When They Were Boys

by Larry Kane

  What happened next?

  “I kept my job, but found part-time work at the Cavern. I was a security man.”

  A bouncer?

  “Yes. I bounced them round and round, but no problems really. I got to know the guys really well. Really nice guys, who were getting crowded, you know what I mean. Each month from the fall of ’62 to the winter of ’63, more and more of the kids showed. After Brian got working with them, I got to know him, and Barrow [press officer Tony Barrow] and everyone. Then my life changed when Brian asked me, in the spring, I think, of 1962, to become their assistant road manager. Me wife Lil didn’t want me to go. We have a son, you know. But I went. Larry, I fell in love. No, not what you’re thinking, man. I fell in love with all of them, the music, the fame. I feel like a brother.”

  Who’s your favorite?

  “Wanna get me sacked? As it is, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when I first set up the stages. I think I was fired a couple of times, but I think they view me as a friend . . . almost a family member. Do love George, you know . . . there is a soul inside that skinny face. . . . Paul is a sweetheart. Yeah . . . I’m an errand boy . . . fixer . . . handy mate, ya know . . . but I would do anything for them. Paul is easier to like than John, but John’s a mad genius . . . and Ringo . . . just a sweet man.”

  The conversation gave way to dinner and drinks and a night in a club deep in the heart of a Nassau neighborhood. The next morning I awakened Mal at seven to make sure he got to the film shoot. After all, he was in one of the scenes.

  I saw him later that year on the 1965 summer tour, his highlight being the Beatles’ meeting with Elvis in Hollywood. We saw each other again in 1966 on tour, in 1968 in London, and in 1969 in Philadelphia. Sometime in the early 1970s, Malcolm moved in other directions. Almost as much as Ringo, he felt like a man without a family when the group split. George, Paul, and Ringo quickly demanded that Mal be hired back, but much to their chagrin, Apple Corps President Alan Klein could not find a job for Mal.

  After all, he had mended their socks, picked up clothing and people for them, accompanied them to India, traveled the world at their beck and call, but most of all, during the critical year of 1963, shepherded them with friendship, love, and solace when necessary, and later, sound and creative advice for their music from 1966 to 1970. Some eyewitnesses from the boys’ early days state that Mal helped Paul come up with the name “Sgt. Pepper” on the album that many consider the band’s most important—Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. While that may be questionable, one thing is certain: he contributed to many of the album’s songs, helping them with their lyrics and songwriting.

  Although he was never properly compensated for his creative work, love and respect poured out from the boys. Evans was a witness at the March 12, 1969, marriage of Paul McCartney and Linda Eastman. He was the only member of the Apple Corps staff who was invited to the London ceremony.

  Mal accompanied John in Los Angeles, where he had traveled with his girlfriend, May Pang, on the legendary “Lost Weekend.” He discovered and guided the successful Apple Corps group Badfinger. His credits for input and support could fill a chapter in this book. But one accomplishment goes deep beyond the real glory and fame of the Beatles.

  Mal played a pivotal role, along with Neil Aspinall, in the most important year of the evolution of the boys: 1963. He shepherded them with protection, love, solace, kindness, and sensitive advice when they, as you will soon read, were close to jumping across the line between right and wrong in their private lives.

  Unfortunately, by the winter of 1975, nearly divorced, almost broke, and dependent on drugs, Malcolm Evans, who gave so much input and effort to Sgt. Pepper’s, became a lonely heart.

  In an interview before his death, he was asked about his lack of financial return, and answered, “Hey, loving them as I do, nothing is too much trouble, because I want to serve them.”

  The man who idolized them from the beginning remained committed to them at the end.

  On January 5, 1976, fourteen years after meeting the boys, Malcolm Evans, living with a girlfriend, Fran Hughes, in Los Angeles, was despondent. His girlfriend called John Hoernie, his cohort on his book, Living the Beatles Legend. Hoernie arrived at their rented motel apartment to see Mal looking groggy and incoherent. At one point, Mal picked up an air rifle. Hoernie expected the worst. Hughes summoned the police. And thus the tragedy unfolds. Despite repeated warnings from the police to drop the weapon, the police say Mal pointed the rifle at them. He was shot four times, and died immediately.

  Malcolm Evans, who had lived the legend, took his memories to the grave. When the story of his death came over the United Press International (UPI) wire machine in the newsroom in Philadelphia where I then worked, I stood there in a state of shock and wondered, “How could such a gentle and kind man suffer such a violent death?” Yoko Ono tells me that John cried uncontrollably when he heard the news. Longtime Beatle buddy Tony Bramwell talks of Paul’s shock and grief.

