going into a skid, toppled three lamp posts. He was thrown clear as the car rolled over twice, finally coming to a stop on the grassy island between highways, completely demolished, with its roof caved in, trapping Barbara inside. Incredibly, they escaped injury and suffered only severe shock. 

    "The accident happened on the 21st of April last year," Ringo relates.  "It brought us even closer together than we'd been because we realized that any day we could be separated; since that day, we have not been separated. Six days after it happened, it was like I was struck by lightning. I said 'I love you,' and we began making plans to marry."

     Of the crash, Barbara says, "It went by so quickly that we only realized how tragic it could have been once we lived through it and saw the condition of the car; we admitted to one another. Then we survived this, so we are meant to survive a lot of other things too. The little windshield pins that we wear are a constant reminder that everything that's happened between us was faded."

     Both say they do not expect marriage to change anything in their relationship. "Getting married is really just saying to the world we are together, and we plan to stay together forever," said Barbara. "And by having the same name, we believe that perhaps it will make it a bit easier on the children."

     Says Ringo, "Getting married will not alter our lives in any way. While I have no guarantee, I'm planning to spend the rest of my life with Barbara. This is forever for me."

     Speaking of Barbara, Ringo waxes lyrical. "Of course, her obvious qualities attracted me first, but that's just the surface. She's a very gentle woman, very giving, very loving, and she likes to play like I do. There's a whole woman there. Inside the lady is just as much beauty as outside. That's the difference. There are a lot of good-looking women, but very few beautiful women. And the beauty, I think, comes from within the soul. I'm a romantic, and I love being in love with Barbara."

     Since their marriage, Ringo and Barbara live just like they did before in a house in the Hollywood Hills with her children, and they vacation at the villa he has in Monte Carlo; Barbara adds that she remains friendly with her ex-husband, who is frequently around. "He comes to L.A., stays at the house with us, and visits the kids," she says. 

    While he's been more active in movies than any of the other Beatles, Ringo doesn't want anyone to get the mistaken notion that he is forsaking music. "I am a musician," he says empathetically. "Though there may be long periods between albums, there will always be a new one, but what's the hurry? I've got another 40 years. The music scene is in a state of transition now," he observes. "As the Beatles, we were lucky," Ringo says. "We were able to stay together as a group longer than most. Everything seems to be going at a faster pace now, and the turnover today is frightening. You can have a group up there as number one, the biggest thing in the world, and two months later, nobody wants to know them. Somebody new has come up."

     Then Ringo talks of his musician son and smiles as he relates. "He's 15 now and already in a band, a heavy metal band. I've got records of his, and they'll wipe you out. But he's not into Beatles music at all, no way. And he has a great line.   He says,  'You know those records you made, Dad? Some of the tracks weren't bad.'"

     Even for Ringo, the Beatles are yesterday, and he realistically says "You can't live in the past." Speaking of the Beatles, inevitably brings up the subject of the tragic death of John Lennon. "Barbara and I were on holiday in the Bahamas when her daughter called and told us what had happened," he says. "The shock, of course, was just a mind blower. John was more than a good friend to me. I looked at him as a brother, like I do the other two, Paul and George, being that I was an only child. So his death just blew me away. When something like that happens, you react in one of two ways: you either go hide somewhere with your grief, or you go and visit. Our decision was to get on a plane to New York just so we could say to Yoko Ono, 'We're here if there's anything we can do,' and there really wasn't. I said to Yoko, 'I know how you feel.' She looked at me very honestly and said, 'No, you don't,' and she was right. I was close to John, but nowhere near as close as she was, they were like one soul within two people."

     Barbara admits she was unprepared for the mob scene she and Ringo encountered outside the Dakota in New York after paying their condolences to Yoko Ono. Her face clouds as she recalls it. "When we walked out of the Dakota, I was really frightened. Such a crush of people! They kept yelling, 'We love you, Ringo,' and they were all grabbing at him. And I am obviously not used to that, as Richie is. So I was yelling back, 'You're hurting him. If you love him, have some respect for the man. He's making a condolence call.'

      "Since it was not a concert or public appearance, I did think it was very disrespectful of the crowd not to leave him alone, not to let us even get to the car. All the running, pushing, shoving, and screaming was terrifying. It was sheer madness. In a crowd like that, one person can tick something off, and that is what we're always afraid of."

     And that is why Ringo never ventures out now without being accompanied by two bodyguards. "Suddenly, you're made to realize that it can be dangerous out there,"  he says. "Once it starts, it's like a forest fire. A lot of people get ideas, so until it cools off, you've got to protect yourself against that. But you must not allow yourself to become bitter. You cannot blame the whole human race for one man, you know, you can't blame New York where it happened. There were some really nice people in that town, in every town."

     Ringo readily admits he's still not fully reconciled to John Lennon's death. "I was upset and pretty low for a long time," he said. "It does get easier because we all have to carry on living, but then again, it gets brought up all the time, so it still knocks me down. Then you start remembering the good times, which is what you should do. It also helps that I strongly believe in reincarnation. It's pointless if you think there's no life after life. Why would you try to do or create anything if you thought that's the end of it? Everyone comes back as another human being. I believe I'm going to come back, and I believe that John will too."

     Ringo hopes that no one believed the widely reported story that he, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison had reunited to do a memorial album to John Lennon. "It was just a rumor," he insists. "We have no intentions. We are still close, all three of us, but we have our separate lives, even though we help each other. Paul produced three tracks on my recent album. He also wrote two tracks for me, and on one of the tracks he plays drums and I play guitar. Also on Paul's new album, I'm on two tracks playing drums by myself on one, and on another with Steve Gatt, a very good New York drummer. Meanwhile, George made a new album on his own. We're all doing our albums, you know. We're all carrying on, and we will always be friends, though we will never again be the Beatles."

True Confessions From Paul (1991)

 True Confessions From Paul 

CP

September 18, 1991

    Paul McCartney says he was the weirdest member of the Beatles, and it was he who taught John Lennon how to make the group's most progressive music. "I was the far out one," McCartney said Monday in an interview with the Toronto Star and other journalists in London. "I hate kind of having to tell everyone this because I feel really weedy."

     He said the popular assumption that Lennon was the spark behind such avant-garde ideas as the landmark concept album Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and the sound collage "Revolution Number 9" on the White Album is wrong. Although he acknowledged the White Album was put together by Lennon and Yoko Ono. 

