It was the night of February 9, 1964, a Sunday, when my older brother and I had to make a crucial little kid decision. The situation we faced left us over stimulated, careening off the living room walls. Our dilemma concerned whether or not to watch “Davy Crockett at the Alamo” on Disney, or the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. Adding even more adrenaline to the mix, our shared birthday was the next day, Monday, the 10th.

Agony.

In 1964 there were no video players, no DVD players, no home computers, or dvr’s. Our television stood inside a wood frame measuring about the size of Volkswagen Bug and beamed three network channels in glorious, flickering, black and white. This night’s decision was a one-off with no do-overs. Period.

Dale and I liked Davy Crockett an awful lot. We had watched all the previous episodes, and Davy biting the dust in San Antonio was the much anticipated grand finale. But, oh, the Beatles! “Please Please Me” had infiltrated AM radio, and the fever on the airwaves was palpable. 

This was a single decision, and a weighty conundrum for an almost 10, and almost 9 year-old. We had to choose.

In the end we tuned into Ed Sullivan and our world permanently shifted on its axis. George’s opening chords launched into John and Paul’s vocals. “Oh, yeah I’ll tell you something, I think you’ll understand.” The look, the sound, the energy knocked us both for a loop. And the band seemed so delighted with performing, visibly getting a kick out of the reaction of the screaming studio audience, and by extension, all of America. And then that deep bow at the end of the song! Wow.

In fan magazines we learned more about each individual: who was quiet, cute, endearing, and the leader, but those were minor details. That moment, on February 9th all we sensed was joyful wonder. John Sebastian said it best later, singing “how the magic is the music and the music’s in me,” and magic struck on that winter’s night.

The introduction of the Beatles to America reset the course of music world wide, not a small thing. Over the following years the joint efforts of Lennon/McCartney clearly demonstrated genius in both songwriting and brilliant recordings. After their breakup the four musicians pursued other projects: The Plastic Ono Band, Wings, Wilburys, and Ringo’s All Star Band. Each married, had children, remarried, then John was tragically murdered, and George died of cancer.

Now Paul and Ringo attend public commemorations of Beatle music, while their children pop up frequently on social media, each pursuing some latest venture or other. But those facts are details, and rather unimportant details compared to that singular moment on February 9, 1964.

For years I called my brother on our birthday, blasting “Birthday” from the White Album because “it’s my birthday too, yeah.” 

Now a lifetime has passed, and my birthday twin and partner in Beatlemania sadly died. But I remember, I’ll always remember. The gift of that moment survives, when we were both very much alive breathing in the unbounded optimism, energy, and magic when Dale and I first met the Beatles.

Oh, by the way, I’ve never seen “Davy Crockett at the Alamo.”

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir, “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight.” Chumbley has also authored the stage play, “Clay” and “Wolf By The Ears.” In addition, Gail co-authored the screenplay, “Dancing on Air” based on her books.