  In a brief story following his death, the Los Angeles Times described Mal Evans as “a jobless former road manager for the Beatles.”

  He was more than that. Much more.

  Billy Kinsley, founder of the Merseybeats, describes Mal as a “constant companion, defender, and a sweet guy who would never harm a soul, unless they were running in the direction of the boys.”

  Kinsley, with bittersweet memories, adds, “As they say, he was a gentle giant who had this enormous sense of satisfaction, and was there in good times and bad, always ready with a smile and a wonderful body block.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE MAKEOVER

  “They were ahead of their time, but what Brian did for them, shaping the imagery, brought them a futuristic look that was so influential in their success.”

  —Derek Taylor, talking to me somewhere over America in August 1964

  MONA BEST, THE OFTEN-FORGOTTEN FORCE BEHIND THE FLEDGLING BEATLES’ EARLY PERFORMANCES IN HER CASBAH NIGHTCLUB, did much more than get the boys gigs. In fact, one of her influences may be more important than all the others: her recommendation to Brian Epstein that he “polish up” his unpolished band. She suggested he change their look, which was similar to many other bands at the time, and give them a look that was new and fresh. It was advice he took to heart.

  The music was dynamic. The bookings were improving. Although Brian Epstein was struggling to get them a genuine recording contract, he knew that there was another more urgent mission in the late winter of 1962. And so he proceeded to engineer “the makeover.”

  The world was indeed changing. The rock groups of the fifties, although fairly well dressed, began to symbolize a move toward the outer limits of what Americans would label as a growing problem: “juvenile delinquents.” Every generation has had its form of juvenile delinquents, but in the late fifties, the groups were famous for Elvis-style longer black hair, leather jackets, and an outward irreverence to anyone over twenty-one. Sound familiar?

  Irreverence for adults was one thing, but Brian Epstein knew very well the secret to the long-term success of the Beatles: acceptance. He knew that the quality of their music, the factor that was bringing them early success, could be trampled by the rough-tough imagery that came right out of the Teddy Boy handbook. So he moved, and he moved fast.

  Soon after his first glimpse at the group, Brian Epstein was determined to make the group more palatable to all audiences. But there was a challenge. As Derek Taylor remarked to me much later on, “How in hell do you take away that raw radiance without destroying the act?”

  The answer to that question might have determined the boys’ fate, and Epstein knew that from the beginning. In fact, Taylor’s early notes of Epstein’s remembrances for the ghostwritten autobiography, Cellarful of Noise, confirms Epstein’s early concerns.

  He wrote, “The Beatles were scruffy and rather dirty. They were all shaved and they were neither as untidy or dirty as anyone else. . . . They smoked and ate on stage. The respons
e was falling off, but they were very funny on stage.”

  In the beginning, Epstein felt that the only reason the Beatles were interested in doing a deal with him was that he had some money, a car, and a good job. He was accepting of them when they set a meeting to talk about a management contract, but he was none too happy that Paul was an hour late for the first real discussions.

  It was during these talks that Brian realized he would have to clean up their act without really cleaning up their act. From the beginning, he wanted trust. So the makeover would have to be executed in time. They couldn’t feel hammered immediately upon signing. Like all young people of a certain age, they relished their style, and conformity is such a fashion statement in its own right for teenagers and young adults of every generation.

  “In truth,” he would say later, “in truth they had already made themselves over with their boots and the acceptance of the Franco-German mod hair style. All I did was get them the clothes, and tell them to bow.”

  In truth, as Epstein would say, he did a lot more.

  Joe Flannery explains that “the boys were independent. . . . They liked the way they dressed. After all, the leather jackets and wilder hair gave them a real reputation when they came back from Hamburg. What Brian brought to them was not really a clean-cut look, but a dramatically futuristic fashion look. It was advanced for the time, sort of futuristic with elegance. And the only reason they accepted it was John’s reluctant acceptance of Brian as an authority, a father figure.”

  In reality, the makeover was a real struggle. Even though John Lennon could be satirical and offensive in his remarks chiding Epstein, sometimes driving him to cry when the boys were not around, he deeply respected the man when it came to business. But he was reluctant to change their “raw” look—jeans, T-shirts, leather jackets, and “creeper” shoes. Paul and George also liked the raw look, but in the end, it had to go.

