Let's go back ... way back! "What Police Found in the Beatles' Bed Room!" was apparently first printed in a teenage Beatles fan magazine in 1964. Comments follow.
The woman stared at the two fourteen year old
girls. “And what are you two supposed to be?”, she
asked. “Nineteen!”, they both shrilled back. The woman,
mother of the young ladies didn’t bother to ask further. She knew
the reason behind the would be adult get-ups, the lipstick, the false
eyelashes, so thick and fulsome that they almost hid the splotches of green eye
shadow that lay heavily on the girls’ eyelids. She’d known all day in fact – ever since their arrival in Las Vegas for what she‘d foolishly
hoped would be a nice, pleasant and rather routine weekend – that the girls
had begun to plot something. Specifically, and as one of them had
put it in loud and passionate whispering: the “Crash of the
Century!” More specifically, a plan to invade that hairy Eyre up on
the eighteenth floor of the Sahara Hotel – the Beatles’ bedroom – where the
Liverpudlian lads, also recently arrived, were throwing an invitation only
party for a few hundred local and Hollywood VIPs.
For a fleeting moment the woman remembered
back. To New York City. To 1943. The Hotel
Astor. Herself, wearing one of her mother’s
dresses. Standing outside a room where a Hoboken lad named Sinatra
was holding festive court. Standing. For
hours. Outside. And never getting in.
“You’ll never get in!”, she said now smiling a bit, sadly,
reminiscently, as she continued to stare at her young daughter and friend.
“Oh no??”, the two girls said back in unison, giggling,
confidently.
“Well,” said the woman, "if you do be sure to let me know
somehow. And please don’t make little pests of yourselves. “
“Mother! Really!”, came the
reactions. Deep throated. Mature. Oh, so
mature.
It was ten minutes later. The tower suites room
4718, 4720, 4722 high above what was once dead quiet desert were bouncing,
Combos, uncombed (in honor of their hosts), played “A Hard Day’s Night” and
“She Loves Me” (sic) unendingly. Waiters by the
dozen served hard and soft drinks and assorted hot and cold canapés to the
assorted mob which included, to name only a few of the categories present this
night of Thursday, August 20: actors, producers, musicians,
reporters, oilmen, their oil ladies, Strip impresarios, and the Strip show
girls.
Everyone needless to say was having a
ball. Except for the four young men with the growingly strained
smiles named George, Ringo, Paul and John. Who’d arrived in Vegas
in the wee hours and had barely gotten any sleep. Who’d already
attended a batch of similar receptions during the day. Who, to boot,
had given two long and tiring concerts at the Convention Center earlier that
evening.
And except for the battalion of Sahara security police
standing guard now outside the suite doors and shooing away – pushing away – the dozens upon dozens of shrieking fans who tried to squeeze their
way past.
For the aggravation and tumult that ensued here, most of the
hotel cops vowed on the spot that they would hence-forth hate all Beatles and
Females forever and ever.
But there was one perhaps compassionate, perhaps just not
too bright one, who at one point found himself listening to two of the girls. About
nineteen they appeared. Nodding to them. Turning after
asking them to wait. And delivering their message.
“They said what?”, asked Paul, laughing heartily a moment later.
“That”, answered the security man, “one of them is a best
American friend of Mr. Harrison’s friend Miss Patti Boyd. That the
other of them is a cousin of your feean-cee Mr. McCartney – Miss
Jane Asher, over in London.”
“George!”, Paul called now to the others still
laughing. He repeated what the security man had just told
him. “Now don’t you think, “ he added, “that such ingenuity should be
rewarded? That we should invite these two girls in for a bit?”
The others nodded. “It should be like a breath of
home.”, dead panned Ringo. “I’m verrrrry anxious to hear what the two
birds have to say about dear Jane and dear Patti!”
The merriment around them continuing, the four boys waited
now for the girls to be ushered in. Which they
were. Accompanied part way by the nice cop who needlessly pointed to
the Beatles, turned and departed. Leaving the girls feeling vastly
alone now. And trembling, uncontrollably all confidence and
self-control gone.
