Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Don't hurt me, Ms. Crawford!!

Thanks for your interest in my 60s project. My goal is to make it entertaining enough that even if you didn't grow up in the 60s or were even alive in the 60s (or were alive in the 60s but not alive now) you'll find it fun reading. Here's the next installment. I may actually write more of them after this. Not this week 'cause I'm too consumed with the Christie Brinkley trial (my thoughts on that tomorrow) but soon.
The next day at school every boy tried to wear his hair like a Beatle. It wasn’t easy to do since we all had crewcuts. Combing it down over our foreheads we looked more like Julius Caesar than Paul McCartney.

The girls meanwhile, were practically walking into walls. They all had this dazed lovesick expression, which is great when it’s because of you but nauseating when it’s not. For all of us adolescent males with exploding hormones, the message was clear:

If you want to get girls, be a rock star.

I think that afternoon every cheap guitar in America was purchased along with every “How to” book and piece of Beatles sheet music. I imagine some guys were so obsessed they began German lessons.

The Beach Boys still had their staunch following – usually the tan blond great looking athletic types who knew at the end of the day it wasn’t talent that won over girls, it was how you looked with your shirt off. I was 6’, having grown an entire foot in a year, and weighed 130 pounds. In a bathing suit I looked like a Q-tip with eyes, so siding with the surfing camp was not an option.

I didn’t want to expend the time, effort, and money required to buy and learn how to play guitar but fortunately I found an easier, cheaper, and faster way to achieve the same ultimate goal. I bought a five-dollar harmonica.

John Lennon had played harmonica on “Love Me Do”. If was an official legitimate Beatles instrument. And it came with a three-page booklet teaching you how to use it. Forget that the instructions were in Japanese.

So like an idiot I would come home from school, lock myself in my room, and blow into this crappy piece of tin until I had a hernia. Little did I realize that even Polka bands were not interested in adding a harmonica player.

The Beatles appeared on THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW again the next week (February 16th) but this time instead of playing to frenzied teenage girls in New York, they performed in Miami Beach for old Jews. The electricity just wasn’t the same playing to codgers in leisure suits with hearing aids who generally show their appreciation by clicking spoons. Charlie Brill & Mitzi McCall received a better ovation.

The following week they were on SULLIVAN again but this was a performance taped before their first appearance so there wasn’t that live “event” status that made their debut so memorable. Only ten million girls had their first orgasm as opposed to forty.

So where were the Beatles when that pre-recorded performance aired on February 23rd? Actually back in England I just learned. But at the time I thought they were right here in Los Angeles, California, U.S.A. But where in Los Angeles? That was the big question.

Like kids everywhere, we followed the group’s U.S. exploits through the radio. Every Top 40 station in the country covered it, and every one seemed to have one d.j. who crowned himself “the fifth Beatle”. Yeah, like the Beatles are going to let only one person enter their exclusive inner circle and it’s going to be some pimple cream huckster from Modesto. Murray the K. Kaufman in New York was the most outspoken “fifth Beatle” but in Los Angeles it was Dave “the Hullabalooer” Hull. Dave did afternoons on KFWB’s chief rival, KRLA. He led his audience to believe that he and the boys were thick as thieves. If Dave needed a kidney, George Harrison would insist he take his.

So anyway, according to the Dave, the Beatles were holed up in a secluded mansion somewhere in Bel Air (Blue Jay Way??). I’m sure after his show Dave was going to go up there and maybe flip some burgers for the guys, unless the “fifth Beatle” from Kalamazoo got there first.

One day after school I visited a friend, Bobby Kaye, who lived in Bel Air and he had heard that the Beatles were staying with Capitol Records President, Alan Livingston, whose estate was right up the street. “Great!” I said, “Let’s go up there and meet ‘em.” Hey, we could always just say Dave sent us. So off we hiked up to Livingston’s house.

There was one tiny detail we had overlooked in our zeal. Bobby wasn’t exactly sure which house was Livingston’s. He knew it was one of like four but couldn’t say for sure which one. Swell! We’re going to pick the wrong place and Joan Crawford is going to beat the shit out of us with wire hangers.