  The new look was a combination of the sleek look of the John F. Kennedy Camelot era and the growing ascension of the space race in America. In addition to the polite bow, the made-over Beatles had a complete look from head to toe. The hair came from their friend in Paris, Jürgen Vollmer, and Astrid Kirchherr in Hamburg. The suits were from suburban Liverpool, the shirts and ties an inspiration offered by the elegant Epstein. And the shoes? The change in footwear was a direct result of the daring of John and Paul, who first noticed the Chelsea boot in a high-end store in London’s Chelsea neighborhood. The boots were born in the Italian culture of the late fifties and early sixties, although the boys adapted them to have Cuban heels. The boys provided the boots. They saw them, they wore them, but they were still convinced that for the rest of the body, the Hamburg style, inspired by Astrid Kirchherr, was very good for them—leathered up in black with tight trousers. It was Epstein who at first pressured them, and then mandated, a more streamlined look—out with the leather, and in with what he thought was a more modern look.

  To me, who observed their new look close up—in the airplane, on stage, and in all the Beatles’ public moments—it was pure genius. Of course, at that time I didn’t know the real history, but I was impressed. The boots as well as the rest of the collection set a fashion trend, only, of course, to be replaced by colorful uniforms and psychedelic outfits during the Beatles’ so-called acid era in the late sixties. It’s also interesting to note that the dress code, in strict conformity to Brian Epstein’s wishes, vanished after his death.

  But in 1962, there was a reason for the makeover. Epstein was able to alleviate—even diminish, quite methodically—what would turn out to be a major concern about the boys.

  One has to think what the domestic reaction in America would have been in 1964, if the Beatles had arrived in those tight leather pants and the gang-style jackets. By 1964, the aura of the movie Blackboard Jungle, with Bill Haley’s melodic tune “Rock Around the Clock,” was done and over with. The gang mentality of the “JDs” (juvenile delinquents) in America had given way to the dreamy songs of the Philly sound—the clean-cut performances of Bobby Rydell, Frankie Avalon, and James Darren.

  And think about this: all the fuss about the Beatles’ hair was neutralized by the neatness of their look. They were always in modern, sleek-fitting trousers and jackets, some of those jackets with no lapels. Their ties were always tied neatly. Their high-heeled boots looked sharp and appeared to be uncomfortable, but they were not. It was rare to see them in public without the proper attire. Once inside the touring aircraft, they would loosen up considerably, happy to be more informal, but rarely did they allow themselves to be photographed like that, with the exception being a vacation at the beach, or that quick trip they took near the end of 1964 to ride horses and relax in the Ozark Mountains.

  Ultimately there was a plan, and the plan was always etched in stone at the hands of Brian Epstein, who was a regal dresser himself. He never hoped they would emulate his English businessman style; all he was looking for in the makeover was to make them look legitimate with a touch of style. Little did he know that the touch changed the way men around the world tried to look.

  When I returned to Miami after the first summer tour, in 1964, so many people would ask me the question, “Are they as clean-cut as they look?” The answer was yes. The so-called mop tops were easily recognized for their music as well as their appearance, which to adults and children in 1964 was viewed as shocking and provocative. But the makeover allowed them to be viewed as serious and refreshing artists, as well. It offered a level of credibility. Just as the Boston Pops’ recording of their music legitimized the Beatles in the eyes of most Americans over the age of eighteen, their fashion change made them look distinguished and important. An important note: the boys were always sharply shaved; I never saw anyone in the group unshaven at any point.

  Tony Bramwell remembers the contrast from the early look to the iconic new look:

  MOST OF THE LIVERPOOL GROUPS, RORY STORM FOR EXAMPLE, WORE GOLD LAMÉ, DAYGLO PINK, OR WHITE TUXEDOES, THE TUXEDOES BEING COSTLY TO CLEAN. QUITE OFTEN, THEY WERE NEVER CLEANED. THAT WAS BAD. . . . THE EARLY BEATLES WORE BLACK-AND-WHITE TWO-TONE LOAFERS . . . THEY GOT SMITTEN WITH THAT HIGH-HEELED BOOT LOOK, INFLUENCED BY CUBAN AND SPANISH DESIGNS. BUT WHEN BRIAN SAW THEM AT FIRST, AT THE CAVERN, HE WAS IMPRESSED BY THE SKIN-TIGHT LEATHER TROUSERS AND THEIR ZIPPED-UP BOMBER JACKETS. HE REALLY LOVED IT, BUT AS THEIR MUSIC WAS MORE ACCEPTED, HE HAD TO MAKE THEM MORE ACCEPTABLE TO AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE.