They were bluntly and in short a laughable sight, these
two so young fourteen year olds standing there gazing at their idols of idols,
face to face trying their hardest to look like Suzanne Pleshette and Connie
Stevens. Trying their hardest to keep from falling out of their unaccustomed
high heels.
“Hello!”, said Paul finally, approaching them. He
cleared his throat, and bowed severely. “My name is Lord
Douglas-Home, Prime Minister, you know. So nice to meet you.”
The girls tried to smile. They
couldn’t. Instead, in fact and suddenly they began to cry, huge and
helpless and awestruck tears.
“We lied!”, they confessed. “We’re
terrible. We lied to get in here!”
As the others approached Paul smiled and nodded, “A little
white lie,” he said and winked, “I don’t think it’s that
terrible. Not at all.”
Added George, “You’ve given our
party a little charm. For that we’re thankful.”
Added
John, “Stay why don’t you?”
Added Ringo “A while, at least.”
A “while”? Little did they know that was to be
the laugh of the evening!
Two hours passed. In that time the mob in rooms
4718-22 doubled and then almost tripled. For a time of course, the
Beatles had stood talking to their two charming and soon dry-eyed “crashers". Teasing them at first a bit about “dear Patti and
Jane.” And then listening and answering, as the girls began to
bombard them with questions.
But after a bit, as the crowd grew, as others had to be
introduced to the Beatles, a bigger session bore up. And the boys
were whisked away from their two young guests. And the two young
guests seemed to get lost in the human swell.
“It was wonderful, in a way”, as one of them recalls,
“because this gave us a chance to sit and congratulate each other on what we’d
accomplished. And to talk about how ga-reattt and
Fab the Beatles were. How nice they’d been to
us. And how interested they were in all the things we asked
them. How they must have been interested because they gave us such
interesting answers in reply."
“For instance, when we asked Ringo what his favorite
recreation was, he said TV, especially the commercials!”
“And when we asked George about the rumor that he was going
to get married as soon as he got back to England to some mysterious and
beautiful blond girl he laughed and said, “Roobish!” That’s
Liverpudlian for rubbish. But he pronounces it so beautifully
“Roobish!”
“And when we asked John if he missed his Cynthia and the
baby, desperately he said, “Yes Yes.” Twice!"
"And when we asked Paul if he and the others, living and
working so close together all the time ever fought, he said very honestly,
“Sometimes. Of course. But most of the time we get along
just fine. And we’re pretty good mates and friends, the four of
us. Very good, in fact!”
“Oh, I can’t tell you how we felt at that
party. And how eternally grateful we were to the Beatles for
inviting us in. We decided, in fact, there on the spot, that from
that moment on – no matter what- we would buy every record they ever
made! As well as attend every concert of theirs within 1,000
miles! As well as certainly every movie they were
in! That we would collect their pictures – all we could get our
hands out! That we would be their greatest fans and adore them
eternally!"
“We also decided that even thought it was starting to get a
little late by now, we would celebrate the night of nights by staying until
everyone else had gone.”
“And by telling the Beatles – personally and from our hearts
– about our decisions concerning them. As well as about our undying
devotion…”
As the aforementioned moth of one of
our two little crashers recalls, “It wasn’t until after ten that night that I began to
get worried. Worried first that they’d actually gotten into the
party and made little pills of themselves. Worried next that if they had gotten
in, they were certainly over-extending their stay. I tried to phone
the tower suite from time to time. Someone would always answer, but
there was so much noise going on up there that it was impossible for me to hear
whoever it was on the other end of the line. At about 10:30 I gave
up. I thought to myself, well, if they got in – they’re certainly
out by now. Must have gone to a movie. I mean, where else
could they have gone?”
And so the mother – unknowingly – let the matter
rest. For a time. While a few flights above her plotting daughter and friend continued to sit. Watching the
other guests, as slowly now they began to leave. Waiting- waiting for hours if necessary to be alone with
their Beatles!
“Goodnight! Good night there!”, and wearily, the
four boys bid their last guests adieu.
It was after 11:00 now. The boys were
pooped. Ready for a little quiet poker. Then – and
blessedly – for some sleep.
“Good night!” – One last time. The door was
closed…locked. Paul began to unloosen his tie. Ringo and the
others beginning to follow suit.