We decided to go around to the back, climb fences, scope out backyards and try to surmise which was Location X. Maybe we’d get lucky and spot the Beatles catching some rays or playing Marco Polo in the pool with Elvis. We were such morons.

Our search ended when the Bel Air patrol arrived and threatened to arrest us for trespassing. Or let Joan Crawford go medieval on our asses.

So I never saw the Beatles that day. In later years I did meet John Lennon, passed George Harrison on the street once, and Ringo almost hit me with his car.

But by then they were just people.

29 comments :

Anonymous said...

Ken - I hate to burst your bubble but you almost got arrested looking for four lads who were already back in England. They flew home Feb. 20 or 21 according to most Beatle books.

Anonymous said...

I was 14 then and we watched them from a town of 150 population in Pesotum Illinois.

I was interested in comedy and probably tuned in for impersonator Frank Gorshin and to work on my own impression of Ed Sullivan.

The screams from the girls when the Beatles came on brought ,y dad (a Methodist preacher) into the room. He said "what's the big deal? in 6 months, they'll be forgotten."

And of course. "What's with their hair? They look like girls." Of course now, if a girl had hair that length, she'd look like a lesbian!

Tim W. said...

Hey, a colleague of yours, Jane Espenson, apparently got Ringo Starr's suitcase by mistake from the airline and drove to his house to return it. I don't think she ever came face to face with him, though.

Mike McCann said...

Dave's right. The Beatles flew back to the UK on the 21st (Miami to JFK to London), two days before their third Sullivan Show appearance aired -- with the segement, which was taped in New York on the 9th, edited into the hour to appear live.

By Tuesday February 25th, the Fab Four were back at Abbey Road, doing overdubs on "Can't Buy Me Love" (which they began recording in Paris) and working on "You Can't Do That" as well as several soundtrack tunes for A HARD DAY'S NIGHT.

Mike McCann said...

I should have added that The Beatles' first visit to Alan Livingstone's home was on August 23rd, 1964 right after their first Hollywood Bowl concert. The Capitol Records chief hosted a meet-and-greet, where for a $25 donation to a hemophilia charity, the tux and tie crowd could press the flesh with the biggest rock and rollers on the planet.

TCinLA said...

Actually, it was more like 15% of the generation became drugged-out hippies and revolutionaries. But then only about 15% of movies or TV shows or even unproduced screenplays are any good...

I think it was something like 2% of the population who took part in the Renaissance.

Interesting stuff, though. Younge people I know today have a hard time believing those old Beach Boys songs are descriptive of actual reality.

For me, being a couple years older than you, we had left San Diego on the old USS Rustbucket in early January to take the first scientific expedition to the Galapagos since Darwin visited aboard the Beagle. Everything was just all that pre-Beatles/Post-JFK crap. And then we came back the first or second week in March, and it was a whole other world.

By Ken Levine said...

There's no doubt the Beatles were anywhere but where I was. And like I said, we never did see them (obviously).

But hearing they were half a world away only adds to how big of an idiot I was.

Dave said...

Two memories for the price of one!

Dave Hull rocked -- and was a match for any two deejays at KHJ. And he was even better on KFI, especially after Dodger games, when he'd co-host with Wes Parker and Jimmy Lefebvre.

But speaking of looking for the Beatles. . .

Somehow, my father got a whole bunch of tickets to one of the Hollywood Bowl concerts in 1965. He got so many that even after my sister invited all her friends, there was still a ticket for me. I remember two things about the concert: pretty much all I could hear was girls screaming and the stage was orange.

After the show, one of the girls heard a rumor that the boys were headed for the Whisky on the Strip, so they made my father drive them there to try to get a glimpse. How a bunch of 14 year old girls thought they were going to crash the door, I have no idea, but I guess it's the folly of youth.

Anyway, the rumor turned out to be false, but my father and I spent at least an hour in our station wagon parked at the Shell station across the street while the girls tried to see a Beatle.