    McCartney also says he was so immersed in drugs and sex during the 1960s, "I narrowly miss some lethal minds." He often wonders why it is that he survived when other big-name music stars didn't, but he says his carousing days are long over.

     "I think sometimes it was like a minefield for me-- the '60s," McCartney said the Beatles back in 1966 would have been content to remain as identical mop tops had he not insisted that the group start experimenting. He said Lennon had been happily leading the life of a golf-loving country manor lord with his first wife Cynthia, while McCartney was busy planning the Sgt. Pepper album. 

    "Then he changed. He met Yoko, and he totally threw over his marriage and all his golf clubs, and he got out of all that and became Mr. Avant-Garde." An image which has stuck.

     McCartney was pegged as the lover of sweet love songs, which he admitted is a big part of his style then and now.  He bristled at a suggestion that the songs Lennon wrote on his own, both as a solo artist and with the Beatles, were better than his. "I know Lennon's music isn't better. I'm not even sure it's as highly rated or more highly rated than mine. I think it's a fantasy in the minds of a few journalists."

     He admitted being puzzled that he made it to 1991, while so many other rockers didn't, including Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison of the Doors.

     "There was a lot of stuff going around. A lot of my contemporaries were indulging in certain things I was trying to steer clear of, particularly heroin."

     But times have changed for McCartney 49, who will release his first extended work of classical music on October 7. His hair is noticeably gray, and he doesn't eat meat or smoke tobacco. "I'm grown up now," he said. "I'm not just primarily concerned with teeny bopper affairs anymore. I'm a father of four," McCartney said.

     He was a virtual stranger to most of classical music, even though he had helped to arrange the music for strings in such Beatles classics as "Eleanor Rigby" and "Yesterday." His new work, "Liverpool Oratorio", is a nostalgic look back on his hometown of Liverpool.

     "You just get bored writing pop songs after so many years of doing it because it's pretty much formula, "he said. 

    McCartney also said he's pleased to see Canadian Bryan Adams doing so well with his latest hit, "Everything I Do, I Do It for You," the theme song from the movie Robin Hood, that has surpassed any Beatles songs for the most weeks at number one on the pop charts. "He's cool, man. Really cool," McCartney said. "I like him. Good luck to him, I say."

Later Music Made 'Under the Influence'

Reuter

September 18, 1991

     Former Beatle Paul McCartney said in a recent interview that much of the rock group's later music was inspired by drugs. "From Rubber Soul in 1965 on, every Beatles album was produced under the influence of drugs, especially marijuana and LSD," McCartney told the German news magazine Der Spiegel.

     "Everything in the 60s was drug-inspired: music, literature, cinema. The Vietnam War was carried out under drugs," he said in the interview conducted in London.  Asked if he had been an alcoholic and drug addict, he said newspaper stories that he was a booze and heroin zombie were exaggerations. "I snorted heroin one single time. It's a wonder I didn't succumb to addiction."   McCartney said he was so involved in alcohol and other drugs that "I nearly perished. Who thinks about eating when there's LSD?"

     After the Beatles broke up in 1969, McCartney formed his own band and is still recording, touring, and writing songs. He said drugs were now a thing of the past. "I'm a very, very lucky person," he said. "Next year I will be 50, and I am constantly discovering new things."

Paul McCartney Seeks New Image (1971)

 Paul McCartney Seeks New Image

By Judith Simmons

El Paso Herald Post

September 18, 1971

    The group watching the blaring roundabout in the Blackpool amusement park could have been any family on holiday, but the chap in the old jeans and white T-shirt was Paul McCartney, and the woman in a green maternity smock holding his arm was his wife Linda. She is expecting a baby in the autumn.

     With them were Linda's blonde daughter by her previous marriage, Heather, seven, and Paul and Linda's daughter Mary, who will be two this month. Mary has her mother's fair coloring and the large blue-gray, guileless eyes, which helped her father become the most loved of the four Beatles.

     Paul reminisced on the scene and the events of the holiday. "It was nice to be in Blackpool, having a bit of pleasure. We found a good little hotel where we weren't recognized. We got chucked out of a restaurant. We were told we could not be served because we were not properly dressed. Linda told the chap he was a fool, and we left."

     The caution he acquired with the group's breakup is apparently shed now. At 28, he is building a life and career with Linda, who is the same age. They are recording and composing together. Linda, like Paul, now sees experience in terms of song. He said, "This Blackpool trip gave me an idea for a song. I'm composing a tune in the raucous rhythm of the roundabout."

     The new band, the McCartneys' guitarist Denny Laine and drummer Denny Seiwell, often rehearse at the McCartneys' isolated farmhouse home in West Scotland. Paul is fanatical that no one should interrupt him. He said, "I made my name as a musician-composer, and I have got to have a place where I can concentrate on that side of my work without other aspects of my life intruding. We are trying to make a life the way we want it, be what we want to be, not what other people want us to be.

     "I don't want my children automatically striking poses when they see a photographer. Get the message. If people think I'm a crabby old thing, it's too bad. 

    "Three years ago, we stopped playing Beatles. The relationship between me and the others today is good, but I want to shed my Beatles contract."

     And Paul's idea for the future? "I've got lots of plans. For one thing, I have film rights in Rupert the Bear, and I shall be starting on that. I want to have the old kind of band, not to do it big, but just make music, play little places. Just play around. 

    "People on the group scene, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Moody Blues, all started just as music makers, but a whole big scene grew out of it, and we lost our personal privacy. I want to get it back. I hope it works that way. Well, anyway, we'll try."

A Grandmother's Notes on a Night with the Beatles (Toronto 1966)

 A Grandmother's Notes on a Night with the Beatles

By Maggie Grant

The Gazette 

September 17, 1966

The Canadian's Maggie Grant, a grandmother, spends an evening with the Beatles and reports on one of the true wonders of our times.

     Set out to observe Beatle phenomenon, Maple Leaf Gardens, Toronto, August 17. Temperature 85 degrees. Hair combed à la Ringo. Arrived early with firm grip on press conference pass ticket. Found area a swarm with little people. Several more years apiece to grow. Explains puzzling term "teeny boppers." Array of rament, quenched hope, astonishing styles shown in magazines would be unmarketable. 

    One belle, "I love Paul", stenciled across seat of bell bottoms, was telling world at large, "I got all the way up to their floor in the hotel, all the way to the eighth floor, and then the stinking cops caught me!" 

