"And now," said The Great Stoneface, "for a really, really big sheewww..." It was quite possible that everyone knew Ed Sullivan as the Great Stoneface, but tonight it didn't matter what other people's fathers called him, because the Beatles were on and it was clearly an event for all time. My father eyed me and my sister watching enthusiastically as screaming adolescent girls drowned out the cute mop-headed band members. We had heard them on KDZA just a few times, but we liked them because they were different. And they were from England, we explained to Daddy, who looked at us from under a now-raised eyebrow. He politely waited for a commercial before he explained that he could walk out on the street and find four young men and himself produce a band equal to the Beatles.
"No, Daddy," we shook our heads, which were covered in metal spiked brush rollers for the next day's smooth flips that would bob up and down as we discussed the night's events with our girlfriends. "They are REALLY neat!"
He nodded, his look a little jaded. We knew he didn't understand but he was not a girl, was he?
Over the next months we acquired overseas pen pals, because you really needed a girlfriend in England if you loved the Beatles. You and she could share details about what was exciting in your two respected and admired countries that could then knowingly be told to your un-penpalled friends. And while my sister went on to High School and acted normal, I went to Jr High School and along with all my equally Brit-enchanted friends acquired an English accent to be used while out riding the bus or shopping, or in any other public occasion. Six or more of us on a single bus could command the attention of every wary adult who could neither understand a single thing we said, nor why we would wear the leather caps or knee length boots that had become a sort of uniform.
My mother was so impressed when my friends and I all chattered in our Brit Brogue that she had to tell one of her friends about our call to the radio station asking a record be played that we knew had been released in England but not yet in the US. She was certain we had convinced the station we were VIPs from across the water. She sewed mod outfits enthusiastically for me and my sister. Since she was able to literally reproduce an outfit from a magazine photo we were on the cutting edge at all times.
My friends and I collected Beatle Cards in huge stacks. Mine were taken away by a teacher who found them a distraction and at the end of the year my mother, though still impressed with my linguistic skills did not go sign them back to me, so they were forfeited. Since I couldn't have chewed the gum that they came with at school, it must have landed in the trash can just outside the gymnasium where the sock hops were held every other Friday.
A local DJ would spin our requests and we could wear off calories and boundless energy and enthusiasm for the bands we stayed up late at night to hear. All of us without visible means of support-very few of us got such thing as an allowance-resorted to a 10 cent ice cream sandwich for lunch and saved the rest to buy 45 rpm records at Globe Discount City, the precursor of KMart and WalMart.
On Saturday mornings we would start our trek south toward the bridge on West 4th street and meet each other along the way. Dressed in our Pep Club uniforms with maroon corduroy skirts and matching sweaters declaring our membership in gold letters around a golden mascot Ram we were unavoidably American. The walk gave us ample time to discuss boys, boy friends and boyfriends, and to sing "My Boyfriend's Back" along with The Angels via Linda's transistor radio. At the game, we worked in concert with the cheerleaders. We were a chorus to be reckoned with, and surely insured the success of our outstanding football team whose members all were, of course, cute boys.
The walk home took us past Globe and we could there acquire the prize 45 rpm of the week for less than a dollar. It only required a few days of ice cream bars to provide a library of fab records. And a month of restraint could lead one to own the latest album. Later, in one or the other of our homes we would gather around the stereo and no one really minded at all that 5 or 6 of us were actually singing over the voices of our idols, because that was, after all, what we did-in a kind of trance. We had the words memorized and the tones and inflections duplicated perfectly. We were choir geeks of the first kind, having been chosen for our superior talents to sing in the Performance Choir.
Later that night after KDZA signed off we would tune into KOMA and Wolfman Jack to stay in touch with the broader USA, who were also enchanted with everything British. So the announcer in the echo chamber that chanted off the names of raceways having big road blasters also listed the bands most of us would never see: Herman's Hermets, The Searchers, Manfred Mann, The Moody Blues, and of course a mix of American bands all going to cities no where near Pueblo.
We would write a note about the game and our record purchases to our pen pals, and whisper a little longer on the phone trying not to be caught up late. Finally we would go to sleep with the radio still running under our pillows.
There were only a few of us who really did see the Beatles at Red Rocks. I won't forget their names, Mary Jane who loved Ringo, and Linda, who loved Paul and was the first of my friends to have 3 inch long white shag carpet in her living room. Those lucky girls. Most of my friends saw A Hard Day's Night first run. I could not come up with the money in time even if I skipped the ice cream bar, so I ruefully stared at the marquee from across the street at the park as I waited to meet up with them.
When the movie was out we all got on the bus and put on our British accents before getting off at a little shop downtown to order some hot tea with cream and sugar. My fortunate friends didn't let me sulk at all, but gave me a moment-by-moment detail of the entire movie. Behind the counter the waitresses whispered back and forth to each other something that must have been like,"Well, there's some more of those kids acting like they're from England again. They must have just come out of that ridiculous movie with those long-haired singers. Yep, and since all they can afford is a cup of tea, there's not going to be a tip, either."
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