The Day the Beatles Came to Town

by Jonathan Klopp

As you my fellow students know, this week was “Beatles Week” in honor and celebration of the newly popular British Rock n Roll sensation’s arrival to America. Although I have not been much of a fan, your enthusiasm in the halls inspired me to investigate this British Phenomena further. Thus, I jumped at the chance, when given the opportunity to attend their concert this past week and will enlighten you about my experiences. Hopefully, you will enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoyed writing it and will learn something new about that rock group you so admire that you did not realize before. 

My entrance into the park was fairly erratic. The pushing and pulling of crowds of young teenage girls and elderly women accompanied by unwilling and disinterested male counterparts demonstrated not only the men’s disgust and lack of interest in attending this event, but also of the females’ blindness and unyielding devotion to this group of teenage boys. Once I entered I found my seat placed upon the bright and perfectly manicured green grass of this once proud ballpark that at least for today would sully its reputation in guise of making profit, I must say my sea, just seven rows back from center stage, was very well placed. The seats were mere folding chairs and quite uncomfortable, but as I soon realized, they would not be used for their intended purpose, but as ladders for hundreds of girls in their efforts to be as close to the stage as possible. With the stage void of human life and decorated only by the musical equipment of a drum set, several guitars, and microphones, it was cause enough for the hundreds and thousands of screaming fans to confess their undying love, dreams, and wishes to the boys who had not yet made their appearance upon the stage. The girls showered the stage with gifts of flowers, panties, and unburned poke-a-dot and flowered bras. The stage soon became so cluttered that a man of his 30’s, most likely a poor and lowly sound technician appeared and began clearing the area with luck, for every piece of clothing he removed, another quickly took its place.

As the lights began to pulsate, a much older man in a dark suit appeared, stood in front of a microphone, and with a wave of his hand yelled in his best announcer voice reminiscent of the Johnny Carson Intro, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Beatle!”

Almost immediately the sound of cheering and screaming fans deafened my ears to the point that as these long haired boys appeared, OI could no longer hear anything that resembled any acceptable form of communication. Thus, instead of listening to the music, I had no other choice but to rely upon my other senses. My immediate attention was drawn to the police officer on my left, two rows up. Dressed completely in unfirmed black, his thick black-rimmed glasses matched his black hair. His stern face as he glanced back at me for only a second revealed his young, newly shaven face, and his disgust at the atrocious actions that were gracing the stage and of his required presence at such an event. His Peter Pan Pose with his left hand gripping his black nightstick, and his right hand resting on his gun, demonstrated to me that he was ready for action as he stared intently at the group of four on the stage, instead of at the crowd of unruly teenage girls confessing of unspeakable acts that they wished to do to the boys and places of ecstasy they wished to take them. Who was he really here to protect, I wondered. The first coherent and logical noise I heard was from a man who suddenly appeared to my right. He was an older gentleman of at least 70 and clearly out of his element. Dressed in a greyish-brown wool suit and coat, his hat made of the same material reminded me of the days my father spoke of when men dressed like men, and everyone knew their place. His long drooping nose, sunken eyes, and wrinkled face, revealed that he had indeed lived a long and difficult life. 

“Damn pot smoking, brownie-eating, war-hating, tea-drinking, biscuit –eating, hippies!”

My curiosity certainly got the better of me and I had to ask, “Excuse me sir, but what sis you say?”

Startled, he looked at me and responded, “Oh, uh, nothing.” However, as he glanced away, not so under his breath, he continued, “pansies, momma’s boys.” 


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