    "The eighth floor should be declared a national shrine," said a lass in black mesh stockings, no shoes.     Two tots wearing granny dresses, unrealistically blonde hair, sprawled in alleyways, sobbing like disaster victims. Police had barred entry to Beadle's dressing room. 

    Stirring of anti-copism in own breast upon officers' brush off of press credentials was passed from entrance to entrance back again. Three circuits of building maintained iron control despite foot moans, sweat bath. Police regained esteem by averting trampling by flying wedges of maidens. Had fancied they spotted Beatles in far distance. Incident lent courage to Pengate Guardian to Turnstile asked, "Do I look like a teeny bopper?" Guardian conceded did not, was passed into sacred premises. 

    Conference heavily attended by Veterans of Fourth Estate, conducted with solemnity. Accord senior statesmen, Beatles resplendent in pastel suits, settled vexing world problems to satisfaction of all retired, began searching for press box. 

    Several false leads furnished by distraught ushers.  Located it hanging from roof beams. Temperature at that altitude: 95 degrees. View liked peering into Grand Canyon. Stage size of postage stamp. 16,000 ticket holders, bits of color, shifting kaleidoscope, overtaken by dizziness, set back closed eyes, jarred to chair edge by uproar greeting first preliminary act, group name of the Remains.  Guitarist lept about like orangutans, presumably also twanged instruments. Couldn't hear above audience. Thunderous work of drummer. Kleenex stuffed in ears. Prayed for survival.

     Other prelims equally clangorous, fortified self with hot dog. Hung on. Beatles' hour approach. Further, police march to battle stations. Then the magic moment: terrible sound decibels forth from 16,000 throats. Prelim reception like cathedral hush in comparison. Cannot describe marathon mating cry of Beatlemania. Cannot describe assault on eyeballs of 16,000 exploding flashbulbs; the combination could petrify brain tissue. Finished came senses reeled on stood more or less direct. Sought first aid station overflowing with stretcher cases, withering in religious ecstasy, all subteens.  Decided not to offer self-retreatment. Groped out of building and home. Will confine Beatle devotion to record in future.

Can He --- And $50 Million -- Reunite the Beatles? (1976)

 

Can He -- and $50 Million -- Reunite the Beatles?

By John Scanlon

Gloucester County Times

September 12, 1976

    The demise of the Beatles in 1970 ended a string of hit records that had kept Alan Amron on a musical high for seven years. He immediately started going into withdrawal. Amron, a Long Island, New York resident who lists his occupation as an inventor, lived and died with each rumor of a Beatles reunion. 

    He was a walking almanac of Beatles facts who spent his time listening to old Beatles records. Then, in May, a light bulb went "poof" in Alan Amron's head. "As an inventor," he reasoned, "I don't want to live and die. I want to live, do something for mankind, and then die."

     So on May 31, 1976, Amron walked into the offices of the Village Voice, a weekly New York newspaper, and paid $800 for a big advertisement. The ad announced the birth of the International Committee to Reunite the Beatles, and a part of that ad, which also appeared in Rolling Stone magazine, explains what Amron's brainstorm is all about. 

    "Sure, promoters can offer lots of money, but we, unified, can offer more money and support. There are countless millions of us, the people who love the Beatles, and just $1 contribution from every fan will help us in our effort to reunite the Beatles." Countless millions of people means that Amron stands to gather countless 1000s of dollars. The local reaction is that Amron has invented a ploy to exploit John, Paul, George, and Ringo, leading their fans down the long, winding road that leads to his door.

     Such a suggestion makes him bristle. "It's all legitimate," he says. He vows that he's not getting a salary. His 35 volunteers, who have been dispatched around the world and urge fans to send money to Amron's Long Island office, are unpaid. 

    He claims that by June 1977, Amron hopes to give the Beatles a $50 million check. If the campaign fails, he intends to donate the money to cancer research or to charities in other countries from where donations originated. "The reason I picked June 1977," Amron explained, "is because it's the 10th anniversary of the Sgt. Pepper album."

     Amron is offering the Beatles instant prosperity. In return, he just wants something for posterity. He'd even settle for a one-night stand, a two-hour concert at a site of their choice, as long as it's televised for the world to see and filmed so future generations can see the reunion of the century. He says, "You're talking about billions to be made, not for me, for them. Think about it: albums, movies, ticket sales. They can have the rights to everything. People ask me if I think they're worth it. Darn right, I think they're worth it," he says.

     Amron hasn't discussed the campaign with any of the Beatles or their agents. About four weeks ago, he thought it would be nice to get a statement from one of the musicians, just to see what the reaction might be to his fund drive. He gathered some publicity material, hopped in his car, and drove to John Lennon's New York City apartment. 

    John was at the curb opening the door of his limousine, and Amron, you might say, suffered a bad case of lockjaw, a disease commonly caused by hero worship. "I gave him the kit and didn't say a word," Amron said, becoming unnerved again at the thought. "I mean, I was so freaked out at seeing him, you know, John Lennon right there, and I was, oh, he looked, it was so unbelievable. For five seconds, we just stared at each other. I smiled, gave him the kit, and left."

     Since then, Amram has called Lennon's office. An agent told him the former Beatle was aware of the widely publicized campaign, but was not ready to make a statement. "I think the chances of a reunion are very good," Amron declared. "I think the Beatles have decided not to say anything yet and are just watching us very closely to see what happens."

    Meanwhile, the mailman keeps dumping stacks of checks and money orders on Amron's desk. Contributions have streamed in from Germany, from Belgium, the Turks went to see the Beatles reunited, and so do the Australians. Not to mention the folks in London, San Francisco, and a brandious university professor who contributed $200. 

    Amron has been receiving about $500 a day since last week. He plans to check with his accountant to find out how much has been raised during the three-month campaign. Based on an average day of receipts, it seems like a half million dollars might be in the fund, meaning that he has a short amount of time to raise a large amount of money. Amran isn't worried. He is planning a week of Beatles nostalgia, one in New York, probably at Madison Square Garden, and the other at a yet-undetermined site in California. He figures they'll be big money raisers. "It would be phenomenal to get the Beatles back together, you know. I've idolized them from the moment I saw them on Ed Sullivan," Amron said. Yes, it would be something.

Not Your Average Millionaires (1981)

The McCartney family in 1981 

 

Not Your Average Millionaires

By David Lewin

The Toronto Star

September 6, 1981

    Mr. and Mrs. Paul McCartney are a nice average couple with rather more than average achievements. They have four kids, three houses, and enough money in the bank to buy and sell your average millionaire 40 times over.

