Three friends of mine lost a great deal of respect for me after my confession that I never really cared that much for the Beatles. My recollection is that I said something like – “I can’t think of many noted bands whose songs moved me less than the Beatles’.”
You would think I spit on the Alamo. – No, way! You’ve gotta be kiddin’! Let’s kill him! – Since that revealing moment, my friends have been introducing me as “the jerk who hates the Beatles.” They apparently have a somewhat different recollection of what I said.
Kay watched “The Grammy Salute to the Beatles” and told me how much she enjoyed it. She eventually coaxed me into watching the recording. As I zipped through a commercial break, Kay told me one of her secrets. She “reminded” me that she saw The Beatles perform at their concert at the Houston Coliseum back in ’65. It was the first I had heard of it. She insisted that she told me long ago and was surprised that I had forgotten. I’ve been surprising her a lot lately.
I told Kay that Cindy Cochran, my co-host on Irlonestar.com “The Mark and Cindy Show” was also at the Coliseum that day. Even though there were no assigned seats, Cindy and her entourage sat up high in the nosebleed section, ‘cause they chose not to get in the middle of a mob of running and screaming girls headed for the floor-seats.
Kay, on the other hand, ended up on row 10 at floor level with her screaming friends. Fortunately, Kay doesn’t know how to scream. I believe I’ve mentioned that. Oh, she’s explained stuff to me louder than she needed to, but she never screams.
Neither Kay nor Cindy could hear the music for all the screaming. Cindy told me that the boy she was with was even screaming, causing her to lose a great deal of respect for him. Neither Kay nor Cindy could tell me what songs were sung or who the opening acts were.
Kay told me that the chairs at ground level were old foldout chairs and were wobbly as all get out. The only way anyone could see the stage was to stand on a chair. The thought of girls standing on wobbly chairs yelling and waving their arms around was, no doubt, a paramedic’s nightmare.
Kay told me that she rode to the Coliseum with a carload of her friends. The most surprising thing to me was that Regena Cross let her go. Kay was a freshman in high school at the time, yet her mom actually let her climb into a Chevy Biscayne with a bunch of girls and head to Houston to see the Beatles. That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard about my ma-in-law. I love the lady more having heard it.
Cindy’s mom actually drove Cindy and her friends to Hobby Airport to see the Beatles when they arrived. Cindy said there was a limo on the tarmac and that all the girls ran right up to it to make sure that The Boys from Liverpool would have to pass through them before they could leave.
Cindy got so close to the limo that, as the crowd kept pushing toward the car, she got her arm caught on the side mirrors. The crowd kept shoving and she almost got smushed to death. (She didn’t really say that, but I sensed it.) Oh, and it turned out that the limo was a decoy. As soon as the plane landed, the Beatles were hurried into an armored van and whisked off.
Kay didn’t mention anything about nearly getting smushed, but I still liked her story. When she finished, I told her that I always thought it was The Dave Clark Five that she saw in concert. She said, “Oh, I saw them, too.” -- What? For all I know, this girl spent an all-nighter with Elvis. As I live and breathe…
Me? I’ve paid to see The Bee Gees, Joe Walsh, Stevie Nicks and John Denver. I’m a bit embarrassed to say that I also paid to see Buck Owens. My big brother, Larry, dragged the rest of his siblings to see Buck at the Summit. He didn’t pay for our tickets. He just dragged us.
I did leave out another performer that I’ve seen. My absolute favorite. He wrote and sang more meaningful tunes than anyone… according to me. I’m talking about Neil Diamond. Over the years, Kay and I have been to two of his concerts.
I came close to going to the Crighton to see the Diamond impersonator perform. I understand he was great. So were the tickets. It would’ve cost me $43 a ticket to see someone impersonate my favorite performer. Twenty-five dollars is my limit for an impersonator.
I haven’t asked, but Kay may have gone without me. That girl is full of secrets.
End
Mark@rooftopwriter.com
No comments:
Post a Comment