When They Were Boys (63 page)

When I think of Taylor, I think of what George shared with me one night: “Derek is the most honest person. We've always been close, always will be. . . . He taught me so much, some of it surprising, about life . . . things like the royal family's original softness toward Hitler. . . . He taught me to just be myself . . . which I always tried to be.”

Derek Taylor was a master ghostwriter, especially for George. And during his early friendship with George, he learned quickly that George was more than just a musician. While John and Paul may have discounted George's input, Taylor discovered early on that George was a heavy-duty thinker.

During one of our soul-searching conversations on the meaning of life, and the meaning of the Beatles, Taylor made a memorable point.

“Just remember,” he said, “[George] has enormous intellectual curiosity; he wants to know everything. I won't go into detail, except to say that he has critiqued some of my writing attributed to him. That's always a risk, but it's worth it when you can have a candid talk and understand exactly what that person means. George may be the youngest Beatle and all that, but he is beyond his years in his values, and his pursuit of the truth, and I might add quite candidly, his ability to [be] direct and sometimes painfully honest.”

George always had fond memories of Taylor, whom he helped profile in their joint book,
Fifty Years Adrift
. Taylor is an easy man to remember, a distinct personality, a man with a wonderful sense of the language and a pure instinct for when to intervene, as I remember from one of my first experiences with the boys.

When I think of Taylor, I recall the time I met John for the first time. John, looking me up and down, asked me if I was a “nerd” from the fifties. I called him a “slob.” As I left the room, dejected about my first encounter with the boys' founder, Taylor said, “Well, that was a fucking piss!” I laughed hard, then realized that I had erred. Moments later, John ran out into the corridor, hugged me, and apologized—very un-John-like.

I will forever believe that it was Taylor who sent him out to make things right.

Derek Taylor had another rare and important talent: he could calm down both the boys, and an audience of thousands, at the same time. His only unsuccessful attempt at this enterprise was his attempt to stop 7,000 fans from storming the stage in Vancouver, British Columbia, in August 1964. But a month later, in Cleveland, he was successful in addressing the audience. Frightened Cleveland police officials, with no real reason, surrendered to the hysteria of the crowd and shut down the concert. The Beatles were angry in the dressing room; the crowd was ready to explode. Taylor talked both City Hall and the boys into resuming the show. Then, in his smooth and charismatic way, he walked up to the microphone, addressed the crowd, and soothed them with a soft warning that they had to calm down so the Beatles could come back on stage.

It worked.

At their Seattle hotel in 1964, the boys pissed on the rug of their suite after hearing that the staff wanted to cut it up and sell it to fans.

When reporters asked Taylor about this, he replied, “In the case of the alleged moisture on the floor covering, I can neither confirm nor deny. The truth is that . . . well . . . well . . . I think
I have to go now!
” Taylor was a wonderful teaser.

Both Derek Taylor and the amazing Tony Barrow had a finite understanding of how to promote the aura of the Beatles. Taylor was especially interested in visuals. And both men continued employing a technique mentioned earlier. In most of the movie-theater concerts, they would allow limited film by the newsreel photographers of the day. The photojournalists were encouraged to show the delirious crowds, and in some cases, the fans chasing cars down the street. By the time the boys got to America in 1964, American fans were quite ready to emulate the UK hysteria—and they did, with gusto. There is no doubt that the two press giants were able to stage the filming of the wildness and love of the crowds. Was it a distorted look? Quite the contrary. The original newsreel footage in the UK, mostly of smaller crowds and smaller venues than the Beatles would face in America, did show a realistic sense of the rampages and uncontrolled crowds that followed the boys and their music. The images gave a picture of emotion, regardless of the
size of the crowd. Imagine the work of two great and former writers and promotion men carefully serving as gatekeepers to the British press. The Beatles were already the stuff of legend, but the pictures reinforced their imagery.

There is no question that Taylor channeled the Beatles in his appearance and style. For that, he would always get heat. Epstein was especially wary of his style. But as a pen pal, a buddy of sorts, and a real crowd-pleaser, Taylor did the job both on stage and off.

CHAPTER THIRTY

MOMENTUM WITH A ROYAL AND FOREIGN TOUCH

“Suddenly, they were a real happening. Even the adults were digging them. As I said, ‘It was big.' . . . They were about seven to eight years older than me, but the shoes, the hair, the dynamic style . . . all of that became a standard for the times. I just thought, ‘If only I could play with them . . .'”

—Alan White, drummer for the band Yes and for the Plastic Ono Band

T
HERE WERE TRIUMPHS AND DANGER LURKING BEHIND THE SCENES IN THE FALL OF 1963
.

Many dates have been described as the beginning of Beatlemania, but only one really qualifies, and that is October 13, 1963, when the Beatles appeared on the TV show
Live at the London Palladium
. The national showcase was a blockbuster, and the British press covered the event in the Monday papers as a major cultural event.

Part of the success was due to the mother of all photo ops. “Looking back,” Tony Barrow says, “I would like to have taken credit for staging this event, and some press agents would have said they did stage it, but I had nothing to do with it.”

“It” was a spontaneous near-riot near the Palladium's entrances, with teenage girls and boys straining the patience of usually reserved London police officers, resembling a modern-day flash mob, moving back and forth in waves and hoping that strength in numbers would help them get to the boys.

The press responded in kind with Monday headlines like “Beatles Fever,” and yes, the first occasion of the printed word in the national media—“Beatlemania.” The photos and the story of this new phase of fever were noticed by the nation.