We drove home, and after dropping almost everyone off, the car got a flat tire, and we had to walk the last mile home, finally arriving at 3:00 am.

I was nine years old and it was the latest I'd ever been up.

Ah, good times. . .

Anonymous said...

Oh sure, sure, the first time you heard the Beatles, blah blah blah. Now what about when you first caught the Turtles on TV! or Paul Revere and the Raiders!? Let's hear the real down home deal, not that fancy schmancy Ed Sullivan Brit stuff.

Unknown said...

This story is so cute :-)

My first "own" cassette tape was a beatles record. I got it from my mom in 82 or 83 I think and listened to it for weeks.

I only got a glimpse of what it was like back in the 60s via black and white TV broadcasts re-airing on one of our three TV networks during those years. For years after that I would always remember that girl picking up that cigarette butt one Beatle had dropped and holding it in her hand like it was the cure for cancer... it still is the one thing I always think of when somebody mentions the fab four or a song plays on the radio...

Nathan said...

I was only 4 when The Beatles showed up, so my memories are a little hazy. What I do remember is that my older brothers and sister badgered mom and dad mercilessly until they bought us a record player and two or three singles to play on it. We played those songs over and over and over again.

The reason I remember that part is that my job was to move the tone arm back to the beginning of the song. I got this job because every time anyone touched the tone arm, they got a huge (I thought) shock. I was stupid enough to do this every time an older sib told me to.

(BTW - if you don't know what a tone arm is, I probably wasn't talking to you anyway.)

Anonymous said...

Somehow, I missed the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, even though we watched the show religiously. Perhaps my parents wanted to make sure I wasn't corrupted by those long-haired rock-and-rollers. It didn't work, because for weeks afterwards, on my favorite kid's show, "Beachcomber Bill" on Channel 13, his sock puppets sang along to "I Wanna Hold Your Hand." So I wound up being corrupted by sock puppets.
I do remember listening to Dave Hull and the Dodger's Wes Parker on KFI. I mailed in for a "Wes Praker" T-shirt (they had misspelled his name on the shirt, according to the Hullaballoer), but they ran out and I all I got was an autographed picture of Wes, sponsored by Union 76 gasoline with the orange ball logo.

Michelle said...

I do like this story and book idea. On another note, I do like the story of what it's like growing up in LA. I'm a native NYer and always imagine that people don't live in LA as much as migrate there in search of magic.

Mary Stella said...

I know I'm laughing at the expense of the teenaged you, but I can't help myself. That was great!

growingupartists said...

I really like this style of writing, it's very soothing. I hope you don't mind that it reminds me of your buddy, Earl. I'd love to see you two in a dance number.

Anonymous said...

I really enjoy reading your blog. You have a terrific sense of humor!

I have no experience writing for TV but have gotten my heart broken with a "this-close" TV option for one of my books. Hollywood people sure like to say they love you and your writing and your book, usually just before they disappear. Sigh. I've published five young adult novels and have a humorous children's series out now as well as a humorous newspaper column.

I've never tried writing a memoir. First I have to wait until everyone in my family dies; otherwise they'd kill me. But I've read a lot about memoir-writing. It's similar to novel writing (and probably TV writing?) in that it should have a narrative arc. So if you want to get this published, it might help that when you write down your remembrances, to keep in mind the theme of your book, the main thing you learned as you came of age. I like your remembrances of the Beatles, etc., but would love to read how they affected you personally, how your experiences changed you. It's just like TV writing, no? The main focus should be a great main character the audience gets to know really well.

I hope this helps a little bit. I would love to read a Ken Levine memoir. And I grew up in Canoga Park, now called West Hills. I miss the old orange groves! But I'm younger than you, ha ha.

The Curmudgeon said...

So you want to be a rock'n'roll star/
Then listen now, to what I say/
Just get an electric guitar/
And take some time and learn how to play.

Then, when your hair's combed right/
And your pants fit tight/
It's gonna be alright.