     At 39, McCartney is worth, to be precise, $40 million, and another couple of million rolls in like the sea every year.  Mr. McCartney writes songs. He is the most successful music maker in history. 100 million LPs sold. 100 million singles. Mrs. McCartney takes photographs, is a key member of her husband's group Wings, and makes cartoon films. She is also a mother, bringing up a family of young children who will inherit the vast family fortune.

     Paul and Linda McCartney are both aware of the problems that such an inheritance can bring. Their children are aged between 18 and three and a half. The youngest is a boy, James Louis. The other three are girls: Heather, 18, from Linda's first marriage; Mary, 11; and Stella, 9. The children have one bedroom, but not each, just between them in the four-room cottage on the farm in Sussex, which is their main home. 

    Paul McCartney said, "We may have to build a third bedroom now because our youngest is a boy, but we have deliberately kept them in one room because I want a close family, just as I had when I was growing up in Liverpool. I don't want a mansion where I have to telephone from the East Wing to make an appointment to see my kids in the West Wing. 

    "Of course, they are going to get a lot of money, but Linda and I are trying as much as possible to make their growing up an ordinary one. We don't have a chauffeur, and I drive my youngest kids to the local primary school. We don't send them to be privately educated, and they get 50 cents pocket money a week, just about enough to buy a packet of crisps.

     "When people come and visit us in the country, they tend to drive past our cottage the first time because they're looking for a bigger house. They think ours must belong to the gardener. The children go out visiting sometimes and come home and say,  'Daddy, our friend's parents must be rich. You should see how big a house they have got.'"

     The McCartney approach to money is typified by a recent trip they made to the south of France. They flew to Nice as tourists. Then they chartered a private jet to get back in time to have dinner with the family. "Money should make you free," said Linda McCartney. "So we don't waste it, but we use it when it is necessary."

     Linda McCartney was wearing a white jacket, a pair of faded blue jeans and yellow socks; her millions self-evidently don't go on clothes. "The jacket I got free from a film I appeared in," she said. "The socks are the most expensive item. They cost $2. The jeans cost less. They aren't designer-made."

     Paul McCartney wore a gray jacket, gray socks, and white trousers; he would be the despair of any boutique owner.

     I asked him whether having so much money blunted ambition. He thought for a moment and said, "Probably. Well, really, the answer has to be 'Yes, it does.' When we started, the Beatles used to say, 'Let's write a house,' then we'd say 'Let's write a car,' and finally it was 'Let's write a swimming pool.' But when you have got your houses and your cars and your swimming pool, there isn't much else to write. For me, music is a hobby, as the actress said to the bishop. 

    "I like it, so I'll go on doing it. If I stopped, I'd do woodwork. My goals now? Oh, happiness, the kids, stuff like that."

     Whatever happens, the royalties from his music will keep right on rolling in. "But we have no trust fund for the children," said Linda McCartney. "That would put too much pressure on them. Of course, they have expectations, but the important thing is for them to get their value structure right and not use the money as a crutch. It is difficult, but it can be done if we keep things as ordinary as possible."

     The McCartneys are different in temperament. Linda McCartney said, "We are opposites in fact. I am not intellectual. Paul is. I am the calming influence. In fact, I'm rather dull, falling asleep sometimes right after supper.  Paul stimulates me. I wait. He moves.

     "Of course, we have rows because at first, when we were married, I had an identity problem. Paul's life was the Beatles, and when they broke up, I had to make a new life for myself in England."

     Paul said, "There were moments when our marriage might not have worked. I'm not the charming Paul of my public image, and if someone knocks something I have written, which I think should be a masterpiece, I can be shattered."

     How do they resolve their fights? "In bed," said Paul. His wife hit him. Then she said, "My domain is the house. I don't mean doing the housework, but having it my way at home. Paul's domain is his work. Super stardom doesn't turn me on. Really, I'm very ordinary. I hope that doesn't hold Paul back. I want the marriage to last."

     It has for 12 years, the longest of any of the Beatles. Paul McCartney looked at his wife and said, "I can see us both growing old gracefully, but Linda won't be alone. I'll be around, and with her too."

Cropped Beatle to Keep Fans (1966)

Cropped BEatle to Keep Fans

By Doris Wright

The News

September 7, 1966

    Unlike the Biblical hero named Samson, whose strength evaporated when his locks were shorn, it appears that Beatle John Lennon's popularity won't ebb in the least when his hair is snipped to conform to a movie role. 

    "No matter what John does, I'll still love him," said Donna Carroll, an Edison High sophomore, who was one of seven girls who went to Memphis August 19 to see the famed British quartet. "I'm upset and I'm mad in a way," Donna said of John's hair cutting next week, "but it's his business. This will prove whether John's talented by himself or if he needs the group. I just hope he's not planning on doing anything like this in the future," she added. 

    Leslie Pritchett, a MacArthur student who was also in the local Beatles fan club, said, "I'm disappointed in a way, but it really doesn't bother me. He won't lose me no matter what he does."

     Breaking away from the other Beatles, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr, John is going to make a movie on his own, filling a role of a soldier with a short haircut. The movie How I Won the War will be filmed near Hanover, Germany. Producer-director Dick Lester, who directed the last two Beatles movies, will take the first snip of John's locks sometime next week.

     "He'll let it grow again," predicted Laura Pitt, a Lehigh student. "But if he doesn't, I'll like him just as well." "This isn't going to make any difference to his career or to me." Commented Carmen Salazar of Lehigh, a self-designated Beatlemaniac.

     "Bully for him," said KTSA disc jockey Peter Starr, himself a British subject. "I think this shows he's becoming an individual. If I wanted to get a reaction, I'd go on the air and say,  'Let's scrub his name,' but I won't say that, or I could say, 'Let's throw him out of the Beatles because he no longer has long hair.' I won't do that either. I'm looking forward to seeing the film,"  he added.

     Noting that the Beatles' contract calls for disbanding the group if one of the four goes out on his own, Donna said, "I want John to have fun making the movie, and I want him to have praise and acclaim for doing it, but I want them to stay together."

    Concerning the possibility that strands of John's hair might be available to fans, Donna sighed. "Oh, I'd love to get some. I'd treasure it forever, even a tiny little bit of it. I would write a million postcards or letters if that's what it would take to get even a tiny strand, but if it were Paul's hair, I'd send even more letters than that!"

