The Beatles "arrived" in my school (Stamford High, Stamford, CT) sometime in the late fall of 1963. Once in a while, you could hear a "She loves you, Yea, Yea" in the halls or even an "I want to hold your hand." For the most part, though, not much was said either about the songs or the singers. This was my Junior year and I had other things on my mind. Besides, I had stopped listening to the radio. My only link with the current trends was the Ed Sullivan Show, eight o'clock every Sunday night (if my homework was finished). Everything was boring me. I was restless. A new life was unfolding: I was on my way to independence; I was about to get my driver's license!
I went for my driver's license.
President Kennedy was shot between my written exam and my driving test.
I passed my written exam and failed my driving test.
Like most everyone, I was stunned. I kept on hoping that it was just a bad dream. But as events unfolded on that long weekend, the awful truth finally sunk in. And, like many people at that time, I felt as if a beloved friend or relative had died. I could find no solace in anything, although passing my driver's test on December 31 did help a bit.
I heard all about the Beatles coming to America to be on the Ed Sullivan Show. I was not interested. I had read the article about them in LIFE Magazine and was not impressed. Besides, they looked so strange with that funny haircut! Boys were not meant to have long hair. After all, Ricky Nelson did not wear his hair like that! In school everyone was talking about THE ARRIVAL. I just could not understand what the big deal was. So, I avoided watching the news when they landed at Idelwilde Airport (or was it already renamed Kennedy?).
I was determined not to be as foolish as my classmates. I was not going to be suckered into watching Ed Sullivan just because the Beatles were on. No, I was definitely disinterested. Of course, I rationalized, there was no reason on Earth why I couldn't listen to the circus while I was doing my homework. I wasn't even tempted to watch. I heard all the screaming. "How stupid can a bunch of females get!" I couldn't even tell if they were good or not from all the screaming. Then Paul began to sing 'Till There Was You from the Music Man. I just had to look. And that was the moment I lost the battle. I was hooked forever!
Although I got only a 25-cent allowance a week, I managed to buy any and all fan magazines that had anything written in them about the Beatles. My sister bought the LP VJ Records put out, but I bought all the rest. I also bought all of their singles. Even though I never liked bubble gum, I bought as many packages of Beatles bubble gum as I could because there were Beatles cards in them. I don't know what happened to the gum, but the cards ended up in my pocket book. They went with me to Europe in the Summer of 1965, to NYU in the Fall of the same year, to Israel in the Summer of 1972, and back to the States in 1973. They were in my pocketbook when I got married and when my son, Daniel, greeted the world. They finally disappeared two years later when Adam, Daniel, and I moved from Malden to Melrose, MA. The magazines, the buttons, the John Lennon hat, the Beatles sweatshirt that I got for free from Frankle's Clothing Store (where my mother was a saleslady) to wear around the city of Stamford as a form of advertisement, and all the LP's and singles I still have and treasure.
I would carry my Beatles notebooks to school (they were filled with the magazines) and my best friend, Dale, and I would pour over them to the great annoyance of my French teacher, who did not like the Beatles or me. When I did not drive to school, I would jaunt along the streets singing Beatles songs. I learned to write like John and wrote letters to Dale in that "language" when I was at NYU. I learned to play my favorite Beatles songs on the guitar, and some Beatles classics became part of our repertoire when my sister and I performed in public. Because of the Beatles' influence, I also became a prolific songwriter in the years between 1965 and 1973.
The years between 1964 and 1966 were heady years. I went to see A Hard Day's Night at least three or four times (we stood in long lines each time to get into the cinema). I wish you could have been a fly on the walls of our apartment! In the kitchen you would hear my mother singing a Lennon and McCartney tune; my sister could be heard singing another one in another part of the apartment; and my voice would join in with yet another song. (The only member of the family who remained immune to the Beatles' charm and talent was my father. But, after all, he was a man.) Those were the days, indeed!
I graduated from high school.
I became an American citizen.
My sister and I bumped into Herman's Hermits at the British Consulate in New York.
One of my uncles, who lived in England (Surbiton, Surrey), invited us to visit for a month and even sent us the tickets.
On the night we arrived in Surbiton, we watched Paul on BBC as he performed Yesterday for the very first time. The next morning, the Beatles boarded a plane bound for the U.S.A. Thus, my dream of seeing the Beatles live was dashed forever. Things were not a total loss, though. We saw Help! in one of the largest cinemas in Picadilly in London; and that is where I bought the soundtrack LP. (It does not contain all the music from the movie -- only those which the Beatles sang. On the other side are songs that were released later in the U.S. under a separate title and cover.)
The White Album was the first and only Beatles LP I did not buy (my husband bought me the CD a few years ago). I felt insulted and betrayed, especially when I heard Number Nine and Why Don't We Do It in the Road. My passion began to wane. There were so many things they did (especially John) that I could not identify with until years later. I was disappointed that Paul did not wed Jane Asher and that John left Cynthia for Yoko Ono. When the Boys finally ended their journey together in 1969, I was not surprised. I recalled an interview in which John had said that he did not want to become a 40-year-old Beatle. I guess, he got his wish. Still, I was hoping (like all true Beatlemaniacs) throughout the ensuing years that the Beatles would get together just once more.
December 9, 1980 was my sister's 32nd birthday. It was also a school day. I was a permanent substitute at Brockton High School, Brockton, MA. I heard the kids talking about a John Lennon who died the night before, but paid little attention. I thought they were discussing a student, whick (of course) would have also been sad. A generation separated us. They were all small children when the Beatles split up. It did not even occur to me that they would know about John Lennon of the Beatles! When I finally realized that they were all talking about THE John Lennon, the news of his assassination hit me like a sledgehammer. Over the years, he had become one of my favorite musicians. In fact, for the longest time, his Imagine was the only LP of all the former Beatles that I bought. I reread In His Own Write and Spaniard in the Works and came to realize his genius. And now, he was gone. The Beatles, too, were gone forever.
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