If you'd just listened to the Byrds, you'd never have wasted your money on a harmonica.

Anonymous said...

I was barely 1 when the Beatles were first on but they definitely had an effect on my childhood. I remember having a white plastic goose (sadly not a Canada Goose). I used to string an elastic from its butt to its bill. Then I'd strum it like a guitar and sing the first few lines from "Hard Day's Night." I got as far as "working like a dog" and didn't know any of the other lyrics so would just repeat those few lines over and over.

Nobody strummed a more mean goose than me!

kent said...

1) Having been born in 1954 I can well relate to your 60's opus. By all means, keep it coming.

2) Given their immediate alternatives I'd bat Russ Martin lead-off. He has better plate discipline, a good OBP and demonstrated last year that he can steal a base or two.

3) If you know, has Matt Kemp ever swung at a pick-off throw to first?

Anonymous said...

Regarding "what Beatles warm-up acts did next," Charlie Brill & Mitzi McCall have a long way to go to beat the achievements of Swedish singer Lill Babs who shared the billing with the Beatles in 1963, and who last appeared in the American papers with Bill Murray on her knee the night of the infamous golf-cart incident. http://www.tmz.com/2007/08/24/bill-murray-when-in-sweden/ And she's hardly aged since.

Doug Walsh said...

Ken - Mission Accomplished!

No, really, I mean it. These articles are great fun to read, even for a Beatles-hatin' child of the early 90's like me. If only my own parents weren't so square (that is the word you guys used back then, right Daddy-O?)

Your writing style in these posts reminds me a lot of a really enjoyable book I read by Scott Simon, of NPR fame. His book "Home and Away: Memoir of a Fan" was predominantly about his growing-up a lifetime Chicago sports fan, but it had much the same vibe your stories do. I definitely recommend it.

Can't wait for the next one.Thanks for the enjoyable reading.

maven said...

Gosh, this is bringing back so many memories, Ken. I remember that my Dad found out that Sy Devore (tailor to the stars) was making custom suits for the Beatles. Dad managed to get me a piece of black velvet that was supposedly used on the labels of the jackets! OMG! It was like the Holy Grail to me! LOL

Keep up the memory machine...

Anonymous said...

Some things never change, just the faces. Just today three 17 year old girls forced me to drive them over to the Ivy on Robertson. Seems they got a text message that Zach Efron (sp?) was there. Me being older wondered aloud, who??.

Ivy was bustling but no celebs to be found. In the end we wound up at Spencer's for ice cream, who needs Zach anyway?

Joey H said...

Before I realized Ken had posted another Beatle entry, I posted on yesterday's about when George Harrison visited the local radio station here in rural Illinois...a few months before the band was on Sullivan.

Anonymous said...

Damn, reminds me of the time me, Flick, Schwartz and Brunner tried to sneak into Lew Wasserman’s and get a glimpse o’ the Pope. But then one of them Bumpuses with the parking valet service decided to take the Popemobile out for a spin on a dare, got as far as Wilshire, and all hell broke loose.

But congrats on showing that leadership in the assault on Bel Air. It sounds like while the rest of us were lolling about watching the submarine races with Murray in our feckless youth, you had feck up the wazoo. Just tread lightly my friend. You can only get so close to nostalgia without crossing the line into the land of Hallmark, even if it is with a wry grin. Good stuff. I'm still trying to remember the 90's.

Anonymous said...

Hi Ken

If you can find a copy of The Rolling Stone History of Rock and Roll, published some 30 years ago, there are a few good accounts of seeing the Beatles on the TV and its effect.

cheers
B Smith

Mary Stella said...

I would love to read a Ken Levine memoir.

I would, too, because unlike most memoirs published today, Ken's will be funny.

I'm tired of memoirs from people who had horrible childhoods raised by abusive parents; people who experienced horrible tragedies or bad divorces; anyone who blames their fame and stardom on their drug/alcohol/shoplifting addiction; anyone whose life was miraculously changed by a dog. (My spaniels won't care that I said that.)