And then together they came, the two excited and vaguely
familiar voices, “Surprise!”
And with the shout four stunned faces and two innocently
smiling ones.
For the next long hour to so, with consummate patience and
graciousness and understanding, the groggy Beatles sat around with their two
wide-awake little friends. Again answering all the interesting
questions that came their way. Even at one point, treating the
girls to some music – a private hearing of a new song by John and Paul – which
the girls agreed upon its conclusion was “Fab – just gear!”
“I guess”, said one of the Beatle managers, who re-entered
the bedroom during the hour, “that the boys let the two birds hang around
because they didn’t want to hurt their feelings and tell them to shove off, because
the girls in a way represented the True Fan, the sort the boys rarely had a
chance to spend any time with because, mostly just because, they liked
them. But it was clear to me after a while that like them or not,
these chaps were exhausted and these girls had to go. I, in fact,
initiated the abortive move."
“All right, okay!”, I called
out, "Enough of this. It’s getting close to midnight! Time for all
Cinderella’s to get to their coaches!”
"Ringo, Paul and George were
in complete yawning agreement. They rose, said goodnight and scooted
for their rooms. John – since this was his room – of course remained. And when I repeated my Cinderella remark the girls looked
at Johnny and said, “We’re not tired if you’re not, John!”
"Johnny simply shrugged and began to say, “Well...” And as if this were an
invitation to make camp there, for years, for however long they wanted, the
girls jumped in their chairs and said, “Oh good! We’ll stay then!”
And stay they did.
And did.
Talking, gabbing, chatting, giggling until John, try as he
might – just couldn’t keep his eyes open a minute longer. In
seconds, he was fast asleep. For a moment after John’s as it were "departure", one girl
pointed Beatlewards and whispered to the still wide-awake member of the Beatles
entourage, “You know, he’s asleep. Doesn’t he sleep gorgeous?”
“Girls,” said the exhausted Beatleman, “it’s terribly
late. Don’t you think you’d best be getting along? Won’t your
mothers be worried?”
“Oh no, never,” answered the one, “my mother knows we are
here. You see we told her that we were coming here. Oh no,
she won’t be worried.”
“Shortly before midnight, “ recalls the mother, "I began to
get panicky. The words, “lost” “kidnapped”, “hurt”, “accident”
suddenly began to fill my brain. The Beatles – their room – their
party – none of this entered my mind when I phoned the police. But
when they arrived, two cops, a little while later, they asked me to
remember everything the girls had said earlier that evening. I told
them about the girls’ silly pan to try to crash upstairs. The cops both nodded
and said, “Why don’t we start up there.”
"I began to laugh. “You don’t think...”, I started to say."
“Why not?”, said one of the
cops. “Lots of little girls around here like to crash entertainers parties
and some entertainers, ma’am, they end up liking to entertain little
girls!”
“Oh noooooo!”, I moaned.
“Don’t get nervous” said
the cop, "I could be wrong. My partner and I, we’ll just
go up for a look-see."
"They left, I waited. I asked myself over and over, “Where did I go wrong?” Then I thought of the terrible scene
upstairs when the two policemen barged into that room. I nearly
fainted from the shame of it all!"
The knock on the door was soft but definite. The
girls looked at each other but they did not budge, not a single
inch. “Who do you think it is?” asked one whispering.
“Probably some other girls!", whispered back the other.
“Fooey on them”, said the first.
“Double fooey”
agreed the other, as the Beatles’ man hurried to open the door. And
there stood the police. They looked into the room and saw the girls. The cops asked their names. The girls identified themselves.
“What’s been going on in here?”, one of the cops
asked.
“Nothing,” answered one of the girls, “We’ve just
been with the Beatles.”
“Hmmmmmm”, said the cop, “well tell the Beatles
you’ve got to be going now. That it’s getting late.”
“We can’t!”, said one of the girls.
“Can’t?”
“No. They’re all so tired out by
now. They’re all fast asleep. Only this gentleman
is awake.”
The two cops looked at one another. Then, walking past the
two girls and the Beatles employee they entered the room. Grimly,
very grimly, they walked to John’s chair. “Wake up!”, came the
martial command.
