Dispatch Number Ten
Four Boys
(And a Revolution)
From Liverpool.
DATELINE:
Wednesday, December 13, 2000, at 1200 hours CDT.
By Mickey Miles
SPECIAL to CornDancer.com
EDITOR'S NOTE: Mr. Miles is a professional journalist and political operative who moved to London in summer, 2000, to explore a new line of endeavour.
I live in the land of the Beatles, not too far from their birthplace in Liverpool. Make no mistake, the Beatles started a revolution, a revolution as real as any. They did not intend to, but beginning in 1963, they lit the fuse of a momentous change in Nashville, Arkansas.
Liverpool, England, is about as far as you can get from Nashville, Arkansas, mind you, but the four lads from Liverpool started a revolt in a tiny town they never heard of and, it is safe to say, will never hear of. It was a revolution -- and we don't use the word lightly -- which repeated itself, in one way or another, in hundreds of thousands of towns, villages, and hamlets across the United States. To this day no one has been able to explain it.
All of a sudden, the high school salutatorian, a good Baptist and a clean-living God fearing young man, started letting his hair creep down his shirt collar. Why was this good Baptist boy suddenly sneaking away to the home of his Catholic friend to listen to Love Me Do? Why were guys who were supposed to be wearing jeans suddenly sporting Beatle boots and hip huggers?
Who started this revolution? Who is responsible? Are the Communists behind this?
If I'm Cutting, I'm Quitting!
Did the Beatles have this much power? The power to propel young boys, boys in high school from good homes, to tell their track coaches to stick it rather than cut their hair? It was unthinkable! No way! No one dared to tell the coach, who threatened to kick him off the team if he didn't cut his hair, to forget it, if he was cutting, he was quitting.
I can remember where I was and what I was doing when I heard my first Beatles song. I was riding on the basketball bus en route to Prescott, Arkansas. One of my friends played, very low, "I Wanta Hold Your Hand" on a transistor radio. I was not impressed, but when I saw the Beatles in A Hard Day's Night, I was hooked.
I am still hooked. I love the Beatles.
A Helping Hand in the Tough Times.
I cannot tell you the number of times I've turned to Beatles' music to get me through tough times. Maybe it is because they remind me of the past, of a time when we shook off the shackles and restraints of certain World War Two mores, which said we must keep our hair short, have no facial hair, and wear nothing downright outrageous. Keep to a strict regime, boy.
There was a tremendous amount of pressure put on all of us to cut our hair short, to conform to the idea of clean-cut youth, and to shun this strange foreign music, which was surely inspired by the Communists.
The Beatles were unstoppable. Week after week, their music dominated the charts. I can remember they had three and four songs in the Top Ten at a time. I joined a Beatles fan club. Yes, they became a movement and as I said, ignited a spark for a revolution, which was just waiting to happen.
At the end of the day, their music was just fun to listen to. They were enormously talented. Any one - well, almost any one -- can be a one-hit wonder, but the Beatles, almost a half century later, have a number-one selling album called One.
Talk about sheer power. It is so hard to describe, but it must have been so much to fun to be a Beatle. I can tell you, there is nothing I would rather have been than a Beatle.
The World Is Falling at Your Feet.
Just imagine if you will. You are Paul McCartney. Playing bass. John Lennon is singing the lead to Can't Buy Me Love. Singing in a smoky cavern, wearing a black leather jacket, pegged pants, and boots. The girls are swooning on the front row and screaming at you. You shake your long hair and the chorus of screams soars an octave or more. You turn and grin at Ringo, or wink at George, and harmonize with John at the microphone.
The sounds, the sweat, the pulsing bass, the pounding drums and cymbals, the driving guitars. Money, sex, power piling up on the stage. The world falling at your feet. Cameras snapping, microphones thrust before you. Even the staid New York Times sent photographers and reporters to herald your arrival in New York City.
God, I envied those four guys. The girls in my high school class all picked one they loved. Paul was sooooo handsome. John Lennon was soooooooooooo sexy. George was, well, so something. And Ringo was sooooooo cute.
The four of them together were having so much fun. They seemed to handle fame so well. People from Liverpool are so proud of the Beatles. It is as though they took over the world as well.
EDITOR'S NOTE:
WATCH FOR DISPATCH NUMBER ELEVEN
sometime soon (we hope).
Mickey's weekly Dispatch from London is available by E-mail.
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