ABOUT THE ARTIST
Sheila Peters has been writing essays for a Lifequest class called, "Telling Your Own Story," for about a year. She has found that no matter what the teachers assign as their topic, the essays she writes are spiritual memoir. She enrolled in the class because she had already decided that she wanted to write a spiritual autobiography to give to her son and grandchildren. Shortly after discovering the web site, "Jesus, Jazz and Buddhism," now OpenHorizons.org, she began to correspond with Patricia Adams Farmer. Patricia has become quite a mentor for her, and that is how Sheila found Becomings.
Sheila Peters has been writing essays for a Lifequest class called, "Telling Your Own Story," for about a year. She has found that no matter what the teachers assign as their topic, the essays she writes are spiritual memoir. She enrolled in the class because she had already decided that she wanted to write a spiritual autobiography to give to her son and grandchildren. Shortly after discovering the web site, "Jesus, Jazz and Buddhism," now OpenHorizons.org, she began to correspond with Patricia Adams Farmer. Patricia has become quite a mentor for her, and that is how Sheila found Becomings.
The Day Paul McCartney Held My Hand
It all began on February 9, 1964. I am perched on the bottom edge of my
parents’ bed eagerly awaiting the start of the Ed Sullivan Show on a little portable black
and white TV. The Beatles would be headliners on the show this week. My ever-present
pest of a little sister was by my side, but rather than irritating me that night, she was
sharing in my excitement and I was happy for her company. My parents had banished us
to the bedroom so that my Dad could watch anything other than the Beatles on the big
TV in the den.
I was already a fan of The Beatles music. I knew all the lyrics to “I Want to Hold
Your Hand” from listening to the radio, but I had never actually seen the group perform.
And then suddenly, there they were, smiling and singing and appearing to have a grand
time. I was singing along and moving to the beat, and when the camera panned through
the audience, there were girls who looked just like me screaming and crying and dancing in
their seats. Beatles’ songs were all about holding hands and dancing and falling in love.
These guys were well-dressed and handsome and polite. They were funny and cute and
completely nonthreatening to this young, sheltered, innocent girl. I was absolutely
smitten! I fell hard and forever!
I was perfectly primed for the phenomenon that changed my life forever. On
February 27, 1964, a mere eighteen days post-Beatles TV appearance, I officially became
a teenager. Thirteen-year-old girls were much more innocent fifty-five years ago than
they are now. At twelve going on thirteen, I still played with Barbie dolls and read Nancy
Drew mysteries. I had been an avid reader from an early age, and my parents did not
restrict my choices of books, but I was far from sophisticated or worldly. Not as much
information was available then, especially information that may have catapulted me into
adulthood too soon. The world had not yet become the global society that it is now, and
there was no internet--there weren’t even personal computers!
Barely three months before The Beatles invaded America, the country experienced
the shock and fear brought on by President Kennedy’s assassination. Watching his widow
and children mourn him during three days of live television coverage pierced the bubble
of my innocence. I became aware that my parents voted Republican and did not support
or even much like the Kennedys. My parents said the Kennedy family were wealthy
Northeastern Catholics who had some very suspicious ideas about how to govern our
country. I was a “good girl” who loved and respected and depended upon my infallible
parents for everything, and these realizations about them tore a hole right through my
innocent heart. Were my parents really so narrow minded and intolerant of people with
different views and different religions?
Many millions of other girls also fell in love with The Beatles during their rise to
fame, but my love for them seemed very private and very special at the time. The hole
that had opened in my heart during the past few months of tragedy and grief had
suddenly filled with love and longing to the point of overflowing. I felt as if a window to
the world--to life-- had been flung open by these sweet-faced, talented boys, and I
happily flew right through it.
The impact of Beatlemania spread around the globe and is now well-documented.
The Beatles and the other British musicians and entertainers who followed brought not
only new sounds to America, they brought new clothes and hairstyles and language. With
their backgrounds in the working class towns of Liverpool and Manchester and east
London, they brought new ideas and culture into the middle-class homes of America. I
spent hours and hours listening to and dissecting lyrics from Beatle songs. I read
volumes of books and articles about their lives, how they lived, what they thought about,
how they had experienced life so far. They became my compass during my teenage years
as I slowly moved away from the safety and security of my conservative, Protestant,
comfortably middle-class parents and into a world where young people spoke of love and
peace and equality for all. I whole-heartedly embraced this new way of looking at myself
and the world around me. When they sang, “All You Need is Love,” I took it as gospel and
that phrase became my mantra.
Looking back now, I see that many of the changes I went through were normal
adolescent development and were shepherded along by loving, supportive parents who
wished only for my happiness and well-being. It makes me smile even now to remember
that my Dad brought their first album, “Meet the Beatles,” into our home. As manager at
J.C. Penney’s in Portsmouth, Virginia, he had acquired an advance copy from his media
buyer, and thrilled me with one of the best presents he ever gave me. I still have that
album, even though I no longer have a turntable for it. I often wonder if he ever
regretted fueling my adolescent obsession!