     Laura said, "I'd rather have a strand of Ringo's hair, but I don't want any of the Beatles to cut their hair."

     Donna added, sighing again. "No matter what John does, I'll still love him." Thinking of the cost such a lock of hair might command, Leslie said, "We'll probably pull our money and buy it, no matter what it costs."

Police and Fans Play Beatle Football (New York City 1966)

 

Police and Fans Play Beatle Football

By Kathy Parker

Hartford Courant

September 3, 1966

    The excitement of our trip to the Beatles concert at Shea did not begin with the appearance of the Beatles themselves. It started on the highways outside the city, where cars passed us displaying signs, "To the Beatles", "Beatles forever," "We love the Beatles."

     Inside the halls of the stadium, I could feel the tension. We took our field-level positions just four rows behind the police barriers. Busloads of police patrolled the field and parking lot. Behind us rose a towering wall of fans. Huge signs suspended from the railings flapped in the breeze. Many took note of John and Cyn's anniversary. 

    Every few minutes, a helicopter chopped overhead, and tremendous screams went up from the crowd. Last year, the Beatles arrived by helicopter.

     Just before showtime, the throng swayed toward one end of the stadium, where a red truck was backing into the lower level; the Beatles were inside. The 7:30 p.m. show began at 8:15 p.m. with the Remains. Other acts included the Cyrkle and the Ronettes. The crowd was impatient. People were standing on their chairs. 

    All the announcer said was, "And now...." and the crowd went wild. The announcer asked for a few bars of "We Love You, Beatles. Oh, yes, we do." The crowd sang in remarkable unison, 45,000 strong.

 One Beatle... two Beatles, three, four. Could I really be seeing them? Everyone climbed to the armrests on their seats. Faces were washed with tears. Girls clutched each other for balance. Some fell backward into the crowd. Lines of police moved in and stood like toy soldiers along the barriers. Field glasses were selling better than hot dogs. 

    About halfway through the concert, someone got through the ropes. Several policemen ran after the girl. Gradually, more and more people tried the same thing as groups of police rushed first to one place, then another, playing Beatle football, tackling fans.

     Suddenly, it was over. The Beatles waved a hurried good night, and ran off the stage into a station wagon. As the car sped across the field, hundreds in the lower level rushed outside. A huge trailer truck was concealing a hole in the fence where the Beatles' car would exit; the truck moved. The Beatles drove through. They changed into the Wells Fargo truck and roared out across the parking lot. Throngs ran down the stadium ramps and out into the night, chasing along the zigzagging trails of the Beatles. Later, the Fab Four switched to a limousine and drove to the airport, where they boarded a plane to the West Coast to enter the lives of 1000s of other American teenagers.

Written by Gail Andrews:

     I  too went to see the spectacular show at Shea. There was some excitement during the show when fans spotted two of the Lovin' Spoonful in the audience. The Beatles wore beige suits with light blue striped shirts and sang 11 songs. Paul introduced the first song and said the initial "hello," which brought screams from the stadium.

     I don't know what it meant, but Paul and John kept referring to the year 1948 as they introduced the songs. Paul seemed to be in an exceptionally happy mood, but John, George, and Ringo were quiet. The security measures were more than needed, as only eight fans tried to reach the Beatles. The performance ended abruptly, and the Beatles were whisked away in a gray station wagon with New York license plate number 97368.

The Liberation of Paul McCartney (1971)

 The Top of Pop

By Lillian Roxon

Daily News

September 5, 1971

    Poor Paul McCartney. One year the prettiest face in rock and roll. This year, the man everyone loves to hate. Everyone's at him. His old friend and workmate John Lennon has a nasty song about him in his new album. His old girlfriend and housemate Fran Schwartz has 20 pages about him in her just-finished and still very hush-hush book. His most devoted fans get into fights with him, and now Rock Liberation has chosen him as its next big target.

     Rock Liberation? Oh yes! If you think women's liberation is heavy, wait till Rock Lib gets really steamed up this fall. It was Rock Lib that staged that big party in the street outside Bob Dylan's house on his birthday this summer. Not that he was there or anything, but he sure as hell heard about it. And the next thing we know, there he was, liberated as all get out, up on stage at the Bangladesh concert with George Harrison, singing all his old songs and pouring money into the pockets of the poor and needy. Incredible.

     Maybe Rock Lib has nothing to do with it at all, but you can't blame them for feeling encouraged. So flushed with success, they have now turned to Paul, not early enough to get him to Madison Square Garden, alas, but still. 

    In what must have been more than a casual coincidence, the day the Liberators chose to shake up the former Beatle was also the day the women of New York chose for their second annual mass march up Fifth Avenue. What I think the rock people were trying to tell us was that they are all kinds of oppression, and that it is probably better to be born female than to have to listen to another Paul McCartney solo effort. 

    In any case, there they all were at 79th and Park, where the McCartneys sometimes stay when in town, waving placards and making speeches designed to goad Paul like Dylan back into the land of the living. It was no use telling them it's not nice to parade noisily outside people's homes, and that besides Paul is getting a band together with the talented and beautiful Denny Laine.

    It was no use pointing out that anyone truly interested in liberating rock might do better to use that energy promoting new, fresh artists instead of trying to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to old ones. It was no use because Rock Lib does have a point. Paul has been snotty and isolated. If musical aristocrats like Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, Bill Wyman, and Charlie Watts could come out of their isolation to back Howlin Wolf in one of the most magnificent and important albums of the year, the London Hall and Wolf Sessions, then it's hard to see what Paul has been trying to prove all alone there in Scotland. The sooner he's liberated, if you ask me, the better

Concerts Today are Just Spectacals (1976)

Paul and Linda performing in Cincinnati in 1976 -- not knowing that some people were having a terrible experience. 

 I hear a lot of people complaining about the concert experience today, and I agree with most of what they're saying (ticket prices are out of control for most shows these days), so I found this article about the concert experience 50 years ago really interesting.   I, for one, am glad that "festival seating" for the most part is in the past.  I can't imagine the nightmare that must have been for a big concert, and how disappointing it must have been to get there early and find yourself way in the back, unable to see over the heads of everyone standing.  Anyhow I thought this writer had an interesting comentary. 

Concerts Today are Just Spectacals

By Terry Lawson

The Journal Herald

September 2, 1976

     I don't go to concerts anymore, and I feel pretty guilty about it. A good portion of my life revolves around music, and even the best-produced record albums are no substitute for experiencing music live. Communication is, of course, what music is all about, and presumably musicians should communicate best in an environment where they can receive as well as give.

