Honey Lights: 2021

From my Beatles scrapbook

Twenty years ago on 29 November 2001, George Harrison died in Los Angeles from cancer and probably from too many cigarettes and too many drugs. And probably from lingering effects from being stabbed multiple times in December 1999.

I took out the old Beatle records and listened for hours while I cried; but also felt the old joy of singing along with Beatle songs. My tears surprised me so on December 1st, I wrote in my journal in an effort to sort through my feelings.

"I guess I put away my Beatle records one day and never really knew why."

2001 had been a difficult year, beginning in February when my older sister died from cancer. Of course September 11 was devastating for all of us. So I figured my grief and tears was a way to release all the sadness of the year. I also figured it was sadness over the reminder of all those special times with my friends and fellow Beatlemaniacs, Kathy, Dede and Nancy. Whatever was the reason for my tears, I wrote

"Thank you George"

I've written here before about my history as a Beatlemaniac and the ways the Beatles, their story and their music intersected with events in my life.

• Almost 41 years ago on 8 December 1980, John Lennon was assassinated.

• Almost 56 years ago on 25 December 1965, my mother gave me Rubber Soul for Christmas.

(http://honeylights.blogspot.com/2014/12/rubber-soul-49-years-ago.html)

• 56 years ago on 30 August 1965, I saw the Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl with friends Nancy and Kathy.

(http://honeylights.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-best-guilt-trip-ever-or-how-i-saw.html)

• Almost 58 years ago on 9 February 1964, I saw the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show on the tiny, maybe 10-inch, screen of my grandmother's television. I was almost 11 years old.

An ad for an Admiral TV console

like my grandmother's

I know there will be many words written to honor George Harrison on the anniversary of his death. More words than I could ever read. And I know they'll be written by famous people who can write about him and his music with a depth of knowledge that I don't possess. I'm not sure I'll read those words because I resent being told how I should feel about George Harrison and the Beatles. And I know that although I am not and have never been a "super-fan" most people who know me probably know that the "way to my heart" is through a Beatles song. That first chord of A Hard Day's Night? That's George. But don't ask me to name my favorite George song or my favorite Beatles song. I can't do it.

Fifty-five years after my last addition to my Beatles scrapbook. I occasionally pull it from the bookcase to remember my 10 to 13 year old self. I don't know if my daughters ever looked through my scrapbook but if they did, they'd discover my 10 to 13 year-old self, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep my Beatlemania under control. My scrapbook is where I tried to keep my Beatlemania undercover from my older brother who loved to tease me but has since asked forgiveness and admitted that I was correct about the Beatles. I also tried to keep it under cover from my older, uber-cool sister – the one who died in February 2001. My daughters didn't keep scrapbooks but plastered their bedroom walls with posters of their favorite bands of the late '80s and '90s. I'm happy that my daughters appreciate the Beatles and their music. It makes sense because many of their favorite bands were influenced by the Beatles. Now it seems we also have a third generation Beatles fan. I don't know if our granddaughter remembers that I sang Beatles' songs to her as I rocked her to to sleep in her first months of life but I've heard recently that she was upset to learn that the Beatles broke up; thanks to the new Peter Jackson film.

Here's my first scrapbook entry. Unfortunately, I didn't include the source of the article but it seems to be very early 1964, probably before the Ed Sullivan Show or I think it would be mentioned. Several of the passages are quoted in other articles I found, but none of them are credited.

Here was my apparent secret code for who was my favorite Beatle.

Paul - George - Ringo - John

Twenty years after George's death, I still don't know what my Beatlemania and my reaction to his death means and I for sure don't know why I put away my Beatles records. They've all been replaced by CDs, videos, DVDs of the movies and of course internet resources for just listening. I am not a music critic or a rock-music critic or a movie critic or a historian so if you want to learn about the Beatles you can easily find sources for their history and analysis of their music. I don't respond to Beatles music the way I did as a 12 year-old girl anymore, but sometimes listening to the Beatles makes me sentimental for her. Usually I prefer to mix up their old and newer music, but sometimes I prefer to listen to an album from start to finish. That's about all I can tell you about my tastes in Beatles music. And I can tell you that while I can get sentimental, I am fully aware of their faults and scandals.

I saw the BEATLES live in concert only once. I never saw any of them individually or with their subsequent bands. I haven't seen any of the so-called "tribute bands" with one exception – the Fab Faux – and you should see them too! (https://www.thefabfaux.com/live.html) It's not that I'm stuck in the past. I think it's just that I don't want to mix up my memories of The Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl in 1965 with some guys dressed up in look-alike costumes and wigs. I have not yet watched the new Peter Jackson film though I will eventually.