My mother braved the long lines and stampeding girls to take me and my siblings to
see our first Beatles concert at the Houston Coliseum in the summer of 1965, and as if
that wasn’t enough, she took us again the following year to see them in Memphis. Mom
gave me and my sister permission to sit through three viewings a day for a week of the
Beatles’ second movie “Help!.” In the summer of 1965, we had just moved to Little Rock,
Arkansas, and we had lots of time on our hands and no friends as yet. I am in awe that
back then it was perfectly acceptable and safe for a parent to drop two young girls at
the movie theater for the afternoon without an adult, and amused when I remember that
we were permitted to sit through three showings of the movie for the price of one ticket
that cost $1.25!
In 1968, the frenzy for all things Beatle had settled down for many, but even as I
began to have boyfriends of my own, I kept a special place in my heart for The Beatles,
especially my favorite, Paul McCartney. I heard from my high school English teacher that
she would be sponsoring a group of kids on a study tour to Nottingham and London,
England, during the summer. I was a junior in high school at the time, and met a girl who
was also still crazy about the Beatles. Since her favorite was John, we were not rivals in
our Beatle love, so we became friends. Somehow, we convinced our parents to send us on
this tour. I was finally going to step onto the sacred soil of England!
I flew “across the Pond” without my parents, met real English boys who hung
around at the University of Nottingham flirting with the American “birds,” and drank
strong hot tea the English way (lots of cream and sugar) every morning in the
cafeteria—a habit that I indulge to this day. I attended classes on Shakespeare and the
English poets and British history and culture. We went on field trips to Edinburgh,
Scotland, and the moor country of the Bronte sisters, and Stonehenge. We saw a
performance of Hamlet in Stratford-Upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s birthplace. We toured so
many castles and cathedrals that I lost count. We even walked a mile into Sherwood
Forest to view The Major Oak, a huge tree that, according to folklore, was Robin Hood’s
shelter.
But the real highlight of this trip? It wasn’t Westminster Abbey or the Tower of
London or Buckingham Palace. In fact, my friend and I ducked out on the day the group
was headed to tour the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace. We had meticulously
researched the location of Paul McCartney’s house, the only band member living in London
at the time, and we were determined to find it! Off we went to ride the Underground
across London to New Cavendish Road in a very ritzy neighborhood of greater London. I
am incredulous today that we felt no fear about navigating our way through the many
stops on the subway and meandering through unknown streets in an unfamiliar city. Such
an adventure! I had never taken these kinds of risks before, but I felt perfectly safe
the way adolescents do when pursuing their dreams with abandon.
Our courage and tenacity was rewarded. When we arrived outside the high brick
wall that surrounded Paul’s property, we saw several other fans. One girl, a local who sat
outside Paul’s home daily, offered to sell us a photo of Paul. The other kids were German
tourists who had been waiting for hours to see if their idol would appear. Suddenly, a
large iron gate began to open and a dark green sports car backed carefully down the drive
and stopped right outside the gate. There he was—Paul McCartney himself! The German
kids mobbed the car and Paul leaned out of the window to sign a few autographs. My
friend and I were frozen to the pavement, suddenly very shy! I managed to snap a couple
of photos with my Instamatic camera and wave to Paul before he sped off down the road.
But, alas, we had missed our chance to talk to him or get that much-yearned-for
autograph.
Undaunted, we vowed to return, and when we were able to sneak away from the
group again, we were successful! This day, Paul appeared through a small iron gate in the
high wall in front of the house to talk to the small group of kids that were milling about
outside of the wall. He walked right up to me and asked if I was American—I guess he
could tell by my clothes—and I managed to nod my head yes. I stuck out a piece of paper
and a pen, but I was speechless. I imagine that this happened to him often! I seemed to
be unable to let go of the paper, so he placed his hand under the back of mine as he
signed two autographs. Oh my goodness, did I just hold hands with Paul McCartney?!
Even though I almost fainted with the realization that Paul was actually touching
my hand, I heard him ask me if Little Rock was close to New Orleans. He said he had been
to New Orleans and remembered having fun there. He also asked about the Arkansas prison scandal
that he had read about in the London Times.
I really can’t remember much about how I answered his questions, but I think I did manage to speak.
I was so stunned to be hearing that lovely English accent coming out of those lips I had dreamed of kissing!
Too quickly, my moment with him was over. He politely thanked us for listening to
his music and being fans and coming to see him. It was a dream come true and one of the
highlights of my life. I returned home to my very ordinary high school life, but I knew a
dream had come true, and I would carry the experience with me forever.
If I had not absorbed the Beatles’ music and philosophy during those formative
teenage years, I would not be the person I am today. I have them to thank for providing
me with that window to a world very different from my own. Their music, their song
lyrics, their humor, their creative audacity, their courage in sharing social and political
views, and their example of tolerance and love changed me. I was inspired by them to
keep an open mind and heart, to engage with the world around me, and to have fun, try
new things and enjoy life. Their music encouraged me to see similarities in people rather
than differences, and to follow my dream of a better society with hope and
determination. Their example showed me that young people have a voice, and sharing
one’s thoughts and beliefs, while not holding on too tightly to one point of view, is
important. Now, more than ever, I believe The Beatles got it right. . .all you need is
love...and maybe a little hand-holding from Paul McCartney!