     But I find it hard to fathom that most music fans are getting much out of the vaudeville spectacles that pass for concerts these days. They seem increasingly to have less and less to do with music. My last foray into the arena was to attend the summer's Paul McCartney and Wings concert at Riverfront Coliseum in Cincinnati. The first disappointment came when it was discovered that the Cincy appearance was one of two on the tour that called for "festival seating." To the uninitiated, festival seating is a red herring word for "no reserved seats"; it generally means that the promoter of the concert did not want to go to the trouble and expense of having tickets numbered and ushers hired to guide patrons to seats. Also, with this arrangement, more bodies can be packed into a limited space since there are no seats set up on the floor. 

    To counter this, I and about 4000 others arrived at Riverfront an hour or so early to attempt to get a decent seat. Most of the gathered crowd amused themselves by indulging in the great American pastime, boozing. By the time the appointed door-opening hour had come and gone, the crowd was surly, screaming and smashing empty glass containers against the walls of the arena. When the crowd began pushing against the glass door, the security people panicked and threw all the doors open at once, allowing the 20,000 or so who gathered behind the early birds to swarm in ahead of the mob in front. The promoters also abandoned the idea of collecting tickets, prompting the wheeler-dealers attending the concert to return outside and sell their tickets to the unsuspecting, hoping to score a scalper's ticket at the arena. 

    By the time my friends and I made it inside, the only seats left were behind the stage. $9.50 bought me a beautiful view of McCartney's back. Oh yes, the music was terrific. That is-- the part of it you could hear between the constant barrage of firecrackers being lit and pitched all around the arena. One firecracker sailed perilously close to McCartney's right ear. He hardly blinked, causing an observer to deduce this was sort of de rigurer. 

    Leaving the scene was as revolting as the rest. Vomit and broken glass were everywhere you stepped. The feeling was that of a prisoner leaving Devil's Island. The papers reported the next morning that one concertgoer left the Coliseum and walked directly into the Ohio River, drowning.

     Now this may be somebody's idea of a good time, but not mine. When I related this experience to a friend, he chided me, saying I was just "too old to enjoy myself." The same friend returned to Riverfront the following week to see Yes, his favorite band, and came away with an almost identical reaction. "Maybe I'm too old too," he grumbled. 

    Of course, not all concerts are as poorly produced and managed as the McCartney fiasco. There are some promoters, Bill Graham of Fillmore fame, who come immediately to mind, who are professional enough to avoid the pratfalls and attempt to bring the music-hungry hordes an enjoyable experience. But concerts do not function as purely musical experiences anymore. More and more, they have become excuses for a gathering of the tribes, for young people to assemble, to smoke grass, booze, and revel in their sameness. The music is secondary. Pity, I sure do love to hear live music.

The Man and His Music (1986)

 The Man and His Music

By Robert Palmer

NY Times News Service

September 4, 1986

    A funny thing happened to Paul McCartney on the way to making his next album, or, to be more specific, it happened to his co-producer Hugh Padgham. "When we started working on the record, Hugh came in one day and said he'd had a dream," McCartney recalled when he visited New York this week. "He dreamed he woke up one morning and had made this really bad syrupy album with me, an album he hated, and that it had blown his whole career." We took that as a little warning. 

    That's as good an explanation as any for the unexpected hard rock and psychedelic flavors of McCartney's album Press to Play, which will be in the stores next week. After signing a multi-million-dollar deal with CBS and making a series of albums for that company that were a bit syrupy and were successful but not hugely so, McCartney has returned to the harder textures and more emphatic rhythms of rock, and he has returned to Capitol, the label for which he first recorded as one of the four Beatles.

     "Sometimes it's nice to kick over the traces," McCartney said. "Sometimes you just need it, like in my case, I'm thought of maybe as being an ace balladeer. People know I do that; they don't know I also like to do harder stuff like "Angry" on the new album, or associate me with electronics and backward guitars, which we used on some of the other new songs. But at one time, I was in the avant-garde of what was going on around the time of the Sgt. Pepper album, which was largely my influence."

     McCartney feels he is being unfairly typecast in many of the histories of the Beatles and of rock in general that continue to flood the book market. "They make me out to be the ambitious, cold, ruthless half of the McCartney-Lennon songwriting team," he said, "and they make John out to be the happy-go-lucky, brilliant one.

     "I was reacting to one of those definite true story books on the Beatles recently," McCartney said, "and one of the things I told the journalist was they made me out to be a maneuvering swine, but John could be a maneuvering swine too. The next thing I know, there's a story: 'McCartney calls John Lennon a maneuvering swine' in papers all over the world. All I meant was that in our business dealings, John was good at maneuvering. There's nothing wrong with that. I suppose I shoot my mouth off, say what I think. But while I loved John, I don't think it's a good idea to just sanctify him. I don't think he would have liked that. He liked the truth."

     Whether he's been stung by criticism in books and the press, or is simply entering a new phase, McCartney seems much more like the rock and roller again after some years of churning out relatively insidious pop. In addition to the new Press to Play, which is his most creative and committed-sounding album in years, there have been live performances. McCartney performed at the Prince's Trust charity concert in London recently, not as the pop balladeer who wrote the Beatles ' song "Yesterday," but as the rocker who sang the Beatles' version of Little Richard's songs. 

    "They had a monster band," he recalled, with people like Eric Clapton, Elton John, Phil Collins... I came out there and did "I Saw Her Standing There," and "Long Tall Sally," which I hadn't sung in 20 years. I didn't know if I could still sing that high, but when I tried to put it in a lower key during rehearsal, it started to sound like Pat Boone! So I just went for it the way I'd originally done it."

     These songs were two of the most abandoned all-out rockers McCartney sang with the Beatles. His performance at the concert will be seen in the United States soon as part of an HBO cable television special. "The concert made me realize that I can do Beatles songs again," McCartney said. "The Beatles' breakup was kind of like a divorce. There was always the feeling afterward that none of us wanted to touch those songs, but time heals all, and besides, they're good songs. So now I'm kind of looking around for a band again. I don't fancy looking too hard at the moment. I just want some good players. That's all. No image to speak of. If they play good, it doesn't matter how they look. "

    McCartney said he hoped any band he put together wouldn't be compared with the Beatles or with this post-Beatles band Wings. "I suppose I shouldn't worry," said the ex-Beatle, whose familiar mop top is shot through with gray these days. "We used to joke about kids in a record store finding a Beatles album and saying, 'Hey, look, Paul was in a band before Wings.' Now it's true, and now I'm starting to get fans who were too young to remember Wings."