It's tough enough that the authors lived through those experiences (James Fry, being the exception). I don't need to experience their pain.

Ken, your book will be terrific!

Rocky & Mugsy's Moll said...

speaking of the 60's - you should check out this site my friend Laura is working on - it as well does more than paint a watercolored picture of the life & times: www.project1968.com - Project 1968 is a blog docu-novel about the lives of two young women on their way to the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago.

Anonymous said...

I was in the 8th grade at Willis H. Warner Intermediate School in Westminster, California (While I pined to live in Westminster, London. Still do.) when the Beatles did The Ed Sullivan Show, and when JFK died for that matter.

There was this Asian girl named Patsy in my home room class who LIVED for The Beatles. At the start of class each day, she ANNOUNCED to the class how many days remained until The Beatles arrived in America, as though we all lived for them. She was one of the shrieking girls on the tarmac when The Beatles arrived at LAX. She hung about outside their hotel for days. she needed a life. I hope she got one.

She would indeed debate which Beatle was the cutest. As a fledgling gay 8th grader, I thought it was moot. None of them were hot. (Girls want "Cute". Gay boys want "Hot!") Never became so either. Now the Sean Connery of 1964, he was HOT! Why weren't the girls shrieking in the audience at FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE? If the Beatles had ever made the mistake of appearing shirtless (Notice that they never did.), I'd have been mentally dressing them.

We seldom watched The Ed Sullivan Show because in our house it had the reverse of it's intended effect. Instead of something to please everyone, it had something to annoy everyone. Mom would bitch all through The Supremes. Dad would bitch during any song with a beat. I would bitch all through Nelson Eddy, and everyone bitched all through the jugglers.

But we watched The Beatles. I already enjoyed their music, thanks to KFWB. (In it's pre-Lohman & Barkley days.) I did not understand going to great lengths to see you favorite performers perform live, and then shrieking and screaming all through their act, thus not only making it impossible for yourself to hear them, but ruining the music for EVERYONE! It's rude, selfish, and idiotic. But then, those three words describe nearly every teenage girl that ever breathed. If I'd been in the audience, I'd have missed the act also, as I would be pointlessly telling the girls around me to shut the fuck up.

I have met three out of four of the Beatles, and as the one missing from my Life Hand is Sir Paul, hope remains of filling out my Beatles flush. But in two out of three times, they have been utterly upstaged.

In 1974, I attended the American premiere of THE ROCKY HORROR SHOW (Onstage, not the then-still-unfilmed movie) at The Roxy. John Lennon was seated at the next table. We spent more time watching him than the show. Sal Mineo, Leonard Nimoy, Cher, and Jack Nicolson were all there, but John Lennon upstaged them all.

In 1980 I saw MONTY PYTHON LIVE AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOWL. Backstage afterwards, on a pass (Robin Williams gave me his backstage pass when he left. It was back when we knew each other.) I chatted with John Cleese. Floating on a cloud after trading remarks with Cleese, I turned to make a remark about it to the guy standing next to me, who had been beside me for at least five minutes. Only then did I realize it was George Harrison. That's how glamorous Monty Python were to me. I could stand beside a Beatle for five minutes and not notice who it was.

I met Ringo at a taping of DAME EDNA'S HOLLYWOOD at NBC in 1992. He was pretending to be the bandleader, although a real bandleader was seated just off camera, and actually conducted the band, while Ringo stood and "Twirled his baton in my vestibule," as Dame Edna put it. Again, Ringo ws hardly noticable when Barry Humphries was in the room, or even just Madge Allsop. Come to think of it, Robin Williams was there that night too.

MOMMY DEAREST not yet having been written in 1964, I'd hve been far happier to accidentally meet Joan Crawford then, than just some Beatles.

IT's been said many times of the 60s that if you can remember them, you weren't there. Maybe you should title this memoir "I CAN REMEMBER THE 60S! (Isn't that pathetic?)" Me? I became a druggged-out college revolutionary for a while, albeit one who still managed to make show performances in a condition able to play my roles.