Me in 1965

And in the end, I'm just a grown up version of my 10 to 13 year-old self who kept a "Beatles scrapbook" so that "in 30 years" I could try to recall those days. And I'm so grateful that George Harrison found his way to Paul McCartney and John Lennon and that they found Ringo Starr.

******

P.S.
This is a column from the 19 February 1966 issue of the KRLA BEAT, from the Los Angeles radio station KRLA. THE BEAT was published from 1964 to 1968. I'm not sure where I picked it up after moving to San Diego in August of 1965 but I found issues online where you can read this entire issue at http://krlabeat.sakionline.net/issue/19feb66.pdf
Turns out Shirley Postson was an alias but I didn't know that then. I faithfully read her "For Girls Only" column in KRLA BEAT. I tried to emulate her style in a story I wrote. I suppose today my attempt would be labeled fan fiction. If "Shirley" is still alive, I'm pretty sure she would understand my feelings about George. Like "Shirley" I was completely caught up in Beatlemania but I imagine that like me, she also acquired additional musical interests.

From my scrapbook. Also see page 6 at http://krlabeat.sakionline.net/issue/19feb66.pdf

Once-upon-a-time on my wedding day, after we took a few pre-wedding photos outside my apartment with my sisters and my parents, I went back inside. To turn off lights? To make sure the stove or iron (?!) was off?

I don't remember.

As I walked back to the door to leave for church, the phone rang. 1976. No caller ID. No voice mail. It was reflex to pick up the receiver.

It was my Aunt Jen, calling me in San Diego from Chicago where it was already noon-ish. Our wedding was at 11AM. Maybe she was eating lunch and thought, "I really should call Joni and let her know I'm not coming to her wedding even though I said I was coming." She was sobbing.

I never wear makeup but it was my wedding day so I had applied a little blush and a little eye-shadow. Maybe even some mascara. So I did not cry.

I pretended it was fine. That I was fine. I did not shed tears, but I was crushed. But I really wasn't all that surprised. I loved my Aunt Jen unconditionally. But she was unpredictable. She never explained why she couldn't come. I never asked her.

This summer, I am missing the weddings of two of my nephews. I didn't wait til their wedding days to explain why. I guess I learned my lesson 45 years ago.

I think and I hope they understand how I've spent the previous 15 months trying to protect my high-risk self from Covid19 and that although it might be "safe" for vaccinated people to travel, it's still risky for people like me.

Still, here I am in the middle of a self-pity party. Even if all the anti-vaxers suddenly got vaccinated and decided wearing a mask was the moral and ethical thing to do to protect people who can not get vaccinated, I am not sure I could travel if I wanted to, thanks to the "walking boot" I'm wearing due to heel spurs & achilles tendonitis. So I'm really sad I can't be there. It's ridiculous to be angry at a virus, but I feel quite justified in being angry at the people who refused to protect others by wearing masks and now won't get vaccinated. I'm angry on behalf of so many who lost loved ones and on behalf of so many people who had to cancel and/or delay weddings, funerals and so many other life events. These two nephews and their brides appear much more calm than I would be about their multiple wedding dates!

These two nephews will have plenty of other aunts and uncles and cousins attending and celebrating with them this summer. My absence will not be a crazy memory like I have of Aunt Jen's absence. I knew that my paternal "Chicago relatives" weren't coming but I had expected Aunt Jen. My only other aunt, my Aunt Peg – my mother's sister who was my godmother – attended. Then there was my maternal grandmother and the many great-aunts and great-uncles and most of the California cousins who also attended.

Thinking about all those people reminds me of the other lesson I learned on my wedding day 45 years ago which I hope will also occur to my nephews. It's the one I always hope all couples experience.

I know that in the midst of wedding planning, it's easy to get swept up in all the details and sort of lose the big picture. But after Mike and I said our vows and turned around to face those 200 or so people who I kind of forgot were there, I saw the big picture. I remember thinking how incredible it was that so many people wanted to witness this event; that there were that many people who either loved us or our parents so much that they arranged their Saturday to celebrate with us.

It was just a moment. And maybe it was the heat of one of the hottest days in San Diego history. Or maybe it was realizing that we had just been married by a hungover priest and wondering if all those people had noticed we said our vows twice – the ones we repeated back to the hungover priest plus the ones he forgot we wrote ourselves and that we said after he finished? Or maybe it was the emotional rebound from the Aunt Jen phone call?

But it's a moment I've never forgotten and I always hope couples take a moment to look at all those faces of people who love them. And maybe think about the ones who wished they were there. Even if they don't or even if they don't realize it til years later, all those people will be with them along their way. It's amazing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Here's a few other photos to go with this story. I wish I had photos of me with Aunt Jen, just us. But here's a few to go with story about the love of a young woman for her Aunt Jen.