Stephanie LaMotta Has Own Fight (1991)

 

Ringo had a relationship with Stephanie LaMotta in 1979.  Basically, he was on yet another break from Nancy, met Stephanie at a bar, and asked her to go on a whirlwind trip with him to Austria and Greece, which she did.  He told her that he was "in like" with her.  

The only photo that seems to be out there of the two of them is this one that I scanned from a Beatles fanzine in 2011.  Ringo and Stephanie didn't have a long relationship, and I never read anything else about it until I found this article about Stephanie in a newspaper from 1991.   I did not reprint the entire article, just the part about Ringo. 

Stephanie LaMotta Has Own Fight

By Marian Christy

The Boston Globe

September 5, 1991

    Stephanie LaMotta, a spokeswoman for MS, was stricken with the disease 12 years ago on a trip to Austria and Greece with her then-boyfriend, ex-Beatle Ringo Starr. It was Starr who made the crucial decision to fly LaMotta back to New York immediately. 

    "Ringo thought a vacation was in order, so we went to Vienna. Then all of Ringo's friends showed up in Vienna, and it began to be one long party. We wanted a quiet time together. Ringo and I left for Greece alone. By the time we got to Greece, my hands started to fail. My fingers wouldn't move properly on my guitar. I picked up a glass, and it fell out of my hands, crashing on the floor. My left side seemed paralyzed. I lost my coordination. I was totally blind.

     "Ringo cut the vacation short. We flew back to London that day, so that I could get my instrument, my music, and my clothes. Ringo said, 'You're flying to New York now for medical treatment today,' and I said, 'Tomorrow.'

     "We had a terrible row. I told him I needed time to pack. Ringo can put two shirts in a suitcase and leave town immediately. He said,  'I don't care about your packing.' He pushed me on a plane to New York, and even had one of his friends come with me. My mother met me at the airport. I was in a wheelchair."

£11-16s a Minute for Beatles in U.S. (1966)

 

£11-16s a Minute for Beatles in U.S.

No writer listed

Lancashire Telegraph

August 31, 1966

    The Beatles, unbloodied and unbowed, flew into London Airport today after another grueling American tour. They all had one thing in mind: sleep. Of their three-week tour and their fourth in America, Paul McCartney said, "We had a good time, but it was very tiring." Did the Americans still love the Beatles? "I think so," he replied.

     John Lennon was asked about their rating in light of the tour. Declared, "Look at the charts. That's a silly question."

     During the tour, the quartet earned $1,000,00.  That's £11 16s a minute! Questioned about his so-called antichrist remark, John's reply was drowned in a background of screams. Paul, the only Beatle bachelor, denied that he was getting married. "No, no, no,"he said, waving his arms. "That was a publicity stunt dreamed up by the Americans." Ringo Starr commented, "It's great to be back."

     About 250 screaming girl fans on the balcony of the Queen's building were waiting to give the Beatles their usual noisy welcome. While the Beatles' Pan American Airliner was over the Atlantic, about 100 fans had spent the night at the airport dodging the police. Police ordered fans to take out one banner, which had "Thank Christ, you are home safely." But there was the usual cry of welcoming banners, posters, streamers, and balloons. One banner stated, "Success is Beatle-shaped."

     A strong squad of police was on duty as the Beatles arrived. They were insuperable. They had seen it all before. First out of the car when they arrived for a customs check was Paul wearing a blue striped jacket, black trousers, and a red carnation. He was followed by John, who had a white suit and sunglasses. Ringo was dressed in a white jacket and black trousers and sporting a red carnation. George Harrison, the quiet one, wore a black velvet suit. 

    After passing through customs, the Beatles were hurried into waiting cars. John, George, and Ringo were in a black Rolls-Royce, and Paul was in his own chauffeur-driven green Aston Martin. They waved cheerfully to the excited fans. Then they drove off with the drama-topped tour behind them to the well-earned rest

Ranks Revere to Candlestick Sound (San Francisco, 1966)

Ranks Revere to Candlestick Sound

By Cynthia Grant

New Register

September 2, 1966

    The ranks of the reluctant fathers inched along bumper to bumper in the slow lane. The tolerant mothers chauffeured back seats loaded with 14- and 13-year-old girls, while more daring teenagers filed through the fast lane, and all headed for the Beatles' concert Monday night.

     Moving into Candlestick Park, the crowd was obviously a show in itself. Boys' hair hung longer than the girls' and curlier. Mod clothes, definitely in fashion, ranged from sleeveless purple halters to Indian moccasins and headbands.

     Good seats were filling quickly. Center field remained empty, but about 26,000 found their way inside. Sitting in front, three 12-year-old girls looked and pointed, insisting they had sighted the Beatles. Screams arose, and the whole park stood as the armored car, which the Beatles would leave the park in, pulled up to the stage empty.

     For the audience, the show began not with the preliminary acts, but with the Beatles. It was the Beatles everyone wanted to see. The Remains led off the show, followed by Bobby Hebb of "Sunny" fame. The Cyrkle and the Ronettes followed. All were entertaining. The crowd applauded politely for each number. 

    The tension began gripping as the Beatles' approach was nearing. Suddenly, they stepped out of the Giants' dugout, all the Fab Four decked in green suits, screaming, waving, shrieking, cheering; the crowd went wild. The four young men stepped briskly to the stage, waving and smiling at the crowd.

     "Rock and Roll Music" led off the show, and the crowd continued their noisy tribute, standing all the while. After about three numbers, Burns' cops sat the crowd down. Other songs done included "Nowhere Man," "She's a Woman," "If I Needed Someone, ""I Want to Be Your Man" (with Ringo), "Yesterday" and "Long Tall Sally". All 11 songs at 9:25 p.m. and ending three minutes after 10. The show was over. 

    The sound had been excellent, clear, and loud. Compared to the Cow Palace fiasco of last year, the crowd itself was well behaved. Two girls were removed from the field, only one via a stretcher. One rush was made as boys swarmed over the center field fence. Apparently warning the Beatles, the crowd shrieked as they surged in from Willie Mae's pasture. After the first abortive try, another assault was made with the same results. Burns police snapped the youth. 