And for the next five minutes or so shocked pandemonium
filled the air as John and his employee explained what had happened as the
girls, tearful once again, corroborated the story. When it was over and the cops had agreed among themselves that
they’d been hearing the truth, they turned to the girls sternly and asked,
“What are you two trying to do? Get these boys booked in jail?”
“Oh noooooo”, came the answer, “we were just…”
But before the girls could go on, John, obviously fearful of
an all-night session groaned, “That’s all right. It’s all perfectly
all right!”
And nicely but firmly he escorted the entire troop to the
door. Saw them all out . Then locked and relocked the
door and went to bed.
It was an hour or so later. The girls had been
properly scolded and were in their beds asleep by now. In the next room the scolder sat, relieved and thinking
back. She thought back to a night in New York City. To
1943. The Hotel Astor. Wearing one of her mother’s
dresses. Standing outside a room where a Hoboken boy named Sinatra
was having a party. Standing. For
hours. Outside. And never getting in.
She smiled a bit. “Tomorrow,” she thought, “I’ve got to scold them
again. And then – I’ve got to ask them how the did
it. And did they have a wonderful time?"
COMMENTARY:
I first found this article on the Meet The Beatles For Real website. The blogger is Sara Schmidt, a self professed "30 something 2nd Generation Beatles fan" who teaches reading to elementary school students @ Visit Here!
Here is what Sara wrote about the story:
This is quite the piece of fan fiction. The only thing is that when it was written for a teenage magazine in 1964, it wasn't written to be fan fiction. It was written with the belief that girls who read it would believe the story and think they too could lie about who they know and get into a Beatles party without any consequences or issues. I don't know what part of this story is the most outlandish, but I think it might be the fact that the Beatles go to bed at 11pm. The photos don't actually go with the story, but I thought they fit in. [see 1st photo!]
Ha! I thought the readers on my site might also find this story of interest, especially if you teach English media, values education or the social sciences. I once did. So I'm reprinting it here.
Anyway, it's interesting because it shows that some things never change, despite the often impermanent nature of things in our life and times.The sentiments of the mother in the story make it quite clear that what happened even then was hardly new.
Today teens and "teeny boppers" as we once called them, have their own favourite bands. The "boy band" tradition has never gone away. Remember: the Beatles started out as a "boy band". Of course they also wrote their own songs, were very artistically creative. They went on to help change and perhaps even help define the mindset of our generation. One wonders if fans will still be listening 50 years from now to whomever the flavour of the day is now?
Well I KNOW I won't be around to find out. Ha. Still, it's the 50th year anniversary of Beatlemania in North America this year. I was in a record store the other day. Yes they are still around, maybe even making a comeback. Rather odd perhaps in our digital age. Certainly worthy of a future blog.
A young man was joking about his parents watching the Beatles on the "Ed Sullivan Show" in 1964. Suddenly I felt kinda old for a moment but just a moment, that's all. I enjoyed seeing the young folk going through the record bins searching for their latest favourite bands. Deja vu! A seniors moment of sorts?
Yeah, somethings never change. Here's to the music ~ whatever it might be! As for the Beatles? I have often thought that you really had to be there to truly appreciate them. However, it's noteworthy that there have now been second, third and even fourth generations of Beatle fans. And as I mentioned in a previous blog, their music catalogue recently sold for $1.9 billion. The Beatles are now being remarketed for the 21st century. [See Here! ] The next generation of Beatlemaniacs?
Wonder if any of these newest Johnny Come Lately bands will be able to say that! :-)
The Beatles? We still love them yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
Cheers!
Getting an autograph [on the neck!] The girls still love Sir Paulie!?!
Read My Other Beatle Blogs:
50 Years of Beatlemania: The Ed Sullivan Show @ Here!
Capitol Canada + The Lost Beatle albums story @ Here!
Alt: Beatle Albums + Peripheral Dependency @ Here!
New Capitol-"ist" Box Set + Remarketing the Beatles for the 21st Century @ Here!
I Remember John Lennon @ Here!
COMING: Demythologizing the Beatles!
COMMENTARY:
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