RECREATING THE BEATLES – 1963

Back in 1963, most parents and a few teenagers were shocked when the Beatles made their debut on The Ed Sullivan show. Most of us in over the age of 50 remember that fateful night. When they hit the airwaves, there was no stopping their music or their fans.

Within days, makeshift Beatle bands had sprung up everywhere. The Towne house was no exception. I’d sneak my father’s drum kit out when he was at work and practice to Beatle records. Dad, if you’re reading this, I figure I owe you $4.85 for wear and tear on your sticks and your drum heads. Sorry!

I knew a couple of guys in my neighborhood that played guitars, and I talked them into forming a band. A boy who was younger than me, Rob Foster, would be the drawing card. He was a good looking 13 year old who could sing and play; the only thing was he didn’t like girls at the time. Ten years later, he discovered they weren’t so bad. Joe Shimkonis was a year or two older than me. He was a good guitar player and easygoing. We all liked him. For a short time, we also had a bass player named John Davis. He was pretty old at 18.

We would practice in Joe’s basement. It had to be one of the nicest basements on Columbia Street. It had real tile flooring and more than two light bulbs. It actually had lamps in the cellar! No potato bins or coal piles here. Life was beginning to open up for me now. We practiced and we got pretty good. Kids came down to watch us. Girls even! Joe’s parents came down to watch us, too. Their names were Zoley and Alice. Alice was a pleasant artist who was supportive. Zoley was a factory worker who was a little like Zorba the Greek. He worked at being gruff, but he had a good heart, especially if he decided you were a good kid.

One day, we got a call to play at our first gig. It would be a dance in the basement of Hope Presbyterian Church on the north side. For a young Catholic boy, this was almost like a trip to a foreign country. We’d heard that this was where the bad kids lived. My mother made us powder blue collarless Beatle jackets. We weren’t too sure about the powder blue, but wore them anyway. My Mom had worked hard on them.

The night came, and we were nervous. We got rides to the Presbyterian Church. Bringing our small equipment, plus my brand new drums into the basement, we were surprised. There was a stage at one end and kids----lots of them! Hurriedly we set up, glancing nervously at each other. Everything was ready, and the adult chaperones wanted us to start playing. There seemed to be some pent up energy in the room.

Joe Shimkonis kicked it off with a four count. I don’t know what we played, but the reaction was immediate. The kids surged against the stage. Wow! This was really happening, on our first time out!

I could feel the energy, and I started driving the beat a bit more. Joe, who didn’t smile too much, was actually smiling now. Rob, on the vocal, had the eyes of every girl in the place on him. He liked the attention but wouldn’t look down at the girls faces. Isn’t that just like life? I would have traded my drums and whatever, for Rob’s voice and that Paul McCartney look. Oh well, I’m still loving this playing out thing. Will it always be like this? After that night, it would never be as good. This was a fluke. We just didn’t know it at the time.

Toward the end of our first set, I happened to look to the right to see a girl standing by the stage, staring at me. For almost 50 minutes, I had been taking in the girls who were mesmerized by Rob. Now, however, one girl out of the 100 there had eyes locked on me. She was kind of silhouetted because someone had opened the door behind her. Maybe she’s cute, I thought. She definitely was taller than me though.

Suddenly, it was break time. I couldn’t just sit there. Rob was surrounded by pretty girls, his worst nightmare. I slowly walked to the side of the stage and went down the stairs. I headed for the door, but the mystery girl cut me off. I looked up. I was speechless. We were almost at the doorway, and the light lit up her face. Now, before I write this next part, I just want to say I’m not real handsome. This girl, however, was like realizing that Hoss Cartwright’s little sister had eyes for you. She was a head taller than me and looked like she could whip me in arm wrestling. I choked out, “Hi”. She said, “I like the way you play them drum!” I swallowed hard. She followed me out the backdoor. A group of north side toughs were sitting there smoking. I was in shock. They said, “Hey Carol, didja get yourself a drummer boy?!” “Shut up, jerk!” she snapped. They shut up.

Immediately, Carol turned to me. I was backed up against the basement wall. Her face was close to mine. She was snapping and popping her gum. If only one of the guys would start making some noises on their guitar. We stood there in silence for a few minutes. Finally, she said, “Do you have a lot of girlfriends? Have you ever been to first base?” “First base? Girlfriends? I have no girlfriends, and I’ve never even been out of the dugout!” I said. I tried to stall for time. “Hey,” Carol said, “Do you like me or what?! Or are you one of those guys that strings girls along and then drops them like a hot potato?”

The tough guys were standing now and looking at me. Oh God, I thought, in two minutes I’ve gone from Beatles status to potential bodily harm. Wait a minute! I hear Joe’s guitar and Bob’s, too. “I’ve got to get going. The band is starting up!” I blurted. Carol and the punks did not look happy. “What about your phone number?” she said. Reluctantly, I gave her my number. What could I do?! End up at the bottom of the Black River?!

I got a few phone calls over the next few months from Carol. We didn’t talk much. I told her I had to quit the band, and all my spare time was spent mowing lawns and doing homework. Finally, my mother got on the phone with her. Quickly, I left the room. I didn’t want to hear any of it. Carol never called me back. Though she had been smitten by a teenage Beatle-wannabe, my mother must have said something very calm, but frightening, to Hoss Cartwrights’ little sister. Thanks, Mom! I owe ya.