    Enjoying the happenings, Ringo glanced over his shoulder at the intruders, while John muttered, "They're coming this way! They're coming this way! Head them off!" to the harried officers, away from any of the four. A wave of frenzy swept through the crowd as the 20,000 girls sprang to their feet, screaming and waving. As the Beatles sang, cameras flashed like spotlights. Screams and cries shook the air and blended with the fantastic sound, while bodies rocked or jumped up and down.

     From "She Loves You" to "Eleanor Rigby", their current number one record, the crowd actions expanded. When the 10:30 farewell came, the park was on its feet, giving the last thunderous ovation. The armored car, surrounded by the Burns patrol, pulled away. Fans fled for the exits. The Beatles obviously not to return, but the exit and remembrance solidified the devotion. And parents, adults, non-believers, etc. You only had to be there to know it wasn't as bad as all that.
 

10 Years Ago the Beatles Last Show (1976)

 10 Years Ago the Beatles Last Show

By Phillip Elwood

The San Francisco Examiner

August 30, 1976

    Beatlemania seems to be sweeping the pop music world again, as it did a decade ago. Capitol Records is repackaging the original issues of Beatles singles and albums, and an International organization has been formed to encourage the Beatles to get together once again in public performance.

     10 years ago, the Beatles concluded their U.S. tour, which included 19 shows in 14 cities, with a performance at Candlestick Park. The concert, on the evening of Monday, August 29, 1966, lasted 30 minutes, included 11 tunes, and ended at 9:50 p.m. That was the last time the Beatles appeared together in public performance. 

    The Beatles had played San Francisco twice before, 1964 and in 1965, at the Cow Palace. The evening show in '65 set a record there, which still stands, for over 18,000 customers for a reserved-seat concert. 

    Early in June 1966, it was announced that promoter Tom Donahue, in conjunction with station KYA, and using DJ Johnny Holliday and Emperor Gene Nelson as MCs, would present the Beatles at Candlestick with tickets at $6, $5, and $4. A total of 30,000 seats were ticketed, but the event didn't sell out. About 25,000 customers paid a gross of some $130,000.

     The Beatles arrived by plane late in the afternoon. They were sealed up in an armored truck and driven to Candlestick, where they arrived at 5:45 p.m. The San Francisco police provided a station wagon and a couple of motorcycles for an escort. The caravan also included a bus and a few limousines for the supporting acts and equipment.

     After cruising around the stadium parking lot, waiting for an attendant to find the gate key, the caravan finally went through the right center field gate, and the Beatles disembarked and walked directly into the dressing room clubhouse area used by the San Francisco Giants. By 6o'clock, the fans were also arriving. They found most of the stadium lights illuminated, as they were for the whole show; spotlights were also used to pinpoint featured performers. The stage was built over second base. The closest any fans got was about 150 feet, and those in the second deck, the "cheap seats", could barely see the platform and often could not hear anything. 

    The Boston rock group The Remains opened the program with four numbers and was followed by Bobby Hebb, who also did four selections ending with "Sunny," his big hit for the summer of '66. Holiday was MC at the beginning, as I remember, filling the brief space between acts. The pace was fast. The performers were anxious to get the tour over with, and the crowd, very young and agitated, was there only for the Beatles. Two piles of loudspeakers flanked the stage. No one, except a few guards, was allowed on the stadium grass or infield. Artists came to the stage by walking from the Giants' dugout area across first base and eventually to the stage stairs. After Hebb, the Brian Epstein-managed group Cyrkle played five numbers, including "Red Rubber Ball," which had been a big hit in the spring of 1966, and "Turn Down Day," which soon became a hit. Following Cyrkle, with the crowd screaming every time any head stuck out of the dugout entrance, the Ronettes, a first-rate soul rock group, trudged through the grass (there was no plastic turf then) and onto the stage. 

    I remember thinking, with amusement, how strange the three black Ronettes seemed in shimmering nightclub gowns, singing "Be My Baby" and "Walking in the Rain" to 25,000 Beatles fans, most of whom were bubblegum teeny boppers about 14 years old. The gutsy, sensual Ronette's lyrics didn't have much effect, however, since the crowd noise, anticipating the Beatles, was horrendous by this time. 

    All 19 tunes performed by the opening four acts, plus the on-track comments by Holliday and his colleague Nelson, absorbed only 70 minutes. Without any intermission, and barely time enough for the Ronnetts to leave the field, the four Beatles raced across the turf and onto the stage. The crowd's response was deafening. It was as if Willie Mays had just homered into the left-field bleachers to win the World Series.

    The Beatles' performance began with "Rock and Roll Music," and then the tunes ground out one by one mechanically and with little distinction. I recall no informal comments from any of the Beatles during the program. Paul handled the introductions.

     Although the Revolver album had been issued three weeks earlier and was on top of the charts, the Beatles did none of the tunes from it. Even "Yellow Submarine", the hit single that week, was not played. "I Want to Hold Your Hand," "Eight Days a Week," "Day Tripper," "Paperback Writer," "Yesterday," and finally "Long Tall Sally" were included. So fast was the performance, and so brief the interval between tunes, the noisy reception given at the end of each number spilled into the roar, which obliterated the first 30 seconds of each new selection. As "Long Tall Sally" was ending, a young lady raced toward the stage front with guards in hot pursuit. As the fans watched her attempt to climb the platform, many didn't notice the armored truck, which had been sitting innocently at the rear of the stage, had thrown open its back doors.

     The four Beatles had hopped from instruments to stairs, to vehicle, and within one minute of concluding the song, the Beatles inside the truck were out of the center field gate onto a service field and heading toward the San Francisco airport. The Beatles were heading finally for England. Their last public concert appearance was over. 

    My review in the Examiner the next day was headed "Beatles Strike Out at Ballpark." Ralph Gleason's Chronicle column was headed "A Puppet Show for the Beatles." There was no press conference here, as there had been in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. Beatle John Lennon's comments about religion and the Vietnam War, and a sour attitude toward the Beatles by the U.S. entertainment establishment, had made relations with the press difficult.

     The San Francisco City Treasury netted $17,500 from ticket sales, and the local musicians union was paid $1,072 for providing 25 standby musicians who sat in the stands and played the Star-Spangled Banner at 8p.m. At the time, the evening seemed just like another disappointing rock and roll concert. Certainly not as much fun as the earlier Beatles shows in town. Little did those 25,000 San Franciscoans realize they were seeing the most successful and influential pop music group in history perform together for the final time.