And in the end....

I wonder if younger generations look at photographs of the Beatles from 1964 and think they look historic. To me they look as current as though the pictures were taken yesterday, not 50 years of yesterdays. Maybe it’s because the memories are so clear and sharp. Or maybe that’s what was so remarkable about the Beatles. They were so fresh. So unlike the 1950s and 60s clean cut “Mad Men” look of our parents’ generation. So unlike anything or anyone that came before. So timeless.

I was only 11 when the Beatles first played the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964. Even at that age, not-quite-pre-teen, all the kids in my class at school wanted to see them. We all watched the Sullivan show every week anyway; it was what families in my neighborhood did on Sunday evenings: watch Walt Disney, then Ed Sullivan, and maybe Bonanza if you were allowed to stay up that late.

But how did a bunch of 11 year olds know that we simply could not miss this? Had we heard “I Want to Hold Your Hand” on the radio? Had we seen The Beatles in the newspaper? I don’t remember. I do remember sitting in the living room in front of the TV, waiting for that special moment. And then Sullivan announcing them, “Ladies and gentlemen, The Beat-els” in his odd Ed Sullivan kind-of-way. And the girls screaming and crying in the audience. And the adults in the room at home saying stupid stuff like, “My goodness, what is all the fuss about?” and “Look at that hair! Isn’t that ridiculous?” and “I can’t understand a word they’re singing!” And I remember thinking, “Shut up, already! I want to hear them! I want to see them! I’m in love!!!!” It was over so quickly, but I was dazed with the excitement of it all. Such a brief moment, but as we know now, that performance would resonate for years to come.

My mother’s first complaint was that I replaced all the horse photos in my bedroom with Beatles posters and especially photographs of Paul McCartney. “What’s happened to my little girl?” Usually this question was enough to make me knuckle under from whatever rebellious act or transgression caused her to level this guilt trip on me that I would go back to being her little girl again. But not this time.

She was further dismayed when I adopted a deep-throated Liverpudlian accent – or an 11-year-old Winnipegger’s version thereof – and went around calling everyone, “Luv.” I grew bangs. I desperately wanted a black leather John Lennon hat, but there was no way in the world they were going to let me have one. “That’s a man’s hat! You are NOT going to look like a Beatle!! And that’s final!” I argued that one to bits but they never gave in.

I got a transistor radio and listened to the Beatles climb the top ten charts with the radio tucked under my pillow at night and carried up to my ear during the day. My friend and I made up elaborate stories about how we would meet and get married to our favorite Beatle; she to John Lennon, me to Paul.

My dad did concede once to buying me an LP. It was in the Bay downtown one Saturday afternoon and my father surprised the heck out of me by asking if I wanted my very first Beatles record. Did I? Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I carried it like it was Limoges china up to the check out. But my Dad couldn’t resist the temptation to chide me, loudly, with the usual adult comments about the hair and the crazy music and the goofy suits. I was humiliated in the way only a pre-teen can be humiliated. Right down to my toes. Like I wanted to sink into the floor. Or at least tell the cool young guy at the checkout, “I have no idea who that square old-fogey is! Can you believe it?”  I was mortified. And hardly noticed that he had just bought me this wonderful treasure. That was the day my adolescence began.

After that I used my allowance to buy my own albums. And I wrote all over them: “I LUV Paul!” “Beatles 4-ever!” The Beatles and British fashion dominated my junior high and high school days. I saw “A Hard’s Day Night” at least 6 times, and “Help!” at least four. I slow danced to the “Rubber Soul” album at a house party in grade 9. I wore Mary Quant tights with my mini-skirts. I layered on mascara and painted long lashes on my cheeks to get the Twiggy look and I was delighted that my measurements were exactly the same as hers. I listened carefully to the lyrics of “Sgt. Pepper” trying to understand the supposed hidden drug messages. “Revolution” and the “White album” were the soundtracks of my high school years. I went to university the year The Beatles broke up. It seemed impossible that they should go their separate ways. The magic was over.

But maybe that’s what was so special about the Beatles, at least for me. That first night on Ed Sullivan was magic. They spun a spell that was so wonderful and so breathtaking that even now, when I see the video replayed 50 years later, my youth is as immediate and real as though it was yesterday.