When They Were Boys (42 page)

Brocken cites the importance of the narrative in
Mersey Beat
, and Wooler's writings within it: “
Mersey Beat
's contribution to the milieu within which the Beatles found meaning and self-expression cannot be overestimated. . . . In 1961 . . . Wooler explains in florid terms how the Beatles had become the toast of the rock scene by resurrect[ing] original-style rock 'n' roll music.”

Wooler's writing personally buoyed the five Beatles, and no doubt, according to Joe Flannery, was a catalyst for Epstein to seek out the young musicians. After all, says Bill Harry, “He [Brian] was writing his own reviews for the paper. There was no way in heaven he could have missed the stories and the excitement, especially ‘The Piece.'”

“The Piece” Harry describes may have been one of the most important items at that juncture in the history of rock journalism.

The date of the
Mersey Beat
issue was August 31 to September 4, 1961.
“The Piece” was Wooler's long and wordy essay on
why
the Beatles were soaring in Merseyside. But keep in mind that Wooler's words were written before the entire British nation and the world noticed the boys. His words were prophetic, especially, as mentioned earlier in this book, his reference to the “the stuff that screams are made of.”

“The Beatles are the biggest thing to have hit the British rock 'n' roll scene in years. . . . Here again, in the Beatles, are the stuff that screams are made of . . . the excitement both physical and aural that symbolized the rebellion of youth in the ennuied mid-fifties. This was the real thing. Here they were . . . human dynamos generating a beat which was irresistible.”

Through “The Piece” and others, Wooler's words were able to translate his onstage style, and the kids were crazy about it.

Lennon House curator Colin Hall remembers, “What Bob Wooler wrote about the Beatles cemented, reinforced the growing legend. Everyone knew he was partial, and no one cared. . . . Such was the heartbeat of my generation of Beatles fans. It was somewhat like reading exactly what you were thinking or feeling.”

Billy Kinsley, whose band the Merseybeats was on bills with the boys, read the twice-monthly newspaper. “Couldn't wait for it to come out. Bill [Harry] was so creative with it. And Wooler's pieces. He was so significant in the success of the Beatles. Outside of Bill Harry, maybe the most.”

Bob Wooler also became good friends with the boys, and was respected by the entire organization.

Freda Kelly, our lifelong Freda the Believer (whose story is told later, in the chapter “Secret-Agent Girls”), remained close to all of those who stayed behind, and remains today the “Great Uniter” of all the people who played a role.

“Bob was an original member of the team who sent the Beatles on their way. He was classy, and respectful, and he loved them, especially John.”

It was the closeness of that friendship between Wooler and John Lennon that stunned the Liverpool scene when one friend turned on the other. It happened during the magic year of 1963, when on June 18 Paul McCartney turned twenty-one. He was feted at a party, and there, in the celebration, the
joy of Paul's celebration was shattered when John's holy-terror side surfaced in an ugly way, this time toward Wooler.

The headline three days later in the
Daily Mirror
read: “Beatle in Brawl, Sorry I Socked You.”

Brian Epstein, who was at the party and drove Wooler to the hospital, was shocked and angry at the negative national press.

What happened?

In Wooler's own words: “I don't know why he did it. I was booted in the face. I begged him to stop. Finally he was pulled off by other people at the party.

“I have been a friend of the Beatles for a long time. I have often compered shows where they have appeared. I am terribly upset about this—physically as well as mentally.”

Wooler suffered a swollen eye socket, rib bruises, and some hand injuries after John unloaded on him, presumably because Wooler made some remarks about John's visit to Spain with Brian Epstein.

The episode was witnessed by a large crowd, including Paul, George, and Ringo, and the Pacemakers.

An eyewitness said he would never forget the scene. “I looked out of a window and saw Bob Wooler staggering about with blood all over his face. He was saying, ‘Get Brian Epstein.'”

Wooler, gracious and publicly cool, took months to get over it, even though John sent a telegram apology and did everything, month after month, to show his regret.

Fourteen months later, it was obviously still on John's mind, as well.

In an interview during the 1964 North American tour, I asked John about his greatest regrets, unaware of the 1963 episode. In honesty, how many twenty-three-year-olds can really classify their life regrets?

John said, “I beat up my best friend. I was so high. Still can't believe I did it. So fucking stupid.” Was he referring to Bob Wooler or Stuart Sutcliffe? Since I didn't know what John was referring to at the time, I will presume now that he was talking about Wooler, simply because the Sutcliffe episode was something he never, ever referred to in public.

After the episode of violence, Bill Harry recalls that John never really apologized to Wooler, and that an apology was forwarded through Epstein. But he did recall that dark night a few years later.

During the 1964 and 1965 tours, my daily radio reports were syndicated nationwide. When our network of forty-five stations aired the tape of that interview, the profanity was edited out, but the quote was shocking to Beatle fans. Those who wrote in to my station and others were quite angry that we had run anything about this untold incident.

At the time of the quote, the legend of Bob Wooler had not yet reached the entire world. Over the years, he would finally receive recognition.

Bob Wooler died in February 2002. His name and his life have been connected to the Beatles. In later life, he joined Allan Williams in developing Beatles conventions in Liverpool. He was quoted often, most notably upon John Lennon's death, when he called John the “Ernest Hemingway of rock.”

Along with his hosting, writing, and promotional expertise, Wooler was the man who brought the Beatles in for their first gig at the Cavern, was with them during their important meetings with Brian Epstein, and was always tied to them in one way or another. He also played a forceful role in getting them the December 27, 1960, gig at Litherland Town Hall, the “game changer,” as most people call it.