Alan White, future drummer of the progressive rock group Yes and John Lennon's drummer on the immortal track “Imagine,” was fourteen when he
saw the show, and read the papers. He chose his career path early, first as a guitarist, then as a drummer. In 1963, he was looking for inspiration at all levels, and the ascent of the Beatles got him excited and inspired him to make a career of it.

“I was so thrilled. Four northern boys [Alan was from northern England] suddenly the rage of the nation. Like all young musicians, I thought that could be me out there. And they were so good. Watching them on TV, listening to the records.”

During a chat with me before a Yes gig in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in 2010, White remembered the impact of that appearance.

“Suddenly, they were a real happening. Even the adults were digging them. As I said, ‘It was big.' . . . They were about seven to eight years older than me, but the shoes, the hair, the dynamic style . . . all of that became a standard for the times. I just thought, ‘If only I could play with them . . .'”

White got his wish when he received a call from John six years later, inviting him to Toronto for the “Live Peace” effort, along with Eric Clapton and, back again with John, old friend from Hamburg Klaus Voorman. Two years later, White would play the drums on “Imagine.”

“I lived the dream of every young musician. When I got that call from John, who had seen me in some clubs in London, I thought it was a prank. I said, ‘No way it is John Lennon on the phone.' But it was.”

So, really, along with the music, the Palladium appearance was an emotional moment for White, and for the nation. People in Liverpool watched with awe. After all, Tony Bramwell remembers, “It was those same boys at Litherland Town Hall in December of 1960, the friend [George Harrison on the number 61 bus], but now they were on the national TV.”

Ten days after the Palladium, there was a journey that proved beyond doubt that John, Paul, George, and Ringo had gone international—arriving for their first real foreign tour, in Sweden. If you don't count Hamburg, which the Beatles first visited as an unknown band, Sweden was their first journey overseas as a hit group.

Behind the scenes, though, the boys' obsession with sex almost got out of control.

Mal Evans remembered the “selection process”: “There were many beautiful girls in Stockholm, but I was getting a bit upset because the guys were taking too many chances, going where they shouldn't have been going.”

“Where is that?” I asked.

“Not going to say,” Mal replied, “not even to you, Larry.”

Turns out that Brian Epstein was also concerned, for fear that winding up with more teenagers would be a scandal. But Neil Aspinall, always loyal, and John, always looking, convinced Epstein that “all was in order.” That was Epstein's version of things.

The “selection process,” as Mal described it to me, was fairly organized: find the young women, screen them to determine their safety and maturity, and make sure their ages were appropriate. How Mal and others could make those judgments always fascinated me. As it turns out, the episode in Las Vegas with the young girls was the closest to a full-blown scandal, even though nothing happened. But it is very obvious that in the contemporary environment, the Beatles and their buddies would never have survived the tabloid press. That they did survive the press in 1963, and later when I toured with them over three summers, is a testament to the protectionism of Neil Aspinall and the guile of Mal Evans, and their intense loyalty to the boys. There were “tell-all” books published that presumed to know how the boys “operated,” but none came from the immediate traveling circle. Tony Barrow, Derek Taylor, and Tony Bramwell all wrote memoirs, but none included any play-by-play of the boys' sex lives. In the modern day, that would be expected, but not so in the sixties.

Bramwell, one of the most fascinating people I've ever met in the entertainment world, does admit that sometimes the fruits of celebrity were shared, especially in the early rush of fame in 1963. “We all shagged the same people, at times. And the boys had a great time in Sweden.”

Outside of what might have been unnecessary risk-taking, the Beatles were a big hit in Sweden, an omen that the American tours might also be a hit. The biggest problem, according to Aspinall, was that “local authorities were not ready for the security measures that were necessary,” though some of the concert halls were not sold out. One newspaper reported that even though
there were some empty seats, the people who
were
there were “in a state of craziness.”

The Sweden tour—nine concerts in five days—was covered as a huge international success. In their lives, news coverage played a big part in the “avalanche” of success. When the Beatles returned to London on October 31, 1963, 20,000 fans were waiting at the airport. Epstein remembered, “The boys thought the crowd was waiting for the queen. They couldn't believe they were there for them.”

Though the queen was not there, the Beatles would soon be breathing the same air as royalty.

Back home, safely on British soil, the Beatles got ready for the biggest show of all, one that cemented their early success and accelerated the tremendous wave of national pride that was already rolling through Britain. The Beatles had received an invitation from Buckingham Palace to entertain at the Royal Command Performance at the Prince of Wales Theater in London's West End. The charity gala was a tradition going back to the Victorian era. The queen would be there, along with other royalty and members of high society.

It was not a solo engagement—there were nineteen acts on the bill—but it may have been the boys' most important gig yet. Also on the bill was American entertainer Sophie Tucker, movie icon Marlene Dietrich, and others. Would the boys win over England's society crowd, and how would the royal family accept the phenoms of the North?

Despite urgings from Epstein to tone it down, the boys stuck true to form, ending a four-song set with the always raucous “Twist and Shout.”

Mal Evans was more nervous than he would be the night he met Elvis in the summer of 1965 when, he later told me, “Met me idol. I was a fan all the way.”

In the fancy dressing room, Mal remembered, “I was nearly paralyzed—all those royals out there. Even [usually unflappable] Neil was very, very nervous.”

While Mal and Aspinall and George and Ringo were “terrified,” according to Mal, Epstein was nearly a “wreck.”

He was nervous that John would say something. And he was right; there turned out to be a “something.” Looking upbeat and totally animated, the former milkman of Menlove Avenue addressed the well-heeled audience on his own terms.

“Will people in the cheaper seats clap your hands? All the rest of you, if you'll just rattle your jewelry . . .”

Laughter filled the house. The crowd, roused by young people in the audience, saved their most strident applause for the Beatles.