  Even early promoter Sam Leach admits there was genius in Epstein’s moves, but he still savors the early days.

  HE TOOK THE RAW OUT OF THEM. WHEN THEY CAME BACK FROM HAMBURG, THEY WERE GREAT. BEFORE THEY WENT TO HAMBURG THEY WERE PRETTY POOR. WHEN I FIRST SAW THEM, I WAS CONVINCED THEY WOULD BE AS BIG AS ELVIS. THEY HAD THIS CHARISMA. WHEN YOU SAW THEM ON STAGE IN THEIR LEATHER JACKETS, BACK IN THE EARLY DAYS BEFORE THEY WERE MANAGED BY EPSTEIN, THEY WERE THE BEST ROCK ’N’ ROLL ON THE PLANET, I THOUGHT, AND WAS CONVINCED THEY WOULD BE REAL BIG. UNFORTUNATELY, BRIAN TOOK AWAY THE HARD, RAW WILDNESS OF THEM AND HE MADE THEM MORE PRESENTABLE, YES, BUT THAT THING THEY HAD WAS UNBELIEVABLE. PAUL USED TO GYRATE ROUND THE STAGE LIKE A LUNATIC. BRIAN GROOMED IT OUT OF THEM AND MADE THEM MORE PRESENTABLE, BUT IN ’61, I THINK, THAT WAS THEIR BEST YEAR. THEN IT WAS ON WITH THE SUITS. ON TO MOM AND DAD.

  Although Leach longs for the early memories, loving the magic after Hamburg, he admits the change was fundamental to the group’s worldwide success.

  “Brian did the right thing, but in the climate of those days, although I liked the early feel, it was quite important for them to be presentable.”

  The makeover began with Epstein’s campaign to get the boys to trash their Hamburg suits. The leather disappeared. Their first big change was in a concert on March 24, 1962, at the Barnston Women’s Institute. After shopping at Burton’s chain outlet in Liverpool, the difference was dramatic—very thin lapels on lounge suits, and collars in velvet. Within months, they would at times wear collarless jackets as well.

  In a later appearance
at the Manchester Playhouse, they wore mohair suits tailored by Beno Dorn, of suburban Liverpool. The shirts were buttoned down, the tie quite thin but neat and kempt. As time moved on, the outfits became more sophisticated.

  The Beatles’ look changed fashion worldwide. It became the standard for menswear for much of the sixties. Did they know that would happen? John was so concerned about the exit from leather, but was convinced that there was reasoning in Epstein’s makeover. According to Joe Flannery, John said, “If it takes a suit to give us all more money, let’s do it.”

  They did. The makeover was in progress by the time of the Parlophone success in the summer of 1962.

  Historian Denny Somach believes that Epstein’s basic instincts made such a difference:

  BASICALLY WHAT BRIAN DID, LOOKED AROUND AT ALL THE OTHER GROUPS, AND HE DIDN’T LIKE THE TOUGHNESS. HE ALSO BASICALLY LEGISLATED THAT THEY WOULD ALL WEAR MATCHING SUITS. THE CONCEPT OF MATCHING SUITS WAS NEW, ESPECIALLY SINCE MANY BANDLEADERS WORE A DIFFERENT JACKET THAN THE REST. BUT WHAT IS INTERESTING, THAT BY WEARING THE SAME OUTFITS, THERE WAS NO PERCEIVED LEADER, EVEN THOUGH JOHN AND PAUL HAD A SPECIAL PLACE. THE UNIFORMITY MAY HAVE DISCOURAGED INDIVIDUAL STYLE, BUT IT CERTAINLY MESHED WITH THE MUSICAL HARMONY.

  By the end of 1962, Johnny’s boys had gone from grunge to sleek and futuristic fashion, and the timing was, excuse the cliché, “picture perfect.”

  The imagery was set, although the biggest tests were yet to come. Would the small Beatles bubble burst, and would the genuine movement fly in Europe and the States? Thanks to ingenuity by two powerful journalists-turned-promoters, and an amazing nonstop schedule, the year of 1963 turned into 365 days of imagery and success that began with an unusual cascade: the Beatles versus the Beatles.

  WHEN