Ironically, he would never share in their worldly and financial success, but his mark as a supporter, believer, journalist, and unapologetic promoter will never be forgotten.

Wooler's impact on the boys began in 1960, and surged in 1961, the year a shy, highly private, and proper English gentleman—the businessman with the record store—finally made his move.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BRIAN EPSTEIN—SILKY SOFT WHISPERS IN THE DARK

“I was immediately struck by their music, their beat, and their sense of humor on stage—and, even afterwards, when I met them, I was struck again by their personal charm. And it was there that, really, it all started.”

—Brian Epstein, on his first visit to see the Beatles at the Cavern

“I say to you, Larry, here in 1965, that the children of 2000 will be listening to the Beatles. And I sincerely mean that.”

—Brian Epstein, during the Beatles' 1965 North American tour

“Brian Epstein was the first finely cut and beautifully polished diamond I'd ever met in the music business.”

—Journalist Tony Barrow

T
HERE ARE MANY SECRETS TO THE
B
EATLES' SUCCESS
,
many anecdotes and theories. A common one is that Paul, playing his guitar left-handed instead of right-handed, could more easily lock faces with John as they sang their amazing harmonies.

The Beatles were particularly adept at this whenever Paul would use the same microphone as John, which produced a visual effect that drove fans wild and that most other groups couldn't imitate.

Watching every concert on the Beatles' North American tours, I marveled at the two of them, face to face, their guitars out of the way, looking like they were about to swallow the shared microphone.

That, of course, is a technical tidbit that has some merit. But in reality, the real igniters of the flame were the people who made the decisions, labored in their defense, and traveled the potholed road, literally, to fame and fortune.

At the head of the class is the man with the silky-soft voice and the very special demeanor. I always felt that I was about to attend a formal dinner at
an English castle when I approached Brian Epstein on the plane, even though all of us were eating just plain airline food. The way he talked, dressed, and carried himself was, you might say, the secret to
his
success.

Our story begins with an invitation I received from this complex man.

I should have known better. After all, John had warned me, “He wants more than your long nose.”

In the middle of an eventful stay in Hollywood during the 1965 tour, Epstein invited me to his private cottage in the tony Beverly Hills Hotel. I sat in an easy chair. He was planted in the corner of a sofa, his elbow resting on the edge. It was, at first, a bit awkward. After all, he was the interview subject, and I was the reporter. But he did like me, and I admired his seemingly unending panache. For the public side of Brian Epstein—the only significant music mogul still awaiting his place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame—was one of cool and calm, and belied the inner chaos that had ruled his life.

We chatted about the boys' meeting with Elvis, the concert at the Hollywood Bowl, and their unending energy. He was proud, offering a perspective of the future.

“I tell you, Larry . . . there is no other band, there will never be any band like them, ever, for eternity. They are . . . the best. . . . I say to you, Larry, here in 1965, that the children of 2000 will be listening to the Beatles. And I sincerely mean that.”

He talked about the early days, not so far in the past, really, because his stewardship of the boys at that time was just over three years in duration.

“Much is said about my management,” Epstein said, “but in a really focused perspective, it is my opinion that someone would have realized their potential. The truth really is that they discovered themselves long before I discovered what they would be.”

Humility aside, Epstein's role in helping them help themselves was undeniably the key factor to their ascent.

Interviews over, Epstein reached for some records. The first album was a symphony. I wasn't paying attention when Epstein opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. After a few seconds, he raised his, I raised mine, and he said, his eyes staring into mine, “Here's to you and me.”

I don't remember what I said, but I made some small talk, sipped some wine, and maneuvered my way out of the cottage. I had no knowledge before that meeting that Epstein was homosexual. But now I knew. I didn't mention it to anyone, but I was really surprised. And it was the first time I realized that he was living a private life, beneath the public veneer.

That life would play a significant role in his mental state, but he never showed it during what Tony Bramwell always called “the
real
Magical Mystery Tours.”

He rarely took the luxurious suit jacket off, even in the heat of airline flight. The carefully folded handkerchief, usually silk, rose a quarter-inch from the breast pocket, accentuating the bicolor shirt. The collars were firmly starched, the tie rarely untied. From head to immaculately shined leather toe, he was the model of English gentleman, even down to the aristocratic accent, and his firm upper-class carriage. On the tours of America, he appeared in command, even though, I would later learn, he was as insecure as the rest of us. He had a way about him, and that way was elegant and at the same time eclectic. He loved classical music, the classics he played for me in the Beverly Hills Hotel cottage, on the night he made the brief but classy pass at me. When he forecast that the Beatles would be adored by the “children of 2000,” I was doubtful. Since that juncture was thirty-five years away, it seemed an incredible forecast, but then again, nothing about the life of Brian Samuel Epstein and the making of the Beatles was not incredible and astonishing.

He loved the boys, and not just for business, constantly displaying an uninhibited appreciation for their qualities of grit and determination. It was an irony that in the years before and after his death, the boys gave him the credit due, but rarely with the same passion, the enthralled sense of excitement that he exhibited about them. Later in his life, though, Paul McCartney dubbed him the real “fifth Beatle.”

His presence in those formative final months of the race to greatness was unquestioned. His flaws, never seen in public, were outmatched by his personal touch. Each night, on the chartered Electra during the American tours,
he would carefully walk the aisles and, beneath the din of the engine, he would just talk. I will always remember his words as silky-soft whispers in the dark. He would gracefully lean over, at times on one knee in the aisle, and whisper.