The Beatles

When I was 21, the Beatles played at Cleveland Stadium-- you know, the old one, on the lake, with bleachers. It was August 14, 1966. I still have my ticket.

I didn't go alone. Well-to-do friends invited me, because their kids wanted me to come (during a very brief teaching career, their 13 year old son was one of my students).

They took us first to the air show. Sam was a well-known industrial designer. He wanted to get into the restricted area, and pulled out an accordion-fold case filled with credentials-- flashed it to the guard, letting the sections cascade to the ground. Before the guard could look closely at any of them, Sam snapped it up and put it back in his pocket. His kids and their friends got to clamber around in the planes-- great fun for them! (Hugh Grant did something similar with a Blockbuster card in "Notting Hill," when he was trying to get into a press conference to see Julia Roberts.) I asked Sam what they all were. He laughed and told me that they were his library card, passes for a lot of professional design conferences dating 20 years back, just random stuff. But he knew how to present it with power and charm!

Then, on to the Beatles concert. We were supposed to have first row seats in one of the sections with actual seats, but they had put 2 rows of folding chairs in front of us. No matter, they were great seats.

The Beatles had performed in the US the past two years, but this was to be their last concert tour. They were at the top of their game. They had crazed fans, mostly young kids. The crowd was at fever pitch. Kids started pouring out of the stands onto the field. The aisles were rivers of adolescents making their way down to the low wall that bordered the field. Many hopped over the wall.

Cops were catching little girls by the arms if they tried to get too close, turning them around and heading them back toward the stands. Occasionally they had to drag somebody to the edge of the field.

I felt a heavy weight on my right shoulder. I turned my head to look: it was a foot. A second foot landed on my forearm and the armrest. It was one of those little girls. I had become part of the stairway.

I'd like to think I heard a "Sorry!"... but I can't swear to that.

In the midst of the madness, Paul smiled and waved, and swung into "Yesterday." Cool as an Ohio spring day.

© J M-K  February 2016